Ritual

The other day I went to the District Court of Prince George’s County and filed a complaint against the man who hit my client’s vehicle.  Having done so I immediately walked down the streets of downtown Upper Marlboro, which itself is really only a few blocks in size total, to the post office, and mailed copies of the complaint to the driver, the registered agent for the company he works for (he was driving a company vehicle on company time, making his employer liable respondeat superior) and the liability adjuster for the insurance company which insures that driver.  I did so by certified mail, return receipt requested.   All of this took the semblance of a ritual.  Complaint in envelope, envelope closed, green return receipt card posted on back, white/green certified mail slip on the front, paid for postage, and stapled everything together to a spare copy of the complaint.  Job done.

A few days later I visited Gold’s Gym at Bailey’s Crossroads.   Another ritual.   Four different ab exercises.  Several different strength exercises, 3 sets of 15 each.  A brief break in the locker room, picking up my iPod and putting away my lifting gloves.  Then 30 minutes on the treadmill, following a more recent routine calculated to maximize cardio efficiency while recognizing that almost 230 lbs aggressively pounding down on 50 year old knees produce more pain than 190 lbs did several years ago when I was younger and my metabolism was more efficient.  Fortunately the locker room scale told me that 2 pounds had left me, an impression that looking in many of the gym’s mirrors seemed to agree with.  Even my waistband said so.  Is there a bottom limit to metabolism, aside from permanent inactivity and decomposition?  I dare say I’ll find out.

With the Nutribullet, I make smoothies.  I prepare them in 20 oz green tea bottles and drink half a bottle each morning.  The main container and 3 bowls: avocado, berries, banana, apple, broccoli, carrots, cabbage, spinach, celery, and kale, reduced to a noxious concoction best consumed quickly and washed down with “Ice”, those flavored water beverages which recently came out (wild berry, black cherry, and similar flavors being my favorites).  Making these is – guess what? – a ritual for me.

Some who enjoy herbal remedies might derive ritual enjoyment from grinding a new supply of buds in a grinder, plastic or metal, followed by fiery consumption thereof in various different receptacles available these days to do so – be they G Pro vaporizers, pipes, or water pipes, often referred to as bongs (except in the very places which actually sell them).   That takes the form of a ritual, albeit one with a different purpose and outcome, for those who do consume these products.

Back when my parents lived at their home in Montgomery Village, I inherited my father’s responsibility to mow the lawn.  I actually enjoyed it, no matter what the weather was like (with the obvious exception that no one mows in the rain or snow).  I targeted different segments in turn, leaving the largest open field for last, which I enjoyed mowing at the perimeter and working my way in concentrically until I reached the center. 

Of course, there’s the most obvious ritual: Sunday mass at a local Catholic church.  As noted earlier, I’ve been visiting the various parishes in Northern Virginia (diocese centered on its cathedral in Arlington) and Maryland (cathedrals in DC and north Baltimore).   Thank God I am alive and healthy enough to attend mass.