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.
