It is evening on the day of rest. Evening, and a time to be savored.
Aidan is wearing his blue, footed pajamas. He is docile because he is exhausted. A pot of Sumatran decaf coffee is brewing, and an Asiago cheese bagel is browning in the toaster. Outside, a night-colored thunderstorm mutters in the distance. Minutes ago I opened a new book, Between Heaven and Hell, by Peter Kreeft:
On November 22, 1963, three great men died within a few hours of each other: C.S. Lewis, John F. Kennedy and Aldous Huxely. All three believed, in different ways, that death was not the end of human life. Suppose they were right and suppose they met after death. How might the conversation go?
Kennedy: Where the hell are we?
Lindsay and I are about to watch a murder mystery, sipping coffee and enjoying the contrast between the enclosed light of our loft and the glowering, drizzling skies outside. Ah, this is what I call a good night.