November 3, 2005

• As I said, I'm not going to post the whole darn thing, and the bits I
  do post are not necessarily in sequential order.  Here's the part
  introducing Claude, whom I've not got a good handle on, regrettably:

  Absorbed in the computer monitor
  in front of him, Claude hardly notices when Brad taps on his office
  door.  "Hey, Claude, got a moment?" the young man asks in
  greeting, as he simultaneously tries to gauge the older man's
  mood.  Not a simple matter when his face is apparently glued to
  the screen.
  
  
  
  Claude vaguely looks up and
  around, then nods his head in an halfhearted welcome.  "Sure,
  Brad.  I've got a moment.  What's up?"  Regretfully he
  turns away from the computer to give his attention to his
  visitor.  A nice young man, the youth minister, he mused. 
  Friendly as a puppy and as full of frisk, to boot.
  
  
  
  He made Claude tired just by walking in the room.
  
  
  
  Still, an associate pastor is on
  call to all, so Claude affixed a genial expression on his face and
  waited for Brad to state his business.  The lanky young man, who
  looked like the recent college graduate he was, dropped into the chair
  before Claude's desk and arranged himself into what he hoped was a
  relaxed attitude.  Brad wasn't sure he was pulling it off, or that
  he'd be able to pull off the task set before him.  First he leant
  back and crossed his legs at the ankle, then decided that wasn't
  particularly comfortable so sat up straighter and casually placed his
  right ankle on his left knee, realized that wasn't much of an
  improvement and instead crossed his legs, shifting a little as he
  did.  Claude cast him a quizzical glance.
  
  
  
  "You okay, Brad?  You're as squirmy as a three year old."
  
  
  
  Dang.  In an effort to
  demonstrate the depth of his relaxation, Brad stretched and yawned,
  assuring the other man he was fine, just fine.  Claude looked
  skeptical but didn't press the point, glancing at the clock on his
  desk.  It was made by Bulova and was a miniature planetarium, a
  gift from his daughter upon his graduation from seminary.  He was
  surprised to see it was already time for lunch.
  
  
  
  "I'm ready for fork work,
  Brad.  Want to go grab a bite to eat somewhere?" he asked
  affably.  Brad brightened at the thought of food, instantly
  agreeing. 
  
  
  
  "That'd be great, Claude! 
  Where'd you want to go?  There's a new barbeque place over on East
  Lancaster sounds promising, or Mexican, or there's a Pizza Hut with an
  old-fashioned pizza buffet..." as always, when the subject was food,
  Brad was quickly caught up in the potential glory.  Claude eyed
  him with tolerant amusement, recalling when What To Have For Lunch was
  a key part of his day.  Hard to imagine back that far now. 
  
  
  
  Sighing a little for lost
  youthfulness, he replied, "Barbeque works for me.  Do they have
  pulled pork, d'you think?"  As he spoke he pushed himself back
  from his desk and stood, stretching to get the kinks out.  Having
  turned fifty on his last birthday, he'd begun noticing the inevitable
  effects of age creeping up on him.
  
  
  
  Mentally giving himself a shake, Claude silently reminded himself, "That much closer to glory, and that's a good thing."
  
  
  
  Brad quickly stood too, standing
  politely back to permit the older man to exit the office first. 
  Maybe he'd get some inspiration at lunch as to how to approach the
  matter of Maud, he mused.  Turning to the right the two men headed
  down the hall of the executive offices of Eastchase Bible Church, until
  they came to the "reception" desk, which was generally manned by one of
  the most faithful members and volunteers of the church, Minnie Anne
  Callaghan, who was eighty if she was a day. 
  
  
  
  "Minnie Anne, Brad and I are
  going to lunch.  May we bring you something?" Claude inquired of
  the elderly lady, who was deep into the latest Maggody mystery. 
  She looked up and gave the two men a cheeky grin.
  
  
  
  "I wouldn't say no to an order of onion rings," she told them, "and lots of ketchup packets, please."
  
  
  
  "Onion rings?" Brad protested.  "Minnie Anne, do you really think at your age . . ."
  
  
  
  "One order of onion rings coming
  up, Minnie Anne," Claude said, ruthlessly interrupting Brad.  The
  woman beamed at the pastor, thinking what a nice man he was, and what
  an asset to the church.  Claude gently nudged his lunch companion,
  indicating they should move on.  Looking slightly huffy, Brad
  started walking toward the exit, with Claude hard on his heels. 
  As they walked outside Brad began to remonstrate with Claude.
  
  
  
  "Fried onion rings?  At her
  age?  They can't be good for her," Brad said, following the older
  man as he threaded his way through the cars to reach his own, a silver
  Monte Carlo.  The chirp of a remote lock signified the unlocking
  of the vehicle's doors, and they folded themselves into the front seats.
  
  
  
  "No," Claude agreed, "they
  probably aren't, but she's a grown woman.  How would you like it
  if people started questioning you about what you want to eat?"  He
  slanted a look at his companion.  Brad grimaced slightly then
  muttered, "I don't suppose I'd like it much."
  
  
  
  "Right.  Maybe she'll only
  have one, then give the rest away.  Whatever she does, it's her
  business.  And anyway," Claude went on cheerfully, "maybe she's
  got a cast-iron stomach like my Uncle Horace.  The man was eating
  fried oysters and spicy curry till the day he died, and he died at
  96.  You never know." 
  
  
  
  Brad relaxed, and nodded, saying
  sheepishly,  "Well, you might be right.  I can be a bit of a
  buttinsky, I'm afraid.  At least that's what my family always
  says."
  
  
  
  Turning the car toward the south,
  Claude observed, "I wouldn't call you a buttinsky, my friend. You care
  about others and try to fix their problems, and if possible, prevent
  them in the first place.  Don't think I haven't noticed your knack
  for taking lame ducks under your wing."  As he spoke he craned his
  head over his left shoulder, checking to make sure the lane was clear,
  thus missing the almost-imperceptible expression of guilt that briefly
  flared on his companion's face.
  
  
  
  Brad wondered anxiously if the
  proposal he was going to make to the associate pastor would cause the
  latter to think he was considered to be one of those lame ducks. 
  This would be fatal to the plans.  To forestall any questions
  until he'd decided what tack to take, Brad asked Claude if he'd seen
  the Cowboys game the previous evening.  The ensuing discussion
  lasted until the restaurant was reached.
  
  
  
  Both men were pleased to see
  pulled pork written on the blackboard above the serving line, and
  placed orders for sandwich platters, plus an extra order of onion rings
  for Minnie Anne.  As Brad paused before the steaming containers of
  cobbler, trying to decide between apple and peach, Claude covertly
  studied him.  It's not that he didn't like the younger man, but
  was puzzled as to what was behind this sudden, inexplicable desire for
  his company.  Brad was roughly the same age as his daughter, after
  all; he was the youth minister, involved with the middle and high
  school kids, as well as the college students.  Claude was hired by
  the church to provide doctrinal depth, as he was well versed in the
  Puritan writers, as well as Charles Spurgeon, A. W. Pink, and other
  notable theologians of the past.  Perhaps the youth minister was
  wanting his help to design a course on "The Pilgrim's Progress" or
  something.  Claude hoped this was the case, as introducing an
  appreciation for such works was a passion with him.
  
  
  
  Having paid for their food, the
  two men found an unoccupied booth and sat down.  For a minute or
  two the only sound was of happy men munching pull pork
  sandwiches.  Finally Claude took a long drink of iced tea, dunked
  a french fry in ketchup, and right before popping it into his mouth,
  asked, "So, what's up?"  He noted with some interest the
  deer-caught-in-the-headlights look exhibited by his lunch
  companion.  Judging it'd be easier for the other man if he wasn't
  being stared at, Claude lowered his own eyes to his plate and picked up
  his sandwich.  Brad finished chewing the bite he'd been working on
  (though he took so long one might wonder if he was a practitioner of
  the Hiller method), then took a long drink from his root beer, casting
  around in his mind for the best way to approach the matter.
  
  
  
  "Up?  I'm not sure I'd say
  anything's up exactly," then faltered as he met the sharp stare of the
  older man.  "Well, okay, as a matter of fact, there was something
  I wanted to talk to you about."  Claude lifted his brows slightly,
  signifying his desire to hear more.
  
  
  
  "Look, you're new in town,
  right?"  Brad earnestly asked.  Claude politely nodded,
  privately thinking it a rather silly question as Brad obviously was
  aware Claude had only moved to the Fort Worth area a few weeks
  before.  "I'm sure it's difficult to get hooked up with someone
  when one is new," he continued.  Claude grimaced a bit as he
  protested, "You know, Brad, 'hooked up' is not generally a term a
  widowed, middleaged pastor is eager to have applied to him." 
  Wincing, Brad ducked his head as he mumbled, "Well, you know what I
  mean."
  
  
  
  Relenting, Claude acknowledged
  that yes, he knew what he meant.  Inwardly he groaned, recognizing
  a set-up in the making and already wondering how he could civilly
  decline.  Already he'd learned that a single pastor who just
  turned fifty apparently had a heart-shaped target on his forehead,
  visible only to others.  Fending off the efforts of well-meaning
  people to introduce him to one single woman or another was rapidly
  becoming a full-time job, in and of itself. 
  ===================

  I'm going to have to stop for the nonce, as I have absolutely no idea
  what idea it is Val (Maud's niece) and Brad (Val's husband's BIL or
  cousin, I've not decided) have cooked up to get Maud and Claude
  together.  It needs to be something that would cause the potential
  duo to be appalled at the suggestion.  Trying to come up with
  something appalling that a couple of Christian people would propose
  isn't easy.  If anyone can think of something, let me know. 
  I'm going to run some errands in the meantime.

  • 12:00 pm
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