Thursday Th(ink)s - Oct 9, 2025

The Tuesday That Felt Like Thursday

Welcome to Thursday — the best day for a good conversation. Thursday doesn’t strut like Friday or whine like Wednesday. It shows up quietly, steady and unassuming, ready to linger over a cup of coffee and a little soul work. So, let’s do that.

I’m writing this at 9:08 a.m. on a Tuesday. Hubs and I are waiting for doctor’s appointment #2. It’s him, not me. Always him. But I’d like to keep him, so I’m grateful for doctors who understand the slow mechanics of aging bodies. But I digress.

We have a couple of hours to spend by wasting, so we park — no small miracle in Pasadena — and wander into Jones Coffee Shop: coffee by day, wine by night, and, apparently, live jazz on Tuesday mornings. The place is packed. The crowd is diverse in age (though not in ethnicity — this is still Pasadena).

I’m not great with jazz. I struggle to find harmony in the dissonance. I’m more Norman Rockwell than Picasso. But I appreciate skillz — and these guys clearly have it, in every note that refuses to resolve too soon.

I order coffees. We find seats — not together, because, like I said, it’s packed. I smile as Hubs pulls out his Søren Kierkegaard and disappears into the dense prose. But his fingers are tapping. He’s still here. (He isn’t always when a book is involved.)

I text a picture of our lucky-find coffee shop to my brother, then strike up a conversation with the woman next to me. She’s comely — widowed, no children, 78. She tells me how hard it is, at her age, to find friends. She comes here hoping to connect with someone, anyone, with whom she

can simply be human.

We talk about aging and the temptation to stay home; to let time sneak up on you and then act surprised when, suddenly, it’s Sunday and the shadows are deep. She wonders if showing up for jazz on a Tuesday morning might lengthen her days. She talks about friends who got old too soon — long before they had to. She’s outgrown them. They’re waiting for death; she’s anticipating life. She is Thursday-inspiring on a Tuesday morning.

And that’s the gift of Thursday — the final third of the week and, metaphorically, the final third of my life. And here I am, on a Tuesday morning, sipping a double shot of Guatemalan dark roast while the trio keeps playing, the Hubs keeps reading, and a new friend keeps living. As will I, Deo Volente.

Benediction for Thursday: Lord of all my days, keep the cup warm until the final sip. Teach me the holy art of growing old — to listen for Your melody even in the dissonance, to savor each measure before it resolves, and to trust the Composer who writes the final note.

Big Brains: “Count your age by friends, not years. Count your life by smiles, not tears.” John Lennon

Old Souls: ”Growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional!” Walt Disney

The Ancient of Days:”They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green, proclaiming, “The Lord is upright; he is my Rock, and there is no wickedness in him.”Psalm 92:14-15

Norma Jean:“Aging isn’t about waiting for the final note; it’s about learning to love the unresolved chords.”

Thursday Chat:Go be human somewhere today. Then come back and tell me about it.