"When my mother had to serve dinner to eight she'd just make enough for 16 and only serve half." - Gracie Allen

I feel like I wasted my day. Just didn't make the kind of progress on things that I should have. And for some reason I am SO sleepy that not much is going to get done this evening, either.

I was out in the garage about 5 a.m. with plans of getting the bottom end of the engine torn down and got exactly five minutes in and got stuck. Getting the timing gear off the cam shaft requires removing two large Phillips screws that would. not. budge. I came in and asked for help from the truck restoration site and went back out to ... sand. Got the other fender done, so that counts for something.
I came in about 90 minutes later and read a message that suggested a propane torch, a BIG #3 Phillips screwdriver, and a good rap with a hammer. I'll try that tomorrow, but it was time to get to work on Sunday's content.
And my brain just didn't want to fire. I tried more coffee, a banana, good music, and none of it worked. I made progress, but not the kind I wanted.

I left about 11:15 for lunch in town.
A couple of months ago I requested a conversation with the Sr. Pastor of a large church to discuss one of his adult teachers who had contacted me about leaving that church and attending Pathway. Professional protocol says I should let him know one of his sheep is wandering around in other pastures, especially when that sheep is a leader. We are, after all, working for the same Person toward the same ends, not in competition with each other. I'd never met Steve but we hit it off immediately, and he invited me to attend a monthly lunch for area pastors. Only five attended today because of vacations; they normally have about twice that number. Easy, collegial conversation, some good shop talk, and I'll be going back next month. Fun.

A group of guys named Igor and Sergei stole a gazillion passwords from a million sites, so now I'm supposed to change all my passwords. First, if they stole mine I'd appreciate it if they'd tell me what they are, 'cause I sure can't remember. And if they want to hack my account on the Chevy truck restoration site, or my DirecTV viewers guide they can have at it.
I think of this as similar to the swarms of fish that school together so that any one of them is relatively safe from predators. If they single me out from those gazillion hacked accounts and want to spend their time consuming my data - well, they're going to find very little meat on these bones. Like eating dove, it's more trouble than it's worth.

Pam gets home in an hour so I'm going to try to get some fairly mindless task done. No serious brain work, but maybe I'll start on the slides for Sunday.