The Office of Readings

There are two recurring elements in my growing less stupid throughout my life, (I won't say in my growing in wisdom, because the needle is still waaaaay over on the left, on that gauge...)
One is that kinda Zenny, David-Carradine-squatting-on-the-floor-in-his-pajamas idea that the master appears when the student is ready.
(Although IME, the master, which is not always a person, usually turns out to have been sitting there patiently twiddling his thumbs all along, waiting for me, in my fog, to notice his presence.)
But the other recurring element has had a much greater impact, occurs with much greater frequency, and that is that someone or something recalls to my mind something I knew all along.
I realize as I say this that my physical life is very like my mental life -- I live in a chaos of THINGS, unsorted, uncategorized, half-read, half-digested, a disorganized muddle of books and papers, and music, and objects that are dear to me, and clothing emblematic of an idealized or imagined self, and items I think I might need some day, and even more items I know I shall never need but with which I cannot bear to part.
Right now, for instance, probably within 15 feet of me, (but I cannot guarantee the smaller items, it's such a mess,) are the cut & pastes, and enlarged photocopies from at least 5 different books. and the products of my own imagination and music printing program, that are all a part of some projected psalter for Lent; the scribblings that make up the adaptation of Merry Wives of Windsor I've been contemplating for a year; my Father's slide rule which might as well be a nuclear fusion device I have so little idea of its use; a scarf that I think would make me look dashing and carelessly creative if I were ever to wear it; Mr Webb's Catholic Encyclopedia; an antique can of motor oil of the type purveyed by Himself's grandfather; a stack of books on tartans because they fascinated me once, (and still); tax documents, a really cool copper double edged razor from the '30s, unwrapped gifts, a photo of me and Zoe Caldwell, DVDs of every film adaptation of Jane Eyre ever made...
You get the picture.
Well, my mind is like that.
There are things I know, or at least kinda sorta know, or knew once, or heard and remembered but did not yet really take possession of, that are there, but submerged under the rest of the mess in my mind.
And seemingly chance occurrences "activate" the knowledge.
Where was I?
Oh, yes, the Office of Readings.
Well, that will have to wait.