I can always tell when she's feeling content. After morning Boops and Third Breakfast*, she climbs on top of the oven range and goes to sleep. This week was tough for many people who mean a lot to me. For some, it is finding the right words. For others, it's more complicated. T-Rex (you'll meet her soon) lost her brother and I have been getting things squared away as I rebuild my life and start to move forward.
At first, I considered this the consequence of mindless acquisition to fill spaces left by people and ideas and roles that no longer fit into my life. This always starts with going through my books. The picture above is of my kitchen and shows one of three cases in there that will be culled through soon. Did anyone else read From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler and want to live in a museum or a library when they grew up? The old Nashville Children's Museum next to NATs would have been fine with me except for the shrunken heads. They were scary and would have to go!**
But I digress.***
It's Sunday. I've decided to rest. My mother and I went to online church, ate breakfast, and are enjoying the morning quiet. Later on, we're going to shell the big bag of October Beans I bought from an Amish farm stand, enjoy some fresh peaches from the same place. Marigold loves it when everyone is home and the house is peaceful. So do I. She's even happier when I cook, but today's fare consists of the chicken. kale, and gnocchi soup I made yesterday. She can work out her disappointment if any arises on her collection of tinsel balls.
My own collection of tinsel balls is shrinking. Rediscovering my shelves of books about archaeology, anthropology, and folk studies that now sit with the growing reading list of theological texts I need to familiarize myself with has given me a sense of recovering who I was. It sits unimpeded by so much that no longer applies. It also gives me reason to think a little harder about why I am here. The common answer is to trust that God has a plan. Taking things one step at a time can sometimes feel daunting. Am I here to go into the ministry? Was I really called? Is there something else I am supposed to be doing? Why am I still in Nashville? Is there someone I am supposed to minister to? Am I just here to shell October Beans?
Enjoy and rejoice in the Sunday you are given,
Jas
*We feed her canales of cat food. Give her the whole thing at once and it dries out and goes uneaten. She loves delicate princess portions and eating from the spoon if my mother is serving.
**Bad future anthropologist! No fedora for you!
*** Okay, say it with me: I am old. I am Southern. I am allowed to wander and think in paragraphs. If it's good enough for Wendell Berry and Robert Penn Warren, it is good enough for all y'all
At first, I considered this the consequence of mindless acquisition to fill spaces left by people and ideas and roles that no longer fit into my life. This always starts with going through my books. The picture above is of my kitchen and shows one of three cases in there that will be culled through soon. Did anyone else read From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler and want to live in a museum or a library when they grew up? The old Nashville Children's Museum next to NATs would have been fine with me except for the shrunken heads. They were scary and would have to go!**
But I digress.***
It's Sunday. I've decided to rest. My mother and I went to online church, ate breakfast, and are enjoying the morning quiet. Later on, we're going to shell the big bag of October Beans I bought from an Amish farm stand, enjoy some fresh peaches from the same place. Marigold loves it when everyone is home and the house is peaceful. So do I. She's even happier when I cook, but today's fare consists of the chicken. kale, and gnocchi soup I made yesterday. She can work out her disappointment if any arises on her collection of tinsel balls.
My own collection of tinsel balls is shrinking. Rediscovering my shelves of books about archaeology, anthropology, and folk studies that now sit with the growing reading list of theological texts I need to familiarize myself with has given me a sense of recovering who I was. It sits unimpeded by so much that no longer applies. It also gives me reason to think a little harder about why I am here. The common answer is to trust that God has a plan. Taking things one step at a time can sometimes feel daunting. Am I here to go into the ministry? Was I really called? Is there something else I am supposed to be doing? Why am I still in Nashville? Is there someone I am supposed to minister to? Am I just here to shell October Beans?
Enjoy and rejoice in the Sunday you are given,
Jas
*We feed her canales of cat food. Give her the whole thing at once and it dries out and goes uneaten. She loves delicate princess portions and eating from the spoon if my mother is serving.
**Bad future anthropologist! No fedora for you!
*** Okay, say it with me: I am old. I am Southern. I am allowed to wander and think in paragraphs. If it's good enough for Wendell Berry and Robert Penn Warren, it is good enough for all y'all
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