Well, here I am, once again, in Logan’s warm embrace. I have a cuppa beside me, I’ve worked my way through the newspaper, I’ve checked my emails & it’s still slightly more than an hour before my flight boards.
I’m off to Toronto, one of the truly lovely cities.
The reason I’m going is to conduct the wedding for a dear old friend and her wonderful mate. But taking advantage of the trip I’ll also be preaching at the First Unitarian Congregation this Sunday and meeting with some Zen friends.
A nice respite from the madness at home. We are on the homestretch of fixing the old manse up in preparation for throwing it on the market. But walking around the house is still circling piles of boxes. (One might ask how it is possible for a single family to have quite so many books…) And the kitchen remains a hotplate and microwave in the once and hopefully future dining room while the refrigerator stands in the living room. I don’t expect sympathy, I’m too aware even as these things stand just how privileged this all is…
And, that doesn’t stop me from feeling sorry for myself. Not at all…
Or, being rather too pleased that I’m dashing off to lovely Canada for the weekend (although I hear a nasty storm is rolling in even as I pound out this note). I suspect my spouse and auntie have noticed I’m gone during premium packing time, but both were too gracious to say anything out loud…
More anon…
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