I took these flowers to Synod and then brought them home again because I’m selfish like that.
It appears I accidentally took a several-day blogging break. And no podcast either. So many things conspired to ruin our routine.
First, we got a kitten:
We’re thinking of naming him Albert in order to keep with the theme that started with our first cat, so long ago. She was Frances, and the first familial casualty to the era of covid.
Frances in all her glory.
Then came Gloria, the Christmas Cat, who is getting fatter every day.
And so it seems that Albert would be a pretty good idea. If you don’t know the Frances books, I grieve for you. As you can see, Albert is kind of a jerk:
Except that the kitten might also look sort of like Evelyn (the first pronunciation, not the second). Maybe we could mash the two names together.
Second, we went to Synod last week–a pretty decorous and orderly affair. There were a lot of good talks and a long ordination service and I held a lot of babies, so that was good–but not conducive for blogging.
Third, right on the heels of Synod, the girls had their dance recital:
Photo by Joyce Carlson after I’d struggled their hair into ballet buns.
Of course, it is always very hard to get the children to stop smiling for these kinds of pictures. Always on Facebook I am invited to explain why the children never smile, except, as you see above, when I fail and they do smile. And I never have a good reason except that 1. when told to smile, they always break out into uncanny and creepy leers, and 2, I really like the sort of epic heavy metal band feel. Someday I’ll be able to take all the pictures of my life and illustrate some kind of gothic or even dystopic novel.
And finally, we didn’t podcast because Matt had a deadline yesterday and could not spare even twenty minutes for the effort. Which is not my fault. Although, NGL, I did not feel the least bit bad about sleeping in a little bit.
Somehow, back in the day, I never let anything, neither fatigue, nor busyness, nor kittens, nor heights nor depths interfere with my blogging. But in these latter days, I am older and more tireder, and have made the astonishing discovery that I don’t feel like killing myself, since I am on my way to death anyway. There seems to be no good reason to rush the process. Besides, Matt has been reading me long passages from Tolkien’s letters, and it appears that, like me (cough) he was always apologizing for not writing things more quickly. I’m so sorry, he would say, my wife nearly died and there was a war and also I had nothing to say, but I’ll try really hard and get another book on paper forthwith. This was perversely comforting to me for two reasons. One, Matt somehow has slotted me into the same category as his very favorite writer in the the world (Writers Who Can’t Write), and two, how fantastic to be in such company of people who always apologize about not writing.
Of course, I will never write anything like the Hobbit, don’t worry. But maybe I’ll be able to churn out another blog post tomorrow.
Oh! And I forgot the main reason I didn’t blog for four days, and that’s that I’m almost done with The Book of Longings, and oh my word, I will have an extravaganza of blog posts and other commentary–more even than anyone wants. The first one will be called, if Sue Monk Kidd Can Write A Book So Can I. And the second will be called, As Long As You Remember The Jesus In That Book Isn’t Jesus You’ll Be Able To Get Through It (Probably). Boy, she sure didn’t write the Hobbit either.
Well, I’ll probably be back tomorrow. But first I’ve gotta go play with the kitten.