Teach me, my God and King, in all things thee to see*

by chuckofish

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Got to hold this little nugget this weekend. It felt real good.

I also gabbed on the phone with my dual personality and two daughters. I got my hair cut and put together two Valentine boxes to mail to the aforementioned daughters. I worked in the yard on Sunday when the temperatures soared into the fifties.

The boy came over and helped me take down one twin bed in his old room and haul it and the mattress down to the basement. Then, after carrying the pieces upstairs, he put together the antique double bed I bought at an estate sale last fall (remember?). He is one busy boy and I appreciate his coming over to help his old mother. We didn’t even give him dinner; he was headed somewhere afterwards.

I continued to read The Transit of Venus by Shirley Hazzard–really such a treat.

The cicatrice of stitching on her gloves was an imprint on his brain. Earrings of pearl stared, white-eyed as fish. There was a streak of flowered scarf, inane, and the collar blue. Grief had a painter’s eye, assigning arbitrary meaning at random–like God.

We watched two  movies that are practically antiques–The Scarlet Pimpernel (1934) and Captain Blood (1935)–but which, in all the years since they were made, have never been surpassed on so many levels of cinematic effort. We watched a bit of the Super Bowl because the OM wanted to. Truly, I haven’t cared about football since Kurt Warner was traded to Arizona. (Except for Peyton Manning and he retired.)

I felt very happy sitting in church on Sunday. Nothing/no one annoyed me. I will try to hold on to this feeling and carry it into the work week.

Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.

*George Herbert, hymn #592