It has been some kind of Sabbath. Not only was I ready to leave the house on time (a miracle), but we also arrived at Church ten minutes early, and we even stopped by Antidote for coffee on the way. Sunday school was great - a detailed study on Psalm 34. And Father Rusty's sermon was great - the significance of words, particularly ear-catching to a writer such as myself. It was one of those profound, eloquent, very convicting sermons that had me scribbling notes-to-self in my little brown Moleskine Cahier. Johnny sang Indelible Grace's "God Be Merciful (Psalm 51)" so purty that I choked up. Our friend Allie recently worked magic on the Church's flower beds. Today, the blooms gulped down heavy rain that drummed on the roof in rhythm with liturgy and thunder. It rained so hard that I felt grateful to be inside such a good (dry) Church sporting intentional architecture, the ceiling resembling an upturned ship.
J. and I watched ER during lunch. Yes, I know it jumped the shark eons ago, but we're kind of loyally sticking it out for some reason. Our tenacity paid off because during this episode, Noah Wyle got a kidney and George Clooney made an appearance. Not a soul died. We tried to take a nap, but I felt pret-ty juvenile. I had ice hands due to the chilly weather and our drafty house. I proceeded to shock my husband's sleepy system by touching his stomach, and then his back after I feigned a vow to stop. He retaliated with his ice feet. We mustered up maturity and sank into sleep for fifteen minutes. Johnny started a crackling fire before leaving for his Sunday night gig. I put on the kettle. I cannot get enough green tea lately.
I settled into an armchair with Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott. Look, I adore her book on writing, Bird by Bird. I refer to it often when my brain locks up, refusing to offer any creative words or sentences whatsoever. Yet it's been awhile since I've read Lamott's take on Christianity and well, she is bugging the crap out of me. I'm wavering between 2 and 3 stars for a goodreads rating. She's an amazing writer, though, and hysterically funny, so it'll probably be 3 stars. But please, Anne Lamott, for the love of the one true God, quit referring to Him as "He or She."
However, I started reading Plan B yesterday and will finish tonight in bed. This means I've enjoyed long, luxurious stretches of bookish time even if Lamott irks me (almost as much as President Bush irked her). Finishing an entire book over a weekend may have to be a new tradition and will lend nicely to crossing off #16.
Harley and Milo are asleep on adjacent sofa cushions across the room which is another bona fide miracle. Harley loves Milo, but usually from a stoic distance. Unless they are running up and down, 'round and around, chasing each other like they were this morning when I considered making scrambled cat for breakfast. Perhaps Harley is feeling brotherly, charitable love in the spirit of Sunday. Or maybe he's just too tired to move. All I know is that I can't get the Sabbath visual below out of my head - it honestly takes my breath away. I wouldn't mind owning a few such fabric lanterns for both our back patio (see #32) and for a tall pine tree in the front yard. For now, this image is my current computer desktop. It makes me want to write a story set somewhere in my beloved Texas:
[fabric lanterns from India Rose - click to see larger]