I just finished reading Eat Cake for the zillionth time. And as I did that, I remembered the pistachio cake I made with Babs eons ago.
I have been purging. I need to get my computer ready for XP, so I've been deleting old files. I have to get my work email to a manageable size so I have been deleting old emails. I had to figure out which six images to use for the upcoming Unwrapped event, so I've been looking at old photos.
And I feel like I'm in a different place. My old life, which could be yesterday, or last month, or three months ago, is in Idaho. I'm here in Pittsburgh, sending a postcard to that other time, which wasn't simpler but in my memory seems that way, saying "It's sunny here, wish you were here."
It's not sunny here. We sing "You are My Sunshine" every week at Mother Goose, because it's the one guaranteed sunshine in Pittsburgh. And I might be getting a cold. Rather, I have the beginnings of one. I woke up achy and a little sniffly and I just want to crawl under the covers. I want my mommy. But no, I have to get ready for the retreat this weekend, which means packing a bag, finding my sleeping bag, prepping my meds. I have to get the oil changed in my car. (The light has been coming on intermittently for the past three days but this morning is the earliest block of time I had.)
"A bruised reed he will not crush, a dim wick he will not quench." (Isaiah 42:3)
2 weeks ago