Saturday Night

Saturday nights are quiet around the house.  No late night parties, no big plans (usually), no large dinner parties (or small ones, even).  When I preach on Saturday, in fact, I'm usually in the office for at least part of the day, after which we do something really exciting like watching "Antiques Roadshow".  I might glance over my sermon once or twice, or I might avoid it altogether until just before I go to bed.

This weekend I am not preaching.  I'm not even presiding at the early service.  It feels odd, actually.

So, I'm knitting a turquoise footie (the second one, actually).  Last weekend, I started it, found a dropped stitch, and ended up ripping up the whole sock and starting over.  I'm just about where I started again.  (There's a metaphor in there, somewhere, I'm sure.  Or, a sermon illustration.)

I'm reading a little.  I just finished The Birchbark House, by Louise Erdrich, and want to get the next in the series as soon as I can.  I read all of the Little House books when I was little.  Louise Erdrich was inspired to write her counterpoint from the Native point of view, at least in part, because of something Caroline Ingalls said in one of the books, "There's no one here."  I'm glad to know this Ojibwe family; I think in future books they will probably travel from place to place like the Ingalls family, but for different reasons. 

We watched an old movie from 1932, Love Me Tonight, while my husband did interesting historical background on his ipad.  He also worked on an old acrostic.   I could watch over and over the opening sequence, in which the song "Isn't it Romantic?" travels from person to person and place to place.

Tomorrow, I'm looking forward to hearing Nihjar Ekka-Minz preach, instead of me.  I'm looking forward to hearing about work in faraway North India.  Nihjar and her husband tell fascinating stories.  And I can't help loving stories.

How Rush Limbaugh Saved Me Money

Monday is our day off. We try to spend at least a smidgeon of time doing something fun on Monday. This always includes going out to breakfast (today was the Birchwood Cafe), and one other sliver of a fun thing. It makes doing laundry, cleaning, and other errands just a bit more bearable.

Today the other sliver was going to an antique store we hadn't been to in a long time. There's a town near us where the main street has been well known for having a number of antique dealers. When we got there this morning, however, we found that some of the antique dealers were gone (it looked like one whole mall was going to be converted into a senior high rise -- to get ready for us Baby Boomers, you know), and a couple of others weren't open on Mondays.

Our favorite store was not open yet, so we walked up and down the streets, peering in shop windows for a few minutes. When it opened, we proceeded to hunt up and down the aisles for treasures. The first time we were on this block was during advent a few years ago. It was mid afternoon on a snowy day, and all of the store windows had vintage Christmas decorations in the windows. Lovely! We have bought several things in this store in the past.

Today, I started picking out a few things upstairs. Then I headed downstairs where there is usually a wonderful array of vintage books (I love old books!). Having just read The Graveyard Book, I was looking for an old copy of The Jungle Book to read next.

After a couple of minutes, though, I became aware of a Voice that was coming over the radio downstairs. The Voice was ranting and raving, not just criticizing, but saying really over-the-top things. And after about 10 minutes I got really tired of it, and decided that I wasn't going to buy anything in that store.

I told the store clerk why. She said that she only plays classical music, but seemed unperturbed.

I remembered about 5 years ago, during a presidential election, how one of the small businesses in a quaint neighboring River Town had bumper stickers and buttons for all major candidates. When asked, he simply said, he wants every member of the town, no matter their politics, to be a potential customer.

What I told the store clerk was, "When I'm shopping, I don't want to hear either right-wing OR left-wing propoganda. I just want to shop. I won't be buying anything today."

A Lake, a Dog, a Cool Breeze

It was a lovely evening. The last two days have cooled off considerably. "Nice sleeping weather" is what they say around here. So tonight we packed up the dog in the car and drove to one of the nearby city lakes.

My husband stopped to get a cigar. For some reason, he likes to smoke a cigar while he's walking around the lake. Then we walked a few blocks down, past the big houses with bikes instead of cars in front, and past the small front yards filled with flowers, and past the end of the month moving vans.

The lake front has been tailored for traffic. There are two paths, one for walking and running, and one for bikers and rollerbladers. Whenever I go to this particular lake, I start feeling very nostalgic, pining away for my young adult days, when the future with endless possibilities was spread before me. I got nostalgic for picking up an Utne Reader at Orr Books (now out of business) and taking it down to the beach to read. I got nostalgic for Morris and Christie's Market, where I would stop for some kind of funkie juice drink. I fondly remembered the time a guy tried to use his two cute daughters to pick me up. (I was so young and single then!) This particular lake reminds me of being young, and adventurous and just a little counter-cultural, harboring heretical thoughts. Makes me wonder what others are nostalgic about, what places, people, smells or sounds.

Walking around, I noticed the earnest runners in their bright orange shorts, the women whispering and laughing, families with little kids in strollers, or backpacks or arms. I noticed families of all nationalities, wearing varieties of bright colors. I noticed synchonized rollerbladers, skating to unheard music. For the most part, people were smiling.

We stopped at the Pavilion to get something to eat, stood in a long but friendly line, where Scout made many friends and obtained admirers. A young dad and his little boy oohed and aahed. A Bernese Mountain Dog sniffed Scout and Scout sniffed back. A little girl absently patted Scout's head. She loved it all, played to the crowd.

We ran into Newest Parents from church, and their 2 1/2 week old daughter. She's beautiful. I'm a little prejudiced. I got to hold her when she was 1 day old. They are filled with gratitude for this gift in their lives.

I'm not old, but I'm not young any more. Going to the lake doesn't feel the same as it did once. But somehow, maybe for different reasons, it still pulls me -- to find respite, to find a sanctuary, to find hope.