Sundays are church days. That was firmly engrained in me as a child, and I harbor a bit of guilt when I don’t go. In the last six months or more, I’ve missed a lot of church because it was too painful to walk, drive, all that was necessary. Now I go when my family goes; when they don’t, I stay home, enjoy a lazy day, and ask the Lord to understand.
You wouldn’t think with the slow-paced life I lead I’d need a lazy day, but Sundays are still different for me. This morning, I got up just before eight and got to my desk to find out what was going on in the world. I had a sleeping ten-year-old on the couch, and a sleeping dog on the floor near him. The minute I tried to get a picture, Sophie leapt up and began barking furiously at some threat only she detected. She did that several times, but nothing disturbs Jacob when he’s sleeping. He woke up about 9:30, claiming he’d been awake an hour. Yeah, sure.
I spent the day at my desk, doing odds and ends—emails I should have written earlier, first edits on the last pages of my novella. Tomorrow I’ll write the new scenes I think it needs, and I’ve got to come up with a title. The novella will go in an anthology, and the editor is asking for titles. I’m baffled. It has to do with fear, but the right title hasn’t come to me. Fear, revenge .. . some combination of those? I need help!
I also read a bit on a book I had started and was increasingly disinterested in. Today I decided for several reasons to abandon it. I’m tired of heroines who beat themselves up all the time with guilt for sins done or brave deeds undone. I really don’t need that kind of angst. So I started reading the mystery I wwwrote 44,000 words on some time ago and now want to finish. Believe me, Susan Hogan has no such guilt.
I almost regretted my stay-at-my-desk day when Jordan posted Facebook pictures from Joe T.’s with people whose company I really enjoy. When she earlier said they were going to brunch, I had just eaten a big breakfast—but by the time they got to brunch, I was eating the leftovers from last night’s salad for lunch. They operate on a different time schedule than I do.
Case in point: they shared Sunday night supper with me of sliders and corn. We ate at 7:30, whereas my stomach wants dinner at six. But Christian grills my hamburgers just the way I like them—crisp on the outside and pink on the inside. I absolutely won’t quarrel with his time schedule.
So far tonight, none of the predicted thunderstorms, though I thought I heard a rumble to the south and the sky has occasionally had that eerie blue-green color. But then patches of blue would appear. Go figure.