January 1, 2018. It's now 4 a.m. and I've been up for just over two hours. Let's not make this a new year's habit, OK?
It's 31 degrees (cold), but in Grand Rapids where we used to live it's 7. As with so much of life, perspective is everything.
I'm hungry. Some things don't change with the calendar.
Dad died a week ago today. Most people my age (67) don't have a parent still living and haven't for a long time, so I'm grateful for the "extra" time I had. But I'm going to miss him. I enjoyed just talking with dad.
Mom is struggling with his absence. For anything to suddenly change after 72 years is traumatic, but being without your life's partner is a big deal, so her feelings of loneliness are understandable. Add physical pain to the emotional struggle and life seems pretty bleak.
After church yesterday we went to a new-to-UFC family's home for dinner. They also live simply, just in the city. So we enjoyed a very good simple meal and interesting conversation. They were both raised in Church of Christ homes - the old school version where nothing not specifically mentioned in the Bible (like musical instruments) is allowed in church. Large families are the mark of obedience to the command to "be fruitful" (she's one of 11 and he's one of 7) and home schooling protects children from the world's evil influences.
Then they discovered grace.
4:15. I'm going to go fix myself breakfast. I'll have second b'fast when Pam gets up and she'll think I'm just eating for the first time.
BACON
Probably for both breakfasts.
January 1, 2018. It's now noon and I've baked a Marionberry pie. Each time I make a pie I get a little better, a little more efficient. I've learned to roll out the top crust thinner than I was so it drops with the fruit as it cooks down. My crust edges look better, too.
I also got the front end of MoHo vacuumed. That could be done every day and we'd still have stuff on the floor. No doubt that bringing firewood in means making a mess. Then there's what gets tracked in when you have a gravel driveway surrounded by fir trees. Rural living.
I've exchanged emails with Sharon and Sherry, the two saints who are editing my book per the Christian Writer's Manual of Style. You'd think I was a third-grader for the dumb mistakes they've already flagged. Uff-dah. (Does that get an en-dash or an em-dash?)
January 1, 2018. It's 5:00 p.m. and the goats are fed, the eggs collected (we're back up to 6 per day out of 8 hens), and the wood stove up to 300 degrees. Pam's getting dinner out of the insta-pot as I type this. We're having Burrito for dinner and I'll have berry pie for dessert. We've got several recorded PBS shows to watch, so we'll do that after dinner.
If you're wondering, I'm hoping typing it this many times throughout the day will help my brain remember that it's now 2018. If I still have trouble I can go buy gas and be reminded that Oregon raised the tax per gallon. Or get a free copy of my birth certificate (but only if I'm homeless). Or change the sex listed for me on public documents and have that kept secret. Or buy a bicycle and pay a special tax that will go into a fund to encourage more people to ride bikes.
There are about 100 other new laws that took effect today and they all make perfect sense. I'm wondering how we got through 2017 without them.
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