I thought about deleting my last post after I wrote it, because it was so negative about Sacramento. Spence, ever the help, said it was rather rude, but that he felt the same way. There are some great things about Sac– the rivers, the trees, the few intersting old landmark buildings like the train station that remain, and the way it feels like a small town more than a city sometimes. And especially the people we know, even just the people we see on the street, year after year. Regardless, I want land. And not land that costs hundreds of thousands of dollars because some fool is going to build big ugly houses with no yards on it in two years.
I guess it all comes down to how place and people mesh. Geography, urban and rural. And grace, the hand of God guiding you to where you need to be at any given moment. What am I supposed to do with this moment, that’s what I want to know.
I have my kids and my husband and a dog and chickens (that my dog wants to kill), and a little garden that gets no sun, and art to work on when my brain is not totally fried at the end of the day. Which it has been for a few months. This is a problem, because if you are such a fancy-pants artist that you have your own business cards, then gosh darn shouldn’t you be capable of making some art sometimes? I do have a deadline for a coffehouse art show (at Old Soul in Oak Park) in December, which I will be making some drawings for, and I’m excited to do those next week. But in general, where is my stamina? Maybe I should eat more red meat. Maybe I should get my hair cut.
Spence and I ordered the Saint James Daily Devotional Guide, and it finally came a week ago, but the devotions don’t start until December 4th. I am itching to get at that thing. Even though Spence and I met at a Bible study, and used to host one at our house some years ago, we’ve never done a devotional or study just the two of us. It sounds so nice to sit together and read that Good Book. It’s fun to read any book as a couple, to laugh at the same funny spots and commentate on it to each other. But it’s extra nice to talk about Jesus and His book, and laugh at it’s funny spots (“Hey, I’m alive again–and look, I made you breakfast”), and ponder over the troubling ones together too. Cause He’s the third party of our marriage, and our best friend, and our King, though we ignore Him half the time to our own detriment.
Ok, off to read some Gene Logsdon (The Contrary Farmer’s Invitation To Gardening), eat some pippin-fuyu cobbler with whipped cream I just made in a jar (it’s quieter than the beaters when the girls are sleeping), and drink a few mugs of hot tea until the man gets home. I may also spend a few moments pondering how the heck a small farm would work with a resident border collie that likes to kill chickens, chase goats, bark at horses and bite cats. . .