diner divinations

We celebrated my uncle's wedding this past weekend at a deli near their home and, while there, I had an odd encounter:
As we walked from our table to the salad bar a man approached me and asked if he knew me from somewhere. Before you suspect stereotypical "approaches," I should reassure you that this particular man was an smartly dressed elderly gentleman. He was clearly trying to rack his brain for the source of the acquaintance as he looked up at me with a kind expression of inquiry. I couldn't help but wonder at his height, since my barely 5'6'' frame seemed to tower over him at the time.
At any rate, after a few minutes of conversation as to possible acquaintance sources, we figured out that he had been one of the 140-odd residents at the facility where I was a social worker last year. He was not one of the ones I had regular interactions with--if we spoke at all, it was merely a passing greeting.
So I was surprised when he looked at me more reflectively and commented, "You love the Lord, don't you? I can tell."
Frankly, I was more touched by this comment that I would have expected, and I told him as much.
Then he began a strange sort of oracle. Or maybe it was an exhortation . . . I'm not quite sure. What he said was:
"You don't feel like you can make a difference in the world. Not as much as you want to. But you can. You do. And you will. Just wait, and see what the rest of this year will bring."
Then he bid me farewell. I stood there and tried to hold back my tears. In this "transitional" period of life, I was hungry for such affirmation of my purpose. And I was, and am, intrigued at the meaning of such an odd interaction, at what the future might hold . . .

normal?

I wipe a bulldog’s butt every night. Strange? Surely. But the oddest part of it is probably the fact that it has become a perfectly natural part of my evening ritual, not fazing me in the slightest. As a matter of fact, I dare say I’ve gotten pretty good at it, developing a speedy swipe-and-wipe routine that doesn’t even seem to faze the dog much, either. Funny the things that can become a “normal” part of one’s day . . .

reach for the light

Since first passing these wild blooms in the cemetery, I have found myself returning daily to catch a glimpse of them. I find them inspiring, in a bittersweet sort of manner, as the reach for the rays that so briefly touch them each day from over the hilltop that shadows them. So I have taken up an odd little ritual of greeting them each morning with little words of encouragement in the efforts to “reach for the light.” Who knows, maybe it helps :-)

i still believe . . .

Rather than bemoan the lack of hours in the day, I decided today to simply make the time to do what I awoke inspired to do: it occurred to me that it would be great fun would be to play “herb fairy.” So I plucked several bundles of varieties like this Italian Basil and made my rounds . . . sometimes "practical" errands just have to wait :-)

the day's delight

One of the perks of my present home and pet-sitting stint has been the luxury of tending to[and eating out of!] a lovely garden. So today I allowed myself the joy of turning a few of these gems into a wildflower bouquet that became a spontaneous gift for a friend.

a dead bolt & a door jam

Is a dead bolt an odd thing to photograph? Maybe so, but it seemed appropriate for me, as I am particularly proud of this one. Every time I figure out how to do something new, it seems fitting to document it, if the task is successfully accomplished, that is . . . in this case, I have spent yesterday and today purchasing and installing new dead bolts, so I am feeling that thrill of handy-woman accomplishment. Mind you, one is still in progress, as I found out I had drilled the holes slightly off. Back to that drill . . .

"Dear Author . . ."

As I had only a transcribed version before, I requested a photocopy of the original from the archives . . . so have just received this cheery visual aid for my previous post about the young doctor-to-be and her author inspiration :-)