First of all, this weather.
I try to never complain about the weather. I know that God has is all planned out. And that although a certain set of meteorological conditions may not be to my liking, it is probably necessary in some way to somebody.
That said, this weather really stinks. It is nearly the middle of June. I have periodically thought, living here in the far northern reaches of Minnesota where we have a last average frost date of May 31, and a first average frost date of September 1, that we have a week to plant our gardens. If we do it earlier than June 1, the seeds rot in the ground or the seedlings freeze. If we get later than the first week of June, nothing will mature before it freezes again.
Well this year we have had rain and wind almost non-stop from the last week of May through the present. Needless to say, I have no garden in. I did get my new strawberry patch put in. I got Joe's asparagus be cleaned out. Matt got part of the sweet corn area worked up for planting. But that is it.
My seed potatoes are cut and ready and molding on my garage freezer. They are really late. My seed packets all sit idle. I bought started plants yesterday even for cucumbers and herbs, things I usually just plant from seed in the garden.
I had to laugh today, as I sad huddled in the living room, fending of the chill from the constant wind and drizzle. I was reading Three to Get Deadly, and came upon the following description.
It was another gray day with a light rain beginning to fall. Temperatures were in the fortes, so nothing was freezing.The thing is, in the story, it was January.
Thank you to our law enforcement relations and friends.
I think of you each time I read this section. I am sure Trenton does not have a monopoly on overworked officers. I think this passage from Three to get Deadly expresses well what you do for us all.
I watched him walk down the hall and disappear into the elevator. Only an idiot would think they could talk to Morelli and not be talking to Morelli the cop. Cops never stopped being cops. It had to be the hardest job.
Trenton cops wore more hats than I could name. They were arbitrators, social workers, peacekeepers, baby-sitters and law enforcers. Their job was boring, terrifying, disgusting, exhausting and often made no sense at all. The pay was abysmal, the hours were inhuman, the department budget was a joke, the uniforms were short in the crotch. And year after year after year, the Trenton cops held the city together.
From Two for the Dough.
We had warm homemade apple pie for dessert. The apples were tart and cinnamony. The crust was flaky and crisp with a sprinkling of sugar. I ate two pieces and almost [fainted]. "You should open a bakery," I said to my mother. "You could make a fortune selling pies."When I read this passage I am always reminded of the days I feel like I am losing myself in motherhood and homemaking. Like I no longer have anything to offer the world but supper and clean laundry.
She was busy stacking pie plates and gathering up silverware. "I have enough to do to take care of the house and your father. Besides, if I was going to go to work, I'd want to be a nurse. I've always thought I'd make a good nurse."
Everyone stared at her openmouthed. No one had ever heard her voice this aspiration. In fact, no one had ever heard her voice any aspiration that didn't pertain to new slipcovers or draperies.
My second thought is then usually one of guilt realizing that my Aunt Joan, who raised my sister and me--and her own six children-- probably also felt this way.
As children, we notice those things our mothers don't get right. We probably remember periodically to thank them for the dinner. But other than that we don't really think much about them. We are consumed with our own little world.
Only later, when we ourselves are mothers or fathers, can we imagine that perhaps our own mothers and fathers had never-fulfilled hopes and dreams and aspirations. Hopes and dreams and aspirations that they set on the back burner never to be revisited. Instead they dedicated themselves to bringing up their children "in the nurture and admonition of the Lord."
And compared to that, what higher calling is there. Really. I wouldn't trade motherhood for anything.
But there are days...