The peace here, I can touch it, and I can't help but notice that for several weeks now, I've felt a warm hand on the small of my back, holding me up like I only just learned to walk.
I'm going to start hitting the educational videos again. And I'm going to take notes. I want so much to return to the love of learning I used to have when I was 15 or 16, like I had as an undergraduate, before knowledge became something I hoarded in fear that someone would find out how little I really knew, before knowledge became something we used to feel bigger and better. I just want to have a secret notebook full of quotes and ideas, ideas I'm following without purpose, a random walking through thinking beyond myself and into the joy of....what? The joy of the wonder of the world and what others have made for Him from the gifts He gave them. I want to see those things, read those things, think about those things, and maybe that will shake my thinking free again, ignite the kind of courage I had when research was "organized curiosity," as Zora Neale Hurston once said. This is the prayer I think I'm getting at: Lord, teach me to be curious again.
The harvest haze extends beyond the headlights of the neighbor pulling out, following the dusty twin lights that take him home.
Nora and I have an entire day with nothing to do tomorrow. So far I'm thinking train ride at the Goehner museum, lunch at Plum Creek, move the daybed up from the basement into her room and redecorate "big girl" style, pull the carrots (they're starting to go to seed), do a bit of canning (carrots, crabapple jelly), throw something in the crock pot early, pick the few apples we have and make some apple crisp, hang the basil to dry, freeze a bit more pesto, and teach Nora a little bit more of the alphabet. Oh, and I have about 8 pounds of essays to put up, too.
For tomorrow's blog, I'll be photographing my houseplants' current ailments and diagnosing what might be going on. Stay tuned for that one. It sounds fascinating to me, too.
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