RockCrag of Ember
Nov. 17th, 2019 11:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoAs usual when the instrumentalists are on duty, the biggest rock in the jar of things to do was rehearsing and playing the music. Today we had extras--a teenage violist and an extra flutist, both pretty good. I keep trying to be friendly to the violist but so far she avoids eye contact. I'm not sure if she's not happy about the music, or just not happy, period, or possibly just very shy. Both of them certainly added joy to the music. I played better in rehearsal than in the event, which is too bad, but overall it was pretty good. Our maximum leader had chosen some very pretty music for us and everyone liked it. The guest speaker, on the other hand, got on my last nerve. She was trying to guilt trip us into donating more money. I try not to roll my eyes and make faces. I really, really do. I'm not sure that I am 100% successful.
The minister often exhorts us to stay for coffee hour and build community and not be such a bunch of introverts, but I do like to sneak out early . . . . However--the maximum leader has her aged mother living with her for an indefinite time period, until they figure out what her needs are. She was recently hospitalized with an infection, and was out for the first time to attend church with the Leader. So I paused to introduce myself to her (again--she forgets) and ask how she was doing. Then the Sparrowhawk and I ran into an 81 year old friend who was recently diagnosed with Parkinson's and has to contemplate moving from her home of 20 years into a retirement community in town. That means she has to give away all her stuff. She is a frail-looking slip of a person, but made from pure steel. So she doesn't complain, but my heart is sad for her because I know oh so well how hard this is. As we were getting out of the car at home, we saw an older woman come out of our neighbor's house to get the paper. We knew she was living there with him now, but didn't know who she was, so we introduced ourselves. It turns out she is his mother, and her name is IslaDell (not sure about the spelling). She's staying with him because he needs back surgery and has to have help. We also learned that she has one cat, and Robert has two cats, but they get along. And they used to live on a farm, where her husband did not like cats in the house, so the cats had to live in the barn. I take it the husband is no longer around, but the cats are. Hmmm . . . . We offered assistance if any is wanted, which it probably won't be. It seems to be my day for old ladies.
It was a dull, cold day, and when I said that I didn't think I'd be raking leaves today, the Sparrowhawk said rather definitely, "No, you won't." He seldom does that, so I took his advice. I did a little writing. A few paragraphs that were completely off the topic, but were of interest to me, so I just put them in. Might as well--it's not as if anyone will buy this thing even if I ever finish it.
This morning, I went to get a scarf out of my drawer, and saw some of the scarves I got from my mother. Later, I needed a sweater and decided to put on the one my mother gave me. I still feel as if she is somewhere and I could get in the car and drive there. I imagine going over to their house on a Sunday night. Queenie is out in the kitchen making herself some buttered toast and cheese. My mother puts on the kettle for tea, and my father presses a glass of sherry on everyone, but probably just waves a hand at the sideboard where the sherry bottle sits, and doesn't get out of his big chair. Queenie brings him his evening snack on one of the little plates she brought them from Mexico. It's hard to believe I can never go to visit them again. Ugh, winter. I think it makes everything a little harder to take.
The minister often exhorts us to stay for coffee hour and build community and not be such a bunch of introverts, but I do like to sneak out early . . . . However--the maximum leader has her aged mother living with her for an indefinite time period, until they figure out what her needs are. She was recently hospitalized with an infection, and was out for the first time to attend church with the Leader. So I paused to introduce myself to her (again--she forgets) and ask how she was doing. Then the Sparrowhawk and I ran into an 81 year old friend who was recently diagnosed with Parkinson's and has to contemplate moving from her home of 20 years into a retirement community in town. That means she has to give away all her stuff. She is a frail-looking slip of a person, but made from pure steel. So she doesn't complain, but my heart is sad for her because I know oh so well how hard this is. As we were getting out of the car at home, we saw an older woman come out of our neighbor's house to get the paper. We knew she was living there with him now, but didn't know who she was, so we introduced ourselves. It turns out she is his mother, and her name is IslaDell (not sure about the spelling). She's staying with him because he needs back surgery and has to have help. We also learned that she has one cat, and Robert has two cats, but they get along. And they used to live on a farm, where her husband did not like cats in the house, so the cats had to live in the barn. I take it the husband is no longer around, but the cats are. Hmmm . . . . We offered assistance if any is wanted, which it probably won't be. It seems to be my day for old ladies.
It was a dull, cold day, and when I said that I didn't think I'd be raking leaves today, the Sparrowhawk said rather definitely, "No, you won't." He seldom does that, so I took his advice. I did a little writing. A few paragraphs that were completely off the topic, but were of interest to me, so I just put them in. Might as well--it's not as if anyone will buy this thing even if I ever finish it.
This morning, I went to get a scarf out of my drawer, and saw some of the scarves I got from my mother. Later, I needed a sweater and decided to put on the one my mother gave me. I still feel as if she is somewhere and I could get in the car and drive there. I imagine going over to their house on a Sunday night. Queenie is out in the kitchen making herself some buttered toast and cheese. My mother puts on the kettle for tea, and my father presses a glass of sherry on everyone, but probably just waves a hand at the sideboard where the sherry bottle sits, and doesn't get out of his big chair. Queenie brings him his evening snack on one of the little plates she brought them from Mexico. It's hard to believe I can never go to visit them again. Ugh, winter. I think it makes everything a little harder to take.
