I was greeted this morning by an orange headed finch as I opened the door to go in search of the lawn mower, which I have the unfortunate bad habit of not putting away. This picture does not do justice to the vibrancy of its plumage. I startled it, and it skaddled before I could share its presence, perhaps it will return.
Other than mowing the remaining tidbits of grass around the place, dead-heading the roses and asundry blooming flowers, washing, but not folding, some laundry, finishing all my dishes (Saturday is my dish day and I am usually exceptionally procrastinating about them 🙄) a trip to Costco, a dabble of sewing, and intermittent yet enjoyable conversation with the horde, I haven’t done much of anything. Don’t let the list delude you, each of those things uses insignificant pieces of time, for you see I have spent the majority of my day curled up and reading…..sigh
It all began last night. Even though I am in the middle of several good reads, (yes I have restarted the bad habit of reading multiple books at once) I randomly pulled Ira Wagler’s memoir Growing Up Amish out of one the towering piles teetering about my bed. It is one of those books that you are half way through with before you even notice, because it flows so beautifully, and it is so real in its depiction of the struggle of obedience without Grace.
I remember several years ago when my sweet cousin declined several good books I offered because she just didn’t have the patience for fiction anymore. At the time I had no inkling of what she was trying to tell me, however recently I have begun to understand. For there is something to be said about knowing that what you are reading is real, someone’s personal experience with life, not make-believe. It often means the ending is not tied up with pretty little bows and is also often not what you wanted to happen, but then again, my life is not ending up where I would chose it to be if I could write the ending either.
Well, thank goodness one doesn’t have to settle for one or the other, fiction or books on every thought and idea one can imagine, because I cannot.
Snicker, snort. It just occurred to me that maybe my son talked me into buying a kindle last week because he is worried about all those teetering towers of books falling over and burying me alive in my bed some night.
Then again, I will now have my kindle with me under the crushing mound, so I guess I would die while reading. Humm…there could be worse ways to go.
❤️ Blessings Belinda