I moved from the big upstairs room to the little blue closet, and now have my own door to the backyard, absolute necessity for a bookshelf, windows toward the grass, trees, and sun, and romance.  This is the room we made for Chloe, and I feel like some of the care that went into it is soaked into the walls and still kind of curling in puffs on the air.  I love it here.  And I think Carla is going to move into my old room, and I love her.  Moreover, I love my orchids now more than ever, and they’re slowly dropping their blooms.  What am I going to do.  Plant flowers in the backyard, I guess.  I need flowers in my life.

I’m as confused as I can be about several things in my life right now, and when I went to St. James’ for the Ash Wednesday service, some pieces fell together … this Lent I’m reflecting with the tenacity of Narcissus, but never mind I shouldn’t use that simile, since I’m really not thrilled with what I’m seeing and will for sure not fall in love with it, reflecting on relationships, who I must be, who I am, things like this.  Commas, sigh.  and it’s incredible to be honest with oneself, honest enough to metaphorically tie myself to my chair and forbid myself to go play until I’ve thought about what I’m about.  I need to have written down in so many words the answers to questions like: what is my relationship with my closest friend?  with estranged friends?  with my family?  with my sisters?  with my body?  with my art?  with my physical place?  with food?  with Jesus?  these are things that zip in and out of consciousness all the time, but I again feel a really urgent need for incarnation, embodiment.  I need to write my relationship, and have it written.  This is a piece of honesty I will not love, but will love me.  Well…I say that, but really when I think about it I get all excited.  maybe I’ve needed contemplation much more than I thought…

um, next, I still have no job, but have been getting small work, small jobs.  I think I will make rent.  I also got my first Baptist hospital bill in the mail today, and a letter from Veronica Blaha, and grabbed the letter so fast so it wouldn’t be too tainted by its proximity to the odious bill.  wretched bill!  I won’t take it out of the mailbox tomorrow; or Saturday, day of Clint & Jill’s wedding; or Sunday, day of Carla going to awesome concert without me.  Monday, which is a sad day anyway, will see the inside of that sad envelope.  but today is the day for the letter from Veronica, and it even had a poem inside.  Today is the day of salvation; not tomorrow, or Monday. 

Christ is alive.  I just thought you might be wondering and want to know.  And my handsome brother is back from the West and I missed him, Chris Watson is in town, Katie J bought my most recent and most awesome Peony Refillable, and … and … I’m making bread tomorrow and my ands burgeon incredibly, invincibly.  our garden plots are staked, sod is getting turned over, somehow my very small but somehow seeming the size of the planet heart is still voyaging, still alive, still sending its evangelists into the four corners of my body.