Good morning. After a night full of dreams of Mayor Ray Nagin I am embarking upon a surprisingly busy day, so I thought I'd do a morning blog. This is most likely the first and last occasion for that sort of nonsense. Mornings are for eating, reading, bathing, and running after children. Mornings are also occasionally the time to go back to bed. Mornings are not for blogging.
Mayor Ray Nagin?, you ask.
Yes. I did all four hours of Spike Lee's "When the Levees Broke" yesterday. As a result, I spent my sleeping hours back in Mississippi and New Orleans. Mayor Nagin was my tour guide. The carpenter and I are considering imminent return to Mississippi. My husband hasn't been, but agrees that I should get there as much as I can before the camps close. With or without Ray Nagin.
Speaking of rebuilding, I read Rev. Chris Buice's article in Newsweek this morning. It is a good way to start the day.
I have not been sharing my sabbatical discernment in these last few posts. I have been collecting them, however, and here are some in no particular order.
Youth is the age when you make memories that later provide the stamina for putting up with the disappointments of adulthood.
What people think about in hell: why they spent so much time making money, keeping the house perfect, and being right when they could have been clumsily but freely sharing their love.
At the end of every shift at a fast food restaurant, there should be a receiving line of hugs for the workers.
No one ever tells you that consistently preparing healthy home-cooked meals for your family can be harder than writing sermons.
When you have a hard day at work, think of Mayor Ray Nagin in 2005.
I put down No Matter How Much You Promise to Cook or Pay the Rent You Blew it Cauze Bill Bailey... and I have no intention of ever picking it up again. No, I did not finish it. I have a cardinal rule about fiction and movies: no brutal rape scenes. I could write a chapter or two on why I have this rule, but most people I know, particularly women, say it's a good rule and it stands alone.
Instead, I have been reading the paper, Music USA - the Rough Guide, Yes!, Tricycle, McSweeney's, bedtime stories, quilting magazines, and assorted tracts from animal welfare agencies. I also read three collections of poetry in an effort to find a poem for my son's oratory contest.
The reason I have been somewhat tracking what I read is Nick Hornby. Nick Hornby writes a column in the Believer about what he reads, as well as how and why. It is oddly fascinating. I am no Nick Hornby. Hey, Nick - stay away from the euthanasia guidelines. Trust me.