"And thick and fast they came at last, and more, and more, and more." The Walrus and the Carpenter, Lewis Carroll.
Mr. Carroll was referring to oysters, but the lines certainly apply to my latest financial challenges: a gas bill that resembles the national debt; costly repairs for the van (not covered by warranty, of course); and various, sundry, miscellaneous expenses, all of which cost more than anticipated.
No, I'm not seeking pity. Rather, rejoice for me. These very circumstances permitted me to attend my niece and goddaughter's "Rite 13" ceremony yesterday.
When you deliver a gazillion newspapers on Sunday, assembling the troops for a worship service an hour away is impossible, so we submitted our regrets, but planned to attend the post-festivities afternoon barbecue. Then we did the math. We had one more person traveling than our most road-worthy vehicle could hold.
With current gas prices (and the inflated bill), no way was I putting two vehicles on the road. I decided to stay home and work instead (have plenty of that, praise God!), despite the ensuing chorus of objections. Then the Holy Spirit tapped me on the shoulder. I called my mother, asked what time she was leaving, and invited myself for the ride.
That left me half an hour after papers to get ready, assemble a suitable gift for my niece, and drive twenty minutes away ( I was only ten minutes late, too!).
Boy, was my niece surprised and happy to see me! It was worth the stress.
Writing Bryony happened sort of like that.
When the recession arrived and the budget tightened harder than Melissa's corset, I realized I could do one of two things: stress out (was already heading in that direction) or find something distracting. Since John Simons, proper vampire that he is, had made himself a free nest in my brain for over two decades, I decided it was high time he earned his keep.
So, I wrote it. And when more bad news sounded, I put my hands over my ears and said, "La, la, la, la, la! I'm in Munsonville; I can't hear you!"
.
Mr. Carroll was referring to oysters, but the lines certainly apply to my latest financial challenges: a gas bill that resembles the national debt; costly repairs for the van (not covered by warranty, of course); and various, sundry, miscellaneous expenses, all of which cost more than anticipated.
No, I'm not seeking pity. Rather, rejoice for me. These very circumstances permitted me to attend my niece and goddaughter's "Rite 13" ceremony yesterday.
When you deliver a gazillion newspapers on Sunday, assembling the troops for a worship service an hour away is impossible, so we submitted our regrets, but planned to attend the post-festivities afternoon barbecue. Then we did the math. We had one more person traveling than our most road-worthy vehicle could hold.
With current gas prices (and the inflated bill), no way was I putting two vehicles on the road. I decided to stay home and work instead (have plenty of that, praise God!), despite the ensuing chorus of objections. Then the Holy Spirit tapped me on the shoulder. I called my mother, asked what time she was leaving, and invited myself for the ride.
That left me half an hour after papers to get ready, assemble a suitable gift for my niece, and drive twenty minutes away ( I was only ten minutes late, too!).
Boy, was my niece surprised and happy to see me! It was worth the stress.
Writing Bryony happened sort of like that.
When the recession arrived and the budget tightened harder than Melissa's corset, I realized I could do one of two things: stress out (was already heading in that direction) or find something distracting. Since John Simons, proper vampire that he is, had made himself a free nest in my brain for over two decades, I decided it was high time he earned his keep.
So, I wrote it. And when more bad news sounded, I put my hands over my ears and said, "La, la, la, la, la! I'm in Munsonville; I can't hear you!"
.
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