Sunday, August 12, 2018 – Weary

I’d rather take coffee than compliments just now.

Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

I wake—again—from the kind of sleep that wraps around you like a thick and sticky black glue. My body aches. It’s the third or fourth time since midnight that I’ve fought my way to the surface, and struggled again to return to slumber—each time barely able to form a coherent thought in my exhaustion . It’s five o’clock. I give up.

I feel a weary satisfaction as I turn on the coffee pot and survey the results of yesterday’s afternoon and evening canning effort. Twenty jars of roasted garlic pasta sauce lined up on the kitchen counter look so pretty. This sauce is the most labour intensive thing I can at this time of year. It’s done, so it’s smooth sailing for the rest of canning season.

It’s about done me in though. I need some soy milky frothy coffee to kick my brain and body into gear this morning, and help me decide if I’m going to do something with the beets I harvested yesterday, or wait until tomorrow. I’m leaning heavily toward the wait until tomorrow camp.

Today, church and a first-time meeting and afternoon visit with another cousin who is in town. It’s a sweet, sweet summer.

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This month, I’m posting a link every day to a blog from the eclectic collection I read regularly. Today it’s Canning Homemade (


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.

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