Today we’ll be burying Rachel’s grandpa Joe. With his death, all of our grandparents are gone. Rachel said this week, “Everyone moves up a notch in the pecking order now.” Joe had an enviable death. He was visiting with Rachel’s dad and another friend of his. It had been a really good day. He had been looking at the calendar of day trips put on by his assisted living facility, planning to go on one.
FYI: The nightly blessing is defusing the lock anxiety.
Here in the heart of IU country, it would be hard to overstate the excitement about the football championship game on Monday. It’s been building all season. I am perpetually uninterested in sports, but even I started watching as they neared the end of the regular season undefeated. For those who don’t know: Indiana University has traditionally been a basketball and soccer school. As of two years ago, they had the highest number of losses for any Division 1 football team in history.
This morning I read a section in The Amish Way discussing the prohibition of business on Sunday and it reminded me of a similar practice in the Holiness churches I grew up in. The Holiness people lived by a strict set of behavioral and clothing rules they called the holiness standards. Not Amish-level strict, but they made folks noticeable. These were (nearly) universal and violation of the standards was considered sin.
Good news: the vet confirmed that Ralph has already been spayed. (Yes, her name is Ralph.) Further news: the garage cat has become a basement cat. Every day Rachel opens a ground level window to let Ralph come and go at will, and then shuts her in at night. She isn’t allowed upstairs (yet).
A couple of changes to my work routine this week:
I’m very thankful to be in a job that allows for this.
The ups and downs of a new job. Last week I had a discouraging day. Today was difficult but, in the end, I wrestled a reconciliation into submission and learned a lot.
Thanks to some past discussions here (can’t remember who or when exactly), I’ve been intending to get my beloved Timberland Chelsea boots re-soled, rather than replacing them. I took them into Crane’s Leather shop and he said my boots were built only to be disposed. Can’t re-sole them. Disappointing.
I asked him to show me a few that could be, and I settled on a pair of Chippewa. I considered some Red Wings but they would have been at least $50 more and, in the end, I’m cheap. So at least now I have myself a pair that can be repaired rather than replaced. And if Crane’s ever goes out of business, there’s always the Amish.
Well that was a discouraging day. Just when I felt like I was getting the hang of the new job, I screwed up half a dozen ways in a single day. I told one of my co-workers, “I promise I’m a good accountant!” 😂 I just ate my weight in taco salad so things are looking up.
Growing up, I watched my dad check the door locks every night–and I picked up the habit from him. I’m probably worse than him, actually. I have my theories about why we each acquired this compulsion, which I won’t get into here. And though I don’t know where the clinically compulsive line is, I’m probably too close to it. Besides, it sucks as a nightly ritual. This morning it occurred to me that this whole thing needs a reframing.