"How did you know that time when Kody broke the egg? What was it? What did it look like?" Jane asks. I smile at her there in over-sized t-shirt and pj shorts parked at the end of my bed.
"I don't know," I say. "It's not really something I can describe." I stare out the doorway, a laundry basket in my peripheral, Kody's face fixed in mind's eye. "I just look at them," I say "and listen to the Holy Spirit." She furrows her brow.
"I wish I knew what it was," she says, "so I could just change that and then that would change my attitude." She wrinkles her forehead. Her current miff at Myra pendulums in the air between us.
"No," I say, "you have to change your attitude, and that changes everything else. Otherwise you're just faking," I tilt my head, squint, "and the minute you quit thinking about it, you'll just do the same bad attitude again because actually, deep down, you think you have a right to be mad at Myra."
"Oh." She sighs. "How is it that you can read my mind like that?"
"Well," I grin, "I was a kid once too." I tilt my head the other way like a rocking horse of affection.
"Huh," she nods.
"I used think my mom could read my mind too," I say. "And ya know what she'd say when I asked her?"
"Bethany, I was a kid once too," I say.
I pat her shoulder. "Ya just know," I say. "Go finish up."
She trundles off, shakes an invisible coat down her silhouette. Taller, happier, she steps into the circle of Myra. A silent blink, and she pivots a new horizon around them. Clear sky. Blue meets blue.
5469. Myra has a bad dream, inconsolable. "Honey, you can sleep with Lucy if you want," I say. "Here Myra," Lu croons, "you can sleep here where there is more light." She pats the bed next to her.
5470. Lucy carries a red Bible around with her. "When I grow up," she says, "I want to be in a Bible study like you."
5471. "I think this is a kid Bible," she tells me. "It sort of sounds like it when it talks about in here like God loves us and you don't have to be afraid."
5472. The neighborhood coalesces into bike rides and fort building. Picnic blankets and afternoon coffee, sprightly chitchat, the adults recline on Cerissa's front lawn.
5473. We get a set of Britannica's Great Works of the Western World.
5474. Independence Day. We once again pause to remember the blood and sacrifice made on our behalf.
5475. Donuts and World Cup, the day begins perfectly.
5476. Craig's side of the family throws an old fashioned pig roast. The children gallop in picnic games, orange soda.
5477. Our Bible Study meets for a night of fireworks and backyard carnival treats, friendship sprawled across picnic blankets. Joey cheers, exuberance embodied, then falls asleep in my lap.
5478. Dan and Cerissa join us for a post holiday BBQ. We linger, visit through theology, sports, literature, and antics. We eat watermelon and brownies, burgers flame-broiled to perfection, salad and chips. Our families bloom hand in hand.
5479. My blood clot shrinks, a little.
5480. Joe continues to mostly poop and pee in the toilet.
5481. July rolls in, a thick blanket of peace. We slave through morning chores, make long hours of afternoon reading, and fly in for dinner fresh from the sprinkler. Rest ensues.