"I kind of like the books that are harder," I say. Evening dishes and Jane and I talk literature.
"Yeah," she says, she with bowl in one hand, me with a wrung out rag draped mid-air. "It's not really fun unless you have to work for it," she says.
"Yeah," I say. I stroke the counters with the limp rag. I nod in time with the circles. Bits and toast crumbs lodge in the hot pink weave. She knit the rag for me this past Christmas.
"Sort of like on summer break," she says, "where the first week is fine and then you're like wasting away." We lull like foam between waves of surf.
"Yes," I say, "just like that."
We laugh and lull, then take notice of a smudged plate left out, a dirty fork skid to rest by the coffee maker, gunk in the bottom of the sink. We imitate work, but really it's just a carrier for conversation. We catch the crest of the next wave. Work and love intermingle.
5629. I knit a baby bootie. When I run out of yarn on the second boot, Mom has extra I can use.
5630. Yarn with ribbon in it.
5631. A new water bottle.
5632. A pillowcase for the body pillow, soft as kitten fur.
5633. Craig raises the greenhouse. "This is really pleasant in here," Lu says.
5634. Hand-me-down quilting magazines.
5635. Jack wrestles his first tournament of the 2015 year.
5636. I start reading RC Sproul's Essential Truths of the Christian Faith.
5637. A neighbor gives us a surplus of steel cut oats and extra hand soap.
5638. Joey takes up vacuuming as a pastime and hobby, the only real "machinery" he can get his hands on.
5639. The children continue to help out with the chores that make our house run smoothly.
5640. Wonderful, Merciful Savior redone by Michael W. Smith.
5641. We trace the glory of God through another week. Our hearts well up in adoration.