"You can take care of my bowl, Joey," Myra says.
The flop-end of a noodle bobs as Joe grabs her bowl. He reaches for an adjacent bowl, a plate, and miscellaneous silverware. He stacks them in size order. I watch Myra watching him, elbow leaned out on the table.
"I hope you know how nice he's being to you," I say.
"Yeah," she says. "I do." She nods, looks at me, looks at him, nods again as if she's had servants all her life and this is what they do. A small pause yawns before us. "And he LIKES to take care of things," she says.
Of course, she's doing him a favor. I grin as Joe's brutish ways soften to spoil Myra.
5675. We have a plant emergency in the greenhouse. A third of the plants wilt. Jane carries tumblers of water out to my waiting hands.
5676. Craig builds a garden arbor. Jane waits patiently, her saved up money in a little white dish. We plan a date to buy her grape vines.
5677. "I know in Daddy's class it says you should love your neighborhood as yourself," Myra says. She blinks, cocks her head, "What does AS YOURSELF mean?"
5678. "I don't the least bit care about ANTS," Myra says as we scramble to fight an onslaught in our kitchen. "All I care about is PEOPLE," she says and tip-toes into the sunroom.
5679. Jack and I take a date thrift shopping. He brings home a packet of gears and builds and builds.
5680. I continue to mastermind a copy of the sweater my gramma made me as a baby. A baby bootie book waits in the wings.
5681. We visit Lucy's optometrist and enjoy his usual humor, intelligence, and good advice.
5682. The children help me make four gallons of minestrone soup.
5683. Betsy fusses her way through a day and a half. I bundle her up extra warm and she chippers right up.
5684. Another week settles in around us. As I look back over my shoulder, the steadfast love of Jesus is there in every moment.