Photo cred: Urban Rose Photo
"How'd you like sitting by Grammie in church?" I say.
Sunday lunch stair-stepped across the table, Joe's button-down shirt checkered orange and azure, rumpled jeans, he licks jelly off his thumb.
"I liked it," he says.
"Hmm," I say. "There's one thing you have to do if you sit by Grammie."
Photo cred: Urban Rose Photo
"What?"
"Try to sing the words on the songs." He blinks, something like instinct holding his gaze. "Some of the words you don't know, but when you figure them out, sing."
"Ooookay," he says. "What I think is boring is just standing there during worship." He flattens the corners of his mouth, nonchalance, a sideways glance, feigns expertise.
"Well, that means you're not worshipping," I say.
"Oh." A knit brown, he squints, wills logic to materialize.
Jane frowns. Her apron, a splay of flouncing flowers and 1950, a kitchen aid mixer whirling atop the counter, she screws up the corner of her mouth.
"Do you think it's boring going on a date with Mom?" she says. She peers around the whirl of bagel dough.
"No."
Photo cred: Urban Rose Photo
"Worship is like going on a date with God," she shrugs. Her braid, thick as a sunflower trunk, drapes over her shoulder.
"Yeah," I blurt. Sense permeates. Logic burgeons.
"Oh," Joe says. Another lick, he pops the whole thumb in his mouth, that last smudge of raspberry jelly punctuating a feather inkling that he should sing in church.
Photo cred: Urban Rose Photo
Gratitude:
6594. "I can't believe you were trying to read a book while playing your scales," I laugh at Jane. "Well, I had actually read almost an entire Nancy Drew book before you noticed," she says.
6595. "Thanks so much for telling Joe how worship is like a date with God," I say. "Truth be told, I was just trying so hard not to be annoyed that he was saying the most important time of the whole week was boring," Jane says.
6596. Life settles into a lull finally, now mid February. Snow drifts more than knee deep, temperatures gridlocked beneath freezing, the sky riotous blue, we drink it in.
Photo cred: Urban Rose Photo
