Ten-Finger Exercises

Waiting

The later it is becoming without my daughter's SUV pulling into the driveway, the less chance I see of having time to blog later. So, roast in the oven, asparagus ready to steam, etc., I'll steal this time.

It feels a little like stealing, hiding away here to write while Bill is working on the sprinklers. It's sort of an unspoken rule for me that when he works, I work. I've never checked to see if he thinks the same way.

It is strange, how men think sometimes. I was indoors wiping off the table and polishing it when Bill wanted the scissors. He was standing on the front porch with two new sacks of birdseed in his hands, saying that if he tried to rip them open they'd undoubtedly spill. That's true. So, I put down what I was doing and took him the scissors. Life is easier that way. But the thought crossed my mind that the opposite scenario probably wouldn't work. I wouldn't expect him to stop what he was doing to bring me something to do my job with. Mind you, I'm not complaining. It's not much trouble or I'd holler back, "Can't do it now," or some such thing. Just an interesting perception about men and tasks. Maybe that's sexist. Tell me if you think so.

Tomorrow is Mothers' Day, and I have to serve at the 10:30 service at church. Too bad, because it holds up the day so. Bill sings in the choir at that service, so I guess it wouldn't make any difference. Lenore, my daughter, isn't likely to bring the twins to church; of course I wish she would. She did send them to Bible School last summer. Her husband George is a non-believer. Who knows? Maybe she'll do it for Mothers' Day.

We have a reservation for dinner up in the mountains about half an hour from here at 2 p.m. That will make it late for them to start back home, a drive of 2.5 hours, and it's in the opposite direction.