Thank you, Presidents. Thanks to you, I slept in/stayed in bed til the kitten started licking the plastic bag next to the bed that holds yarn for projects not yet dreamed of. Thanks to you, it is nearly 11:00 a.m. and I am just brushing the crumbs from my mouth of the breakfast my youngest daughter has made for me (half a bagel, slightly (very slightly) toasted, and a raspberry PopTart) and am finishing up my third cup of Highlander Grogg and I am still in my bathrobe. Thanks to you, eldest daughter is still sleeping, making the morning all the better for everyone invovled. (If you have never lived with or been a 14-year-old child who is also the eldest of the clan, you may not get this–trust me, it is said with all the love my heart.)
Thanks to you, dear Presidents who have declared a holiday in your honor, I am not working (though, truth told, I had to take a vacation day as this is not a holiday my employer recognizes—still, I am home, in my bathrobe, eating PopTarts and drinking the BEST COFFEE EVER in my favorite mug and not in a thermal mug as I zip down the toll road.
Thanks to you, I have time to read about YRUU and send links to my daughter who, after Sunday school yesterday, said “is it true they are killing YRUU?”
No, I told her. But change is coming.
Since my daughter comprises anywhere from one-half to one-fourth of our youth (one-half of the true youth–ages 14 and up; one-fourth of the middle school group she will soon age out of), her interest intrigues me. Ours is a small congregation with a small group of children and her interest in being with other UU kids has been piqued by time spent in a coming of age program with other UU youth within a 75-mile radius and the time all three have spent in Young Fun at GA the last two years. Alas, of the group that spearheaded the area program, one of the ministers has left, another church has a growth spurt in their youth program and no longer needed the extra numbers of outside teens, and I have not had the energy to consider this type of ministry for my kids. Double alas, it is possible we are still paying off Young Fun for three kids for two years and have decided that the family will not be attending GA this year (though, I have the sense that as the date nears, my husband may change his mind as he has found the connection with the larger UU world great help as he presides over the Board of our small church and my attendance is mandatory and neither of us is as up-in-arms about the security issues to boycott based on false promises from Homeland Security—who could have seen THAT coming?).
Boy, that was a long sentence, wasn’t it? Perhaps I should walk away from the Grogg.
Again, my thanks to those Presidents with a day today, as I stretch like a cat with hepped up eyes from the Grogg and see the things that ought to be accomplished today but probably won’t, as my husband (who works today, too), has asked us to come take him to lunch, the girls want to “get lost” (drive aimlessly through the countryside with a van full of crap food and the cd player loaded up with traveling music, something we did much of back when gasoline was much less than $3.00 a gallon and I didn’t spend 8 hours a week driving to and from a job I didn’t have then), and then, we have to get to the eye doctor for a 3:30 appointment to get contacts for that 14 year old girl.
When I first plodded out of my bedroom this a.m., the sun was shining on a light dusting of snow, and I felt warm and happy with the sunshine. Now, the sky is much darker and snow is actually falling in flakes nearly the size of breakfast cereal. Perhaps we’ll do lunch, the eye doctor, grab some hot chocolate, and snuggle up with books. I’m trying desperately to finish reading Emma before they show the movie on PBS. (Which has further fueled my all-Austen-all-the-time fury, an addiction my husband has likened to ‘crack.’ In fact, he walked through the basement the other day as I played P&P yet again while paying bills and asked “how can I compete with Mr. Darcy?” To which I replied, “Oh, you can’t. There’s no way you will ever compete with a fictional man conjured by the mind of a 30-something-year-old virgin.” His heart was at ease).
It is really snowing now, blowing fast across the yard as I look out the window. I think this puts our “getting lost” off the table. Perhaps I’ll go get lost in my room with a book, and encourage others to do the same.
Thank you, Presidents!