Found: Excitement

Well, that's what I get for craving excitement. Martin's parents left this morning, but before they did, I shopped for a dinner for 15 plus people and cleaned and vacuumed out the car (you could have licked the floor and had a full meal before the vacuum sucked it away). I knew for sure about this dinner. . .this morning after breakfast.

This is what I accomplished (I'm sorry, I am weak and need praise:) one huge ham, one immense pan of washed and cut root veggies, two sheets of rolls, an excellent salad in an incredibly humongous bowl, a bowl of fresh broccoli/carrots, a double recipe of my favorite chocolate cake, plus cinnamon whipped cream (Elspeth held the beaters for me) and an elegant fruit platter. And a pot of spiced apple cider.

Who's the woman?

Not to mention, cleaned the bathroom and the house.

And stayed pleasant throughout.

I said, WHO'S THE WOMAN?

The occasion was to honor and meet an author, Sam Swope, who stood in our kitchen in his blue pull-over sweater, tousled hair and socks (he'd shed his brown leathers at the door). I liked him immediately; his smile was infectious and unaffected, his way of speaking easy, and he genuinely seemed to care about asking another person questions and listened well to the answers. This is, I've found, unusual for visiting writers--they often shine a bit with a sheen of interest but you can tell travelling and speaking in countless places have gotten to them--maybe it's self-preservation so they don't get too exhausted. Some travelling writers talk to you like they might chat with the person sitting next to them in a plane--the conversation is interesting but you know you're just one more face that they'll forget. There was something really tangible about Sam Swope, though--maybe it's his experience teaching young children--I thought he was the kind of guy we could have around the house, drinking coffee and chatting with the kids. That is my highest compliment right there. I'm looking forward to picking up his book, "I Am A Pencil--" he's also written picture books.

I've got to put the girls to bed. Oh, I really do. And then I've got to clean up the downstairs.

Oh, one more thing: I just got my copy of the magazine, The Christian Century, and my poem is in it. You can pick one up at a bookstore.

I've had enough excitement now to make me crave a little good old sitting around tomorrow. How capricious and easily satisfied is this woman--or easily satisfied until the next craving, anyway.