Irish Hills

Ringing ears. Sore throats. Pride and Prejudice. Coconut oil. The smell of sourdough bread baking. Bittersweet, silky smooth mochas. Black and white pictures. Tractors. Steep hills. Apocalyptic food movies. Achey bones. Piano music for Time After Time. The Adventures of Tintin. Bacon. Revelation. The wonderful feeling of hot soup as it travels down my throat. Singing lessons. Burnpiles. Homemade fettuccine. White wine. Béla Fleck. Lakes of mud. Bill Murray in “Groundhog Day.” This describes my life.

It’s a mish-mash.

I prescribe a square of dark chocolate to myself every day to stay happy. Some days, two. Though, I admit, I have little, little indeed to complain about. Scratch that. I actually have nothing to complain about. Even if I had to eat manna every day, God’s ears would not find it acceptable to listen to me grousing about eating manna again; could I have a side order of quail with that, please? For some reason, I find it easy to justify having a rotten, no-good attitude, so long as it doesn’t spill over into an action. I’m old enough now to fight the actions easy enough… but it’s nice to indulge in the attitudes every once in a while, or even every day, to make myself feel better. Temporarily. Unfortunately for me, God requires that I sacrifice even my attitudes to His refinement, and not indulge in my half-muttered, half-thought words and disgruntled, complaining attitudes. This, too, counts as sin, and I must slay it the same as I am fervently fighting to slay this blasted cold.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 3rd, 2010 at 9:26 pm and is filed under Family, Thoughts. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.