Just got home from a baptism of my nephew. It was actually soothing to hear the same words that I heard in the church as a child. We heard a story about John the Baptist, we said prayers, and we listened to loving words about the bonds of family and love. To add to the soothing-ness, the deacon had a very quiet voice. My mind went in and out of listening, because he would sometimes mumble. Perhaps just watching the sacred rite calmed me. The rite was a mix of oil, lace, marble, wax, linen, and words. Strangely, the materials involved seemed like old friends.
I got to watch it all from the oiled, wooden pews in my finery: my silk dress and denim jacket and suede shoes and plant-product earrings. Coming back to the house, it is too cold with the air conditioner blasting. The only solution is to hide myself in my room again, typing, while everyone else bustles around, and takes care of the babies and food. Food time. I’m gone.
domesticatedanimals 