To get this month of poetry love off on the right foot (get it?), I am going to compose a limerick. Why? Because it's easy and I'm all about not spending a whole lot of time on this. Hey, at least I admitted it.
So here I go! Ahem:
There was a young woman named gracky,
who generally liked talking smack-y.
She said all she could
but friends thought she should
just shut up and stop being tacky.
You know, it's kind of amazing how many things don't rhyme with "gracky". Oh well. I give myself an "A" anyway, for an impressive lack of effort. (You didn't know I was being graded, did you? Luckily for me, I grade on the bell curve. ("What the hell is she talking about, Jane?" "I don't know, Fred. Let's go find another blog."))
OK, now it's your turn...
Friday, April 01, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Hello Again
It's a sad measure of just how long it's been since my last update that for a split second before I logged in, I couldn't remember my blogger password.
And now that I've begun, I have no idea what to say next. Oh dear.
Well, I guess I could tell you that I'm sitting in a cute little coffeeshop right now, a couple towns over from where I live, whiling away some time until the church up the street starts its eleven a.m. service. I write "eleven" because the numbers from one to six don't work on my keyboard, thanks to an unfortunate incident involving spilled tea. But the point is, I actually wanted to attend the church's 9 a.m. service. I left home a little late, and the weather was bad, and then there was a detour on the road, so I ended up arriving about ten minutes past the hour. Rushed in, found a seat, joined the congregation in singing whatever song they were singing—and then the pastor came up and gave a few words that I suddenly realized sounded kind of like a benediction. Which, as you may know, comes at the conclusion of a service, not the commencement. I had arrived just in time for the end.
D'oh.
In my defense—8 a.m.? Seriously?
It's actually been a while since I've attended any church in anything like a regular fashion (meaning, mostly I don't attend). Something about the church routine has been evoking a sense of frustrated weariness in me every time I even think about it, though I feel more drawn to God, to Christ, than I have in a long time.
So perhaps you could say I've given up church for an extra-long Lent. Except maybe for today, but we'll see. It's awfully cozy here in the coffeeshop...
And now that I've begun, I have no idea what to say next. Oh dear.
Well, I guess I could tell you that I'm sitting in a cute little coffeeshop right now, a couple towns over from where I live, whiling away some time until the church up the street starts its eleven a.m. service. I write "eleven" because the numbers from one to six don't work on my keyboard, thanks to an unfortunate incident involving spilled tea. But the point is, I actually wanted to attend the church's 9 a.m. service. I left home a little late, and the weather was bad, and then there was a detour on the road, so I ended up arriving about ten minutes past the hour. Rushed in, found a seat, joined the congregation in singing whatever song they were singing—and then the pastor came up and gave a few words that I suddenly realized sounded kind of like a benediction. Which, as you may know, comes at the conclusion of a service, not the commencement. I had arrived just in time for the end.
D'oh.
In my defense—8 a.m.? Seriously?
It's actually been a while since I've attended any church in anything like a regular fashion (meaning, mostly I don't attend). Something about the church routine has been evoking a sense of frustrated weariness in me every time I even think about it, though I feel more drawn to God, to Christ, than I have in a long time.
So perhaps you could say I've given up church for an extra-long Lent. Except maybe for today, but we'll see. It's awfully cozy here in the coffeeshop...
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