I probably won't have much in the way of ritual tonight. I lit my hearth altar this morning for the first time in a week and tried some cone incense since I was going to be in the next room. It was tolerable but I wouldn't be able to stand it if I had to be in the same room with it. I might use an oil burner instead. Not a fan of the scents, but I need more than just lighting candles and reciting some words. Which is what it will amount to tonight. I need to go to bed because I did way too much today. It was necessary but still too much. I'll rest tonight and tomorrow. I promise.
We have some birds building a nest in the rolled up awning right outside the dining room window. We don't normally unroll them until June so the birds should be grown and flown by then. They sure make a lot of noise in there.
My older sister published a beautiful article in Huffington Post about our parents' struggle throughout Mom's illness. It's very poignant. They got a picture of our parents together, gazing into each others' eyes as they sit in their wheelchairs in the rehab room at the nursing home. My dad still lives at home and isn't able to visit my mom every day but when they do get together, this is what it looks like:
That, my friends, is love. Sixty two years of it.
And now before I start crying again, I'm going to grab some supper from the deli (because I'm way too tired to cook anything) and then go to bed to read and watch The Hobbit...my reward for the shopping and enduring pneumonia. Which if I don't stay in bed more, won't go away as soon as I want it to.
We have some birds building a nest in the rolled up awning right outside the dining room window. We don't normally unroll them until June so the birds should be grown and flown by then. They sure make a lot of noise in there.
My older sister published a beautiful article in Huffington Post about our parents' struggle throughout Mom's illness. It's very poignant. They got a picture of our parents together, gazing into each others' eyes as they sit in their wheelchairs in the rehab room at the nursing home. My dad still lives at home and isn't able to visit my mom every day but when they do get together, this is what it looks like:
That, my friends, is love. Sixty two years of it.
And now before I start crying again, I'm going to grab some supper from the deli (because I'm way too tired to cook anything) and then go to bed to read and watch The Hobbit...my reward for the shopping and enduring pneumonia. Which if I don't stay in bed more, won't go away as soon as I want it to.
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