WARNING: even more than usual rambling below.
I am moving in nine days. With a cat, a car on a tow-dolly, a sprained ankle, more of my grandparent’s furniture than I have room for and a soul that keeps shouting “Oh Hell, I think I’ve done the right thing, but what if I HAVEN’T?!?”
The new apartment is in the same town as Divinity School in the Boston area. Classes won’t start until September, of course but since this place has all that it does included in rent and set up, AND they didn’t require a Kidney or Spleen donation I thought I’d better take it. It is in a large and beautiful house in the same town where my father grew up. As far as I know, Dad was the first person in his family to earn an advanced degree. I am pretty sure I will be the first in his or Mom’s family to be ordained. Certainly I will (eventually, please the Gods) be the first Unitarian Universalist minister in both or all our clans.
Steve’s family has two ordained Baptist ministers. On one hand, I continue to appreciate that they never told him to throw over the pagan whore (that would be me, if I understand the tenets of their sect correctly) or never see them again. And I feel a great common ground with them, because we’ve all had a vocation to our various services. On the other, they do not seem to want to spend a lot of time with me, and Uncle N has announced, on more than one occasion that “Global Warming is a crock.” This usually leaves me seething because, after all, Uncle N, for me, the slow destruction of the Great Mother is a form of crucifixion–and she has to do it every day. (Christ stuck it out for a decent chunk of time, I will freely give him that.) I don’t go around telling you the crucifixion of Jesus was a crock, do I?
Well, everything I’m saying here is apropos of nothing–certainly not a recognizable theme within.