One Week

It’ll be one week till Margaret comes home, for good. If that doesn’t seem strange to you, you probably haven’t lived apart from your loved one for a long time; I’m having a very difficult time thinking through the idea that we aren’t going to be staying together solely by email and rare visits, that we will in fact be living together, constantly, as we had for the twenty-two years before this. Like, every day.

After wringing the book review out this week, I now have to cook up three short exegetical lectionary pieces. That, and referee an essay.

It should be a sedentary day, after Pippa and I biked and walked all over Evanston to show the visiting Jeanniecool the highlights of our town. The intrepid Jeannie had traveled all the way to Chicago to visit her cousin, took a bus to the Red Line of the El, got lost, waited for a train that wasn’t going to run for another few hours, got onto a train that would get her to the right junction to change for the Purple Line, waited for the right train, caught the right train, waited at Howard for the Purple Line train, and ended up arriving for coffee at the Brothers K a couple hours later than any of us had expected. That required a change of plan, so Pippa and I walked her up to Blind Faith for lunch, and then we ambled around Evanston on a quest for camera batteries. Good exercise, delightful company, and further proof — as though attentive observers needed more — that the Internet is what brings us together.


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