Stream of consciousness

Lemon bars are baking in the oven. The peanut butter cookies are safely stored in the Pepperridge Farms box, covered many years ago with birthday wrapping bearing the name of “Zachary.” I don’t remember how many times I have packed Zac’s favorite cookies into that box, and I contemplate telling him that it is time to retire the faded paper-covered box to the recycling bin. I’ll leave it up to him and see if the box comes back to me again.

The cookies are his favorite and I’m hoping that he feels the warmth of family and the spirit of giving in their simple goodness. I enjoyed leisurely rolling the dough into balls and flattening them with perpendicular crisscrosses with a sugared fork. Zac’s been struggling with the overwhelming reality that Christmas is about spending money and less about gifts from the heart. So, I’m hoping that the cookies hold a balance for him.

Tomorrow, following the Fellowship service, which I am almost done preparing, Stephen and I will head to my mother’s house for Christmas Eve dinner and another church service. I had disappointed her earlier this week with the news that I would not be around for Christmas. I had told her that I was going to Vermont because I had not seen my dad in a while and that I thought that his health was fragile. Ironically, that’s exactly the reason why I will not be there. He called this afternoon with the news that he is ill with a flu.

It’s probably for the best since I am struggling with a chest cold and the last thing that I wanted to do was give my father, who has had pneumonia twice in the last two years, a bronchial infection. We will get together sometime before this semester break is over.

Being home has been pleasant, despite being sick. Everywhere I go in this little community I have been welcomed back with smiles and genuine gladness. Today, I went for a walk down the dirt road past my house and breathed in the beauty of the sun shining through rain-glistening trees. The highway department has been nearly successful in knocking down the century old stonewall, which lines the edge, with their modern road maintenance.

I marvel how intimate life is here in the Upper Delaware River Valley. On my way into town a couple of days ago, I spied a porcupine walking slowly on the road. He seemed sick and I wondered if he had rabies. I wished him well as I caught one last glimpse of him out my rear view mirror. I reminded myself that there was nothing that I could do for him to keep him out of harm’s way. On my way back, some two hours later, he lay dead on the road.

I suppose nature has a way of taking care of itself and I am content within its midst in this place I call home.