A beautiful day, after several very difficult ones which found me quite low of spirits: the weather, . . . , the sense of futility about communicating theology to resistant students, and a book which is turning me inside out. Original Sins, by Lisa Alther. One of the best books I’ve read in a very long time.Today: the winter of discontent made glorious summer—sunny, after a miserable, mizzling day yesterday. I walked and renewed my sunburn. Gathered wild caraway, and armsful of flowers, including black-eyed Susan, a white flower like goatsbeard, yarrow, purple clover, a small silvery lilac-type of clover which looks to be an everlasting, and a lovely purple flower like a small hollyhock. Made purple and gold arrangements.
I saw a funny thing—goldenrod covered with several types of flies and moths, all of various sizes, busily extracting nectar side by side. One was a curious moth with a striking azure triangle behind its head.
Another reason today was pleasant: had a nice talk with Philip. This gives me the sense that home is still home.
Yesterday, I drove through the mizzling rain to Georgetown, to a crafts fair. It was quite a disappointment, though I did buy some pewter Christmas tree ornaments—one for Ben’s wedding gift, one for Philip’s and Penny’s birthday, and one for Luke’s Christmas.
I talked to Steve yesterday as well. He seemed in good spirits if somewhat distant. Or is he always so, and I only realize it when’s not around?
My dissertation work drags—slow, slow. I am not the scholar I should be; I work far too sporadically, and exhaust my energy through enthusiasm. I need more self-control, but fear that I can’t live with myself, controlled.
And so to bed. May Mary the gentle Mother watch over my days in nights, in Jesus’s name.
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