The big soul-stirring blizzard of 2011 hit us hard here in the bayou city. Not a drop of snow fell to the ground, but in true southern fasion when the windchill reached -8 degress the city rose up like a chorus of Russian peasants coming onstage in Act II after the Princess has fainted for having been spurned by the young lieutenant at Count Androvsky's grand ball, and we sang, "With true hearts and strong, we go to the fields to harvest the cotten. The bitter winds we endure only make us more grateful for the biscuts with its dollop of white cream gravey which is all one needs to be happy."
We except the hardships of life and trust in the small pleasures to see us through. Possessing the ideal makes a person nervous: you sense the inevitable decline just ahead. Just this week we have had a string of perfect days — fresh and sweet in the morning, afternoons balmy, and evenings you could sit outdoors and so of course I'm looking over my sholder.
I was excepted into seminary last week. As one wonderfully encouraging mentor put it, this is but the first step on a long and arduous journey. I am still waiting to hear about scholarships and I am still waiting on a lot of other things that are involved in the path towards ministry, but it is a step in the process. I have a foot on solid ground so I push aside my wary and unforgiving nature, that excellent sense of doom, to savor a moment of joy.
Moments of joy have become a new mode of life. I have met a person of the male persuasion. Besides being kind, smart and handsome he seems to like me quite a lot for reasons that I still don’t comprehend, but like I said he’s kind, smart and handsome so I’ve decided not to argue with his affections. I’m sure there came a day when Prince Charming looked at Cinderella and found her mouse fetish odd and her tendency to lose expensive objects vexing, but not before they danced until midnight and talk extravagantly about life so for now I am just enjoying the ball.