Local Library Barely Survives Massive Storm

No flooding, not even any dampness, and so our Little Free Library has survived, what I hope will be, the first of many rainy days this new season.

Honestly, I think I would have used another title for this post... perhaps:
The Good Rain or New In The Library, even Rainy Days and Old Books. But, data suggests that the poor reception of Chickenblog, the dwindling readership, may be a result of uninspired headlines, and a sad lack of tawdry confessions. We need click bait! Geoff's read some articles on the subject and he says the key to blog success is confession. Something shocking, but not too shocking. I should reveal a humbling or embarrassing anecdote or personal belief that attracts attention, brings in the crowds, but not so disgusting that it scares away the half dozen or so regular readers.

What do you think? Do we need more bling, more zing?

I just wanted to capture the rain. To find it in pictures, to see it up close, and hold it near. The rain has been a perfect expression of my relief, a cleansing of my thoughts, my fears, my grief. It restores my hope for the work of firefighters, for the places in peril, it cooled our long and taxing heat wave, and it marked the day when Geoff came home. When Geoff's doctor came to tell me everything went very well, I was surprised to begin to feel the release of fear and worry, surprised to realize what a tight grip it's had on me. This is a New Year, a fresh start, and in time we will know for certain if Geoff's new heart rhythm will stay steady, regular. We drove home in a quenching, cleansing downpour, and it suits the occasion beautifully, this new beginning, with a new rhythm to move to. I wanted to go into the rain and feel the hope it symbolizes, to observe it, and absorb it, and believe in it.







Friends have been sending messages, offering help, prayers, insightful humor. It's tremendously comforting to feel connected, to know that there is a safety net. And there were some who gave me even more support and security, covering for me and keeping our family on course. Thank you, Carol, Diana, Janece, Paul, and Amira. Maybe the highest expression of my gratitude and appreciation is saying, I wasn't worried, didn't have to second guess, because I knew I could count on you.



Here's a zinger, even something of a cliffhanger: Maria and I drank milk that was ten days expired. That's right. You read correctly... my incompetence with homemaking has reached a new low, and there may be dire consequences. I could {and am tempted to try to} write a long essay about how challenging life can be, how it can "look" okay on the surface, how we "manage," but standards slip, things slide, and not so very far below the surface you can see there is room for improvement. So, yes... I am eager to begin again, to... how do I describe this? I am thankful and happy, and we are cautiously optimistic, so why do I feel like I might burst into tears, collapse from relief? It's almost as though my cells are so accustomed to this tension of fear and worry, that I am exhausted as we enter this new phase when things are getting good. Apparently, I need to get my act together and go buy fresh milk. Because, in the middle of Massive Storms, health crisis, and heat waves, we must carry on, and believe.