This Weekend We

On Saturday I was one of the million who marched. And it was powerful and beautiful and positive.

Then I spent Saturday night battling on Facebook in response to my presence there. I went to bed angry and hurt.

On Sunday, I woke up. I went to church. I sang to Jesus. Got my heart together. 

We drove from church to my sister's house to meet her new puppy. She made brunch. We played in the gray, misty fields with children who refused to dress for the weather.

The kids found a plastic car long forgotten in a dilapidated lean to. They chased the puppy to exhaustion. 

Before going home we went to see my other sister's in-laws farm. To visit newborn cows and dodge electric fences. As usual, an afternoon in the country had me longing for my own piece of land in the quiet.

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Visiting Our Friends' Farm

For five hours, the kids ran through her house, around her yard. They bounded on to the trampoline. Tucked away in the shed turned playhouse. They played hide-and-seek, forgetting Sena for dozens of minutes. They chalked away on the sidewalk leading to a perfect, red front door.

Meanwhile, Jen baked cookies while I picked her brain. She showed me the children's book that is nearing completion. I peeked around her house, reveling in it's weirdness. "My spirit animal is a thirteen year-old goth kid," she laughs. And since that is who she was when I met her, it seems blatantly obvious. What was far more surprising was hearing her claim that Tim McGraw's show was the best she's ever been to.

My friend: artist, mother, wife, barista, homesteader, closeted country music lover.

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