Apple Swedish dish is being made by my mom, my younger brother and his swedish wife Maria. My Grandma is sitting on the left, hands folded with pretty earings. Lunch is being made after a short walk home on a sunny day from Church. Grandma’s arms are wrapped from the hospital. She walked out. Commanding cooking instructions from her arm chair, my nephew eats gooey green bean paste which has made it’s own pilgrimage to his neck. Chris is cooking, David is feeding, Rachelle is reading bus schedules from DC to NYC for her trip tomorrow. Maria is scooping sugar. Dad is fixing the wall I just hit taking my photos of my nephew on my grandma’s bed.
“Just pass me a strawberry” Grandma says.
I am typing with a few changes on my life that I can not even find the words to describe.
In October I might go on a world tour with a very popular band. I also might go to Ukraine or Mongolia and China or Vietnam.
I got a call from the creditors yesterday and almost let it go to voicemail. “What are you doing to pay us back?” They asked. “I am not trying to run away from you, I am just having a hard time right now” I stated after telling the creditor about my submission of my hope for Homeowners packet last Tuesday. “I understand” the creditor finished. My fears of facing phone calls that bring inconvenience still exist, but now I am believing that that Jesus will deliver me through all that comes my way.
“For 10 dollars Williams Sanoma sells pancake mix.” Mom says. That is the life we live; Sonoma holds what Mr. Crate and Mr. Barrell mix as Mrs. Cuisinart brews.
Scream and loud noise from the nephew.
Swedish menu almost complete for our brunch over the river on the back porch.