it's official

-
As of a lovely ceremony Sunday morning, I’m officially a member of All Saints. It felt a little like graduation, where you’re sort of moved, but also sort of worried about when you’re supposed to sit and stand and walk off stage. Afterward, our Covenant I group practiced the ancient Episcopalian ritual of going out for Thai food.

Comments

ER said…
Testify!
Congratulations, Sister Cheryl.
November 21, 2006 at 10:05 AM
Cheryl said…
Thanks. I'm still a little hazy on what membership entails--familial nomenclature? a free toaster oven? I'll let you know when I find out.
November 21, 2006 at 11:12 AM
Tracy Lynn said…
Episcopalians bring wine to the potlucks.

That's one of the traditions I remember from my childhood . And my mom is in seminary, so I know it still holds true. Welcome.
November 21, 2006 at 4:15 PM
Cheryl said…
I'm totally going to a potluck this weekend and am already signed up to bring wine. It's prophecy, dude.
November 22, 2006 at 9:00 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

there is more in this world than fear and pee

-
Image
I take a walk and do the exercise my therapist taught me: something I can see, something I can hear, something I can smell, something I can feel, something I can taste. At first I can’t remember the fifth sense, and I worry it’s a sign of a problem with my brain (other than the ones I know about: the ruminations, the anxiety, the sadness that touches down like a tornado). Or it’s lack of coffee. I’m walking to a coffee shop. I like this exercise because it’s also a writing exercise, and I like the words that offer themselves: clicking crow, ladies gathered for cafecito, the sugar and oil of cooking pastries on the breeze . I try to taste my tongue and it feels slightly burnt, which is not a taste, and…is that something I should worry about? Dash is worried about my work trip next week. And angry and sad. He says he’s going to miss me so much that he wants a different mom, one who doesn’t ever have to travel for work. I try to explain how that makes no sense, but doesn’t it actually mak...
Read more

every year contains days, but also

-
Image
Every day contains years, like how yesterday was briefly 1985 and Jenessa's dad was right there, his glasses and strawberry blonde mustache and crew socks, groaning "Ness" about something she said. What she said as we stood in the fog watching our children climb rocks forty years later— my god—is that he was okay for a while after treatment, and then he wasn't, but he refused to talk about it. It's almost next year now. This morning at the kids' museum, I watched my toddler climb a contraption made of fiberglass and fisherman's nets, which dredged up from the seafloor another museum— The Museum of Memory is always open, always dusty— in which my older child pined to ride The Red Bikes on the mini track outside. He was the right size for the low yellow four-wheelers, but the red tricycles had the candy apple sheen of the future. (The Museum of the Future only comes in two flavors, shiny and apocalypse, and sometimes it is closed for repairs.) You probably s...
Read more

seasons of love

-
Image
Everything Cheryl does, she’s totally joking and completely serious.             --AK 2,628,000 minutes 2.6 million moments so dear 2,628,000 minutes How do you measure, measure five years? In new jobs , in boob jobs , in blog posts, in cups of coffee In coffee, more coffee, in coffee, and tea In 2,628,000 minutes How do you measure five extra years? How about love? How about love? How about love? Measure in love Seasons of love 2,628,000 minutes 2.6 million plans gone awry 2,628,000 minutes How do you measure public places I’ve cried ? In grants that I wrote, and novels on the side   Facebook rabbit holes are no source of pride It’s time to kiss Dashaboo Though he’s sticky with jam Let’s celebrate, remember five years Of making people deal with who I am Remember the love Remember the love Remember the love Measure in love Rent rent rent rent reeeee...
Read more