Stay me with chocolate, comfort me with croissants

With apologies to the Song of Solomon, which is the only book in the Old Testament [KJV] that we do not study in Sunday School. Not as a metaphor for the Lord's love for his church, not as an example of wedded passion, not as some of the world's oldest and most tender love poetry. For all that we are a fruitful-and-multiplying bunch, we skip right over the Song of Songs and go straight from Ecclesiastes to Isaiah without even blinking.

Not really grousing, just observing that we are better at teaching our kids that physical intimacy before marriage is BAD and can ruin their lives and their eternity, than we are at teaching them that intimacy after marriage is GOOD and is meant to be enjoyed and can heal a lot of the rough-and-tumble that is mortality.

Blame this rant on the moon, if you will; she is still having her way with my one persistent ovary.



Click to embiggen; there is a lovely charcoal-grey branch at the top of this picture that is invisible until you look closely.

On to a safer subject; I think there are few perfumes more lovely than that of a croissant fresh from the oven. My friend who runs the deli makes superb croissants. Light, flaky, the crust shattering at a touch. I had one of her croissants for a mid-morning snack on Friday, chased with a bottle of better-than-average orange juice.

And while we are on the subject of flakiness, I asked for and received a blessing from my good home teacher; I also put my visiting teacher in the loop re: what’s going on in my tribe. And yes, I feel immensely better now.

@Secondborn: that “get out of jail free” card is expired, and only good for a fashion faux pas, not a driving one. I guess I had better take it down from my page, right?

[Later] Middlest and I went to visit our jailbird, who seemed remarkably chipper about the whole incident, which of course is the fault of the police officer who wrote her the ticket. Our penitance detectors were absolutely silent, but the needles on our nonsense detectors were going berserk. [Denial is apparently flowing other places than in Egypt.] Oh well, at least she knows that I love her, even if she is mad at me for tough-loving her over the past several months. I was going to drive over to the nursing home and put her father in the loop, but after driving back to Fort Worth, I just want to put my jammies on and knit until it’s time for reading and then bed.

He would probably only say “I don’t know what you want me to do about it.” This is one of those times when I understand why some species eat their young. And why Mrs. Mantis behaves the way she does.

The evening was not a total loss, however; I had several hours of near-hysterical laughter with Middlest, Fourthborn and Fiancé, visiting with Fourthborn’s new doll, who has the dearest elfie ears [rather like LittleBit’s when she was small] and teeny vampire teeth, while adding row after row to the second Mean Green Jellybeans sock. Fiancé also sent me home with a plate of baklava which they had been given. I am heading out to the kitchen in a minute to fix a small plate of edible joy and proceed to eat my feelings.

Church today was even better than baklava. Both the talks in sacrament had principles that are immediately applicable to my current challenges, and one of them was given by the Silver Fox. And the closing hymn was “Let Us Oft Speak Kind Words to Each Other.”

And people think the Almighty has no sense of humor?