Yesterday I spent about an hour wading through my Yahoo! inbox. Reduced its contents from nearly 300 emails to 33. At the moment, after reading and responding to others, we are down to 30. [That would be the royal we.]
The visiting teaching conference went well yesterday. Everybody liked the breakfast casseroles (think funeral potatoes minus the sour cream plus sausage). We had more people in attendance than I thought, and nowhere near as many as there could have been, even with the bribe of food.
Visiting teaching is the heart of Relief Society. We go out two by two, like the ark, and we try to take care of one another. And when it works, it is glorious. It works, more often than not, because it is an inspired program. And we come to this earth pre-programmed for happiness as we serve one another. We are not so good about the reporting back. Visiting teaching is not about the statistics. But when we don’t go out and love those sisters, they fall away, or they don’t reactivate, and they struggle and suffer alone and think that God has forgotten them.
And on a purely bureaucratic note, because at heart I still think of myself as more of a bean counter than a shepherdess [but I’m trying], one of those quarterly reports that goes to the stake and on to church headquarters, is a large factor in determining the budget for a ward Relief Society the following year.
So, if we don’t go out, people suffer. And if we don’t report back, even if we have gone out, the budget suffers and we can’t provide as many activities for the sisters the following year.
OK, in the good-news department. Secondborn was called to be first counselor in her ward Relief Society. And she is speaking in sacrament meeting today. I will be sitting in the congregation with 2BDH and the Bitties, listening and sniffling.
More good news: Fourthborn is visiting Middlest in Virginia. I sent along some cannibalized T-shirts with her, to make doll clothes.
I have no idea if this is good news, or not. I have been summoned for jury duty later this month. I have yet to sit on a jury. Generally, when they find out that I work for an insurance company, I get struck for cause. They are going to be thrilled when I tell them at work: we are already down two legal secretaries. I just hope it is not something like the O.J. trial, where my grandchildren will all graduate high school before I get to see them again. I am supposed to dine at the new guy’s house the following evening (his son and daughter-in-law will also be there).
Time for me to start fluffing and foofing. I also need to remember to leave the baaah-ing part of my keychain locked in my trunk, so the Bitties will not ask to play with it at sacrament meeting. I also need to remember to take Chutzpah out of my purse.
Secondborn, I will drag the questionable jacket with me to church today, and you can give me your vote. Maybe I will have you take a picture of me in it and email that to Firstborn, or maybe I will swing by after Knit Night on Tuesday and let her take a squint. I am retrieving the title to Phineas that night, preparatory to taking delivery of the actual car so I can sell it for junk in the next couple of weeks.
Assuming I am not sequestered in a hotel room with 11 other jurors but without my CPAP.