A lot of neat stuff has happened this weekend.

And some sad news. Where to begin?

John and Lauren were sealed in the temple on Friday night. There were maybe three empty seats in the ordinance room. His former wife’s sister and parents were there, in one of the most quietly spectacular acts of godliness it has ever been my privilege to witness. Their bishop (new bishop, my old ward) was there, as was the stake president. BestFriend and her hubby were there; he and John have been BFFE’s since they were kids and joined the church together. Family of said new bishop played a large part in that, and the matriarch and I were visiting teaching companions. Great lady, that one: smart and good and feisty.

I had planned on attending the Balloon Festival afterward, but the hour and a half of stop-and-go that it took to get to the temple, and all the tender feelings stirred up by witnessing my friends’ happiness, just flat wore me out. So I stopped for awhile at a Braums I’d seen when I got off the highway (or it might have taken me two hours) on the way there, and I had two scoops in a cup while reading several more chapters in the Annotated P&P.

On the drive home, my phone rang. It was Secondborn, with the news that NintendoMan had suffered a stroke earlier in the week and was now in the hospital. I am sitting here at my keyboard, procrastinating a visit to him (also procrastinating studying my lessons for church this afternoon, but those are lesser omissions). He has lost the use of his left side. And this is one more thing I cannot fix. I put his name, and the names of his six kids, on the prayer roll at the temple when I was there yesterday with my ward.

I am feeling a little like the Black Widow at this point. Brother Stilts? dead and gone. The children’s father? in a nursing home. NintendoMan? in the hospital. Which makes me even more leery of letting myself fall in love again.

One very real delight from yesterday was having my dear friend (former first counselor and current RS president) sit next to me in the chapel at the temple. I did not see anybody else from our ward in our session, but Bishop came over and visited quietly with both of us afterward, so he must have been in the session just prior to ours.

After the temple, I drove north (and north, and still farther north) on Preston to L&L Hawaiian Barbecue, where I had the mahi mahi and rice and ubiquitous macaroni salad. I have no real interest in going to Hawaii, but if somebody wanted to plant a macaroni salad tree in my yard, I would praise them forever!

Then I drove to Fabrique, which is the upscale fabric store (as you might guess) which has taken up the torch at the passing of Kay Fabrics. Wow! doesn’t even begin to describe it. A much smaller store in terms of square footage, but textile heaven. I am going to have to kidnap Fourthborn some Saturday for a field trip. That store is full of “rubby”, which is the word she coined as a very small girl, to describe the feel of silk.

[She had asked for permission to handle a scrap of leftover (generic acetate satin) fabric from bridesmaids’ dresses I was sewing, and she said, “It’s pretty, Mommy, but it’s not rubby.” She would sit next to me in church and rub the hem or sleeve of my silk blouses between thumb and forefinger until I would twitch it out her hand in exasperation. (I was exasperated a lot when she was a child, but not specifically by her).]

I came home with half a yard of Dior grey silk shantung, to make (first) a pair of modified harem pants and camisole for Faith, and later her Christmas dress. It will be interesting to see how closely this fabric matches the snippet of vintage silk ribbon which is on its way to me.

I finished reading Pride and Prejudice yesterday. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy will go up onto a shelf, to be revisited in a few years.

Last night I went to the potluck and dance. The potluck was pitiful, and I am partly to blame for that, having contributed a bag of Skittles and another bag of Starburst jelly beans. But I have no convenient way to make a more substantial contribution, as third Saturdays are an all-day thing for me, and Lorelai is mysteriously lacking a full kitchen in her back seat. Richardson is a good hour away from Fort Worth when traffic does not further complicate the drive. No way to keep cold foods sufficiently cold, unless I invest in another large ice chest and a plethora of gel packs. I would rather buy books. Or yarn. Or silk.

The dance itself was great. I really like the band, although they were too loud for the venue. Next time I may succumb to common sense and take along some earplugs. Don’t bet the rent, but it could happen.

OK, Ms. Ravelled. Time to eat some breakfast and gussy up and go be a real Christian and not a theoretical one.