Or, perhaps, the more things change...
I went to a fireside last night, in Arlington, surrounded by old friends, to listen to another friend (from Firstborn's ward and m-i-l to her best friend). She told the story of how she got to her happily ever after, a third marriage that is joyful and has weathered two decades. She had us in stitches.
I came home and read my French BOM; worked with Olive on the fingering for The Ash Grove; and made some audible progress on chords with my left hand while increasing the smoothness on rolls with my right hand. So maybe those three days of not touching my music were a source of blessings and not a reason to feel slothful.
At church yesterday, I was sustained and set apart as the new ward librarian. I love books. I love the sister with whom I will be serving. We will get it figured out. My friend Wes gave me a jaw-droppingly amazing and tender blessing when he set me apart.
In all the years I have been serving in the church, I've never had a blessing quite like that. Too personal and sacred to share here. I will put my thoughts and impressions into my journal, and my kids and grandkids can read about it after I'm gone.
The weekend was too short. Absolutely lovely and healing and refreshing and nowhere near long enough.