Surely.

That word jumped out at me in my Book of Mormon study last year. Today I became curious about how many times it's found in the scriptures: 271 in the Old Testament; 7 in the New Testament; 49 in the Book of Mormon (I wonder how many of those are in the Isaiah chapters); 7 in the Doctrine and Covenants; 10 in the Pearl of Great Price; and 88 in various study helps.

Surely is an adverb, "1. used to emphasize the speaker's firm belief that what they are saying is tru and often their surprise that there is any doubt of this. 2. with assurance or confidence." If the scriptures, or the Spirit, or authorized servants of the Lord, say that behavior A will surely produce consequence B, then that is what will happen, whether it the happy result of obedience or the grievous result of disobedience. You can take it to the bank.

That's all I've got for you tonight. I'm not feeling sufficiently inspired or diligent to read all of those citations. I need to pick up more milk, and I want dinner and a bit of ice cream.

Friday, blessed Friday

I did not fall asleep during the virtual staff meeting.

I found out how much my raise is going to be. I would be pleased with it, had this been a normal year. I'm both relieved and a little abashed, given how many people are looking for work. It takes effect at the end of next week.

My first skein arrived for this year's yarn club. The color name is Barcelona. I've never been to Spain (but I kinda like the music, LOL). To me it looks like Albuquerque on steroids. Do you remember the Southwest colors that were so popular in the mid-80's? Right color families, greater saturation. This might end up as socks-for-me, or combined with another skein from the same dyer to make a cowl. I'm going to let things percolate for a bit.

New yarn shop a (very) few miles north of me. Their grand opening was today. I may go check them out tomorrow.

I've got less than 14 hours to go in Anna Karenina, to which I am listening (and listening, and listening) on Audible. Maggie Gyllenhaal's narration is superb. I'll be driving in to the office one day next week, so depending upon traffic, that should knock out another two to three hours.

Why am I driving in, you ask? to empty out the mail cubicle. Office Manager said during our staff meeting that SemperFi has covered every available inch of my desk with mail and deposition transcripts. I will have to sort that out before I can start decommissioning the red ropes that contain closed files. The man dearly loves paper. I suspect that I will fill at least one, and possibly two, of the three locked recycling bins. I will take a fresh jar of Nutella. I have an ice tea spoon in a drawer at work. And on the way home, I hope to stop at Trader Joe's. I've been there once or twice since last March. And I am craving their triple ginger cookies.

I suspect my phone is charged-enough for me to watch another episode of Grantchester before calling it a day.

I'm almost caught up.

After months of struggling with my workflow at the office, I am suddenly and inexplicably* and most gratefully almost caught up. It's both wonderful and a little unnerving.

I'm getting a little fed up with the good vicar in Grantchester. I can understand the crisis of faith, the difficulty of having to choose between the woman he loves but didn't have sense enough to propose to before she married someone else, and now can't marry because a vicar can't marry a divorced woman. Which I think is absolutely stupid, but we're talking about the 50's and a very conservative church, and I think it was the same for bishops in my Church until recently. Maybe still is; I couldn't say for sure, but Beloved married a twice-divorced me after having served as a branch president (like a bishop for a small congregation) when he was married to his first, late, Beloved.

Anyway. He smokes too much (the vicar, not Beloved) and he drinks too much, and as three of his friends have told him, he has a bad habit of disappearing when they need him the most. And he has a serious weakness for pretty women. I don't think he quite gets the meaning of repentance. If you repent, then you don't keep doing the same damn thing over and over again and whining about how badly you feel about what you've done. (Yes, the Lord understands that we are fallible, and sometimes we do do the same damn thing over and over again until the repentance sticks. As I've said many a time, direction is more important than speed.)

*Inexplicably. I think what it might be, is that after a lapse of three or four months in which my gospel study and my Book of Mormon reading just petered away in favor of reading political opinions and praying that the election would turn out the way that I wanted, I have a visual, organized system to keep myself on track. I am midway through week four, and every day it's easier to stay awake at the keyboard, and I'm less distracted (at work, if not in reading Church stuff, but I'm not tumping over sideways in mid-read nearly as often)

My W-2s arrived in the mail today. Maybe I can get my tax return knocked out on Saturday?

The phone battery is down to 20%. I'd estimate my personal battery at about 12%. Time to plug the phone into the charger and Ms. Ravelled into the CPAP. Night, y'all.

A soupçon of recognition

In sifting through and whittling down my inbox at work, I discovered that a letter I had created will soon be converted into a template for all of the secretaries to use. (That plus too many dollars will buy me not-my-favorite hot cocoa at Starbucks.)

What is my favorite hot cocoa, you ask? Currently, 3/8 of a block of Abuelita (Mexican hot chocolate) and 10-12oz of milk in a tallish mug, nuked in three stages as follows: two minutes at half power, stir, two more minutes at half power, stir again, two final minutes at half power, stir like crazy, spray a nice swirl of ReddiWip on top, then sip and feel those old bones start to thaw.

I've begun reading a YA novel on my Kindle, as palate cleanser from Howards End. It's not much of a success as a palate cleanser. Stepping up momentarily upon my Victorian/Edwardian soapbox, I do not believe the S-word and the B-word belong in YA novels, regardless of how actual YA's may choose to speak.

I'm nearing the end of season two of Grantchester, and my phone is currently in the charger. The last couple of episodes have been rather dark. By "rather" I mean that the vicar, his unhappily married female friend, and the policeman have each had a meltdown, and when I plugged my phone in there'd been a fistfight and a shouting match.

So I read a few chapters of the YA novel and am waiting for a batch of StoveTop to be edible. And then I'm going to spend three or four hours in the 1950's, hoping for a little sunshine in Old Blighty.

There is no there there.

Challenge in my non-Austen reading group: Book that starred an Oscar winner in the movie: Howards End, by E.M. Forster. (Emma Thompson) Three stars at most. I know that this is considered a modern classic, and maybe it is in England, but I found it difficult to summon enthusiasm for any of the characters, or their inner thoughts, or the plot as a whole. It's as Gertrude Stein said, "There is no there there." I wonder if the movie is any more interesting? Emma Thompson's pretty amazing.

I'm now into the second season of Grantchester and am going to fit in one more episode before calling it a night.

Amazon package arrived for me today. Feeling it through the plastic envelope, I couldn't imagine what it might be. Too small for a book, and not quite the right shape. Ta-Daa! A six-pack of 08 black Micron pens for coloring in larger bits when I'm tangling.

I had another good day at work, very productive, and I'm getting closer to being approximately caught up. This will be made simpler by the fact that SemperFi is retiring at the end of May, and he's been told that we're not getting any new cases, just polishing off the existing ones. I will miss working with him. It's been easier, working from home. Because of the pandemic, the courts keep rescheduling our trials, so there have been no trial notebooks to prepare (huzzah!), and none of the usual pre-trial intensity on his part and concurrent anxiety on mine. Attorneys, even the best and kindest ones, get intense leading up to a trial.

I could probably think of more things to say, but I would rather go feast my eyes upon the good vicar. Night, y'all.

No posts at all, last year? I make up for it tonight.

Mostly I just hunkered down, working from home, and enjoying the company of my bipolar bears. I'm still working from home. The commute is wonderful. All of fifteen seconds from my bed to my work desk, which is set up in the living room.

I drew a lot last year, until I didn't. When the pre-election anxiety got too strong, I started binge-watching British TV via Amazon Prime. Victoria. Poldark. Sherlock. Elementary. Good Omens. This year I've joined a Jane Austen reading club on Facebook, in addition to the local(ish) group I joined last year. (It wasn't all TV. I read Bolton's expose, and Woodward's first one, but not his second, and not the niece's book. Interspersed with lighter reading. I particularly enjoyed Becoming Duchess Goldblatt.)

I have a Kindle edition of Austen's six finished novels plus The Watsons and Sanditon. I've read the latter two works. Sanditon was blown up into an eight episode mini-series that bears little resemblance to the original. (The guy who plays Sidney ~ Theo James ~ is drop-dead gorgeous. His character, along with Tom's wife Mary and the ingenue, Charlotte, are the most sympathetic characters. The costuming is lovely, the seacoast makes me want to travel, and the idiocy of most of the characters makes me want to spit.) We are going to begin reading Persuasion on February 1. I love the movie featuring Amanda Root and Ciaran Hinds. I've also watched five versions of Pride and Prejudice, and my favorite modern adaptation is the one set in Utah with lots and lots and lots of little Austen-esque digs at Utah/Idaho church culture.

Because when I'm watching some movies, I tell myself, this would turn out a whole lot differently if they had cell phones. Romeo and Juliet. Burner phones. Nobody dies.

Tonight I finished season 1 of Grantchester. It's set near Cambridge in the early 50s. So I'm loving the costumes. The final episode has two exceedingly brave and strong women in it. One refuses to continue a romance in which the man she loves has been unfaithful, telling him that while her husband was unfaithful, she is not going to put up with that now, or in the future. And the second very publicly outs her husband as an abuser, without saying a word. You'll remember that my husbands were neither adulterers nor abusers. And in real life, the second woman's actions would likely get her killed offscreen and make her the subject of episode one of season 2.

If we are friends on FB, you'll know that 2020 was not only the year of the pandemic, it was the year that I became outspokenly political. I was cautiously optimistic when Biden was declared the apparent winner in November. I felt better still when the Electoral College confirmed the popular vote. I was appalled and heartbroken, but not surprised, at the insurrection fomented by the former President on January 6. And when the Inauguration came and went without further chaos, and with dignity and grace on the part of our new President and Vice President and their spouses, I finally began sleeping better and longer.

It's late. I really should be in bed. There are clean sheets piled on a corner of the bed, and the cotton blanket to retrieve from the dryer. (Oh, we have a new washer and dryer, and they are nothing short of mechanical miracles. I'm researching a new stovetop and oven for 2021. We shall see.)