It is noon and it is fall.
I have already showered, fed the baby, assembled my cleaning supplies for something I'll tell you about in a minute, washed a load of towels, welcomed my husband home, cleaned up a huge mess made when a quart jar of tomatoes broke and splattered on the floor, bathed the individual responsible for said crash, cleaned the bathroom, mopped the floors, got an old clock out of the car which had been there since yesterday after being picked up from the repair shop, oh, and made sure other pantry jars are secure as a prevention measure. It is only noon, and I am slowing down.
What is it called when you volunteer to do something as a service, but with a self serving ulterior motive?
In our church, members take turns cleaning the building via a sign-up sheet, where one can take a two week turn at cleaning. Once a year we all come together and do a thorough window washing and whatever else needs to be done, but the year round housekeeping works through the sign up sheet with most signers committing to a month. It was very over-due for my turn, but it wasn't the guilt that got the pen in my hand. It was the smell.
For a very long time I've been noticing a certain stale smell that hangs in the sanctuary and clings to our clothes long after we're home. The Mister can't smell it, but I can, and I plan to eradicate it with the aforementioed cleaning kit which contains numerous odor reducing products. My idea of opening some windows once in a while has never caught on, so now I have to launch chemical warfare. While pumpkin festivals abound, this is what my fall afternoon looks like.
It is an autumn noon, and yet it is eighty degrees. I am sweating in my denim skirt and cotton top, getting ready to meet a friend and her children at the park. I love afternoons at the park, and always keep one eye on the ground for natural things I can show Duckling, things to make his eyes widen and enlarge his world. Things that are not acorns, which he puts in his mouth.Whatever corn is still standing is brown and the bean fields are yellow. I hear thuds from the black walnut tree losing its fruit. The changeable sign at the farmers market has one word on it: Apples.
It is an autumn noon.
|Natural thing found at the park.|
As an aside...Last week I shared my abundance of outgrown baby clothes and a few other new and unused items with our local pregnancy crisis center. It's a double win since they are out of our space while hopefully benefiting a baby in need. This past year my heart has expanded in new ways for moms and babies, and pregnancy centers like the one mentioned here do a wonderful service to unborn babies and mothers with few options. Now that yard sale season is over, maybe you will consider donating any gently used baby items to centers like these.