On the Road Again

As much as I hate to say it, our apartment search has, once again, begun.


Zak and I love the home in which we currently live. We love the people we live with. My two best friends are under the same roof. I get to walk to work.

I see this from our front porch.

And we get to walk five blocks to this.

We're really spoiled. This house is huge. We have a bedroom that's twice the size of my bedroom at my parents' house. We can see the GG bridge from our bedroom window (on a sunny day, anyway.)

We have a porch and a living room and a working fireplace that makes the SF winter (and summer) nights bearable. 

I know it's time to move on. I know we need a place of our own, and a home space filled just with us. That doesn't make the change any easier. That doesn't make it any more fun to search for hours on Craigslist, looking at posting after posting of rentals that are too expensive, too small, to far away, too dangerous, too sketch.

Last time we were moving, God stepped in and stitched everything up nicely. I know He will take care of us this time around, too. We're playing the waiting game again, and He's in control of the clock. 

We watch the sand descend, grain-by-grain, into the cup. 

Source

I could give you all an update, I suppose. And when I say "you all," I mean the 3 readers google analytics tells me I get on a monthly basis.

This week begins Lent. Last week, I saw a bunch of Catholics walking around with the ash on their foreheads for Ash Wednesday. We don't do Ash Wednesday, but I get a little thrill when I see those crosses, because it means our Lent is about to begin.

The students were required to attend church every night this week; therefore, I was required, too. Even though most of the service I spent trying to keep the kids from molding their candles into balls of wax, I did enjoy it by the fourth day. And then it was over, and I felt as if it had only just begun.

Photo at Holy Virgin Cathedral, from Tikhon Thompson

Castleville

In other news, I've quit drinking caffeine, which means I never get anything done. I come home and my clothes are on the floor and I think I should pick them up but instead I end up clearing shrubbery in my Castleville.

That's a Zynga game. Don't ask.

Most things are the same, I suppose. I don't write as often. Obviously. Sometimes I think I should move back up to the mountains, where the only thing I ever did was write -- write, and complain about the snow and try to cook things that always ended up worse than I thought possible.

I dwell on Common Threads. Lives naturally take on a theme - or perhaps more accurately, a motif. For some people, it's addictions - to people, drugs, travel. For others, it's accomplishments - in school, at the workplace, finishing project after project in the home.

I don't know what my theme is, my 'common thread'. I bounce around from one place to the other and before I know it, I've forgotten where I started. On purpose, mostly.

In fact, I forget where this blog began.