I thought I’d done well to come away from Iona without taking anything — no shells, no stones, just a bit of sand clinging to my boots.
But today, I realised that I hadn’t quite left empty handed. Oh no. For somewhere along the line I picked up ‘the clergy wives’ cold’. That sorts out which category the viruses thought I was in, then…
Sorry the blog has effectively gone dead. Will try to resume in a more interesting fashion soon.
An excercize in circular linking:
I found this blog after it’s author found beauty from chaos. Much there to ponder and enjoy.
(And her readers say such encouraging things about the Lent blog, too.)
I offer you this, from the BBC, to put Molly’s trauma in the toilet bowl in perspective.
I thought I was imagine it.
Everything happening at once. Phones, doorbells, plumbers, crises. Everything conspiring against me as I tried to clear the to do list and get ready for Iona.
Surely it’s me, just having a day of stressy not-coping, imagining it is all worse than it is.
But I know now that is not so.
Molly just fell into the toilet bowl.
Poor, soggy, wet stressed cat.
wonderful exchange 