Lexi browsed the gift shop, milling through saints just in case they were out of The Worker. We were both fond of the Joan of Arc, although she was rather bloody in her gown and helmet.
"Becoming a saint is hard work," I whispered, trying not to stand out in the crowd, my Protestant roots showing.
And though I didn't know it at the time, I guess I should have been glad that anything was showing because I don't think we had one guest yesterday.
Over the past few weeks, the question comes up: What will you do when school starts, if you are still on the market here?
(Read: What the hell are you going to do if you can't sell your house in this economy?
And how should I know?
I've been strangely calm thinking this through, what another September at our old school would look like or feel like, and besides feeling a little sheepish - um, we're still here - the thought of carrying two mortgages brings on waves of panic.
I just know we will be where we are supposed to be, today or tomorrow or the fall, and I put those thoughts to rest. I'm doing all I can - hoping, praying, striving - and trying to enjoy my summer without a harvest ulcer.
Have you met Po, the kung fu master?
He was destined to be a Noodle Master, but he dreamed big dreams. And ate too much. And had doubts. And was rather lazy. And fluffy.
But he became a hero.
(I am blaming my zen mood on Master Po. Greg and I took the kids to see Kung Fu Panda during our Open, Yet Lonely House and it was a scream: Great animation, great themes, and Jack Black bleeds through this wayward hero. I am so happy to give it the thumbs up.)