The warm and humid left as quickly as it came. There were rolling thunderstorms, bouquets of lightning, and the tornado sirens blared. No bad winds came by us but north and south of us things got a little dicey. Today it's overcast, windy, and in the 50s, just about normal for this time of year. It sure was nice to sit on the patio in short sleeves and barefoot, though. Pretty soon. I got a nice surprise when I stepped out to go to work today--the daffodils are blooming! They're so pretty and yellow. I love their little trumpets and the frill of petals behind them. They just look like sunshine on a stick to me. The tiny ones I planted on the renters' side are blooming, too, in a little cluster that looks like a kid's bouquet.
April 10--France, Limoges, Chasse of Champagnat. She bent over her work table holding a soft brush and a rubber bulb to puff the dust off the box. She was working on the side with the name on it. "Maria Marcialis" it read. She wondered if it meant Miraculous Mary, like the relic inside was supposed to be from "the" Mary, the mother of Jesus, supposedly the mother of God. She wanted to believe that Mary was the mother of God but it seemed so unlikely. Even more unlikely than believing that his gilded box contained a two-thousand-year-old piece of a particular young woman. She could imagine some clumsy monk in a monastery tucked away on a mountain peak jostling the box and losing the bone fragment. In her imagination she saw him put a chicken bone in his pocket at the next meal and slide it into the box instead. What would Dr. Heinrich say if she proved that it was Foghorn Leghorn's bone in there rather than the Blessed Mother?
I swear my brain's turning to stone. It gets harder and harder to dredge up something to write about. --Barbara