Carry On and Cry Out

In our house, grocery shopping during the Pandemic means what comes home is not on the list. If it's Tuesday, does it matter if the husband wants roast pork? The days are blurred. Nothing else is ordinary. So, what if I'm big on eat memories? I long for dinner parties, foodie friends, and yakking about nothing around the table.

It is his night to cook (yes, we negotiate), so we eat a minuscule slab of pork with leftover apple sauce, mash potatoes, and asparagus. I talked incessantly during the meal. Tradition was huge growing up in my family. (Since when, did I care about routine and ritual?) Pork roast would not happen unless it was Sunday, I repeat. Why did this meal take me back to my father's experience in WW2 out in the Atlantic battling submarine attacks? I cry, again.

Staying home, grocery shopping, and online overload leave me in the storms of self and tempest of unrest as writer Madeleine L’Engle understands it. Each day brings up a longing for elsewhere. Zooming with everyone I know is making me homesick for everywhere. If this blog reads like a “lament” – it is. The lament has a common place in the Scriptures—go ahead and cry out: how long, because I can’t stand it any longer.