Tonight we made a big pot of chili
thinking that a lot of people would come over, but only a few showed. However, after most of the guests had gone, the two neighbor kids banged on the door while I was baking a cake.
For the first blog, I (Heather) would like to post a poem by my favorite poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins.
Glory be to God for dappled things–
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chesnut-falls, finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced–fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
The little girl is three, and she helped me finish the cake. She put on my big apron, danced around, and sang, “I’m a baker!”
Some of the perfect moments of living are also wonderfully not perfect.