Houses and homes

I spent part of today at home while a guy patched the ceiling in our home office. It collapsed about a year ago. We got the roof fixed, but never got around to getting the ceiling fixed. A year with a hole in your house is probably enough. I love my house, though I sometimes feel oppressed by it. We don't have a lawn, we need a new toilet, we have white carpet and pets.

My mom called. She often is very sad on the phone. She's a Presbyterian minister. I'm not sure those last two thoughts are related. They may be.

She asked if I wanted to transfer my letter from her old Atlanta church to her new one. For those of you out of the presby-world, a transfer of letter means that you are a member of a church (once you've joined in the first place). When he was young, my dad went and asked at his church for his letter. He didn't want them to have it. There is no actual piece of paper, so they couldn't give it to him. I told my mother that she could transfer my letter to her new church. She made it a habit to transfer my letter around. When I was in college, she left the church I actually joined and transferred my letter to her new one. I remember being irritated about it at the time. I didn't even know that she had transferred my letter to her third church. She didn't transfer my letter to the giant church she served in Chicago for 18 months. Just as well. No one in our family thought much of the Chicago sojourn except my honey, who liked visiting it better than Atlanta. (I do see her point). I guess I have a new church home. In absentia. Seems about right.

My Dad was out last weekend. He was fantastic, funny, relaxed. He told me that the big oak that had dominated the back yard of the house I grew up in had fallen during one of the hurricanes. The death of that tree makes me sad. I think of us running up and down the back yard under that tree. We do have two big elms here and a tangerine that produces more fruit than we know what to do with.

I guess I'll end under a tree with my favorite Mary Chapin Carpenter song. Here's what she says:

"And I can tell by the way you’re searching,
for something you can’t even name
That you haven’t been able to come to the table,
simply glad that you came
When you feel like this try to imagine that we’re all like frail boats on the sea
Just scanning the night for that great guiding light announcing the jubilee

And I can tell by the way you’re standing with your eyes filling with tears
That it’s habit alone that keeps you turning for home, even though your home is right here
Where the people who love you are gathered, under the wise wishing tree
May we all be considered then straight on delivered down to the jubilee

Because to people who love you are waiting,
and they’ll wait just as long as need be
When we look back and say those were halcyon days
We’re talking about jubilee."

I do hope they'll wait for me.