Palm Saturday

Today was a day in several acts. I didn't absolutely have to get out of bed for anything this morning, so I didn't. I stayed there daydreaming about pleasant things - on an off at least, in between bouts of certain members of the household "keeping Mommy company." So that was Act 1, some necessary zoning-out time.

I did eventually have to get up and take a shower so I could accompany Caroline to the finals of the city swim competition. Shortly after she qualified in the neighborhood heats several weeks ago, she had a painful run-in with a soccer ball in gym class, so in the intervening time she's had her hand in a splint and taken part in precisely zero sports: soccer, swimming, or otherwise. So I wasn't sure how this was going to go, but as usual I underestimated my small-but-surprisingly-quick kid and I think she somehow even managed to shave a few seconds off her qualifying time. So 12th out of the 14 girls with birthdays in 2006 who showed up: not last, but safely out of danger of staying another hour for the finals, win all around. Act 2, momming, complete.

Then we went to church to help with "Palmbuschbinden." Which I put quotation marks because it's a tradition I have yet to really grasp. I'm not even sure if it's something they do at other churches here, or just at ours. The idea is to have something for the Palm Sunday service but - here's part I can't get over - Palmbuschbinden involves no palms whatsoever. Instead of just passing out palm branches like sane Christians, we engage in an hours-long operation involving piles of olive branches (this year featuring actual olives!), cedar branches, and pussy willows, which we clip down to manageable sizes, bind into bunches with florist wire, and then decorate with colored pipe cleaners, ribbons, and plastic Easter eggs (?!!). The bundles get distributed to the attendees of the Palm Sunday service. They're blessed at the beginning of the service and afterwards apparently you're supposed to take them home and "hang them on the cross." I can imagine that people have a cross on the wall at home but most of these things end up being easily the size of your forearm, only much bushier, which seems...too large to hang on a wall, with or without a cross? Ours usually sit in water over Easter, dry out, and make their way into the green waste - except for the pussy willows, which we hold onto as long as humanly possible because pussy willows. But none of this says Palm Sunday to me. And the busy room full of greenery, decorations, ever-disappearing clippers, first graders and their parents, the teenagers required to help out, and my kids (in and out at random intervals) is always, in a word, exhausting. So that was Act 3...floristry?!

I did manage to drag the whole family to the service at 5:30, but afterwards I was one raw nerve. And then I had to think about what to write tonight. I ended up going out for a walk to clear my head, and making myself a mug of Oval[mal]tine before I could start typing. I feel like I'm nearing the end of a marathon with this writing project. I didn't know what to expect going into it, and now I'm on the home stretch but I'm not at all sure what to make of the experience. Here's what I know:

• Writing is something I'm willing to lose sleep over.
• The idea that someone, somewhere wants to read this is important to me. I don't need a million followers. But, like, ten would be cool. 
• I was hoping to use this time to get some of my deeper thoughts down on paper (on screen, whatever), but in fact the bigger thoughts need more time than I can give them in any one evening.
• Still, writing every day (or most days, or anyway more than once a week) seems somehow important.
• If unsustainable.

Where should I go from here?

EDIT 4/14/19 - That second bullet isn't right. I don't want followers. I want...more like...companions on the journey. Because a dialog would be more interesting than sending missives into the ether. Probably also more challenging. Do I actually want to be challenged? So many questions.