A Weekend in the City

I stayed in the city for the first weekend in, I think, a month. I was feeling like I needed some time in my apartment to take care of it a little: to clean and buy some groceries and maybe cook something for the week. And I found that I was really missing the Anglican cathedral in my neighbourhood. For a while, part of my Sunday ritual was to slip quietly into one of the back pews during the late morning choral Eucharist (and cry). I ached for that hour, on my weekends away - more than I expected. More than I really know what to do with.

Solitude is not easy for me these days. Part of the beauty of weekends at my parents' was that there were people around. My dad is almost eternally either telling stories or asking questions or dispensing unsolicited life advice (of varying degrees of absurdity - last weekend it was that sunscreen was a conspiracy). My mom is kind of just a big bundle of hilarity and enthusiasm. Neighbours come over. Relatives stop by. (My house was not like this when I was a teenager. It's a wonder to behold.)
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