Some people say we are living in the “new normal.” I’m not sure exactly what they mean, and I don’t have the time to ask, nor the desire.
If the “new normal” is what I have been experiencing in the parsonage for the last several months, I’m all for it. Let it continue. Everybody should be able to live their own normal.
Because of being limited, as far as traveling is concerned and going shopping or whatever, the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and I have spent a lot of time at home enjoying our time together.
I must say that my wife and I don’t always see eye to eye. After all, I’m 6’3″, and she’s only 5’2″. I’m tempted to say at times, but I value my life too much, that I have a “higher perspective” than my wife. But you didn’t hear it for me.
We have spent almost half a century together, and we’re coming out of it most amicably. Some people might say we were opposites in many regards. She’s on the vegetable side of the table, and I’m on the fruit side.
There have been some little clashes concerning that. She’s a vegetable connoisseur and I, well, let’s say I’m a fruitoholic. The only veggie I really approve of is the Carrot Cake.
Apart from that, we have been able to carve out a wonderful life together. I didn’t realize how much it was until all of this “lockdown” nonsense that we’re in right now.
When I go out, come home and walk into the house, I am overwhelmed by the aroma that is all through the house. The first time this happened, I had to stop and try to figure out what was happening. Then it became clear, the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage had spent the whole day cooking or baking.
One day it is baking, and then the next day it is cooking and putting it all together, it is marvelous.
We haven’t eaten out in a restaurant for months, but rather have enjoyed home-cooked meals the whole time. I’m not sure if I should leave a tip!
I remember one day when I came into the house the aroma was one of my favorites. My wife had been baking cookies all day long, and the house was filled with that beautiful aroma.
On the table were cookies just out of the oven, and in the oven was a new batch of cookies. Those cookies on the table smelled so wonderful. Not only that, but they also looked delicious. I’m not sure what delicious looks like, but those cookies came very close to that definition.
I came and stood by the cookies and looked at them, and then I heard, “Don’t you dare touch one of those cookies!”
Looking up, my wife was staring at me, knowing full well my intent to snatch a cookie. The problem with cookies on the table is when you take one, there is an empty space so you can’t get away with it.
“But, my dear, they look and smell so wonderful. This must be the best batch of cookies you have ever made in your life.”
I’m trying to negotiate into getting at least one cookie. The problem is, nobody, especially me, can negotiate with the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage.
I looked at her, looked back at the cookies, and then again at her with some of my most sorry-looking eyes I could manufacture. If I could have created a tear, I would’ve at that moment.
At that time, I knew I would have to wait to have a cookie, but it was just killing me to not only smelling them but seeing in the same room that I’m in. Such torture is inhuman.
I went into the living room and sat down to watch a little TV. In a few moments, my wife came in carrying one cookie and said, “You can have one cookie per day.”
Smiling at her, I accepted the cookie and indulged in gratifying my cookie-itis. And it was wonderful. My problem at the time was, it was only one, and it was small.
I found out she was making these cookies for other people and members of the family. I tried to tell her that I was a member of the family, but she threw a grimace at me and continued baking the cookies.
How can anybody live on just one cookie per day?
Later on, I saw on the table plastic bags filled with cookies designated for some friend or family member. An idea crumbled in my head at that time. When my wife said, “one cookie per day,” what did that actually mean?
Looking at all the bags of cookies on that table, I developed my own interpretation and assumed it meant one cookie per day per plastic bag. I hope she doesn’t catch on to my plan, but I have enjoyed her cookies all day long. Remember, I only ate one at a time.
As I was enjoying my last cookie, a verse of scripture came to mind. “My little children, let us not love in word, neither in tongue; but in deed and in truth” (1 John 3:18).
My words don’t mean anything unless it is backed up by what I do. I think I need to confess my cookie snatching to my wife.