Box-o-Wine, I miss You

Hello everyone and welcome to the liver blog. It's so nice to have you here.

Tonight Mary Beth called. Remember our neighbor who advised on how to manage an anorexic -- nobody told me that would come with the marriage deal; it's a liver thing -- and who recommended buying wine by the box? I think I will never buy a bottle again, even if I could afford it. There are just too many good memories of drinking wine in a box with Patrick and Mary Beth.

We would drink as we waited. We waited and waited for the calls. Days, weeks, months. They lived down the hall from us in student housing; a dorm for families. But not anymore because Patrick got a call and they are outta-here. This picture is from his ordination.

One of the really nice things about Patrick's ordination is that I got to chat with the amazing Dr. Mary Hess in the reception line. If I were in another place and another time, I would be a student and she would be my advisor. This is also the day that Mom Speirs enjoyed the ride in the country.

So the Patterson's are one month ahead of us. It works like this -- you wait forever and then BAM it happens. You got a call and then your life becomes a glorious high speed. You get a call and the church wants you to be there ASAP. And you wish you could be there ASAP. But you got a cancer treatment. A business trip. Cardiac rehab. To find a house. To negotiate not to get evicted from student housing. Find a bishop who can fit it into his schedule to lay his hands on your husband. Another business trip. Finesse kids and multiple schools. Plan an ordination, which is like a most holy high wedding. You move. You hope you figure it all out. Holy cow, it's like an avalanche of really, really big stuff.

One moment you're a schlep getting evicted from your apartment. The next moment your a pastor's wife. An insubordinate one.

Well, what the hey. We're going to Patrick's installation. And we may stay overnight. And we my share a box-o-wine like in the good 'ol days. Order is over-rated.

In the meantime, since school has started, I've discovered that the kids like hot breakfasts. And since I've been reading that crazy Anthony Bordain book, I've realized that I enjoy making hot breakfasts. That means that sofar every single morning before school and work, we've had pancakes, muffins, french toast, or eggs. And since Bob is forever on New York City time where you operate in evenings rather than mornings; he's waking up as I go off to work. By then, I've had about an hour or two of cooking breakfast and public radio; our morning goodbyes go something like this:

Me: Goodbye, babe.

Bob waking up: Goodbye, babe.

Me: Did you know that there are now more displaced Iraqi people than Colombian people?

Bob waking up: Oh.

Me: And there are a lot of displaced Colombian people.

Bob waking up: OK.

Me: There are 3 million displaced Colombian people.

Bob waking up: What did you say?

Me: Goodbye.

Bob still sleeping: Goodbye.

Public radio + me = a conversation like that pretty much every morning. Aren't you glad you didn't marry me?

Our nights are much more about Captain Underpants, which I still find incredibly funny. I promise, though, that I will upgrade our reading to Harry Potter soon. Since we are the only people in the world who have not read Harry Potter. And everyone says we simply must read Harry Potter. Well, I am telling you, you simply must read Captain Underpants.

Anyway, here is the picture I've been promising you. It's the one with the matching eye glasses that Bob and I accidently got. Remember that day when we were anticipating our surgeries? And speaking of, Bob says that he sees my surgeon, Dr. Sanan, all the time in the parking ramp at United Hosptial. It's so unfair.

Me and my box-o-wine are going to bed. Goodnight.

Love, T