A lot of people scoff at religion these days, and then a lot of people worship anger as well. I was a very little girl in the early 50’s and the first song I learned to sing (horribly off-key) was “Jesus Loves Me.” My grandmother was a very intelligent woman who went to college in 1900; she believed in God and went to church every Sunday. She taught Sunday School until she had a stroke.

And, in 1953, when a burgundy edition of the Bible was made available to her, she ordered two and gave one to me and left a handwritten inscription on the flyleaf. (Her  “p’s” all had an upward stroke because that’s how they were taught when she was little.)

When she died, my aunt started using her Bible and when my aunt died and then my mother died, I found myself in possession of it. My aunt had a habit of noting certain thoughts in her Bible. One of then was this quote: “It is not the burdens you carry; it is how you carry them.”

I think I am ready to admit I need to be here, at home. Here, where things are rustic and doors are solid wood and the key for the front door is an old-fashioned thing, the doorknob black and taking a little extra push to secure the latch. To go upstairs and sort through all the old things, the ancient postcards, the stuff stored away. I look at the photos I took of the rooms so I could plan what I would keep and what I would not. It seemed a good organizational idea then. Now it seems more a daunting task. But there is a peace in the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse – and a piece of me.