Still coughing. And coughing. I think I’m over the flu, but there’s this darn cough. We bought a whole bag of grapefruit and are working our way through it. God bless grapefruit.
I somehow got onto the committee charged with selecting the final candidates to be the new rector at St. George’s Episcopal Church. I don’t remember volunteering, though I probably murmured something non-committal when asked about it a few months ago – I really have to take more seriously that piece of needlework that sits framed in my office.
I was very daunted by the assignment because it’s such an important job. A bad rector (“rector” is Episcopalian for “pastor”) can totally destroy a parish, and there are really a great many ways for a rector to be bad. But we have been given such great guidance that I think we can do a good job. Still, this would make a fine mystery plot. . . We had our second meeting last night. There are six of us – we’re a very small parish – and about as divergent a group of people as you could wish for that could still be Episcopalians.
As Java the foster cat works her way into the household, her bossiness is coming to the fore. Scratch any cat and you’ll find a tyrant, and Java is no exception. She likes to sleep on top of our legs and when she finds a victim, she’ll take possession. If the sleeper rolls over, she will “try” to sleep on top of one leg, making such a fuss of sliding off and getting back on that the sleeper will wake and roll back on her back to accommodate her. Oh, yes, I see what she’s doing there.