kvetching up

 Entry 1.    8:21 a.m. Jenny, who has taken the dogs at night in preparation of my backpacking trip, somehow managed to keep them placated until 7:30. Down in my Skinner box of a bedroom, I woke up at 6:00, around the time the dogs (on average) like to wake me.   Willow rang the bells hanging from the front door to go outside, the second time in the last few days. Progress grinds slowly with this one, but we are making headway.

I am not a religious person. Not even slightly.  I am not an atheist.  I am not smart enough to stake out a position, or to say how or why we exist.  But when I am feeling low, give me Mahalia Jackson, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Hank Williams, Roy Acuff or F.C. Barnes singing about their faith, and it buoys me. People persevere, they push on through hard times.  That's what this particularly working-class flavor of gospel music says to me.  I don't have their gift of faith, but I know that this too shall pass.   I haven't written in so long because work, the dogs, Jenny's illness, Jenny's anger, moving, unpacking and preparing for next week's backpacking trip have sapped me. I have been holed up in my room for about an hour as I write this, listening to Fern Jones sing. She was a holy roller, tent revivalist musician whose music was almost lost, but rereleased a few years ago.  She has been compared to Patsy Cline, high praise, really. I digress.  ....