Happy 15th.

It’s August 15th, the Feast of the Assumption for Cat-licks like me. It means  a lot of things to me, though I don’t intend for this to be a religious blog, so what it means for this post is fitting Mass into another busy day. The choices are endless, but I have blown past the 6:30 Am Mass, the 8, and now the 8:30. There is a noon downtown, and hubby is going to the 5:30 after work. Sounds like a lot of choices. We’re pretty well off in this area; pretty much can’t chuck an apple without hitting a Catholic Church.

As I type, at a few minutes to 8, a giant slab of pork is sizzling in the red cast iron pot on the stove. I like to brown it before I cook it in the crock for pulled pork barbecue. Had to cut the monster up into three pieces to fit it in the browning pot. It will make a few meals, and I’ll feel like I’m off the hook for a while. Cooking as well as well, everything else, gets in the way of writing–an awful, honest admission.

If you must picture it, I am on my laptop at the dining room table, my present “office” of choice. I run a diagonal to the kitchen stove every 4-5 as the time dictates to turn the pieces in the pot. (The sizzle is electrifying and the smell is pretty great.) On the way, I pass my one year old granddaughter Sophia, who is sitting in the highchair eating a banana and going between saying “Nana” and na-na, seemingly fascinated that her grandma is named for a fruit. I’m trying to map out a day that makes sense, instead of the day I would prefer–guess what that is. 🙂

Back again. That last turn went a little long, leaving a burnt tang in the air. My eldest daughter, who must have said “The timer is going off,” at least three times before it registered with me, is awake and she will begin work soon. For now she is making breakfast and tending the baby. The three teens are fast asleep, enjoying what is left of sleeping-in summer. The house, a tornadic explosion of things-not-put-away, needs attention for sure, and if I’m a good mother and wife, I will behave on this feast day of God’s own Mother and clean it up.

I’ll let you know. 😉

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About Carla Coon

Carla Coon has been happily married to her husband Darrell for 25 years, living in Upstate New York and raising their eight children. They are new grandparents to three baby girls. Carla’s first novel, THE GLEN, was born of a synergy of two great passions: religious studies and the outdoors. Carla Coon's professional experience includes working as Editor of LifeWork’s Magazine for NYSRTLC, where she also contributed a monthly column. Carla wrote in-depth articles for the National Catholic Register, and was published in the New Oxford Review, Catholic Faith & Family, the Press & Sun-Bulletin and more. In other positions, she was a Program Coordinator for a non-profit groups and Director of Religious Education at a large parish. Once a professional ballroom dance instructor, Carla enjoys music and dance, roaming art museums, and travel with her husband. Her current work involves coordinating the establishment of family support groups in Upstate NY.
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