Every few hours, we read another section of the story, tracking with the times of the day.
It's been good to have a friend to observe the weekend with me. I feel the shallow places in me filling up, relieved to have another voice to talk to about life, students, ideas, creative work
We went to the Old Town and visited my favorite ceramics shop, the one where the owner smashes her dishes to show they are unbreakable and feeds me apricot rakia with each visit. Having a friend helps remind me to delight in the lovely artisan work hidden around the quiet corners of this town I live in.
After, we waited in line with 15 others for the special sweet bread, full of raisons and turkish delight. The smell of the fresh bread drifted with us as we walked home through the rain.
Good Friday. A day to remember a death.
We finished our day with a Good Friday service at the small Methodist church I attend. One of the girls translated for us. We sang, heard a sermon about remembering gratitude and communication with God in response to Jesus death. Then we stopped at the Orthodox church in the center, lit candles amid the hub bub of many older people chanting the service (no choir).
It was a good day. A day of reading the accounts and taking stock, charting the course of our spirits and memories for the next few days. It also recounted where we have walked in the last year and what we have learned. Remembering and remembering well.
So close to Easter.