Music

I'm thoroughly convinced that any form of creating, and art, somehow must have some godly source.
Why else would it be enjoyable?

Yesterday, my in-laws and I went to the little Protestant church built in 1639 (I mean, really, it's before South Africa was even colonized), and listened to a Slavic choir.
Rich timbres gave way to a meditative moment for me.
I could sit, listen, and lose myself.

My mother-in-law was convinced that I was the most beautiful woman there, which only goes to show that she is:
a) senile
b) blind, and
c) she must love me an awful lot to say something like that.

We went home at 5, then made soup, drank our plum gin that we made back in July, and bid them farewell, only to enter The Night Of No Sleep, during which Son#2 came down with some kind of stomach bug and I only went to bed at 6h15 this morning.
Sigh.

Son#2 is staying home.
I'm staying home, this morning at least, until the husband will come home and take over so I can go teach my classes for the day.
Did I mention that mountain of work?
Still there, I'm afraid.
And, I'm thoroughly unprepared for the day.
Thoroughly.