With a year delay

A cold head doesn’t have to argue with a hot heart

mrk

The news of the day was from the older daughter: It was snowing . In fact, in recent years in our parts, snow in winter is almost an event. I remembered a “page” to “The Catholic Diary” written a year ago, which I did not publish. So maybe there is an opportunity to blog so that my work is not wasted, and in a moment I will go to clear the snow from my younger daughter’s car, because we will go to Bud. The wife is already there with a friend with her friends:

Beautiful view outside the window. Let us not be afraid of the word beauty. Nature paints. Heaven and earth are white. Snow on the canopy above the well. Mistletoe on a willow. Low spruce. Below him, a sled lying on its side. The open green gate. Wooden fence. A red brick house against the background of the forest. I’m listening to the “Roman Triptych” performed by Stanisław Soyka: The bay of the forest descends / in the rhythm of mountain streams … / If you want to find the source, / you have to go up, against the current. / Fight your way, search, keep going . Earlier, I was accompanied by the album “Abba Pater” – a joint prayer with John Paul II: Il Signore ẻ mia e mia salvezza … A moment ago, when we were drinking coffee, looking through the window in the other room, we counted the tits stuck like a grape on the bacon.

We are with my wife at a friend’s house in the village of Budy. The walk from the stop to her was interrupted by her neighbor. He picked us up taking us off the road as we entered the forest. We were going very well despite the winter weather. The wind was picking up snowflakes from the fields. Miniature whirlwinds. When there is no need to rush, the road seems easier. But we let a friend do the right thing.

We remembered my sister-in-law over coffee. If she had lived, she would have been 65 today. Now he and his brother look at us from heaven. We looked at their photos. And we were younger there: in the mountains, on the days of our children’s first communion, on the streets of Sosnowiec and Brodnica, in their apartment, at our parents’ grave. Due to the birthday of Fr. Paweł Rąbka (it’s true that a nice name, the program will underline it with a red wavy line), a vicar from our parish, at the end of the 1980s, who screwed us into the structures of the Church.

When I was writing a text about suffering in the poetry of Fr. Jerzy Szymik (http://www.kotwica.cisi.pl/download/archiwum/2014/71.pdf) my friend’s granddaughter came to me, four-year-old Patrycja. She asked: What are you doing ? After I answered her, as befits a child, she asked more questions: What are you writing for? And what kind of newspaper is that? With the title of the bimonthly “Kotwica”, I explained to her what the anchor is for. She said: When we were at the seaside, there were ships . Together we watched the magazine of the Community of Silent Workers of the Cross devoted to the sick and disabled . I showed her a picture of a little older than her Dawid with a volunteer, children in wheelchairs. Then she told her grandmother that she liked me. It was worth talking for such praise. Although I worked on it and before, because I was a little joking at the table. At the time of writing, I also listened to a CD with recordings of Fr. Jerzy Szymik recited by him. The recording is attached to one of his books. It’s good to hear a poet’s voice. In the “Prado” line, he asks: not to have someone to share emotions develops or destroys? / is the question of truth a privilege of the Pilates? / is sensitivity a treasure or a handicap? / is your admiration for goodness growing in you? / isn’t having someone to come back to is the ultimate freedom? / can love and suffering be cursed into silence? / do you understand what it means that Jesus is homeless?

On the dinner table were a loaf of cottage cheese and a bowl of lard. I am writing about the best. Hams, cheeses, bigos, fish, although good too, I could have skipped. Especially the lard deserves a mention. As a friend said: The dog got the bacon sprouts, the titmouse skin, and the lard was left for us . During the evening walk in the sky, we saw a few stars above Budy. It is worth living for such days, although sometimes you have to suffer. Only occasionally I ask: Lord, what about those who don’t have Bud, friends, don’t see the stars in the evening sky, don’t like to see beautiful views out the window?

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