Marshmallow Pinwheels are really yummy cookies.

So the Viggo dream occurred Saturday night, which was also the night I slept almost 12 hours. Saturday was (supposed to be) our Sabbath day but we remembered the Green Festival was going on downtown, which we’d wanted to do. I agreed, knowing it was a three-day weekend and there would be some restful time later in the weekend.

I am glad we went; it was pretty interesting. It was pretty much exactly what you’d expect. We sampled soy jerky, entered a raffle for a framed print from the Syracuse Cultural Workers, talked to several so-called “green cleaners,” ate vegetarian soul food using a compostable fork made from a potato, and got some good information about doing an energy audit on our house, which is sorely needed.

But I came home exhausted and went to bed at 7:30 p.m. I had a dream in which R decided not to make Thanksgiving dinner and we crashed a church member’s house instead, but all they had left was apple pie crust.

I woke up at 11 p.m. and turns out R had just finished baking Scottish shortbread for the church potluck the next day. So yes, aromas can definitely impact one’s dreams.

Saturday was really not Sabbath time, though, so I gave myself permission to take it easy the rest of the weekend, including the holiday today. I had lots of stuff to do around the house but I tried not to push it.

Part of it is that I’m starting to feel quite uncomfortable. I really don’t feel that huge, but man alive it is TOO hot. I am so so so so so ready for the weather to cool off. It should not be pushing 90 on October 9. Period. Global warming anyone?

The girls got along for the most part all weekend, despite having a mama who was too hot to take them outside to burn off energy. They were a little stir crazy today though. I took them to the grocery store and C insisted on one of those obnoxious carts with the toy car attachment on the front. I hate those things and can’t maneuver them to save my life. But she asked nicely and I though it might help keep them occupied, so I agreed. M sat in it for about 5 minutes then wanted to ride up top. C lasted about 10.

Then in the car on the way home from the grocery store C was doing the “I don’t want M to look at me” thing. Well, tough toenails, dear, I can’t control your little sister’s eyeballs.

But C and I did a fun craft today, and I let her do it her way, rather than the way it said on the box. And as always, I hope that’s what will make more of a lasting impression on her, rather than my lack of sympathy for the fact that she was being looked at.

So remember the Pentecost story, in which the “fire of the Spirit” took on a more literal meaning? So for World Communion Sunday (a service which I have very little to do with—it’s one of Senior Pastor’s babies) we have this procession of flags—we have quite a large population of people of foreign birth, and they bring in their flags and hang them in various places. It was my turn to do the welcome, and just before the time of silence a large ceramic vase holding about four flags came crashing to the floor behind me.

All I could think to say was, “OK, well at least nothing’s on fire.”

A member of the flower guild had a broom handy, miraculously, and they swept things up. Still, it made the liturgical dance that followed, complete with tweens in flowing robes, barefoot, a little more tense than it really should have been. (For some people, liturgical dance is tense enough as it is. Ba-dum-dum.)

And contrary to what these stories might suggest, we really aren’t The Three Stooges Presbyterian Church.