320/365 Choir loft in the early evening

I had to measure the first banner so I could make the other three the same length. No time like the present, I headed out after taking Sophia to practice. I let myself into the dark church and made my way up the steps--Jack said there are 39 but I keep forgetting to count which says something, let me tell you.

My tape measure is cracked and will not lie flat against the banner. I rip off the end and do the math in my head. I measure it: 10 feet from the edge to the hemmed edge below; 17 inches from the edge to the curtain rod.

The church is silent. Dark and deep, Frost would say. It's Advent but in my heart it's still the crappy end of November with drizzle and grayest, impossibly gray skies. The neurology nurse didn't call. The ice water in my veins from Friday has melted into a muddy puddle, waiting for the dry skin-cracking air to evaporate it away. I'm not adjusting to the post-Thanksgiving pre-Christmas time very well. It's all going too fast but takes forever.

Numbers in my head, I walk back down. I toss the broken tape measure. I walk outside, past the dark rectory and the busy street. My car is still warm. I need to go to the grocery store. I note the boy scout tree lot with silent contempt and pull out onto the street in the darkness.

I know I will eventually exhale. It's the getting there that takes so long.