Mowin' with Rowan

I know this is a discernment diary and should be Serious because Priests are Serious and all that good stuff, and since I've only written 24 entries you probably judge me based on what I've written here which is mostly goofy and not quite reflective of my inner state. Let me assure you my inner state is positively littered with big oozing blobs of Kierkegaardian angst and whathaveyou. Oozing y'all.

That being said I heart Rowan Williams with big puffy Anglican hearts. I mean, look at him. Don't you just want to have him over for dinner? Doesn't he look like he's just about as much fun as you can possibly be without having to ball up your underpants in the glove box afterwards*?

I almost wish he wasn't Captain Alphabet (ABC) because if he were just the professor who lived next door, we could be friends. On Sundays we'd both be out in the garden, I'd be separating my clumps of daffodils and he'd be trimming his azaleas and maybe we'd get to talking about our favorite poets, and he'd spout some John Donne right off the top of his head and I'd return with some Rumi and then his wife would come out with a pitcher of gin and tonics and little sandwiches with the crusts cut off and tell me Donne was a boring self-flagelating ass and Rowan Douglas Williams don't you *dare* touch one of those sandwiches until you take your gardening gloves off and sit down like a civilized human being.

Ah, good times.

*y'all, I have never done this. Ever. I'm not That Sort of Girl.

This post was the three time winner of Absent-Minded Professors Monthly "Eyebrows of the Month" award