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What do you want to do, she asks me. I have to fight the urge to grimace. ummm I don't know, I say. I want to work with people. 

They laugh. Good. Most jobs you work with people.

We talk some more, me fumbling over my words, trying to express.

She asks if the international part appeals strongly to me.

Yes, of course, but then I say I feel sort of called to America. The call word slips out. I meant to say pulled. I correct myself, but it's already out there. Is it true? DO I feel called to America? Or is it just a slip?

And then too late I remember, who knows what will bring in money to pay the bills, but I want to bring life to the empty.

It's cloudy and cool. June 5th, and 70 degrees all day.

Guests for dinner- she used to live on my street, and now she lives in Maine- my home Maine- my home where I've never lived for longer than a few weeks at a time. And another neighbor, one who is also her friend.

My mama asks if she can pray for the meal. I love that. I file that away in my head to pray for meals out loud with friends. Especially when it is food I have cooked. It just sounds so loving, so genuine.

We have pierogi soup. Usually a winter meal, perfect for this cool day. And salad with strawberries and bread. It is delicious, and even better, it is four women sitting together, ice water with lemon and soup. Bright inside, drab outside.

It sort of awakens something in me- or stirs something. I sit up straighter. This is what I want to do. I want to love people with food and generosity and prayer. I want to cook for people- provide things they need.

Then we drink tea. Mine is green, with lotus.

Full.

stirs something in me that has been bubbling for weeks.