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Senut at the bookshelf, with citations

My shrine is a bookshelf with little cabinet doors, and every weekday morning it opens like a tiny shop. Wash hands and face, light a battery tealight (I work in an archive, real flame near paper makes me itch), and offer cool water and a slice of bread to Bast and Djehuty. I greet them in clumsy Middle Egyptian, then in English, because I'm fairly sure they prefer sincerity to grammar. After ten minutes I revert the offerings, which just means I thank them and eat the bread myself. Nothing is wasted in this house. Bast gets first look at the sardines on Fridays; the cat gets the sardines. Fifteen minutes a day. It has kept me steady through two job changes and one very long winter.