I’ve spent a lot of my life asking questions. Not always out loud. I want to know the “why” behind things. What is the reasoning? What is the point?
How come? Why not? Are you sure? Does this make sense? Is this right? What do you think?
I still wrestle with the “why” questions of life.
This past year, in the Grief Share group that I facilitate with my husband, one lady (that speaks on the DVD) talked about the fact that she is directionally challenged, can’t program her own VCR, and doesn’t know how to change the oil in her car… and yet she expects to understand the why of her husband’s death? She went on to say that if she, who had difficulty with day to day chores, could understand God and how He thinks, wouldn’t that make God small? Wouldn’t that be putting the God of the universe in a neat, little, understandable box? We as humans with finite minds will never be able to completely understand an infinite God.
To hear her speak was humbling…
because, so many times that is me.
I was reminded… once again…
“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the LORD. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” Isaiah 55: 8-9 NIV
My husband gave me the DVD set of the late Charles Kuralt, On The Road series. The series used to air on CBS Sunday. Mr. Kuralt and crew were in an RV, traversing the highways and bi-ways of America. He met people in the big cities and small towns of this country. His key phrase had him wondering what was “up around the bend”. Even though I was a child for most of his years on TV, and don’t really remember watching the series, I am intrigued by his travels, now, as an adult.
One day, I hope to “hit the road” for an extended period of time. Meet people. Write their stories. I long to see America in a way that isn’t shown on the nightly news. There is something to be said for taking time to go down the road less traveled, to sit and listen to stories that might otherwise never be heard.
I think that is why I love blogging so much…and reading other people’s blogs. I get to meet people in a sense…get to know them. Just like a book can take me to a place I’ve never been…my blog friends show me their lives in parts of the country that I’ve never had opportunity to visit. Yet.
It happened this morning while I was sitting on the toilet. Once again, I was minding my own business when I heard it. It started as a scratching sound and went into full blown flapping of wings. The vent that was to the side of me and above my head, the vent that one can hear attic noises in…it would have scared the pee out of me, if I hadn’t already done that. As I was sitting there and all the flapping commenced, I had a brief Alfred Hitchcock moment. What if that bird comes in through the bathroom vent and in a fit of terror, pecks me to death? First spiders try to attack me in the bathroom, and then a stinkin’ mouse, now a crazed bird. And the thing is….this is a BRAND NEW house. We do not live in a dump that any vermin can just call home. Wait a minute. I guess we do live in a house that vermin can call home. (and no I’m not talking about me and my family)
1. Now someone (not me) is going to have to go up to the attic and find the scared bird and shoo it out a window. How it got in, I do not know. I suggest the brave soul wear a plastic shield over their face, in case the bird DOES pull an Alfred Hitchcock. I don’t even want to think about the fact that a scared bird has probably poo’d on our valuable possessions in the attic. Sigh. I hope our Christmas decorations will not have white goop on them.
2. We caught a mouse behind the kitchen trashcan. I am about over the mouse situation. I do not care if we moved to the country. I do not care that we live in a field. I do not care that the walls of our house are warm and snug for a mouse’s home. I do not like scratchy noises in the walls. I do not like a mouse to be heard as I am fixing my morning breakfast. As God as my witness, if a mouse comes flying out at me when I open a cabinet in the wee hours of the morning–when I’m not even fully awake I will not rest until it is DEAD. The neighbors 5 miles down the road will hear me screaming and running around like a wild banshee. Hey people, I’m not dealing well with this. It was rats that carried the Bubonic Plague you know…I have a right not to want them in my house. Okay, fine. So these are field mice the size of my pinky finger, still they could be KILLERS. Has anyone seen the movie, Mouse Hunt? That is my life!
3. I killed a honkin’ big black spider in the laundry room yesterday. Seriously, HONKIN’ big. I smashed him with my trusty flip flop. I still had those in the shoe bin out there. Flip flops are the best spider killers because they are light and flexible. BLAM. He is smooshed. That’s what he gets. No sympathy from me. I left his guts on the wall as a warning to other 8 legged creepy crawlies who think that the laundry room is their home. I’ve got news for them. IT IS NOT. I still do not like spiders, but I’ve gotten braver as time has gone on. And as long as I have a flip flop and a can of Raid, I think I’m good to go.
I am about to confess something. Something very profound. I cannot believe I’m actually letting you in on this. I’m determined to “hoop” even though I really stink at it. Maybe I should say that I stink at it right now. My plan is to become a hula hoop aficionado. Don’t laugh. I said it was the plan people. This might take some serious practice…and dare I say work….but, I’m not one to turn down a challenge. Okay. So, maybe I am, but that is totally beside the point.
Several years ago I was a gym rat. I did circuit training at a women’s gym and then power-walked 4 miles a day on most days. Yes. I did. I was in shape. Well, at least the shape that I happen to have, was fit. Since getting remarried and thus having a rather hectic and busy life, my gym routine…..how should I say this?……has seen it’s better days. Okay, so its pretty much become null and void. There. Now are you happy? Today obviously is confession day.
So anyway, I read this article recently in one of my myriad number of magazines. It was about how hula hooping has become so popular. It works one’s core..yada…yada…yada. I decided to pull out my hula hoop that I bought several years ago, from the gym I previously was a devout member of. This is a hard core hula hoop. None of that mamby pamby toy store stuff for me. This torture device weighs in at 5 lbs. and is sturdy to say the least. This hoop causes some serious bruising when it is first used. And that is when one uses it correctly. I hate to think about the damage that would be done if used improperly. I know all this because the gym owner (from aforementioned gym) had to mention this to people who dared to hoop. Probably some sort of liability thing. Go figure. I guess if you constantly slam a 5 lb. weight into your waist/hips it could possibly leave some bruising. Hey, no pain. No gain. Don’t feel badly about it. The body gets used to it and you eventually don’t look like your hips went a round in the ring.
I’m actually in a house now, that has space so I can fling the hoop around my middle without knocking down everything in the near vicinity. Just sayin’. My goal is to, “Wittle down the middle”. Sort of catchy, isn’t it? So, if you happen to hear my family saying anything about my latest endeavor, ignore them. They are just jealous. After all if I want to hula hoop in the kitchen while fixing dinner…that is my business.