Shoot Me Before I Become Trapped by Tradition!

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I’ll be one of the first to admit that some traditions are very comforting. Perhaps even comfortable. There’s nothing better than a morning cup of coffee unless it’s that same cup of java consumed in total silence. I love it when our “girls” are both in my lap as I sip it’s deliciousness. Ahhh… Just thinking about that feels wonderful!

Kissing my hubby good-morning, good-bye, good-night and even occasionally for no apparent reason at all. Yeah, that’s nice, too. We even hold hands as we walk into a local restaurant. In most cases that’s nice, too.

Nothing compares to talking to my Savior when I have a chance. Yes, I pray even as I drive down the road. My prayers certainly aren’t restricted to those times and it seems that I visit with Him more with each passing year. That particular tradition has been, literally, a lifesaving one.

Could there be anything better than hugging those I love? Probably not. Top it off with saying and hearing those most beautiful words, “I love you”–and, for me, you have heaven on earth!

Yes, life wouldn’t be the same without some tradition. There is a point, however, where I hope never to go.

If there is a time when I must sleep on the same color sheets; if I have to skip my coffee because I’ve overslept by five minutes; if I begin eating my morning cereal out of the same bowl and those cereals must be layered in a certain order (rather than being mixed up as they are now)… If I ever get to the point when I feel compelled to follow a list of ritualistic behaviors before going to bed…then I beg you…just shoot me!

Put me out of my misery so that I don’t become further trapped by the things which were, no doubt, placed in my life to offer temporary shelter, solace, and some vague sence of order.

Don’t let the very things that were likely placed within me as a soft, flemsible endoskeleton harden to make me inflexible and rigid. When these kinds of behaviors cascade down upon the person I am, deterioration has, indeed, begun! And, at that point, I’ll likely be having much less fun!

So, if I’ve ceased to be free…I’ve ceased to be ME! And if you see that particular nightmare is coming to pass–PLEASE… put a round in the chamber and just shoot me!

My Words Bounced Back and Hit Me In the Heart!

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Columbia
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Once you throw something out, there’s a chance that it will come back to you. That very thing happened to me not to long ago.

I opened an envelope from my precious Aunt Mary (who really isn’t my aunt…but my second cousin). She had kept an email that I’d written in 2003 and wanted me to have it back. Her words, though simple, were priceless to me. She told me that she had been inspired by what I’d written as much now (upon re-reading it) as she had been when I’d sent it to her so many years ago.

Sometimes I’m a writer — but most often I’m not. But, after reading my own email which was returned to me on April 5, 2011, I can say that on February 3, 2003…I might actually have been a writer. That really isn’t for me to say so I’ll let you be the judge.

It’s subject was: My thoughts on Columbia

“When I’m depressed I tend to go to bed way earlier than my norm. Yesterday was one of those days.

I’d awakened the previous beautiful morning to bright blue cloudless sky and a couple of computer-related things to do so, as was my custom, I came in, sat down, then turned on my little TV…mostly for the noise I suppose. Sadly, it presented me with much more than ‘just noise.’ The shuttle Columbia was breaking up.

My heart sank into a hole and I called my kids in Arlington (just southwest of Dallas) to warn them not to touch anything unusual that might be a part of the fallen bird. As I suspected, they knew nothing…living in their own world of sleeping as much as possible. I cried as we spoke about the catastrophe.

Yesterday was but one day past and still it lingered in my mind. There was something about that flight patch which had been found in perfect condition… Perhaps it was a symbol, left quietly in a patch of grass, of the seven souls whose lives, now with God, are NOW in perfect condition?

They were blessed…for each was doing what he or she WANTED to do! How many of us can say that? The decisions that led them to that day were ones that they didn’t regret…for they were on a mission! They had a goal! And, in their taking off…they had accomplished that goal! How elated they must have been!

The devastating event which happened was only a bump in their road for, even today…they fly on! It is their families and friends who now have gaping holes in their hearts and lives. My prayers are with them.

Our country is a better place for having had them here with us for some 40+ years and, though their bodies have been ripped from the fabric of our country, we will mend. Some will become stronger, even more dedicated people as a result of what we, as a people, experienced the morning they fell. HE will work wonders…for through this grief, there will be miracles…and lives and hearts will change!

Praise God!”

Have You Ever Heard a Plastic Bag Scream?

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Today is one of both necessity and fun. I’ve decided, instead of going to my Weight Watcher’s meeting, to head to my friendly Subaru dealer to get the required 7,500 mile maintenance checked off my list. That’s the “necessity” part. After getting that taken care of, I’ll head out to do a little metal detecting. (Yup, that’s the fun part of the plan.)

Around our house we have certain responsibilities before we can leave. Be sure that the doggie door is closed so that the girls will be safely confined. Then there’s the act of locking the back door which leads to the back yard and deck. It was then that something screamed at me.

I’d noticed this a couple of days ago but took it with the proverbial grain of salt. After all, the next day was garbage day so there was a reasonable rationale for it. Today, though, things were different. Today, garbage day had come…and gone and yet the bags were still on the windowsill. Not only were they still there…but they have reproduced??

My hubby has a tendency to save things. It’s even to the point of collecting. And that wouldn’t be so bad. After all, they are usually HIS things. He calls them his “boy toys” and they’re squirreled away in his highboy chest. (He calls it “the holy of holies.”) I find that to be odd — but not shocking. He is, after all, quite a bit older than I so he often does things differently. This NEW collection, however, borders on being scary.

By now, you may be curious about the aforementioned bags. You may even wonder why they “screamed” at me. Well, it has something to do with the fact that the bags are filled with dog poop! Yeah, that’s pretty disgusting. And you haven’t lived until bags of feces start accumulating on your deck!

I was thrilled to hear him tell me tonight, however, that putting the bags into the outgoing trash would be tomorrow mornings first job. Whew! Needless to say I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. It’s a great feeling knowing that my hubby hasn’t started collecting THAT stuff. It’s bad enough that we scoop it up, usually, before it has a chance to get cold. There’s nothin’ worse than stepping into a fresh pile (unless, of course, one of us had decided to let it accumulate on the deck,  that is).

$25.72 Doesn’t Sound Like Much in Today’s World

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At this rate, it'll take a long time to pay for the equipment BUT it's really FUN!

But, if you view it from the standpoint of money found as a result of diving headlong into a new hobby…there’s more value attached to that meager amount of money. Yes indeed. I worked hard for that tiny bit of change!

In a six month time span, as a new metal detecting person (I am now an official “detectorist.”), I found $25.72 in modern-day coins (known as “clad”). Nope. That’s still not communicating what I really want to say. Let’s try this. That measly amount doesn’t do a good job of representing my accomplishment. Perhaps breaking it down further would serve me better? Seventeen dollars in quarters, five dollars and thirty cents in dimes, a tookie seventy cents in nickles, and two dollars and seventy-two cents in pennies. Is that any better at all?

Perhaps yet another perspective is needed. I found 68 quarters, 53 dimes, 14 nickels, and 272 pennies. That’s a whopping four hundred seven coins! Now, in your mind’s eye picture the exercise involved in digging 407 holes!! That’s no small task! Now realistically, there were a few instances when I found two or three coins in the same excavation — but that wasn’t the norm. I would even go so far to say that it’s rare.

Regardless, though, that number doesn’t count the what-seemed-like thousands of holes that lead to random pieces of junk! Bottle tops, pull tabs, hot wheels cars, what’s called “can slaw” and even mutilated but whole cans! Screws, rusted nails, plumbing joints and other parts, hose nozzles, pieces of hurricane fencing are also in the list. I could go on but I think you get the idea.

Let me draw your attention, however, to the two tiny, bright objects that seem dwarfed by the piles around them. The James Avery silver ring was my best find and you probably heard me scream where ever you were when I unearthed it. That’s a silver charm resting next to it and that was pretty exciting, too!

The truth is that I have no idea why I enjoy metal detecting. That’s a little scary, to say the least. Could it be that there are some similarities to one of my daily chores at home? With detecting, I use my equipment to scan the first few inches of earth and consider myself lucky to dig a hole…then scoop up a coin. Surely that doesn’t equate to scanning the ground with my eyes…only to scoop up a recent “deposit” made by “the girls.”

Oh, noooooo! I’d better not go there — so I’ll do my best to ignore the similarities.

Gramma’s Drinking Thick Water! Will It Kill Her?

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We were visiting our “kids” (who aren’t really kids) and their kids (who really are) for Christmas. That’s always an experience in and of itself. And, I love every minute of it! For as long as I can remember, though, I’ve had kind of a target on my back…and front (so far as my son and his wife are concerned, that is). Some of the pleasure in their lives is found in teasing “Mom.” Yeah, they harass, throw verbal barbs, and generally make fun of my many idiosyncrasies.

These two lovable nut-bars seem to enjoy finding things about me that are strange (and there’s quite a selection, to be honest). There are plenty of areas in which I fall short (like memory when we play UNO, etc.). My senior citizenship has provided them with plenty of material most recently, and that was the case here.

As a Weight Watcher, I have to focus on drinking a minimum of six cups of water every day. Sadly, I’ve found that, if left to my own yearnings, I wouldn’t drink that much because I only drink when I’m thirsty. I’ve never awakened from a sound night’s sleep thinking about how great it would be to guzzle water cup after cup. So, I have to make a deliberate attempt to drink water. One 2-cup bottle gets me started in the morning. At least that’s my intent. Then, I usually fill my 32-ounce bottle with the rest of my requirement.

Sadly, some maladies of old age have recently struck! One attack of diverticulitis was plenty! I’ve read (and heard from my doctor) that the best way to fight the reoccurrence of diverticulitis symptoms, is to increase fiber intake. So, fiber has now become my friend! (Yeah, right!) But, it seems that the fiber in the food I eat isn’t enough! I’ve been forced to start supplementing it with the powdery white stuff that stirs into liquids without adding either taste or grit. Sounds delicious, huh?

When I first get up in the mornings, I add about one and a half teaspoons of the white stuff to a bottle of water and give it a shake. Naturally my son was aware of all this preparation so when Jesse (grandson #2) reached for my first bottle of the day in hopes of snagging a sip or two, his dad said, “Jess, you don’t really want any of that. Gramma is drinking thick water.”

At that point, I filled in with a bit of explanation. At least it was enough to wipe the confused expression off of Jesse’s face. Just the thought of “thick water” truly is sort of disgusting I must admit but, in the end, instead of killing me, it’s my hope to both lengthen and enhance the quality of my life. We won’t discuss the “jet propulsion” which the increased fiber inevitably provides for THAT is always quite embarrassing.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie…Even In The Middle of Class?

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It’s 27* this morning and Suzi and Sammie were in their traditional spot as I showered. Where is that? In front of the heater, of course. As I stood there, a memory washed over me as though straight from the shower head. It fell on me softly and took me to a place I hadn’t thought of for quite a while.

I drifted back to the time when Suzi was in obedience class over six years ago. We were surrounded by various dogs and owners at the time and were reviewing the exercise that we’d just completed. Now, you and I both know that the verbal chit chat was for the benefit of the owners. Suzi knew it, too. She’s no dummy!

As I sat there, listening intently, she was leaning back on my chest with her belly up to the rest of the world. Since, in order to train dogs to allow us to trim their nails with no trouble, I’d heard that handling each paw was a good thing. So, as I listened, I gently stroked one of her front paws. It must have felt really good, too, for she seemed very relaxed.

The instructor stopped in mid sentence and said, “Is Suzi actually sleeping during class?! I can’t believe it!” Yup! That’s exactly what she was doing. In defense of Suz…naturally, rudeness wasn’t intentional but just happened in the natural scheme of things. After all, shugs were and still are, for that matter, very important to her.

So the class ended on a less instructional note than planned and Suzi was able to snag a little nap so that she’d be refreshed for her next adventure.

White Knuckles Strike in Highschool, on a Motorcycle, and in the Dentist’s Chair!

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Most days seem to click along like the hands of a clock. We go about our day with a song in our heart and are truly thankful for life and the blessings thereof. For the most part, I’m fairly self-aware. But there are some days that serve to remind me of my many limitations. Of course, there are several ways that God could use to point them out to me. Several times, though, He’s presented me with what I call “white knuckle time.”

The first one that I can recall, happened in Bellaire High School. A friend backed me up against the wall of an exterior walkway and accused me of breaking a confidence with which I’d been entrusted. At the time, I couldn’t believe what was happening. The more she talked, the tighter my fists became. How dare she question my integrity! Yes, being a “tomboy”…I had the urge to hit her so that she would feel the same hurt that she was causing to me. Yes…barring unforeseen disease, I’ll never forget that event. Those particular white knuckles appeared in anger. And, I’m still not comfortable with anger but, I suppose it’s there…lurking deep beneath the tranquil exterior.

Deal’s Gap was probably the next memorable time that the white knuckles appeared. My friend and I were on one of our many motorcycle adventures. In our travels, a total stranger (an ex-motorcyclist, if I remember correctly) had asked, “Are you goin’ to ride Deal’s Gap?” That was all it took! We only had a vague idea of what the ride would be. Had we known more about it, we probably would have reconsidered. Imagine 318 turns (curves) in 11 miles of a two-lane highway with no guard rail!! US 129 has been a killer to many but we didn’t know it…yet. It winds its way up and over the mountains of Tennessee into North Carolina. Anyway, without going into detail, I’ll just say that, when I realized what we were doing, it was too late to back out and the first words outta my mouth were, “Oh, shit!!” I’ll be honest with you. I don’t remember ever being that frightened at any other time in my entire life! During the ride, I prayed constantly that we’d both make it through Deal’s Gap alive and with our bikes in one piece. So…yes. I’ve known fear and those white knuckles appeared once again as I hung on “for dear life.” My own adventuresome spirit had gotten me into a most uncomfortable situation. As petrified as I was, though, I’ll have to admit that the entire experience was quite a “rush!”

I’m almost ashamed to admit this other white knuckle experience. Since the man has to be dead by now, I’ll blame it on Dr. Cooksy. He was the earliest dentist that I can remember. The one who told Mom that I didn’t need braces…when they’d have really helped the alignment of my lower teeth. He was also the only dentist I’ve ever known that actually had halitosis! Yup, that’s right. A dentist who had bad breath!! We should have walked out then…but we didn’t. Anyway, I think that he’s the source of my fear of drilling, smells, and possible pain in the dentist office. It seems that, rather than outgrowing that fear, it’s actually worsened through the years. Just last week one of my teeth cracked next to an old silver filling. So, there I sat in the dentist’s chair at his mercy. The peculiar thing about the situation was that I lay there with lots of hands and tools in my mouth and each of my own hands gripped the arms of the chair…as tears trickled from my eyes. There was no hiding my feelings! Quite simply, I’d temporarily reverted back to my childhood.

So, now that you know what “white knuckle time” is…what causes yours? I’d love for you to share in your comment.

He Speaks at the Strangest Times

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A couple of nights ago, I discovered some dry turds (for lack of a better term) in our “big room.” Poop in any part of our home isn’t a good thing but it was dry and hard…which made it easy to pick it up and drop into the closest toilet. Because of its overall “character,” I knew that the perpetrator had been Sammie (“Sam”) …again. Yes, tho she’d likely already forgotten about it, I scolded her anyway. She acted very guilty…confirming my suspicions. Yup! She was, in fact, the offending critter! Our Suzi would burst before she did that…unless she was fighting IBS.

A bit later in the day, however, after that was behind us, I walked outside with the girls encouraging them to do their “business.” When Sam finally assumed her classic pooper position, I knew what would come next. When she finished, however, rather than scolding her (as I’d done a couple of hours earlier), I walked over and told her what a “good girl” she was for making her “mess” outside…rather than in the house! Then I scrubbed her ears and spoke in loving tones as though she were starting over in her house training “class”. All was forgiven and I was giving her yet another chance to do things right. After all, she tends to do this kind of thing periodically. Though she’s middle-aged for a dog, she, like us all, is far from perfect.

What a blessing that God is much like that with us, His children! There I was. Standing out in the back yard supervising the girls’ “business” and out of that proverbial clear blue sky dropped this huge TRUTH! It seems that I spend my life making one “mess” after another and God simply covers me with his Grace without a second thought! I don’t deserve that! He should either punish me Himself or encourage someone else to do it. My nose should be rubbed in it and I should be rolled over on my back and spoken to in gruff, alpha-dog-type tones! I should be sentenced to die in…and because of my sin! Instead, though, He simply reaches over, scrubs my ears, speaks softly to my heart, and gives me yet another chance to do things right. Why am I treated with such love when I screw up so often? Because He’d sent Jesus to be punished…to die in my place. Wow! That’s quite a gift! And just think. All we have to do is believe in Him and accept His sacrifice in our behalf.

This just goes to show you that God should be considered the Master Opportunist. Sometimes He uses the most trivial things to get our attention! He very softly placed a huge concept in front of my mind while I stood in my own back yard tending to our dogs! And He did it in such a way that I could better understand something that I already knew…but needed to hear again. Yes! My God IS an awesome God indeed!

Indictment Covered in Dust

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I don’t know how you are but I hate to clean house! Years ago I told my hubby that he and I could clean the house together on one day of the weekend and we wouldn’t need to pay someone else to do it. His time must have been far more important to him than money for, from that day on, we’ve paid a lovely lady to clean the main part of our home a couple of times a month. There are certain rooms, however, that (for one reason or another) we close off when she comes. Why pay to have the seldom-used rooms cleaned? I’d take care of those when it became necessary. On THIS DAY, it was critical!

The panic had set in! My son and his family were comin’ for Thanksgiving and I had to get serious about dusting the super sentimental entertainment center in what once had been “Mom’s Room.” Talk about motivation to clean!! I was under the gun! Company (even family) has always forced me to really get the house in shape. Picture this. My normally neatly spiked white hair looked more like a horribly abused toothbrush. Comfort was my uniform of the day so my very informal sleepwear was perfect. Struggling to finish my first of many tasks for the day, my nose had begun to drip profusely. Why? Dust has been one of my highest allergens for as long as I can remember. Anyway, there I was…plopped on laminate flooring that reminded me that my tail bone had once been broken. I was pooped! Many trips up and down a little ladder takes its tole.

I’ve placed the piece of mostly oak so that I can see it from my desk and filled it with memories and parts of my past in the form of many of my favorite things. You know all about momentous, souvenirs, some of Mom’s more interesting collections, etc.. You likely have similar items in your own home. And I bet your collection gets dusted infrequently, too.

I’d spent a couple of hours removing treasures from every shelf and caressing each lovingly with a damp cloth. After all, this accumulation of mementos was almost as meaningful as the entertainment center itself! My son and I had chosen the very heavy piece when he was a teenager. Then we proceeded to have a blast applying Tung oil to it. We’d invested much more than money. I value this one piece of furniture more than any other in our home because of the quality time that he and I spent working on it together.

As I was almost finished, my left hand encountered a couple of spiral notebooks standing up next to an old Bible in one of the three bottom sections. I’d had them for so long that I’d forgotten they were there. They measured 9 1/2 x 6 inches so they couldn’t have been used for school work. Funny how time often erases so much…but the bluish-green one seemed to fit comfortably in my hand. So, I opened it to a random page in the middle and began to read the vaguely familiar handwriting. Before I was finished, tears traced down my cheeks as I recognized something that I’d written many years ago.

Being truly honest – At this point, I’m actually wondering where that woman who wrote poetry is for she is seldom if ever seen these days. Perhaps she is more the person I SHOULD be…rather than the person I am. That thought may explain some of the tears. Either way, there I sat on the hard floor, in my scruffy sleepwear, with my spiked hair askew, and surrounded by dust still floating about in a room full of memories. There I sat – stunned by the fact that I sort of felt indicted by the simple act of dusting? Ive changed in so many ways! I do know one thing about me that hasn’t changed, however! My thoughts and feelings about Christmas have never wavered. It IS all about Jesus Christ…God’s gift to us…and still, in my mind, Christmas is best represented by the cross.

I heard myself asking God, “Why did I find this now? I don’t have the time to finish reading this. I still have so much to do to get ready!” And yet I couldn’t seem to put it down. What am I supposed to do with it? It’s old…like me…but it’s spoken to my heart even after all these years. Maybe I’m supposed to share it with others. So, that’s what I’m going to do here.

What interest is there in a Christmas poem written maybe thirty years ago? Probably none. None the less, here it is. Rather than putting it in print, however, I’ll read it to you. Please understand that poetry is often a surprise to those who write it. And, it’s always open to interpretation. I was given the “picture” and simply tried to use my own language to express what I saw. My words don’t do the story justice – but perhaps someone out there will benefit from hearing them.   THIS IS CHRISTMAS

“Merry Christmas to all! And to all…a good night!”

“Mom’s Room”

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Display Table in Current Spot

It’s only fair to admit that it’s never been Mom’s Room at all. Regardless of what you call it, though, as I sit in my “office” (originally a formal dining room), from my chair, I look through the foyer and into what used to be the formal living room of the home that Guy T and I bought two decades ago. (Wow! Though I find it hard to imagine, that makes me pretty old.)

So, if it’s never actually been Mom’s room, why-in-the-heck…?

It’s sort of a long story so, I’ll likely be forced to tell it in pieces. The truth of the matter is that my original intent this morning had been to talk about…dusting, of all things! Well, not really dusting-but that’s where my thoughts headed before they were diverted?

I’ll work backwards, since memories are, in a sense, life lived backwards. Just before she left this earth, Mom had asked me to promise that, when she died and we got official “custody” of their home, we’d sell it and use the money for a new home. Being an obedient daughter, that’s exactly what we did.

When we found our lovely new nest, it seemed only fair to name one of the rooms “Mom’s Room”. So, the formal living room in the front of the house, was filled with some of her favorite furniture and “Mom’s Room” was born!

Picture the huge, long, blue, three-cushion couch against the far wall accented by an antique glass display table in the corner. Then, throw a lamp and sundry artistic items in the mix. Her curvaceous, wooden free-formed coffee table served as a lovely footstool. In the corner diagonal to the couch was a stately, modernish lime green chair which she’d reupholstered a couple of times. Tossed throughout the room were pillows and afghans in combinations of bright blue and lime green. Those were, you must understand, her favorite colors.

In 2002, when I received the diagnosis of ductile carcinoma, it was in Mom’s room that I suddenly found myself on my knees. No, I wasn’t talking to her but, it was much like kneeling beside her and resting my head on her lap…as I talked to God about my fears, inadequacy to carry the load, and to seek His guidance. In a sense, both were there with me. But that’s another story…for yet another time.

What-In-the-HECK?????

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The mystery was solved!

Here’s a bit of background. Our Suzi was never much into gnawing on things…until Sammi came into the picture nine or ten months later. Now, we’ve figuratively speaking, bought stock in Nylabone! What one has…the other wants. Or, at least that’s the way it often seems.

When hubby and/or I leave the house, we’ve learned that it’s best to restrict the girls to lounging in the kitchen and my office area. We’ve found that, when we’re away, they pass the time…reading? We have a magazine container on the floor by the couch. Once they discovered that Consumer Reports was such a great magazine, they dove into it! It was obvious that one of them had flipped through its pages leaving all of the top corners looking, dare I say…gnawed? Ah, yes. These girls love to read! Anyway…

Upon getting home from, I’m sure, one of my adventures, I noticed something unrecognizable on the carpet in my office. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what it was! It was at that time that I uttered the, “What-in-the-heck was THIS!?” As I padded through the house a bit later in the day, another white object caught my eye. Though it was in a totally different room, I made the connection.

I couldn’t help but chuckle when it dawned on me that, in a sense, I’d managed to share my Chap Stick with the girls!

To Journal or Not to Journal

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Today is the first time that I’m trying to journal. To be honest, I’m not certain that I have what it takes. So, we could look at this as a test of my…”stick-to-it-tive-ness?” Not to worry — as this certainly won’t be a daily “thing.” Life is out there for the living and I can’t be two places at once. On occasion, however, it might nice to share some thoughts with myself. After all, I’m sometimes the last to know what’s really goin’ on in my own head.

Curiosity abounds! Will this serve any purpose at all? Is there a chance that I might actually benefit from journaling in some way? Some have suggested that I might (since writing has been therapeutic throughout my life). I’ve found, for some odd reason, that the concept of Blogging is whispering to me. To be honest, that thought makes me question my sanity! As enticing as it sounds, it would force me to learn something new! God has blessed me with a thirst for life and learning new things. So, we’ll see…

If I do, in fact, follow through with this little experiment, I’m curious as to (as my BFF would say), “Who cares?!” I’d be more likely to use my old standby, “Who gives a rip?!“ Probably not a soul. But…that’s OK, too, because (and this is actually an original thought) if I remove the reins from the horse, there is no telling where she’ll roam! If this were to actually become a blog, it could get pretty unruly! Who would want to keep up with somewhat random stories, opinions, adventures, rants, dreams, prayers, and even the thoughts of a woman whose spirit feels at least thirty years younger than her body?

My Past may be a nice place to visit, occasionally (if I can find pieces of it worthy of examination or sharing). After all, at sixty-three, thoughts of my yesteryear seem all but extinct. Who knows. I may stumble over an interesting fossil here and there.

The Present seems far more worthwhile since it’s filled with fairly diverse and perhaps slightly relevant things that are current. At least it consists of things over which I have some degree of control. Well, God and I sort of share in that responsibility.

The Future? Well, all I can do with that is to let my mind wander a bit (which it does fairly often) and simply imagine the possibilities.

So, I’ll stop at this point and ponder thoughts that have poured from my fingertips around midnight.