Friday, April 03, 2009

all hell

sitting here, blogging 1-handed
listening to the 40s on 4 (sirius radio) through the baby monitor while Julianna gnaws on my thumb.   
Somehow, the all hell I thought was about to break loose is staying in the can.  Perhaps God is tapping my soul like I tap the top of a Coke can after it has been shook up.   
Garrison Keillor had some good insights on Writer's Almanac.
I love the "Lies My Mother Told Me" poem by Elizabeth Thomas, especially the part about God "ratting you out" and "exaggerating."  That's good.  I sometimes wonder if life after death is completely and utterly open.  Whatever we hide or bear is common knowledge not only to God, but among the new fellowship.  We are open books.   Maybe that's how we find ourselves in heaven or hell.  If so, no doubt there's grace to see things in perspective.  

I also liked the quotes from the late birthday boy Herb Caen.  
 "Isn't it nice that people who prefer Los Angeles to San Francisco live there?"
As an Angeleno who loved San Francisco too, I can see the humor there--NoCal people just love looking down their noses at SoCal.  I think it's equivalent to Arkansans hating Texans--it is something that gives us Arkies a bit of passion, but the Texans don't really care.  It isn't reciprocated.   They love themselves too much to be distracted by any cultural vehemence.  My good friend and girlfriend from my first year in college was a Dallasite who was genuinely surprised that I hadn't taken "Texas history" in high school (in SW Arkansas).  It is that kind of oblivious state pride that makes Texans humorous and charming.  

All hell breaking loose had to do with dealing with this wreck and the purchase of a new car,lots of travel, helping a family experiencing grief and strife over the loss of a loved one and funeral planning, getting the Vundo computer virus, annoying changes to a book title I've contributed a chapter to, preparing for Holy Week and other commitments...It just seems like things kept piling up.  

Last night Wesley knelt by his bed and prayed.  He thanked God for "mommie and daddy and sister and grandmama and grandaddy and gammy and papi and all my toys."  He told Lara she needed to pray to, then he told me I should pray as well.  I prayed that God would help us be good to each other because some of us were stressed out.  

Later that night, the vundo virus was just gone from the computer.  Perhaps it's a virtual miracle.  

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