As I prepare to do some traveling tomorrow I find myself being unfocused and filled with random thoughts. I suspect that I’m in checklist mode as I make certain that the the mail will stop, the bags are packed, and my plants are watered among a hundred other little details that have to be covered before we drive away. Going on a trip brings out my obsessive compulsive tendencies big time.
I spent most of last evening cleaning my house from stem to stern. Mike doesn’t seem to think that this is something that everyone does before going away for a week or so. In my mind it is quite natural to put things in tip top shape. Now in the light of day I’m wondering how many others that I know insist on leaving everything in perfect order before embarking on an excursion. Continue reading “Lists and News”
I once drove through a neighborhood and spotted an obviously abandoned house whose walls were literally covered with a sprawling bougainvillea plant that had grown out of control. The blooms were a magnificent deep wine color and they were winding around the crumbling wooden structure in profusion. What should have been a dreary scene of a long neglected property was instead a glorious feast for the eyes. I’ve often thought about that lovely image and seen it as a kind of metaphor for life’s difficulties. It seems that the more stressed a bougainvillea vine becomes the more beautiful and hardy are its flowers. The bougainvillea is a determined survivor often flourishing in the harshest of environments.
I vividly recall spending a great deal of time in fourth grade learning how to duplicate the Zaner Bloser cursive alphabet that hung on neat green cards at the front of the classroom. The E’s and the Z’s were the hardest and unfortunately the S’s also gave me grief, a terrible irony since my first name begins with that letter. I aimed to please especially since my teacher insisted that we master the swirls and the curly Q’s of the letters until we might have been able to forge checks for the inventor of that handwriting style. All in all I got fairly good but never really managed to make a decent looking Z. Years later when I was confident enough to be boldly independent I began to write with my own take on the letters that gave me the most fits. The result was quite legible and I have often received compliments from people who marvel at how well I mastered the art of cursive. 
Being retired and having more time to pause and reflect has improved my hearing. In fact if I listen well enough I am able to read between the spoken lines and hear thoughts that are not even uttered. One thing that I have noticed for certain is that there are so many more people hurting than I ever before imagined. They don’t always say what they mean or mean what they say. I have to do a bit of translating of their ideas before the real messages become apparent. If I concentrate enough I hear their cries for help. The trick in having so much information is in knowing how to respond.
