Just suppose there was a person who lived in a house with an upstairs and a basement. And say this person had a burst of energy and decided to wash clothes for her kind and loving hubby (who, by the way, lives in the same house with the upstairs and the basement). And what if this 1st person (not to be confused with the 2nd person - kind and loving hubby - who will enter this hypothetical situation later) has an electric clothes washing machine located in the upstairs portion of this hypothetical house said person lives in (with her kind and loving hubby). And just suppose said 1st person happens to put the soap in the washer, turn the water on and then methodically put the dirty clothes into said soapy water so the washer can begin to do her chore for her. Say this person, since the bulk of her energy has now been consumed, decides it would be a good idea to go into the basement portion of said house to now sit on her butt and relax for a few minutes.
Now, suppose while this person (still 1st person) is relaxing, a strange gurgling noise begins to sound forth from the pipes that Cal's Mickey Mouse building crew built into the walls of said house. And what if this noise becomes so obnoxious that it interrupts the soothing silence said person was basking in to the point that said person is forced to rise off her butt and investigate. And, just suppose, that upon said person entering the small kitchen in the basement portion of said house 1st person sees water bubbling up in the sink at precisely the same time it can be heard draining from the electric washing machine in the upstairs portion of said house.
Would this be a bad thing?
Now, what if, after this hypothetical person works her hypothetical batwings (if the person is hypothetical so are the batwings, saddlebags and ugly knees, right????) ... anyway ... works her batwings to a sweaty pulp plunging the sinks in the kitchen located in the basement portion of the house so that the water bubbles and goes down the drain - like water is supposed to do.
That would be a good thing, right?
Now, what if cocky said person - thinking the problem was a fluke and has been solved by her brawny powers - continues on with her goal of washing yet another batch -- count them, that's two (2) batches -- of dirty clothes for her kind and loving hubby? And suppose said person then cooks a romantic dinner for two (scrambled eggs by the light of the tv) and then what if said person returns to the portion of the house that is upstairs to put on her exercise clothes so she can hypothetically exercise away her hypothetical body fat and, while doing so, said kind and loving hubby (2nd person) comes barging in to inform said 1st person he has stopped the electric clothes washer because the drains must be plugged. Now what if kind and loving hubby goes back into the basement portion of the house with not-so-cocky 1st person following and what if said 1st person were to happen to spy with her two little eyes two huge stainless steel bowls full of dirty water sitting on the counter, with perhaps two sinks full of dirty water and, venturing further a gurgling, bubbling, oozing floor drain, a flooding toilet and perhaps even a bathroom sink with residue from something resembling dirty water floating around in it. And then perhaps this person might even see towels spread around the floor soaking up reflections of dirty water.
Would this be a bad thing, too?
Thank goodness, after more plunging and mopping and thinking and wondering if RotoRooter is open 24 hours a day and more plunging and thinking, kind and loving hubby magically made the water go away with a bottle of something purchased from his store! And thank goodness said first person has plenty of black juice in the fridge for just such an evening because, spacial spaztic or not, two bad things tend to equal a shaky night.
And there you have Wednesday night in a nutshell - or should I say a stainless steel bowl?
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Lately I've decided I might have to add a gas pump to my ever evolving story. Now I really know the story is going to be wild because I'm pretty sure we would never have been offered the choice of being an 'object'. Humor me, though. It's my blahg and I'm in the mood to ramble.
Since self-serve gas stations are one of the many signs of our advancing times, I was actually pumping my own gas into my vehicle when I decided it would have been an interesting choice. I'm always trying to get every drop of gas I can into the tank. Not sure why. I've tried making the dollar amount even and that's happened a time or two. I don't think I've ever been able to get the gallons to come out even. And I know for a fact I've never been able to gauge the drops of fuel so precisely as to get the dollar amount AND the gallons to both be even numbers (not the same numbers - just both even). And it was filling my orange VW Beetle before I got married when the dollar amount was less than the amount of gallons.
So, of course, this particular day, I realized, in a humorous way, of course, I was that nozzle. I get spouting off all these amazing and wonderfully weighty, witty words of wisdom when I'm talking to my kids; trying to get every last drop I can into their tank. I have the best intentions. How dare I be clicked off like that in mid-drop! And why do I continue to get this surprised look on my face when I hear that click and realize I've been shut off? "Is there such a thing as a victimized gas nozzle?" I think to myself as I take my hose and hang myself back up in my spot.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Today he had Easter baskets with a rabbit and a chick, a bookmark and the flower like I got before. Of course, I couldn't decide so I bought the two things I didn't already have. Half his profits still go to Primary Children's Hospital. I imagine his worldly needs are few. His appearance doesn't leave you thinking he's deprived or desperate like the unkempt, cardboard-holding, scraggily dressed person on the corner of WalMart's parking lot.
Anyway, I paid for and picked out my preferences from his selection and carefully put them in a safe place in my basket. I got a few more things and when I was walking back up to the front of the store to pay for my 'worldly' needs (black juice included), I noticed the bookmark was no longer in my basket. Frantically I rearranged the few items I'd picked off the shelf, in hopes of finding it had just gotten buried. I retraced my steps, watching the floor the whole way. Nothing. I felt careless. All of a sudden I was three feet tall and waiting to be scolded by an adult for not taking better care of my things. Even now, it makes my eyes tear up.
Ethan's Origami was strategically set up so I had to pass it to get out of the store just like I'd had to pass it to get into the store. We exchanged smiles and I, once again, told him thanks. Do you think he could see 'guilty' written all over my face? Guilty of negligence, of carelessness, of worrying more about food and drink for my physical body than a small item that had touched me deeper than the pit of my stomach? I was almost past the table when Ethan reached out to me. "Actually", he says while looking towards his mug of bookmarks, "I think you dropped your bookmark." Ethan is smiling. Does he know how not to?
Again, my eyes got teary. "I did lose it. And I've looked all over." Ethan fumbles around in his mug and eventually picks the exact bookmark I had previously selected. He hands it to me and says, "A person found it and brought it to me . . . thought someone had dropped it." Smiles. Again I thanked him - profusely, promising myself I would be more careful, more vigilant, more aware of the silent, invisible theives that I allow to steal precious things from me.
I firmly believe information, knowledge, experiences, opportunities, etc., etc., and especially people, come into my life for a reason. I'm learning that the reason does not necessarily coincide with current events in my life. Heavenly Father knows me from the beginning to the end and I believe He places these little spotlights of time at moments when I may not understand my specific need for them but I am at a point where I am open enough and receptive enough that they stay in my memory for when I do need them. How can I say what I'm feeling?
Except that, even though I don't know Ethan, he's in my life for a reason. And I hope I never allow the image of his smiles and his dancing and his creased paper to be lost from my mind.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Love these babies!