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Words

I try to pinpoint words that when strung together, like beads in a necklace, express something with texture and richness; I hope for the occasional sparkle of a well placed gem. I frequently fail miserably. But on a good day, as with a candid photo, I unexpectedly capture a heartbeat, and it feels as if I've successfully seized fog with my hands.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Thinkin' Even God Has His Days



Been thinkin’. I know. Scary. It gets pretty random. Not like Charlie Sheen or anything. I don’t claim to have tiger blood. Never thought for a moment I’m a rock star from Mars.

Thinkin' about good things and not so good things. Stuff I like a lot. Stuff that dudn't make any sense at all. Deciding what's worth what.

Puttering. Puttering is good. Playing on the computer, lying in bed this morning with a cuppa Joe. Sweetie brought me a jelly donut. Wow. Super good start to a day. Instant Messenger. Boy’s in Chicago workin’ all day and all night. All of sudden, pops in with ‘how’s your morning?’ Like passin’ each other in a hallway while miles apart. Love it.

Lookin’ out the window. Ladies walkin’. Water bottles and dogs on leashes. Chattering away. Big smiles. Very good.

Kitty running in the grass. Chasing blowing leaf. Yes.

Sleepin’ in worn out pair of Sweetie’s jersey boxers. Hangin down, elastic shot, gotta hike ‘em up so nothing shows; huge, red, Enjoy Coke t-shirt on top. Cozy, yeah. Bright pink toenail polish. All ready for a sunny day and sandals. Perfect.

All that, never even left my bed. It’s 9AM. Holy smokes. Good, good day.

Didn’t even tell you Sweetie’s downstairs finishing the taxes. Know why he’s so anxious to get ‘em done? Well—money comin’ back. A-ha! Ching-ching. Airplane ticket to France all paid for and I didn’t even know it. He’s happy ‘bout the money. Happy to get rid o’ me in fall. Win-win.

On list of what I like, Giants won last night. Playin’ a little torture ball. Of course. What else? If you know the tune, you can sing along now, …talkin’ Gi-ants. Talkin’ Giants by the Bay. Actually, talkin’ magic. Magic by the Bay. Better than good.

Some of this good stuff I give God credit for. Gravity defying daffodils. And George Clooney. God had an outstanding day when he designed George. Maybe close to perfect.

Started thinkin’ about the perfect waste of a day. I have a fairly big brain. Could do worthwhile things. You know, better world and all that. But, even God takes time off.

You don’t believe me? Well, where the heck is he? Wars, and earthquakes, tsunamis and crap. He musta left the building unattended, that’s all I can say. And he didn’t name a replacement while out on vacay. Nobody throwin’ in the bullpen. I like Brian Wilson but he ain’t God, and that beard? You know God dudn’t want anything to do with that.

Not to mention, I have evidence God has bad days. Wanna see it?

He made white camellias. Beautiful flowers, right? Yeah, sure. Bloom in winter, in climate 9W (which is gardening heaven, by the way); flowers turn brown and fall off if they get rained on. Now you tell me, when the heck did it not rain in winter in 9W? Design failure. That goes for white wisteria, too. God had a two-fer that day. Two design failures.

And what about rabbits, and cats, and animals that clean themselves by licking? They get hairballs. Throw up and get intestinal obstructions. Rabbits die. Now, we know there are plenty of rabbits, but God’s not gettin’ off that easy. Design failure.

Artichokes—on the edge. Tasty, oh, yeah. But an entire pile of debris left behind to get to the little heart. When people do that to get shark fins or elephant tusks we call it inhumane, torture, waste. Hold us to a higher standard than God? Hmmm. No. Artichoke is a design failure. We’ll end up doing some kinda bio-engineering then folks will start picketing about radioactive food and all that tomfoolery. God should get marked down twice for that shit.

I’m pretty sure we have a couple of countries that might be considered complete design failures. He’s just too proud to admit it. And I get flipped off for accidentally cutting someone off on the freeway? Sheesh.

I figure if God can take days off, without arranging a replacement, and screw up whole countries, it’s not so bad if I waste time. I’m creating a day to love that any self-respecting do-gooder would hate. One for bad weather. One for good.

Good weather. Easy. Leave attractive boxer shorts on (with requisite Coke t-shirt) move from bed to deck. B.B. King and Eric Clapton come with. Plus book and cat. Sweetie if he wants (after he finds the money). Wait for respectable hour. Make lemon drop. Done. That’s the day. Don’t stop till it’s too cool to stay out there. BBQ anything for dinner. Set it on fire, it’ll be good. It’s not a waste. It’s Godly.

Bad weather. Easy. Leave attractive boxer shorts on (with requisite Coke t-shirt). Stay in bed. Channel surf. Between TLC and E! television find something. Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Hoarding, Buried Alive. What Not to Wear. Say Yes to the Dress. Design failures of their own sort (along with bad weather). Therefore, they’re perfect. Pillage fridge at intervals. Done with or without the lemon drop. Really, I think it’s a Diet Coke day. Order pizza to be delivered. Any kind, it’ll be good. It’s not a waste. It’s Godly.

Gotta wonder what God loves. What he does on a bad weather day. What kinda pizza he orders. Pepperoni? He doesn’t strike me as a vegetarian. Wonder what he’s doin’ on vacation, and why he’s been gone so long. Wonder if he drinks after noon or waits till 5PM. I mean for him, really, it’s 5PM if he says so, right?

Think he’s in a lab somewhere, workin’ on a fix for the failures? The hairballs and the camellias. Hmmm. Wonder. Is he tryin’ to get a message to Brian Wilson to shave his damn beard? I’m not gonna feel bad. I, can waste time. Even God has his days.


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