That itch in my wrists and the bouncing restless knee are signs that it’s time for my holiday blog sabbatical to be over. I didn’t intentionally take one, but the way this November and December bled together in a haze of obligation and insouciance I ended up without a blog post for a month. I figured that was better than my ultimately-repetitive take on the Duck Dynasty flap.
Life is moving toward its inevitable conclusion in fits and starts over her in Katherineland. So is this blog entry, now that it comes to it. I had ideas when I signed back into wordpress, but now all of those ideas bore me.
Strange men–men unknown to me previously–are stomping over my head with bandsaws and nailguns, ripping out the 14.5 year old Berber carpet and installing bamboo floor. We are remodeling our cave. Husband took the bed down on Sunday afternoon and I spent a good five minutes staring at the carpet. The patch of carpet that sat under our bed, safely tucked away from the sunlight, looked much darker and a good half-inch thicker. It was in truth the _right_ carpet in that it was the carpet most like that which we chose, purchased and installed when the house was built in 1999. But it isn’t the “right” carpet anymore. It’s too dark. Too springy. Too tall. The carpet to which I’m accustomed is that which we’ve walked over and spilled on and lolled about atop for the last chunk of our lives. It’s considerably more worn yet it looks _right_ to my eye. It looks as I feel it should look.
Of course I’m stretching this ode to stinky Berber into metaphor for aging and personal growth, because how could you not? I’m not as fresh and springy as I was when I moved in here. But I’m more relaxed and comfortable with who I am. And I’ve spent a lot of the last decade and a half getting crapped upon by life in general. As with the carpet I realise that you just clean it off, sanitize a bit and move on. You don’t let the poo sit there. You don’t grind it in.
I love using my blog to talk sense to myself. That’s what I just did there. I’ve been torn enough about life circumstances that I hunted down a handful of trusted advisors and pled for wisdom. It all boils down to “pick up the crap, clean and move on.”
This may now sound like I’m changing the subject. I guess truthfully I’m moving the subject over bridge and onto a chip and seal byway. But this talk of defecation reminds me that I had yet another conversation wherein a talk about clean water ministries devovled into a discussion about what kind of “language” is appropriate for Christians. Folks would rather talk about how “Shit” makes God sorely aggrieved than talk about how some people in the world have to drink from the same river they defecate into. This happens nearly every time I’m involved in a discussion about how we respond to the need for water and agricultural reforms in the developing world. I’m over it. If you think God is going to give you a gold star because you didn’t say “shit”, maybe you need to think about the parable of the talents and how God was pretty convincing in the argument that you need to go out into the world and get stuff accomplished.
What does that have to do with carpet and bamboo? Nothing. I’m just faded and trod upon and my patience with some things is wearing thin.
Welcome back. Welcome to 2014. Excelsior!