Monthly Archives: September 2011


God spoke the Word and the world was made, in it’s entirety and complexity and confounditity.

Ever since, man has been speaking and speaking and speaking and speaking, somehow thinking that if the could just speak enough, they could box creation and contain it. Maybe even they think that if they can learn to speak well enough, they to can create by speaking.

But it’s horribly, terribly tedious, and frequently a dreadful waste of words and time and effort.

I’m sure that’s wickedly unscientific of me, but really. It’s as impossible as trying to pick up a wiggling piglet made of red-jello. You can’t put God in a box, and He marks His creation with the same attribute. You can’t explain the human condition with words, no matter how large your book or how many initials you put behind your name.

Observe it? Possibly, parts of it.

Confine it, define it, and make tidy little rules? Ha. Have fun. I’d rather make cookies; among other things, I’ll be more successful than you.

Most tedious of all is the arrogance of assuming man-made rules can contain a God-made universe.

Sat. Eve. Blog Post

A blog I follow does things thing called the Saturday Evening Blog post. . .she invites her readers to leave a link to their favorite blog post of the last month (that is, their favorite post they have written). I like the challenge to at least write one post per month that is good enough you would like to broadcast it to the world. Sometimes I don’t even feel like I can do that.

This month was a double feature, and I actually felt like I had two posts I could offer up, so I did–Where Are You from July, and Pandora’s Box from August.

(Part of the SEBP deal is to link back to the place where all the links are gathered so more people can get in on the fun, hence this post.)

Pleased as Punch

I like small towns.

I like tractor supply stores, shovels that come with warranties, and the jolly new wheelbarrow.

I also really like my Honda C-RV.

I really, really like it. I like that I can tell the extremely pleasant check-out guy that I do not need any assistance, and I can just wheel my barrow full of 5 gallon buckets and canning jars and shovels out to my car. I like that the grandpa in the parking lot with his new mower-belt admires my wheelbarrow. And I like that I can open my trunk, put down my back seats, and unceremoniously stuff everything in back without ever:

(a) going up on tip-toes
(b) “trying to figure things out”
(c) pretending I know what I’m doing in a parking lot full of farm people while I struggle to get the seats down
(d) cramming, finagling, re-arranging, shuffling, adjusting, pushing, lining up, trying a different angle or otherwise “making things fit”

I like that I did it all without any hesitation, even though I’d never done it before. I like that there are so many real-true farm people in the area that the cashier asks you if your tax-exempt the way other retailers ask you for your zip code or phone number. I like that I can be a go-fer for various projects of fairly large magnitude without driving a honking big pick-up that had better be able to run over other vehicles without a problem, because, who knows, I might be doing that when I park it. I like that after unloading said supplies, it takes only seconds to get the seats back up, and I can haul a car load of peoples, childrens, and other humanoids without the slightest hint I was using the vehicle for a hauling cart.

I like that I can stop on my way home from work and get not only all the needed supplies for digging out a basement, I can also get the jars for my 11 yo brother to experiment with making elderberry syrup to pour over ice cream. And I like that when I ask the helpful clerk where the canning jars are, I like that he apologizes that there aren’t many left this late in the season, even though there is still plenty for what I came for, and even though, of course there isn’t—everyone’s bought them up by now, and any ninny should expect that. Then again, maybe I look like a ninny, in my work clothes.

I like that I don’t get in trouble for buying the last two shovels on the rack, but I feel sorry for anyone else who’s in a hurry for a shovel.

I like that not only is my small town is full of ornate old houses from back when people were used to having servant-types to paint all that dang wood-work, it is also populated with “classical” cars. I think it’s almost cute that they have a “City Fire Department.” I admire the fire department, but I am still struggling to see the city. They must have hid it somewhere pretty well.