Stream-of-Consciousness

For once I’m sitting here with my hands poised on the computer keyboard with absolutely no clue what to write. DUH. My blank brain stares at the blank page that only stares back, daring me to break the stare-down, its blinking cursor ready and willing if only some words would come. C’mon, c’mon….nothing. I guess it’s a case of writer’s block right here at the blog, reader friends. Maybe unlocking some free-floating, stream-of-consciousness thoughts (with a big gush from the mental dam) is an option – just this once.

Church inspired me with a focus on thankfulness and gratitude as an expression of faith and trust that opens the gate to the fullness of God’s presence and grace….WOW! It was a mega-leaf-raking day both in our yard and our neighbor’s; I helped haul our 81-year-old’s piles as well as our own over to the edge of the woods. Fritz confessed to the first shortness of breath he’s had in a long time, and is suffering with a locked-up knee that created some pretty severe pain this afternoon and evening....I wonder how he’s doing driving back home to Indiana by himself? I’m alone again here at the lake for one more night, then will join him in Buck Creek tomorrow. I got into the leftover Trick-or-Treat candy in a big way and felt horrible afterwards...I absolutely hate that. My mop-head haircut needs a trim, or maybe even a major chop. Tomorrow means housecleaning and laundry, packing and driving, and re-entering the other lifestyle at the other house where there are other goals and other concerns. (The compounding aspect of two separate lives is sometimes mind-boggling). Hopefully next week I can put together some loose ends with Helga’s World War II memoirs and print out a sample copy – cool! Then I need to get busy as a reader for a friend who has a book proposal going out and needs me to read through a big binder of stories being considered for her book.

So how’s that for randomness? Maybe I should end by focusing on the present moment. Well, I’m sitting here on the edge of an old wooden chair (very hard seat), staring at an arrangement of rusty-colored silk flowers in the middle of the table, listening to a soothing instrumental CD by John Michael Talbot, and giving praise to God for His goodness, love, and faithfulness that endures forever (as my Bible stands open at Psalm 100). The ice water in my sweating glass tastes heavenly, and I am content to be alone.