You have searched me, LORD, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Psalm 130:1-3 (NIV)
Yesterday, when I asked a friend how she was, she said, “Oh, sorta blah.” I piously replied, “Well, we have to have those times of feeling blah so we can appreciate all those other emotions God gave us.” Yes, very smug of me. That conversation all came back to me today. It started at 6:30 am after I snapped at husband who wanted to carry on a conversation, but forgot that I didn’t have to go to work today. (Gratitude to the Veterans for preserving our freedom and for a day off in November). A few minutes later, he woke me back up with a phone call. “Bring a rope. Your horse is out.” For some unexplained reason, as husband drove through the gate, Trucker took it upon himself to follow him out. Once he tasted freedom, he was off and running around the island. In the middle of the morning commute. I ran out of the house in my pajamas (that feature a drawing of a horse with the words, “Hot to Trot,”) full steam racing for the barn to get a lead line and halter. In my haste, I kicked off my clogs because I could not run in them so barefoot ran the three blocks to where husband had cornered my horse with his belt thrown over Trucker’s neck. I arrived in time to see Trucker take off running again, dragging husband who tried to hang on for dear life. The belt gave way, husband fell hard on his side and Trucker made his way at a full gallop down the street the opposite direction from our house. By this time, a line of neighbors were out and between us all, we corralled him into a fenced in area until husband and I could recover, halter him and walk him back home. If husband had had a gun, I would be horseless tonight. Fear, grief, anger, frustration. All before 7:00 AM. Later in the day, youngest son’s girlfriend, M., and I went to the Dale Chihuly Museum in St. Petersburg. We were awestruck by the beauty of his work and the stunning arrangements of glass. Hanging from the ceiling, lining walls, springing up from every corner of the building. The colors, oh, the colors. A red chandelier looking like flaming icicles reflecting in a Plexiglas mirror. A wall of orange, peach and purple discs in wave after wave. A thirty foot long glass recreation of the seafloor. Breathtakingly beautiful surprises in every room. At noon, wonder, appreciation, inspiration. Back at home, I try to felt another bag unsuccessfully. The wool will not bond no matter what I do. I tear a portion of it out to no avail. I end up leaving it flat. I will make a table runner or book cover from it. By two, I am frustrated and annoyed. And so the day went until now, I am worn and empty. Blah. And after today, I appreciate blah even more. But, not so piously.