How About a Little Hitchcock in the Morning

Ever have a day where you knew you could go one way or the other? I woke up this morning actually thinking I might be coming out of the cycle of whatever this is that is ailing me. The disease which has yet to be identified is definitely cyclical. What precipitates the cycles has yet to be determined but seriously, if I knew I would feel as bad every day as I have felt for the past two months I don't know what I would do. And although good days seem to be more and more rare when they do arrive it is enough to make me what to dance for joy, something like a funky cross between Snoopy and a prohibited touch down dance, you know?

Today I got up and realized I had forgotten to give myself my weekly vitamin B12 injection. Part of my physical problem is a failing immune system. My body cannot synthesize B12 from the food I eat. It's an easy fix, but for some reason I forgot that yesterday was Manic Monday. I call it that because the lack of energy I have stems from having pernicious anemia and getting a boost with B12 reminds me of the manic phase of bipolar. No, I am not bipolar, I just have a degree in psychology. Anyway, I can leap buildings in a single bound when I have some B12 on board. I realized I was dragging and hadn't given myself the shot. So I went into the bathroom to take care of business. When I pulled the syringe out and popped off the cap that protects the needle I couldn't help but notice that it was bent. Right angle bent. How it happened I don't know but it did and it was useless. Fortunately I had others.

Next I went out with the dogs and the first thing I saw while making our walk around the property was a dead bluebird. Yuck. No gloves, no implements, no luck keeping the dog from rolling on it before I could give him or her a burial. Blue birds shouldn't die. They are supposed to be happy, right? Nothing happy about maggots and insects reclaiming a bluebird body. Fascinating maybe, but not happy. Back in the house to wash up and then take some movies back to Blockbuster before the heat indices hit their predicted target. Yes I said it, returning movies to Blockbuster. Sounds positively medieval, doesn't it? I wanted to see if upgrading Netflix to bluray was worth it or not, and for me, it's not. I digress.

On the way to Blockbuster a fledgling starling tried a kamikaze run at my little RAV4. He was unsuccessful but I had to drive away with him sitting in the middle of the road wondering what in the world had just happened to him while his parents scolded him mercilessly. Pressing on I decided to believe that the starling survived other cars and predators. I don't even like starlings but I like the thought of dead baby ones even less.

Determining to think of other things while I drove into town a red flash caught my eye. It was a cardinal and he was chasing some other bigger bird with the help of his mate. Sweeping, diving, swirling, sort of like a dogfight. Suddenly they changed direction and somebody was bouncing across my windshield. Great. First the bluebird of happiness dies and then the cardinal of vexation gives his life chasing off an intruder. This day is starting to feel like a sequel to The Birds. Wonderful. Now I am homesick. I grew up where they filmed the birds. Remember the scene at the schoolhouse? I used to take visitors there and wait for them to recognize it and say something about the movie. Hitchcock was a master at scaring the life out of you with noise. No bird as ever made the noises those birds did but there was no doubt those birds were going to kill someone when you heard the noises they made. Back here in Kentucky these guys are bent on self destruction it seems. Poor cardinal. He may have survived the crash, right? The question is, am I going to survive this day? Probably. I give it a 50/50 chance. I either will or I wont. No sense fretting about stuff I can't change. Besides, I don't look a thing like Tippy Hedren so it's all good.

Spiritual Aphasia aka Senseless Theology

I was recently asked why I read theology and follow theological debates. "It's all just words and opinions." Words. Words on a paper, words on a blog. Words that travel invisibly through our airwaves and our minds. What would our inner monologue consist of without words? Harsh words, gentle words, untrue words, and solid you-can-die-behind them words. They have secret lives in the depths of our souls. They overflow in torrents of grief and joy. They seep out of our character flaws, wearing down the weak convictions that hold them back until they contaminate all those around us. All of us are stained within and without by the raw sewage of unkind words. Our souls are in jeopardy for want of The Word. Jesus Christ. The Gospel. The Good News. Words matter. Doctrine matters. Theology Matters. What you win them with is what you win them to. I study theology because I was lost too long in a world that scrambles truth with its own ideas and preferences. I was fed a diet of tosse

Super Church a song for the Emergent-sy

In the early 70s I was in a youth choir at my church. Our youth pastor was a musician and his way of connecting with us as a group was through the choir and music. Somehow there was an affiliation between him and The Continental Singers, New Hope and Jeremiah People. He was worked with Moishe Rosen of Jews for Jesus too, I think. Are any of these names familiar to you? Though I remember the church fondly I was a profoundly lost and troubled young woman during my years there. That and time have muddled the memories quite a bit. Today I was digging through some old paperwork and one of the books to the musical we did. It's Getting Late For the Great Planet Earth, a folk rock oratorio by Cam Floria. Yes, that's right. Cam Floria put Hal Lindsey to music. There's a lot to laugh about and some to groan about but as I was looking through the songs and remembering, I found this little ditty and I only wish I could sing it for you. Just remember that this is circa 1972 and even th

What if.....

...what if I just need a place to let some words spill out? What if they spill out in bouquets of bright colors and pleasing scents but their frames are made of snakes and lies? Will you the reader be able to tell? Will it matter? When words smell like lilacs and honeysuckle do you care what lies beneath them? Perfumed syllables cover the stench of hope's decay. A violet or two will fool most surface dwellers, allowing them to pass by quickly and unaware. Is that what words are supposed to do? What if my aesthetics with words are similar to Morticia Addams' with flowers? What happens when luscious blooms are discarded? When the ragged silhouette of thorns is all that remains will you still see the beauty? Perhaps we'll find out.

rambling rosemarie

Search This Blog