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Asteroids on stun

March 8, 2010

“Why are they shooting at me, Yossarian? — Joseph Heller: Catch-22

There’s nothing like universal crash and burn to promote contentment with mundane and limiting circumstances; and chopsticks impale a multitude of sins.

In the middle of a profound dialogue with Heidi via e-mail, my DragonSpeaking program crashed. I swore off e-mail forever and swore several other things as well. I’ll answer a couple of e-mails here because I don’t know whether e-mail will ever again emerge from the maws of the Dragon.

Heidi: It isn’t a duck! It’s a flight surgeon disguised as a snow goose!

Bobbie: I only received one of your e-mails, so the one I didn’t receive is the one sent to the defunct address. Coolidge remains a healthy diabetic and a good-natured beast all in all; thanks for asking, and for your prayers.

Hail pummeled my yard this morning, leaving a half-inch layer of wet-white crystal matter on the cushion of my precious lawn chair. Fueled by spite, I went out in a short-sleeved T-shirt in the 39° morning and hauled the chair under cover. The snow didn’t come till later in the afternoon, but it at least lacked the temerity to stick. In the evening, my voice-recognition software crashed, and I thought it best to leave home to avoid destroying my computer. My husband, always up for adventure, took me to East Asia Market to buy some chopsticks, which placated me so much that I was able to retrain Dragon under a new account name, and resume life as I try to know it. The training process included reading from Dogbert’s Management Manual, and for once I was able to endure its front-end humor with patience.

Earlier today, in perusing Mayo Clinic’s information page on Seasonal Affect Disorder, I noted that I am indeed a SAD case. But before committing to a move to some Last Best Sunny Place, a person with SAD should know that some tragic heroines experience a spring/summer version of SAD. And if you’re one of those incredibly well-rounded citizens who experiences both versions, you are the equivalent of bipolar. I decided that was much too inconvenient, and pegged the equator as probably the only place on earth I can live. This too has its inconveniences, because although I am keen on toucans and orchids, I admit to an unfortunate generalized hatred of Equatorial cultures.

I’m not sure why Earth seems to be moving through such a lively field of fiery darts right now, but I know that Calvin is right. I got up at about 2:30 one morning last week, unable to sleep for the pain going through my sciatic nerve, and reread Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book III, Chapters 6-10. Within this 40-or-so page segment is the short answer. The darts are firing for my sanctification and for God’s glory, and I am to stick with my assignment. I should not grumble, but I do, and even that is covered by the blood of Christ. My best hope is that my grumbling will be morphed into groaning, and my groans will harmonize with those of some snow leopard somewhere.

One Comment
  1. March 9, 2010 7:21 am

    The snow leopard groans and travails with you. Well all right, he’s currently chasing fuzz on the couch, but his unearthly groans do sometimes ascend and I’m sure they harmonise with yours.

    So true Lauren. From the flight surgeon to sanctification :-)

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