Emailing With the Big Guy

To:  God@Heaven.net
From:  Valri@dumpingmypurse.com
Subject:  Gotta Minute?

Dear God:

I was hoping you could spare a minute and just hear me out as I have a few issues that I am grappling with and and I was hoping you could give me some perspective.  Is this a good time?

Valri


To:  Valri@dumpinmypurse.com
From: God@Heaven.net
Subject: Gotta Minute?

Hi Valri:

Seriously?  "Is this a good time?"  I'm juggling a lot of balls at the moment.  Some pretty intense stuff going on these past couple of thousand years.   But honestly?  I'm pretty good at juggling so listening to you it isn't a problem.  Shoot.

Love,
God


To: God@Heaven.net
From:  Valri@dumpingmypurse.com
Subject: Gotta Minute?


Thanks.  I didn't think it would be a problem but I didn't want to assume because everyone knows "whenever you assume..."


To Valri@dumpingmypurse.com
From:  God@Heaven.net
Subject: "Gotta Minute?"

"...It makes and ass out of you, but never of Me."  Go on.


To:  God@Heaven.net
From:  Valri@dumpingmypurse.com
Subject:  Gotta Minute?

Okay.  I'll dispense with my lame attempt at an ice-breaker.  I guess I'm just wondering, what's it all about anyway?  I mean, I'm looking down the very short road to another birthday, I can't believe how old I am and suddenly I am wondering, have I blown it?  Was there something I should have done, something I should have seen, something I missed along the way that was right in front of me that I didn't grab onto?


To: Valri@dumpingmypurse.com
From God@Heaven.net
Subject:  Gotta Minute?

I thought you were going to ask me something hard.  The answer is - yes, you have blown it, yes there was something you should have done, yes there was something you should have seen, yes there was something you missed along the way that you didn't grab onto.  Anything else you need to sort out?


To: God@Heaven.net
From:  Valri@dumpingmypurse.com
Subject:  Gotta Minute?

Seriously, God?  That's all you got?  I am really freaking out about all of this.  I look back at a life, here in my middle age and see such an average, milque toast story.  And I am ashamed of a lot of my behavior over the years, and such a lack of gratefulness.  I see years of time wasted in jobs I didn't like, that wore me down, just to pursue some kind of security that I thought I could own.  I abandoned the theatre - something that gave me great joy.  I gave more pursuit to personal comfort than I gave to my family.  We rarely even had dinner together.  I watched too much TV.  I read too little.  I didn't take risks.  I got fat.  I lost touch.  I gave more time to the wrong things and less time to you.   I feel so lost.


To:  Valri@dumpingmypurse.com
From:  God@Heaven.net
Subject:  Gotta Minute?

Hang on a minute.  BRB...

Okay, I'm back.  I had to get the Master Schedule.  I'm looking over your life right now and yes, it looks like you're due for another birthday.  Goods days.... bad days.... way off track over here.  A little closer there.  And yes.  Here you are.  Not all bad but yeah, a lot of wasted time, leaving you... right... here.  Yes, confused and discouraged.  And seeking answers.  Yup.  Looking for purpose and joy.  So what do you want to know?


To: God@Heaven.net
FROM: Valri@dumpingmypurse.com
Subject:   Gotta Minute?

God, with all due respect, what do you mean "what do I want to know?"  I need some counsel.  What heavenly and eternal words of wisdom can you impart that will change the trajectory of my life?


To:  Valri@dumpingmypurse.com
From:  God@Heaven.net
Subject: Gotta Minute?

Okay.  Here it is.  You're not dead yet.

Love,
God


To: God@Heaven.com
From:  Valri@dumpingmypurse
Subject:  Gotta Minute?

Uh... I'm not sure what to say to that.


To Valri@dumpingmypurse.com
From: God@Heaven.net
Subject:  Gotta Minute?

Really??  Did you expect the mountains to crack open and heavenly voices to sing you the answers to the universe?  It's simple, Valri.  And of course, as always, you can take it or leave it.

Thanks for checking in, though.  I invite you to do it more often.  I really love all you guys - more than you know - but y'all do make me laugh.  An eternity of entertainment.

XOXO
God

P.S.  I like your recent FB photo.  I've got it on the refrigerator.

My Own Fred Astair

When Bob and I were first talking about getting married, I had a fantasy of our future together.  My fantasy included three perfectly adjusted, beautiful daughters, happy family, and Bob tap dancing on the kitchen floor.

Well, in spite of me, I now have 4 beautiful, seemingly well adjust girls.  And I believe we all have some measure of happiness most of the time.

And Bob tap dances on the kitchen floor.  And the foyer floor.  And the carpet.

There is something so extraordinary about it.  I listen to the sounds his feet make and marvel.  I sometimes dream I can tap dance.  But he can.  And I so love it.  To me it is like magic.  How can you make your feet move like that?  It is such a joyful form of dance.

Some women dream of candles, wine, and flowers.  Some dream of music and sonnets.  I dream of syncopated rhythms and clicking beats on the floor boards.

I am never more in love with him as I am when he is dancing.

Bank Love

Recently banks seem to be going the extra mile to make us feel comfortable with them again (as if that will ever happen) by trying to be all neighborly.  Following the questionable strategy and success of WalMart, my bank has hired "greeters" for all of their local branches.

It is very weird to walk into the bank toward the teller line and be intercepted by a man in a suit who enthusiastically and somewhat desperately asks: "How are you today?"

"Who, me?  I'm fine".

But he is so earnest that you feel guilty if you don't engage.  Frankly my guilt cup is overflowing so okay,  I'll play.

"And how are you?"

Gratefully he replies, "Great, great.  Thank you so kindly for asking!"  Who says kindly in everyday language anymore? I mean, unless you are saying "would you kindly get out of my way??"  His conversation definitely smells of memorized script.  The kind corporations write to make sure their employees sound natural.  And they never do.  And this guy is really trying.  It's awkward so you hope this is the end of it.

But no.

"Would you like some coffee?"  I notice his stiff arm moves stiffly in the direction of a tray of coffee that has been set up for customers.

"No thank you", says I, "I'm fine".

"How about some water?"

"No I'm good", I say.  "But thanks anyway."

"We have some delicious cookies as well".

I feel like I'm at Costco.

"No really, I'm good.  I just need to make a deposit".

And then I'm off the hook because the next victim just walked in.

I watch this poor guy for the next few minutes.  He is dressed for business but acts as if he hadn't seen me since high school.  I don't greet my own family like this.  It is really awkward to know how to be with my bank greeter.  You don't want to be rude but...  You know what it's like?  It's like when you're at the theatre and the actors come off the stage and pick you out of the audience to interact with.  You have to smile and look like you enjoy the unexpected encounter but you're really thinking "if I wanted to be a part of this play I would have auditioned for it".

I don't need my bank to treat me like a person they'd like to throw a party for.  I don't need coffee or cookies at the bank.  Or water.  I don't need a bank buddy.  I need to make a transaction that I can't do at the ATM outside.

But then it occurs to me that this new "greeter" position at the bank is a post-economic-meltdown created job.  And they are probably judging his performance by how many pots of coffee they need to make during the day.  I do not want to see this young man unemployed.  If a better, less annoying job could have been had, he would have taken it.

And so, I grab a cup of lukewarm coffee and a boring cookie on my way out.  And thank him.  Kindly.

A Haiku (sort of)

new exercise equipment

sits in a corner where dust settles

and my dog
leaves his mark

bob brought cheesecake

Okay - it's not 5-7-5 but I'm a beginner.