Windy

When last we spoke I was contemplating a piece of performance art titled Flaming TP. It’s been way too windy this week to pull that one off, but stay tuned. If you’re a friend with a fire pit – especially one of those cute patio ones – and you’re willing to assist in this endeavor, I think it would provide a more pleasing aesthetic than what I have available. Get with me.

Windy.

Who's tripping down the streets of the city
Smilin' at everybody she sees
Who's reachin' out to capture a moment
Everyone knows it's Windy

Many of you saw this gem on my social media. Not really what you expect to find at 7am on a Saturday.

But then when your builder is a member of the church, he might be there with workers and have that thing off the roof by noon.

Speaking of wind … and things carried by it … pollen, my people. Pollen. Tree pollen – believe it or not – typically gets its start in February here in central Ohio. The levels crossed over into the “very high” category last Friday. I almost died sitting in the waiting area at the Quick Lane whilst my car experienced an oil change and tire rotation. The outside temperature was an unseasonable seventy-something, which means fresh air loving people think they need to throw open every window and door in every building throughout the land.

Fresh air is hazardous to my health.

From Februaryish to October/Novemberish … other than a day here and there when levels are magically low … and the sweet spot in July between grass and ragweed season …

Stop trying to kill me please.

The staff at the gym I joined recently seems to be in favor of the doors being wide open. Fresh air. I get it. But I pay money for an indoor place to exercise for a reason. We’re talking. It’s been respiratorily difficult this week.

While I’m on a rant let’s talk about personal space. Personal. It’s PERSONAL. It’s SPACE. Sunday I was in line at Fazoli’s when this lady I don’t know kept crowding me from behind. To the point I took my purse off my shoulder and held it in front of me. Because she was bumping it. This is Midwest suburbia, USA. There are cultural norms that do not include crowding strangers on a Sunday. At a glance I would assume this woman is from around here. It appeared, however,  her problem was that she was having trouble reading the menu. Even though it wasn’t her turn for a couple more people … why not lean into anyone and anything in an effort to focus. I’m just a big clump of cells … why not nudge me forward so you don’t take too much time when it’s your turn at the register. There are plenty enough breadsticks to go around. It’ll be okay.

Unbeknownst to me my brother was joining us for lunch. Having seen this exchange, he snuck up behind me when my new best friend stepped aside to peer ever more closely at the menu. Wondering if it was this woman’s husband, and wondering what was wrong with their family, I whipped around, only to find out it was my family with the problem.

But wait, there’s more.

Monday I was running errands when I discovered – and this gets a little personal – I found, much to my disappointment, a hole in the inner thigh of my most favorite pair of leggings ever. Sigh. No, there are no pictures. And no, I have never had, nor will I ever have, a thigh gap. They’re overrated.

I could have gone home to change, but not wanting to be distracted from my plan for the day, I grabbed a new pair from Target. I could change at the gym after my workout. I had a fashion dilemma, though. My sweater and shirt were both black, and the only leggings I could find were black. Sure, I could be morose or chic, not sure which, and dress in all black, but maybe I could find a clearance shirt in a happy color or print or something.

I did find a blue top, but I also came across a black denim jacket on the clearance rack. Oooohh, I don’t have one of those. I wonder if it’ll fit. By this point a lady and her adult daughter, who I think might have had some mild developmental issues, had approached. I engaged them in pleasant conversation and said “excuse me” while I whipped off my sweater so I could try the jacket on over just my shirt. The lady was all up in my space, going through the clothes on the rack right there in front of me. If someone is standing there trying something on, don’t you go around? Circle back if it’s so important you check that rack? Resist the urge to practically hug said person and just wait at the assured clear distance?

I mean, I know I’m super huggable, but really.

Maybe I need to hire a bodyguard.

Sadly I didn’t like the fit of the jacket, so I looked for the hanger I had left on the rack. The woman had shuffled the clothes so much (right there where I was standing!) that I couldn’t find the hanger. I finally just draped the jacket over the rack and moved on.

In other news, on Tuesday my pants held together so I got a pedicure, did some reading, and went to see some random flamingo player I know.

Wednesday I finally finished Mere Christianity. I’m now diverging from C.S. Lewis to the latest Alex Early.

And oh yeah, I read The Shack last weekend in anticipation of the movie release this week. I loved it. If everyone having a cow over the scriptural inaccuracies would please take a chill pill and a deep breath … remember it’s a work of fiction. It’s intended to be as scriptural as Narnia. I picked up on a few things as I read. So, yes, get your theology from the bible and then go enjoy a piece of art loosely based on it.

Windy. People really ought to be less windy on social media. But anyway …

Last night the big wind hit my neighborhood and … we were without power for eleven hours. A minor inconvenience, sure, but after not sleeping well I went to Panera at 6am and camped out for a while. I’m sure I had a plan for today other than writing, but I don’t particularly recall at this point. I think the wind swept it right out of my brain.

In the hours since we’ve gone from blue skies … to overcast … to snowing sideways … to blue sky attempting to peek through again.

I’m so confused.

But onward.

Keep looking up.