The weather is, just, well, wacky. I want to play outside but I want to dictate the weather. I’d call for no wind; a slight breeze would be acceptable. I’d allow the wind to remain only long enough to blow the high cloud covering away; as I want to feel warm; not hot; warm, sunshine. But, as I look out the open window I can see the tall, wild rye grasses engaging in a wacky dance with the wind which can’t seem decide from which way it’ll blow. And, since the window is open, the wind’s blowing is causing the window covering to join in the dance. I could close the window but I keep hoping for the breath which blows in to be warm instead of the wacky chill that it is. Besides, the way the window covering smacks against the window frame it creates a beat which joins the windy howl creating a rhythm for the dance.
The weather isn’t the only wacky thing. I feel more wacky then usual or maybe I ought to refer to this as I’m feeling out of whack. I awoke this morning feeling oddly foreign to my own life. I’ve kind of just wheeled about thinking this oddly wacky feeling would dissipate but as the morning progressed the feeling has grown more odd. I want to dictate the feeling, which one would think would be easier to dictate to then the weather, but like the weather, it’ll have no part of my dictation to it. And, in its wacky oddity, I feel more afraid to ignore it then to welcome it, neither of which I’ve done at this point, mostly because I’m not sure how to ignore it or how to welcome it; I only know there is no dictating it. And like the wind it can’t seem to decide from which direction it’ll blow through my being.
I picked up a paint brush but suddenly felt as if I didn’t know what to do with it. I went to begin writing down thoughts for an upcoming talk but felt as if I had no thoughts at all. I opened the book I’m reading and felt as if I’d forgotten how to read.
I decided to take a warm shower hoping to wash the wackiness away. I only found myself exasperated as the wacky didn’t wash down the drain with the soap and water and I’d forgotten to grab my towel prior to getting into the shower. Oh, how I hate slipping and sliding into my wheelchair, drippy wet and cold to get a towel. This isn’t the first time I’ve done that, forgotten the towel. But this time it dawned on me that there’s a simple solution. Place a hook next to the shower bench and keep a towel hanging there. Why I never thought of it before, I don’t know, but how simple is that?
Could the solution to the wacky odd feeling be the same; will it simply dawn on me? I hope so, for I feel this ‘feeling’ is a turning point, an awakening, a change of course, far too important, far too essential to ignore (although ignoring maybe easier/safer) on this my 49th year journey.