Missing in my own blog…

Every time I start a blog post,  for reasons I don’t understand, it never looks the way I want it to. I can’t seem to get the colors, type face, spacing, or anything just right. I don’t like the colors it chooses for itself; that part seems to be out of my control, mostly because I’m not very good at this. Usually the colors are stronger than I want–I prefer pastels, maybe because sometimes my opinions have been too strong and not always fact based. At  least, though, I’m willing to change my mind, if relevant and contrary facts present themselves.

Lowell, my lifelong love and husband, used to say I just have to figure out how to make this site work the way I want it to. I explain to him that when I had surgery in which they cut open my ribcage and handled my heart, two different times, in fact–actually I’m not quite sure what the good surgeons did to me, and I’m clear that I don’t really want to–I don’t figure out anything very quickly anymore.

So where you see dark blue, remember I wanted aqua, and if you see other mournful colors, remember I wanted them bright and lively. But in this, as in so many things in life, I cannot always make everything as I want. What I’ve found is that I do best when I tailor my wants to the field of what is realistically available. I have given up wanting to be a pioneer pilot like Amelia Earhart (only not lost), and President of the US (and they thought Bob Dole was old). I also wanted to be a wife and mother, and that part I managed. I picked an amazing life partner In Lowell; and I think most of our four children are currently speaking to me. Truthfully, though, I haven’t checked this out today, having talked with only one of them this past week.

I don’t understand people who can blog every day. They must have far more interesting lives than I do. In fact, I find the older I get, the fewer opinions I have, and the fewer conclusions I draw. I discovered a few months ago, having been for quite some time a passionate Christian, that either my God went on vacation without leaving a forwarding address, or I closed down my hot line that has felt open for years. I worried about this for months. Then I decided I didn’t really care, because the God I believe in is a God of constant love, but not necessarily all knowing or all powerful. (I learned a long time ago that if you believe in a God who is all loving and good, all knowing and all powerful, like the God of the sermons and hymns of my youth, you run smack dab into the wall of the Problem of  Evil. There are lots of ways to wiggle out from confronting this problem, and I’ve found none of them convincing, so I simply gave up thinking about the whole thing.)

So enough of this. To sleep, perchance to dream–maybe I’ll dream the solution to the problem of everything. I doubt it, though.