This, this photo of peonies, this is my one hundredth blog posting. I somehow imagined it would be more momentous. As it is, here I am tired after a hard day of work, disappointed by having a solitary comment on the previous post, and really I guess that is how life works, isn't it?
Do you know how differently we see things? I don't just mean you and I, dear reader, I mean you and everybody. We all see things differently. No matter how close we stand to each other, we will not see things exactly the same way. I remember a discussion I had with the boy who lived next door when I was in elementary school. He claimed that the second car at a stop sign didn't have to stop at the sign again after the first car took off. He cited his mother as an authority. I disagreed with him. Do you know how often I have approached a stop sign and remembered that snippet of conversation? I can't remember the boy's name, but I am reasonably sure he has totally forgotten that conversation. And even if he does somehow remember it, it cannot possibly be that he remembers it exactly the same way I do.
No one know me as well as my wife; it is mutual. A mere look often suffices to communicate a paragraph. Sometimes just thinking transfers the thought from one of us to the other. And yet, I will never know exactly how she sees things. Maybe what her eyes record as blue, mine record as brown. We tell the same joke and think that a different aspect of the punch line is funny.
"No man is an island." No. But neither are we identical to anyone. How does God keep up with us? I can't even keep up with myself.
Oh, the peonies? They came from the back yard. We transplanted the roots from the backyard of the house in which my parents lived for about forty years. This is their third year, and they are finally blooming like they belong to us.
7 comments:
Awww, what a fine 100th post. I wonder that myself: How does God keep up with all of us?
I'm sorry about the solitary comment on the previous post. Sometimes I find I don't know what to say when the subject is a serious one...what I did was reflect on my own church's approach to missions--not nearly as self-sacrificial.
Your last paragraph? -- Pure poetry, especially this, they are finally blooming like they belong to us. Have you ever tought about how many plants have been removed through the years from old home places and then plopped down in newer (and noisier, and faster) environments? Gives new meaning to the words bloom where you are planted.
Our peonies haven't even formed blossoms yet. Yours are beautiful. I missed out on the latest wazzat! Must have been traveling.
They are beautiful....just like you and Cat. Things are odd or off right now with people. I am so sorry that you had only the one comment. Just remember that there are people who think about you and what you do every day....some times people just are out of words.
Gorgeous!
Congrats on the Old 100th. Ha ha!
Happy 100th Post Day!
Yay for peonies blooming! They're byootiful.
Blooming flowers ... geeze ... I can't even get my grass to grow. However, my daughter would thouroughly approve of your color choice.
Hey Spider Woman, have you posted anything yet? We will come visit if you do, won't we, blog-gang?
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