Sunday Stroll

My neighborhood is probably fairly typical for suburban USA, but I always find things that strike my imagination as anything but.  There’s a story wherever you look.  Here are a few I found yesterday.

The house on the hill was once owned by a retired sea captain who could be spotted occasionally behind the iron parapet with a spyglass, looking toward Lake Michigan.  Sometimes I hear him when the wind roars in the trees, shouting “Thar she blows!”

Mrs. McGillicuddy was hanging out the wash one day, when a German Shepherd came barreling around the corner of the house and ran right under her skirts.  This sock flew out of reach and remains in the maple tree on Church Street to this day.  (What happens to the story if I don’t capitalize the ‘s’?)

“Momma?  Can we make a snowman family in the front yard?  Please?”  “Nonsense, children.  That’s not necessary.  I have one I ordered from WalMart’s Home Decor department right here.  There!  Now run inside and watch the TV until dinner.”

The meteorite streamed through the dark night sky, blazing a menacing trail of fire toward the quiet, white house on the corner where Carol & Ken slept.  It whistled past the living room window, sending Fluffy on arthritic legs across the rug and under the sofa on the opposite wall.  With a steaming hiss, it plopped into the snow.  Ken snored loudly and rolled over on his left side.

Enjoy your Sunday amusements!  The sun is shining, and I think we’re off on a hike this afternoon.

10 thoughts on “Sunday Stroll

  1. The “don’t build a snow family, go watch the TV” story was sooo depressing to me. Probably what was most depressing about it was the mom’s cheerful confidence that she was doing what was best even as she suffocated the spirits of her children. She had no insight that she had succumbed to a 24 hour/day bombardment of lies from every form of purchased media.
    This reminds me of one of the stories that Thomas Merton retold in his book about the Desert Fathers:
    “A brother in Scete happened to commit a fault and the elders assembled, and sent for Abbot Moses to join them. He, however, did not want to come. The priest sent him a message, saying: Come, the community of the brethren is waiting for you. So he arose and started off. And taking with him a very old basket full of holes, he filled it with sand and caried it behind him. The elders came out to meet him and said: What is this, Father? The elder replied: My sins are running out behind me, and I do not see them, and today I come to judge the sins of another! They, hearing this, said nothing to the brother but pardoned him.”

    I love that story’s call to mercy and forgiveness. But it just kills me when I think of the sins running out behind me that could actually hurt people, especially children, who are vulnerable to me and depending on me to help and heal them.

    I don’t know. Maybe I’m taking your story a little too seriously… 🙂

    • No, you’re not taking it too seriously, you’re taking it seriously. Which shows your capacity for awareness, which I admire! Awareness gets you to examine your intent and allows compassion to arise. See, you have compassion on those fictional kids but also on the fictional mother, which leads to greater mercy and forgiveness. So now I think this is not just a bit of amusement, but a useful exercise. I feel honored and humbled by your comment!

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