Brain Bubbles aflowin’

   I must be blind but I am not finding my blog listed in the blog list – “Brain Bubbles”.

 …..Anyway, I was having a sanguine brainstorm this morning as I was getting ready for the day.  I think a lack of sleep does that to me.  I start thinking up all these ideas, very few of which ever come to fruition.  Then I remembered that I had a blog on which I could write these all down and later edit if I feel like it.  I haven’t written on the ole blog in quite a while.  Maybe that’s why I am not listed anymore :>(    Well anyway, I was remembering a particularly fun cell group night with Paula, Sherri and Heidi .  We were recounting our lives to one another and it occurred to me how different we all are, and how we each have stories to tell.  What a great book that would make!      Then the perfect title popped into my head:  The Sisterhood of the Elastic Waistband Pants.  Unless you are a chick, and/or middle-aged, you probably won’t get it.   Unfortunately, I am no writer.  But seriously, just what I have experienced alone, multiply it times 4 (like the characters in the original “Sisterhood” series) and there could be a decent book in the making.  I guess what got me to thinking about this is the surprising amount of deaths that I have been surrounded by.  Maybe it’s always been this way, but I never noticed it before until someone close to me died – and then it hit home.  Opened my eyes to a suffering that was new to me.  Actually it’s not just death of the body , but death of the soul in the form of depression.  Alot of depressed people around me.  It’s amazing how, when we are younger, we function through, we have sharpness of mind, energy, hope. But as we get older, it all slows down -very gradually.  It all becomes much less manageable and you realize what dependence on the Lord really means.  I can’t even imagine trying to “manage” with out the Lord.  I am sure that my mother-in-law, with her arthritis, and weak heart, would have a lot more to say about that than I.  Everyone of us in cell that night shared about the themes that were running through their lives.  Mine had to do with death and depression.  Others’ had to do with kids, or marriage, or jobs.  And we are all learning to deal with these issues differently as we grow into our older years.   I know that I am not “old”.  But I also know that I am not “young” either.  I’m in between there somewhere, constantly assessing what I can and can’t handle, what I can and can’t eat, wear, drink, say, lift,  remember, or buy anymore.   I guess you could call that “wisdom”.  Yeh , I like that, “wisdom”.  I am in my “wisdom-age”.  Sounds much more flattering than middle-age.  Not that it matters, as I go to change into my elastic-waistband pants.  Argh!

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