Thursday, March 10, 2011

Bus Ride as a Metaphor

Another week is flying by with so many stresses and challenges and near misses. I was thinking of Dad when we were riding the bus back from Siem Reap on Tuesday evening along a bumpy 6-hour ride. The buses and trucks share the narrow national highways with families on motorbikes, oxen pulling cartloads of wood, boys toting little sisters on bicycles-- all on the same road swerving around and narrowly missing one another. This is a country full of survivors, and I was thinking of Dad's observation this week that God is looking out for every little one of us and has in mind that each one of us should play a role.

I was thinking also of little baby rolling around in Paula's belly with as-yet-unknown gender sucking thumb and not considering all the big changes in his/her life just a few weeks away. I was thinking of my friend from Washington, whose son is just learning to pee in the potty by running across the room naked, sprinkling a long zig-zag across the floor as he goes. And I was thinking of granddad, who is potty-un-training on the other end of things, and pulling the many strands from the storyline of his life to make a different sense of things each day. Some days there seems to be a master at work moving us toward an enlightened idea, and other days seem like same shit, different day.