In the Fik of it

Three times now I’ve developed coping mechanisms to deal with all this, and three times I’ve allowed myself to be swallowed up in them.   The first one could have easily cost me my marriage, the second one; all self-respect.   The third one nearly cost me my job and with it my mind. What starts out as a justifiable way to deal with things that can’t be made sense of, quickly turns into a world view that commands your reason and twists your perspective.   In each instance, I find myself in places and situations that in a moment of lucidity are shocking even to myself.   “How did it come to this”? I ask myself.   Each time I wander the Good Shepherd gently nudges me back into the fold.   Other times He lets me run into the fence, still other times, He waits till the wolves have their teeth in my flesh before he picks me up, saving me from certain destruction.   I guess it’s true; He wants us to live life abundantly, why else would I be, in each in...

“Normal people don’t kiss frozen tater-tots,” I said to her in an even, matter-of-fact tone.     Her only response was to purse her lips, bend over and kiss the tray of evenly spaced potatoes yet again.   This sort of delightfully rational moment is always balanced by some sort of irrationally bizarre moment that proves to be equally extreme.   I thought of the concern I held for the impression of mental stability that kissing frozen potatoes offered as I attempted to tip her stiff, 135-pound frame and horizontally insert her into the cab of the truck.   The text message from our helper was simple enough; “B had a seizure and can’t walk the rest of the way home – she’s too heavy for me to carry, help!”   I got in my truck and headed down the street looking for them.   When I found them, they’d been standing there for at least 10 minutes looking for all the world like two lawn statues embraced as one in a hug, affixed to the middle of the sidewal...