It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere

Lately, I’ve been taking the world apart little by little. Originally, I had planned to put it back together once I understood how everything worked, but I’m afraid I’ve misplaced some key pieces, and occasionally, I’ve gotten impatient, pulled too hard, and broken things. So, my new plan is a simplified version. Let things come together as they will. Sandstone with lichen. Rain that soaks the just and the unjust. Lightening that strikes on a whim. Fire that burns selective and incomplete. I can’t keep track of the passing hours or the imagined threats anymore.

I told God about my undoings and lingering responsibilities, hoping he’d take a hint and be of some kind of help, but he’s so busy. “It’s July and I haven’t even got my snow tires off,” he said.

“Yeah, but it’s snowing somewhere,” I said–an old happy hour joke—it’s 5:00 somewhere. We like being happy, me and God. We laughed.

“I know you could use some help with your projects, but with all the cotton blowing off the cottonwood trees and old people dying like honeybees, I just don’t have the kind of time it would take to put your world back together,” God said. His face had a pointed, parental look.

I didn’t believe him because God is not bound by time or space, but then I’m not always honest either. For instance, I’m not actually taking the world apart. The world is taking me apart, and it’s me who won’t be coming back together. Someday, I will be the lichen on the sandstone and the falling rain.

“If you’re lucky,” God interjected.

I knew God was still joking around, wanting to laugh and keep the mood light. And why not? When the time comes, I’m guessing God will give me a different way to see what has always been and will always be. I’ll have new jobs and a new name.

“But not yet,” God said to my wandering mind, sounding impatient with my inwardality. “Your old name still works. Like you said, it’s snowing somewhere. Let’s get a move on. Make hay while the sun shines. Don’t you trust me anymore?”

“What’s not to trust?” I muttered, mostly to myself. But I got dressed anyway, found my purple work boots exactly where I’d left them, and dragged out the mower. God was right. My old name still works. For now.

8 thoughts on “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere

  1. Well Rita, I was certainly taken apart and put back together again (bits missing and some in a different place) when my son died. It seems that this pandemic has given me a similar feeling. However, God’s in Her place and tweeking Her ways, not mine. I can live with that 😊

    Liked by 1 person

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