Explodes?


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The morning began in a Beatles fashion – I wake up, get out of bed, try to drag a comb across my head – and then everything starts exploding.  First, the shower (ongoing plumbing issues), then my morning yogurt.  I swear those little foil yogurt lids are engineered specifically to splort out upon opening no matter which way you hold them or how tenderly you attempt to open them. It hits my eyebrows this time.  Eyebrows.  Really?

Next, the dog explodes.  I think it may have been the leftover stew she got the night before.  Thankfully she makes it to the lawn.  Poor pooch.

We get to the car and, upon opening the back door, everything I have ever put in the back of the thing explodes out onto the driveway.  My fault.  I throw it all back in and head out to pick up my business partner for a busy day.

My partner is fussing with her outfit when she opens the door to my dog, who, in Golden Retriever fashion is always exploding into a room with bountiful joy.  My partner hands me her purse while she grabs her laptop.  I drop it.  It explodes down the stairs. Poor purse.

She meets me at the car, where we have a repeat explosion of empty water bottles, dog toys and other paraphernalia from the passenger side door.  I do a lot of living in that car.  She ever so patiently throws the stuff in the back seat with her hastily put-back-together purse.  Poor partner.

We missed the exploding car on I-5, but get the pleasure of seeing the aftermath as we sit in traffic. Hope he got his dog toys out in time. Poor commuter.

We get to Seattle, find a fantastic parking spot (!) and then the sky explodes.  Not just typical Seattle rain, but sheets, panels, cubical walls of the stuff dumps on us as we make our way to the venue. Poor pedestrians.

Dripping, but undeterred, we slap on our “hello my name is” badges and get good front-row seats.  I fetch a much-deserved a cup of coffee.  The java explosion just misses my lap.  Ever the girl scout, I have plenty of napkins on hand.

I bite into a crisp apple.  Apple shrapnel lands on my shirt and down my bra.  We laugh.  It’s 8 am and there are many more explosions to come.

My life isn’t defined by moments or turning points.  It is defined in explosions, good and bad.  After my marriage exploded, I kept my last name because it is the one thing no one has been able to take from me.  Hope. Hope gushes, oozes, seeps, wriggles, and – apparently – explodes into my life.  I intend it to do the same for others out of my attitude.  I aim to find the joy in the tests, the lessons in the challenges, and the hope in the fear.

Love blooms, knowledge expands, Hope explodes!

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