Far too often I drink far too much coffee far too late in the day. And when I can't sleep, I contemplate.
I get caught up on certain subjects. What the Native Americans would have thought of iPods. Or even Fresca. I'll bet they would have loved Fresca. My daughter's tiny hands and all the things I pray they will someday accomplish. It doesn't sound deep written out, but it always blows my mind.
Tonight, it's my house that has my head spinning. Our simple but solid 1950s ranch that was clearly built to someone's specifications.
Who lived in this house when it was built?
What were their names? I'll bet they had cute names. Betty and Frank? Mildred and Joe?
What kind of clothes did they hang in my closet?
How did they arrange their furniture in the living room? It's tricky with the big window and the fireplace and the curved wall.
Did they have kids?
Maybe someone was born here.
What did they argue about?
Did they throw parties in my living room?
Did they pray?
Did they leave anything behind that belonged to them?
Did they actually use the little slot at the back of the medicine cabinet that says "razor blades" to dispose of their razor blades?
And then after awhile.
Will we live here until we're old?
What kind of things will we hang in the closet when we're old? I'll probably wear slacks instead of pants by then. And maybe even a housecoat.
Wait, will we live that long?
Who will live in this house after we do?
What will become of this place we call home?
Will it someday be bulldozed?
Then I do eventually go to sleep, thinking of my little blip in the material world. Picking out wallpaper is fun, but it sure doesn't last.