With all the strange coincidences and random encounters that define our existence, I find it increasingly challenging to make sense of anything ever. And it’s only getting worse with each passing year. How the hell did we wind up living in Missouri? How did I get lucky enough to meet someone who was willing to form a “we” with me? How did a random impulse to express my anguish over my grandma’s death lead to almost seven years worth of random blog entries?
Of course, then there’s the stuff we’ve accumulated along the way. Owning a couch, a dining room table and KitchenAid mixer certainly doesn’t define one’s success, but it does help create a comfortable home. The old things are even more intriguing. I’m a junk collector, dumpster diver and Craigslist fiend. Often I look around and wonder how I just happened to come along at the right time to save a chair from going to the landfill or a ’51 Chevy from going to an abusive owner? Who knows.
All I can say is I’m glad to be here today. I like my people. I like my stuff. I even like Missouri for the most part. On that note, it’s time for another cup of coffee.