Midnight Rainfall

The cool air is fresh and young.

The driveway is wet and gravelly on the pads of my feet. The streetlamp's light overflows onto the pavement, blurring and multiplying tenfold in its depths.

There is something about its reflection that takes me back to another time spent with another feeling.

But, unlike most nostalgic sensations, it does not flit in then dance out of my mind. It lingers, accented by the steady plimmer of raindrops on the ground and car hoods and leaves of the maples. It wants to be remembered. It's waiting to be understood.

I cannot comprehend it.

I shiver, and my discomfort drives other thoughts away. I inhale once more, then retreat to a warm, dry and quiet refuge. The misunderstood memory is stifled with the muffled plimmer plitter on the roof.

But something from out there clings to my bare feet and follows me inside: the unbidden whisper of a reminder, "This is how it should be."

Ha. Ha. Real funny.

After a practically acne-free summer, three angry zits choose to rise to the surface the evening before picture day. Oh, fate, you funny thing.

Everybody, everybody wants to love

You know something? Agape is the Greek word that refers to the love God has for his children and the love a mother or father has for his or her children. Wikipedia cites that the OED says the following: "Agape is one of the Greek words that translates into English as love, one which became particularly appropriated in American Christian theology as the love of God or Christ for mankind."

Agape is also the exact Greek word for charity. Charity is love. English muddles it into a lot of other definitions, but that's what it is.

1 Corinthians 13:1: Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.

We're nothing without love.



We are, by no means, the perfect example of perfect sisterhood. But at least this kid and I have this whole love thing down. I can't imagine my life without her. Photo credit: Ben.

Sometimes, I mutter words under my breath just because I like the way they sound.

Not to talk about my dental hygiene again, but here goes.

Crest Cool Mint Gel. The most vile, repulsive poser for a mint-flavored toothpaste that there ever was. You stick it into your mouth, expecting the tingling rush that's supposed to come with anything minty, and a saccharine ooze meets your eager tongue. If I wanted to brush my teeth with plastic candy, I'd spread melted Hershey's bars on my toothbrush! And I'd actually enjoy that! Whoever could make the mistake of shaming the name of mint by including the word in that concoction's title? Who was mislead/stupid/drunk/ignorant enough to think that the two could have anything remotely to do with each other?!

And you know what's the worst part? I trekked all the way upstairs to the kids' bathroom. I braved my parents' bathroom in the dark while my mom was asleep. She is not a heavy sleeper, by the way. And you know what? We have a Cool Mint Gel infestation. It is the ONLY flavor in this household. Someone is trying to get me to stop taking care of my teeth or something. This is mutiny.

And I've been sitting here with my toothbrush between my teeth while I wrote up this post. How ironic that the stuff has been festering in my mouth this whole time.

But at least I'm trying new toothpaste, right?