In 40 weeks, nine short months,
I will celebrate a birthday.
It occurred to me on this fine August day that I've now emerged into the midlife state of Being Fifty: an official zygote, the uniting of egg and sperm, or, in the more civil terminology,
"n. 1. the cell produced by the union of two gametes. 2. the individual developing from such a cell. -- zy-got-ic (zi got'-ik, zi-), adj." *
Thus, today I've more or less been on this planet a full fifty years. Thanks Marilyn. Thanks, Juan G, sir. Thanks, God, for marriage, mystery and other dynamic forces beyond our ken (... like death, for instance. 'Just like that,' I was breathed on by the Creator of the Universe. Made Alive. Animated. And "just like that," a few years back, Dad ENDed with a heart attack on the morning of his 53rd wedding anniversary. His great life-breath snuffed out.
I will celebrate a birthday.
It occurred to me on this fine August day that I've now emerged into the midlife state of Being Fifty: an official zygote, the uniting of egg and sperm, or, in the more civil terminology,
"n. 1. the cell produced by the union of two gametes. 2. the individual developing from such a cell. -- zy-got-ic (zi got'-ik, zi-), adj." *
Thus, today I've more or less been on this planet a full fifty years. Thanks Marilyn. Thanks, Juan G, sir. Thanks, God, for marriage, mystery and other dynamic forces beyond our ken (... like death, for instance. 'Just like that,' I was breathed on by the Creator of the Universe. Made Alive. Animated. And "just like that," a few years back, Dad ENDed with a heart attack on the morning of his 53rd wedding anniversary. His great life-breath snuffed out.
Mom said he was smiling.
(Only Son (OS) must write a song about that).
Dear #2 Daughter ("2D") arrived home tonight with ice cream and a bag of my favorite candy. Who told her it was my "CONCEPTION-DAY"? Likely, she just needed a chocFix. She inquired of my day, and, from a nice little array of milestones to pick from, I chose this one to share: a small sunglassed blonde boy named Dustin prayed to receive Christ in CEF's County Fair Ark... She crooned.
Dear #1 Daughter ("1D") arrived home from her third Civil War Reenactment. Sunburned and still reeling from last night's contra dance with an eHarmony date, she claimed her Zygote gift to me could be to finally clean the messy drips of stage blood off the kitchen floor and within the bowels of the refrigerator. Small blessings. [Her previous gig involved acting and directing shanks and unhilted 'side-arms,' complete with her homemade quantities of red goo she insists was the perfect blend.]
#1 Son ("OS")
I received no deliberate Happy 50th BD Gift from this guy, but the Pandora he downloaded to my iPhone sang out "Coldplay Radio" as his raucous crowd of poker buddies laughed and carried on till midnight, and I guess I'll consider that was gift enough, but only up until their conversation turned toward plans to visit Vegas. (Five years ago, I disliked Coldplay and poker disgusted me. That ended the day I found OS & dear Hubby smoking cigars in the back yard. Manhood trumps Baptist civility. "Approved" open sin trumps despicable secret sin.) I almost resisted soap-boxing against the lore of Vegas & legal prostitution as they impressed each other with 'best places to stay' talk. I kept the nay-saying comments short, as I had eight Ziplock baggies to wash out, a floor to mop, and emails to send.
(Very observant, clever reader. You are right to wonder. Did 1D ever did clean up her splattered blood-like mess? I am learning to conceal such matters. I leave it to TheLordOfHosts to judge.)
Dear Hubby ("DH") made dinner tonite while I slept off a near-all-nighter, probably from folding laundry and cleaning the [>bleep<] kitchen night-before-last, but I forget. He has no idea what a HAPPY Zygote BD he staged for me.
I did not, however, resist soap-boxing when yet another of the kids' friends appeared tonight, waving her new Verizon phone. Verizon: porn friendly ENEMY OF THE STATE. I want VERY MUCH to stick it to 'em, I chimed. "When Steve Jobs took a swing at them for putting a porn app on their 'Droid, I paid the early termination fee and DITCHED Verizon. Jobs is heroic, and the iPhone is now the only device worthy of my patronage." I sort of tried not to sound ticked off, but, well, I'm only a zygote, and "mild displeasure" is still an unfamiliar skill. Go to your fiery doom, Verizon. This Zygote is sure you are not helping make America a safe place to be (a good) human. I can appreciate your gesture in sponsoring a couple of gospel music festivals, but porn is porn. So, I am now the proud owner of an iPhone, complete with (brace yourself --they used to sponsor Planned Parenthood, and I used to boycott this former enemy of the Pro-Life State -->) a two year AT&T contract.
I'll try to end this day with thanksgiving, as The Fray plays (omg!) "NeverSayNever" (to targets of your ubiquitous boycotts) :
Thank you, LORD God of the Universe, for iPhone designers, programmers, techies, and Mr. Jobs. YOU allowed Apple's better self, their better CEO, the lifelong process of being molded into whomever he needed to become to produce such an iconic contribution to the life of This American Zygote and her porn plagued family members. Bless, heal, encourage & speak to Job's heart, that in the quiet moments of his power-lunching and business tracking self, he would bear the Name of The One Saviour and revere it. Be saved by it. Call out to it.
Thank you, too, forBeth Moore and her gift of communicating your truth. Without her extrapolations on the healed self, I don't think I could believe you really love us. I am a better Mom for slowly approaching that reviving possibility. May you give Mrs. Moore a nice long vacation away from her iPhone.
iN Jesus' Name,
iA m e n.
Happy Birthday, little iZygote.
(* from my musty, trusty thirty-four-years-old high school Comp Class dictionary. Old Chris Walker, composition coach and stylized beatnik English teacher and giver of all my "A's", would be stunned to learn his old Dharma Bum Radical is now a baby-saver; a bleeding heart, submitted wife, a mother, and a CONservative. Gasp.)
(Only Son (OS) must write a song about that).
- - - - - - - - - -
Dear #2 Daughter ("2D") arrived home tonight with ice cream and a bag of my favorite candy. Who told her it was my "CONCEPTION-DAY"? Likely, she just needed a chocFix. She inquired of my day, and, from a nice little array of milestones to pick from, I chose this one to share: a small sunglassed blonde boy named Dustin prayed to receive Christ in CEF's County Fair Ark... She crooned.
Dear #1 Daughter ("1D") arrived home from her third Civil War Reenactment. Sunburned and still reeling from last night's contra dance with an eHarmony date, she claimed her Zygote gift to me could be to finally clean the messy drips of stage blood off the kitchen floor and within the bowels of the refrigerator. Small blessings. [Her previous gig involved acting and directing shanks and unhilted 'side-arms,' complete with her homemade quantities of red goo she insists was the perfect blend.]
#1 Son ("OS")
I received no deliberate Happy 50th BD Gift from this guy, but the Pandora he downloaded to my iPhone sang out "Coldplay Radio" as his raucous crowd of poker buddies laughed and carried on till midnight, and I guess I'll consider that was gift enough, but only up until their conversation turned toward plans to visit Vegas. (Five years ago, I disliked Coldplay and poker disgusted me. That ended the day I found OS & dear Hubby smoking cigars in the back yard. Manhood trumps Baptist civility. "Approved" open sin trumps despicable secret sin.) I almost resisted soap-boxing against the lore of Vegas & legal prostitution as they impressed each other with 'best places to stay' talk. I kept the nay-saying comments short, as I had eight Ziplock baggies to wash out, a floor to mop, and emails to send.
(Very observant, clever reader. You are right to wonder. Did 1D ever did clean up her splattered blood-like mess? I am learning to conceal such matters. I leave it to TheLordOfHosts to judge.)
Dear Hubby ("DH") made dinner tonite while I slept off a near-all-nighter, probably from folding laundry and cleaning the [>bleep<] kitchen night-before-last, but I forget. He has no idea what a HAPPY Zygote BD he staged for me.
I did not, however, resist soap-boxing when yet another of the kids' friends appeared tonight, waving her new Verizon phone. Verizon: porn friendly ENEMY OF THE STATE. I want VERY MUCH to stick it to 'em, I chimed. "When Steve Jobs took a swing at them for putting a porn app on their 'Droid, I paid the early termination fee and DITCHED Verizon. Jobs is heroic, and the iPhone is now the only device worthy of my patronage." I sort of tried not to sound ticked off, but, well, I'm only a zygote, and "mild displeasure" is still an unfamiliar skill. Go to your fiery doom, Verizon. This Zygote is sure you are not helping make America a safe place to be (a good) human. I can appreciate your gesture in sponsoring a couple of gospel music festivals, but porn is porn. So, I am now the proud owner of an iPhone, complete with (brace yourself --they used to sponsor Planned Parenthood, and I used to boycott this former enemy of the Pro-Life State -->) a two year AT&T contract.
I'll try to end this day with thanksgiving, as The Fray plays (omg!) "NeverSayNever" (to targets of your ubiquitous boycotts) :
Thank you, LORD God of the Universe, for iPhone designers, programmers, techies, and Mr. Jobs. YOU allowed Apple's better self, their better CEO, the lifelong process of being molded into whomever he needed to become to produce such an iconic contribution to the life of This American Zygote and her porn plagued family members. Bless, heal, encourage & speak to Job's heart, that in the quiet moments of his power-lunching and business tracking self, he would bear the Name of The One Saviour and revere it. Be saved by it. Call out to it.
"But whoever lives by the truth
comes into the light,
so that it may be seen plainly
that what he has done has been done through God."
(John 1.)
And thank you, LORD God, for music, Pandora-delivered or not. Make our hearts beat to yours.
Thank you, too, for
iN Jesus' Name,
iA m e n.
Happy Birthday, little iZygote.
(* from my musty, trusty thirty-four-years-old high school Comp Class dictionary. Old Chris Walker, composition coach and stylized beatnik English teacher and giver of all my "A's", would be stunned to learn his old Dharma Bum Radical is now a baby-saver; a bleeding heart, submitted wife, a mother, and a CONservative. Gasp.)
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