I like signs–have them all over the house. Not ‘stop’ signs, the other kind. For instance, there’s a little board over the back door that reads, “Happy Trails to You.” Two more arrived recently, and they seem to express the sentiments of a snow-bound woman. One reads, “Some days it’s not even worth chewing through the restraints.” (That one cracks me up.) The other says, “I have flying monkeys and I’m not afraid to use them!” (I’m nice enough, generally, but I have my witchy days, like anybody else.)
There’s a big sign to be hung at the barn–it used to be over my gate in Cave Creek. “Springwater Station”. My daddy made that sign with his own hands, and it’s precious to me. Soon, it will be up, even though I call this place the Triple L.
I have a little brass sign, too. “Portobello Road”. That brings back great memories of the time I spent in London–two and a half years, on and off.
And then there are the signs I make for myself–just a few words scrawled on an index card and taped up somewhere visible. Usually, these are Bible verses, or affirmations.
Writing this makes me think of that wonderful scene in the movie “Bruce Almighty”, when Jim Carrey is praying, “Give me a sign!” and the truck in front of him is literally covered in them.
God has a sense of humor. There ARE signs everywhere. Especially in my house.
Since this IS one of the days when it’s worth chewing through the restraints, I’d better get to work.
I’m traveling on Monday, if I can get out of the driveway. Will be visiting daughter Wendy in Santa Monica all next week. There’s one sign I don’t want to see when I get to the airport: Flight cancelled.
Make it a good one, ladies and gentlemen.