Random Conversatioins

I've been toying with the idea of participating in NaBloPoMo where you commit to writing a blog post every day for a month.  Like NaNoWriMo where you write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days, it's something that's done just for fun and your own personal growth.  There's no prize or real incentive, other than whatever you make up for yourself.

Since we're in the middle of this 6 month long project of relocating to Houston, this would not be a good time for me to try this.  So instead, I'm going to commit to trying to think about maybe considering to post more often.  I'll just think of it as NaBloPoMo training.

Since content is completely irrelevant, I have the freedom to drone on about anything that strikes my fancy.  As If I don't do that already.  At the moment, the only thing that comes to mind are some recent conversations I've had.
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A couple of weeks ago on one of those rare occasions when I visit the job I barely still have, a few of us were talking about Christmas shopping which naturally progresses into a conversation about homicidal road rage. 

My pastor/boss said he rarely gets road rage.  He's easy going, go with the flow, live and let live when it comes to his driving experience.  I'm usually the same way except for when stupid people do stupid stuff that makes me want to shoot them.

Pastor/boss said the only time he gets frustrated in traffic is when someone pulls into the middle of the intersection and gets stuck there when the light changes, blocking your ability to move at all even though the green light is now yours.  To me, this is a justifiable homicide situation that makes me want to walk over to stupid guy's window and shoot him in the head.

Pastor/boss, being the voice of reason that he is, disagreed with my shoot now, ask questions later method.  He said he would prefer to walk over to Stupid Intersection Blocker's car and share the gospel with him. Pastor/boss would tell him about the saving grace of Jesus and then after Stupid Intersection Blocker invited Christ into his heart...then he would shoot him.  That sounded reasonable to me.
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Last night as we were quietly ringing in the new year at home, Jayson asked me if there was someone we needed to call. 

"Someone's birthday is at midnight, I just can't remember who.  Who is it that we're supposed to call and wish happy birthday?" he asked.

"It's Gida," I said.  Gida is the Arabic word for Grandfather.  "Gida is a New Year's baby".

Jayson said, "Oh."  There wasn't much more he could say since Gida died 20 years ago.
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This afternoon we were watching television and out of the blue Jayson said, "Your last meal...what is it and why?"

As I was carefully considering what I might like to have as my last meal on this earth, Taylor quickly replied, "Reeses Puffs...because it's all we had in the house."

Bless her heart.