I am a thinker. A thinking researching explorer of human life. I consider words and actions and emotions and myself and others. I actually do all of the previous things for far too much of my time. To a fault more than likely.

My grandmother used to glare at me, chastise me and then giggle, guffaw and want to strangle me at times I am certain.

When I was a little girl it was my job to clean the wooden stairway from the bottom to the top. I had to use hot soapy water to wash the stairs one by one with Murphy’s oil soap and make sure to not leave the water to set because it might leave water stains on the wood.

In my same container as my towels were various dry brushes and a bottle of turpentine and a bottle of alcohol.

One time I opened the bottle of alcohol and stuck my finger in it and simply looked at the wood. I was probably about 5 years old. I was thinking that I might use the alcohol to perhaps add it to the mudpies later in the day and create a crater in the middle. I’d see if I could create a rainbow, perhaps.

Well, you would have thought I set off a nuclear device by sticking my finger into the alcohol bottle and thinking about a rainbow in my future mudpie. The entire house erupted into chaos. Renita Dawn Nunley! don’t you dare put alcohol on those stairsteps!

Inside of my head, I thought “are these humans really seriously thinking?” even then, I knew over reactions happened quickly and swiftly in adults that didn’t understand the curiousity of children. When I am tired now, I do it too to my own children.

As an adult, I still look and look and look again at things that are interesting to me. I ponder and glance and stare and wonder at interesting things that do not matter at all in the grand scheme of things. They mean absolutely nothing to anything. They hold no meaning. There is no clue. I’m not sending a sign. I am just naturally a curious human. I sometimes just can stare at colors and the way they are beautiful together. I am that woman. Somedays it’s that simple. Other days I am much more complex.

My grandmother still wrings her hands, still she smiles. Where ever she is.

Happy Wednesday.
Still Renita.


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