Our neighbor's yard, across the street and to the left. When I was a kid, my mom used to tell me that if I banged my elbow on the doorway or stubbed my toe on the bed frame, that meant that God was punishing me for some bad thought or deed. (My mom, a disgruntled and lapsed Catholic, was probably simply repeating something that her mom had told her.) I grew up with this hazy idea of a God that could reach his hand down and directly punish you for your misdeeds, bad language, impure thoughts, etc. He was listening and watching, that was the important part. Ours was a very secular-with-odd-religious-overtones kind of a house. Things like prayer were never discussed. As a consequence of the above and the fact that I didn't attend church regularly (that means not at all), my idea of prayer is vague. As an adult, when I wanted to learn how to pray, I really had nowhere to begin. The only place I had to start was back in my childhood. God was listening, I knew that much. He m
Curiosity. This blog is a home for my questions (and sometimes answers) on such topics as nutrition, fitness, general health and well being, spirituality and anything else I may be wondering about.