Originally uploaded by Librarienne.
Despite my earlier compaints about Illinois weather, I am learning to appreciate the autumn we’re having right now. Three mornings in a row have been fresh-apple-skin crisp and cool, and now… rainbows!
To top it off, the shrugs-like-an-Italian old man on my bus – who rides every morning and has delightful coversations with the bus drivers – was listening to the bus driver du jour talk about a big recent lottery win. The old man simply did his Italian-but-not-Italian shrug and replied, “I always say, when it’s time for your blessing, you’ll get it. But it has to be the time for it.”
As a gay person with a Christian childhood, rainbows carry multiple almost contradictory meanings for me. In the life I’m living now, rainbows mean diversity and celebrating differences and being tolerant. In my childhood, rainbows meant El Dios wouldn’t necessarily drown us again, but fire and brimstone weren’t ruled out. But I seem to remember my mother or grandmother connecting rainbows to blessings somehow. So when the old man on the bus mentioned blessings, he magically tied the whole morning into a pretty bundle for me.