"We are a funny people!"
  I say it all the time.  Not a day goes by that I don't marvel at some aspect of humankind.  Every intricate detail of our lives -- both the good and the bad -- astounds me, including the physical aspects, from the involuntary blinking and breathing mechanisms to the chewing and tasting and swallowing functions.  Give it a thought for a moment, won't you?  After all, we're all in this together.
Our physical movements are in or out of sync every moment of every day and I stand -- or sit -- in awe at the pattern that must have been used to put us together and the glue that must have been used to keep us from falling apart, for the most part. 
Even as I write these few words, I'm taken by the coordinated efforts of fingers and wrist and the memory that move the pen according to the cursive instructions of my third grade teacher, Sister Barbara Mary, may she rest in peace amen, after an appropriate time in Purgatory, of course.
One would never presume to improve upon the grand pattern of creation, heaven forbid, but sometimes I imagine that humankind might have been given buttons that we could push for some of our more tedious or tiresome tasks, as well as those touching and tasteful.
If we had a button for sleep and another button for awake, for example, we could be spared wakeful nights and sleepy days.  If we had a button for eat and another button for excrete, for another example, we could be spared loose calories and tight bowels.
Since we are eligible for so many particular pleasures, I'd create particular buttons for several delightful sensations, including buttons for the unending fragrance of lilacs or roses, buttons for the unending taste of lutefisk or lefse, buttons for the unending sight of the Rockies or the Pacific, buttons for the unending reward of a smile or kind word or happy memory.
In trying to keep ahead of the current culture of humankind, I'd create a special button to outdo instant gratification.  It would be called future gratification and the boundaries would be unlimited, similar to those of its instant cousin.  In this category we'd find, prematurely of course, buttons for grandchildren and golden ponds and golden gates.
There would also be buttons for other things ethereal.  Along this line, I'd create buttons for love or friendship or family.  At the push of a button we would know love, and our hearts would break but also heal.  At the push of a button we would know friendship, and our eyes would meet with both gladness and sadness.  At the push of a button we would know family, and our arms would let go but also hug.
But that's not the way anything is.  We are a funny people who have to go through infinite steps to reach our goals.  Things do not happen for us with wishful buttons.  We have no automatic buttons like with computers and other fancy gadgets.  We must do things the hard way.  We are a funny people.
I was talking to Jenny about these wistful thoughts, and she says to me, "Mom, remember when you used to talk to me and Nick about the monkeys?"
"The monkeys?" says I.  "Remind me."
She continued, "You'd tell us that the reason we enjoy the monkeys at the zoo more than the other animals is because we can see ourselves in them.  They have hands and fingers like us.  They are funny like us."
Yes, I remembered those thoughts.  I was always looking for a clue as to just where we came from.  Even to this day, when I think of certain people, I think of monkeys.
I've since learned, of course, that we didn't come from monkeys.  We came from our parents, and there has always been a distinct dividing line between monkeys and people.
Then Jenny says to me, "Mom, you know how you always told us that we are made in the image of God, but that we are not God?"
"Oofda," methinks to myself.  "I thought we were just pushing a few buttons over coffee and cookies.  This sounds to me like meat and potatoes."
But Jenny, who also loves the invitation of a furrowed brow and chocolate chip cookie, continues, "Well, Mom, it seems to me that it all makes sense.  Monkeys are made in the image of people and we enjoy them in all the ways that they are like us, but they can never grow up to be human.  And people are made in the image of God, and God enjoys our company too and all the ways in which we are like Him, but we can never grow up to be God."
Now, let me ask you, dear readers of the Gazette, "Whatever shall I do with my first grandchild if it looks like a monkey?"  Surely you must know by now that I've got the answer to that question.  I will simply push the button that says, "Blame it on Allan."
So we have marked the second week of January, 2003, on our calendars.  It's an evolving story and we are a funny people. -- Sue