Whew! That first sip of coffee was an eye-opener and must have gotten rid of every germ on its way down. 
If that didn’t clear the early morning cobwebs, nothing will.
A question this morning: why is it so hard to talk to people about the really important things? Small talk is easy but how about asking someone what they believe about God or Heaven or why they vote as they do? Are we afraid of being rebuffed? Do we not want to make anyone angry? Would we rather sail on smooth seas rather than risk rocking the boat? Is it none of our business? Really? Think about that.
Confrontation and accusations are not good. Anyone would become defensive if he or she felt challenged or looked down upon, and arguing never proved a point. Maybe we’re afraid of being asked a question for which we have no answer. Just wondering.
If you saw someone running down a path that ended in an abrupt drop-off, wouldn’t you warn them? Would it still be nobody’s business but the runner’s?
One of my favorite questions is Why? I like to know why things happen, why some things work and others don’t, why one path is chosen and another isn’t. 
Sitting down with a cup of coffee in a polite conversation is a good way to delve into some deep questions and answers, but we would have to take a pledge of honesty. Honesty and truth couched in courteous terms–my goodness! That reminds me of our critique group. Believe me, clear-minded questions and answers about what has been written is a kindness, much better than agreeing for the sake of not hurting feelings.
I think that may be one reason I write mysteries. I want to know why something happens or why someone does something. However, I also want to know what: what is he or she hiding? It takes one down some interesting pathways.
https://www.pinterest.com/blanchemanos/ Why do I post pictures of owls and Ireland, old barns and interesting houses, dogs and cats? Because I like them, that’s why. But why do I like them? Hmm. I’ll have to think about that.
Post what ever you want it is YOUR web site!
Right. Thanks for writing, Patricia.
An insightful piece, Blanche. I know I exasperated my parents at times with my endless questions. We don’t change as we grow older, we get more like ourselves’
I remember standing in a little Post Office in England, according to Mum I was four years old at the time. The Post Office was also the village shop. Villagers crowded inside on bread delivery day to pick up their loaves. Eye level with the big wooden counter-top, I saw large, rough hands, knotted with rheumatism, slowly tearing stamps out of the stamp book. More people squished in until I was completely surrounded by legs. “Why does it always take so long in the Post Office?” I asked. “Have some patience,” replied the postmistress. “That what they have in hospitals, not Post Offices,” I said. Mother gave my shoulder a shake, I looked up, above the forest of legs, into hostile faces with pursed lips. Children’s smart remarks were not looked upon as humorous in my day.
Questions are never indiscreet, answers sometimes are. (Oscar Wilde)
I love your story, Josephine. Children are honest and say exactly what they are thinking. We adults could learn from them.
What a good answer that postmistress gave, instead of hushing her. I think I’ll use that line in the future.
Yes, that’s an insightful piece.