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Friday, June 15, 2012

Worry is the thief of joy, and The nastiest of Days!

The old saying goes that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger; I say, that which doesn't kill us makes us weaker so we die hideously later. It has been the nastiest of days, already. What do you do when your 80+ year old dad insists on mowing his own lawn, then announces he is sick, and sounds terrible? [He won't admit to allergies, and sinus issues, those are for communist sissies, and he won't listen to anything YOU say because he hates your husband]; when the nastiest person at work takes a week off--again--then shows up three days before she's supposed to; when the local Walter Mitty regales everone with his latest dynamic feats, and you know he's been sitting home whining and sniffling over an old, dogeared Playboy; when you're cut off from the morning/pm commute by not only construction, but road closings, and nasty little drivers who like to cut you off, yell, turn without signals, etc, because they know the driving is difficult, and because they can, and when you know no matter how much you get paid, the bills will devour your financial whole? I don't have any answers. And the arthritis is now spreading to my right wrist, so if I do come up with any, it may be hard to type them out. My friend Angela W., a successful writer says, wait and things will happen. I think she means good things, but she doesn't specify. It is hard this close to my birthday and Midsummer to feel so spent. Birthdays used to be wonderful and magical, Mom got rainbow cake, and made favors by hand, and I had wonderful Dr. Doolittle parties, and HOlly Hobbie parties, and dinners out on Father's Day, and more cake at my grandma's later in the summer, and swimming parties, and so much. Now, what is there? So, I write., and I work on collections, and I craft and paint when I can, but that isn't often. We do work too much in this country, and life flies by, and then it's over. One tries to look for the pelicans as they fly over the river, and to wonder why they weren't there when one was growing up. We look for new varieties of flowers, and try to notice how they glow just before it rains, against the cloudy sky. We treasure our friends, even if they are acting weird, we laught at their foibles and ours. We try to go to church, even when the very young pastor who wants to be a bishop sees us as a stepping stone to his promotion, and forbids us wearing Evil Eye charms just when we most need them. Restraing, writes Conrad, restraint is what makes us human, and allows us to function and not descend into animalistic behavior. I will try, Mr. Conrad, I will try.

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