Why do you read Fiction?

What do you think about when you pick up a story?  I hesitate to say ‘pick up a book’ because stories are accessed in many ways today.  The most obvious answer is entertainment, a peek at, and an opportunity to enter someone else’s world for a while. To become a part of another experience and by the time the last page is perused a sigh perhaps of satisfaction, or frustration, or contemplation.

Most of us have favorite authors we depend on, knowing what we will get, not necessarily in the events contained within, but a guarantee of familiarity.  What I like to think of as the Comfort Food of literature.  Some of you follow the top sellers keeping abreast of what’s in, providing opportunity for new experiences and thoughts.  I make it a point during my weekly library trips to include new authors, at least to me, and when a book is recommended by a friend, I read it.  I am not much for romantic themed or erotic stories and therefore have never read Fifty Shades of anything, the series that brought shades of education and blushes to the cheeks of females who otherwise may never have admitted publicly taking delight in sexual adventures.  When pressed by many acquaintances to at least give a read, my response has consistently been that I do erotica, I don’t read it. Ha Ha.  Whether that is true or not is not for discussion, but it was a glib enough response to satisfy and take the encouragers off on another path.

My Comfort Food Fiction list is fairly extensive and is the source for rereads as well as waiting in anticipation for the next volumes to appear.  Included are Koontz, Crichton, King, Cussler, Meyers, Rowling, Buck, and Dickens.  Of course those that have passed on can only stand as rereads and that is fine.

Comfort is hard to come by with a few authors and yet I embrace them heart and soul.  Reality in fiction can be sad, even depressing but the struggle, or rather surviving the struggle is a story worthy of notice.  I wonder in this western culture of pursuing happiness, if we have done ourselves a disservice and weakened our ability to survive by believing that happiness is indeed the gold ring of achievement and not survival itself.

Reynolds Price wrote a book published in 1998 called Roxana Slade which was referred to me by a friend.  It almost seems that this man merely channeled the voice of Roxana who at ninety odd years relates her life tale and takes you, the reader on a journey of struggle, loss, and survival.  His (the author) is so skilled that you quickly embrace Roxana and fold her being into your existence.  Whenever I put the book down for a bit, the characters and situations stayed with me, and I found myself thinking about them throughout the day until I could again curl up and turn another page.  Now that is amazing writing.

I have another favorite author that I simply cannot allot to my Comfort Food Fiction list, and that is Patricia Cornwell.  Her Scarpetta Series and characters are as familiar to me as my own family, but I seldom feel a sense of comfort.  The most recent read is ‘dust’.

Cornwell is a must for me even though I know there will be questions, anxiety, and frustration from time to time.  All of her characters are flawed and not in the cute little way popular fictional hero characters are flawed but overcome, but in a haunting kind of way that strikes me at times as too real.

As a Chief Medical Examiner Kay Scarpetta always has a mystery to solve but the story is more about the struggles and survival of our characters, the things they battle internally to still carry and on and succeed.  People get unjustly fired, are not well liked, have struggles with what they wish life was like and is not.  Justice does not always prevail.  Solving the mystery, catching the bad guy is often anticlimactic to the process, the living, the surviving.

Frankly, for me, experiencing the discomfort of some of these stories, the reality and the survival helps me keep my own reality in perspective.  There are sad, bad, unjust, horrible things in life. But there is much more to be valued.

Have you found the same thing?  What do you get out of Fiction?  Why do you read Fiction?

Ironing Out the Wrinkles of Life In a Wash and Wear World

മലയാളം: Charcoal Iron Box for ironing the clothes

മലയാളം: Charcoal Iron Box for ironing the clothes (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Ironing Out the Wrinkles of Life In a Wash and Wear World

I did something today I have not done for years.  I ironed.  Most people I know stopped ironing clothes when wash and wear made our lives easier, although I am not sure where the easier comes in as we have a tendency to fill the time with some other activity and the general pace of life itself has been accelerated so that it occurs to me that ironing in some way might just slow it down.

Now there are still lots of daily and weekly ironers out there.  In fact my cousin in Scotland and her peeps do it all the time.  My SIL here in Canada still irons.

I had the ironing board out to finish off a project when it occurred to me that I might just press a few articles of clothing likes blouses, sport tops etc just for the heck of it, and I found myself seized by the need to organize drawers and closets.  This is a common urge when large projects are completed.  Why? I don’t know.  Common sense tells me a better celebratory activity might be taking a cruise, or vacation, or even just out for a lovely dinner.  Maybe it is reactionary to spending time focused on one thing and neglecting a hundred other things.  For instance, IF I had put the board and iron away when I finished with it, the thought to do anything else probably would not have drifted through my grey matter.

Anyway, there stood board and iron.  Emptying drawers and a pile of fresh laundry from yesterday – because I did not put it away then – beckoned me on.

As I was pressing lace and designs I realized that by accepting wash and wear I was missing intricate beauty brought by a little heat and pressure and at that moment when I removed the iron did I see the fine stitching, the ivory sheen.

My mind started to wander a bit as I considered how much of our own lives do we just wash and wear?  A large part of the world I see figures that all they have to do is ‘put it out there’, believe and it will be, without realizing that it takes some heat and pressure and persistence to make it so.  Didn’t someone say that luck is 90% hard work?  Or something like that.  The idea being that verbalizing and thinking something is just the first step.  Then come the actions, the work; the energy to make it happen.

A positive frame of mind and spirit is invaluable but unless we use it to iron out the wrinkles in our lives we are forever stuck in a wash and wear existence.  And really, is the fabric of our existence not the quality material we want to show and display?

Rhythm

Rhythm, a sequence in time repeated, featured ...

Rhythm, a sequence in time repeated, featured in dance: an early moving picture demonstrates the waltz. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Rhythm

Ya Gotta Have Rhythm

I’ve been caught up in a few projects lately, setting goals which look good on paper or screen, and wondering why I am not getting all the things done I want to or need to accomplish.  It seems that with the arrival of the vernal equinox there came a need to reflect, to assess, to plan.  At the same time it seems the chain on my wheel of life slipped off the universal cog, and while I continue to function I am out of step.

I have come to the conclusion that reflection, for me at least, is not best in the long run.  At least not when said reflection takes up the entire day. Day. After. Day.  I pondered days of yore when I was organized, and enjoyed the thoughts so much that I returned to them again and again.  Aren’t memories wonderful?  One can be so selective in choosing them.

Then when I noticed I seemed to be out of sync I spent a great deal of time thinking about that.  Wondrous thoughts like ‘I’m dancing as fast as I can’ came to mind, but really I wasn’t dancing, I was stumbling.

Now how can something like that happen to someone like me?  Fleet of foot, well balanced, witty me?

It finally occurred to me that I was missing Rhythm.  The Rhythm of getting up and getting started getting done.  Of course then I had to ponder what Rhythm does for us.  Aside from musical Rhythm which is obvious in its expression I considered the successful people I knew.  What did they do differently?  Was there a secret to their success?  And the answer?  Rhythm.

There are all kinds of Rhythm; some may remember the old fashioned birth control method, which didn’t work as often as it did work, then there is the toe tapping finger snapping feeling good kind, and then there is the very intrinsic, silent to the world but loud to the soul type.

This Rhythm gives us momentum as we dance across the floor of life.  This Rhythm is life.  It is energy.

I am not sure why I lost my Rhythm.  Does it mean I am not doing something I should be doing?  Is it Writer’s Block?  Or is it Life’s Block?  It is more than the inability to write anything worthwhile.  I feel like it is a shadow I am chasing, just catching it in the corner of my eye and then disappearing.

I am not depressed or sad.  I am my own enigma.  A puzzle.  The feeling is intriguing, and certainly entertaining.

I expect it will depart soon.  One can only be entertained by such things for a while.  I also expect that the secret to finding that particular kind of Rhythm is just in the doing.

Have you ever felt the same way?

Odds and Sods – Late Night Early Morning Musings

Physical bullying at school, as depicted in th...

Physical bullying at school, as depicted in the film Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s 3:30 am and here I sit wide awake.  Yesterday the boys and I headed off to Kitchener to meet my SIL and her 3 grandchildren at one of the city’s museums.  There was a special area set up for Circus themes and activities which included high wire walking for the children.  We waited.  In line.  For almost 2 hours.  Each child after being strapped from stem to stern with safety wires and harnesses had the opportunity to walk the high wire and we quickly figured that the wait would be about 5 minutes per child in line.  That meant of course that 12 children equaled a 60 minute wait and the adventures therein were many but that will have to wait for another post.

The point is that by the time I got home I was exhausted, stiff, and sore.  The day was tons of fun so it was worth it, but I knew when I got home I would want to sleep so I kept moving, puttering about here and there and finally gave in to a couple of glasses of fermented grapes and a little TV.  I finally surrendered to the sandman way too early, but oh my, it did feel good to slip between those sheets and head off to the land of nod, just to wake bright and early – well the bright part is me as it is still dark outside my window- thinking great thoughts, and pondering all things ponderable.

I noticed more brave little stories on FB about bullying and an article about Charlie Sheen on yet another rant, this time about his daughter being bullied, and this got me to thinking about this way too sensitive subject.  And from that pondering came questions.

Where will the heroes of tomorrow find their brave?  So many outstanding people suffered some form on bullying or rejection (which seems to somehow have become equalized to bullying) and in doing so became braver, became stronger. They became our leaders, our artists, our models for success.

Strength, I have heard, comes from Adversity.  Are we removing or trying to remove all adversity for the younger generations?  And in doing so are we making their future more difficult?

Are we over defining bullying?  When does a taunt between children playing become bullying?  The lines have become blurred.  I can clearly see brutality, which I think is a more accurate word than bullying, which ends in child suicides and torturous lives, and should have far more severe consequences than it seems to.  But where do we draw the line?  How will anyone learn to ‘suck it up’ and carry on?

When I was a child there were lessons to be learned; Life is not fair, some people are jerks who will be hurtful and the challenge was not in negating hurt but recognizing it and becoming stronger because of it.

I fear that because of the extreme cases of brutality we are going too far in teaching our children to cry ‘poor me’ in less severe situations, instead of teaching them to stand up, be strong and understand the reality of the world.  The reality is that in spite of our great hue and cry against brutality (bullying) there still continues to be bullies and there still will continue to be bullies in the future.

George Carlin and Dean Koontz have both expressed, one on stage and one in fiction, that when we over protect our children we are doing them a disservice.  They cannot become immunized against adversity because we do not allow them to experience adversity.  Is that what we are doing in this situation?

You see, I applaud anti-bullying programs.  We have more situations when groups of people, particularly students are standing up as a group against bullying. That is a good thing.  There are all kinds of education on recognizing when bullying takes place, stopping the act of bullying, and denouncing it publically, but I have yet to see a program that teaches us the reality of the how and the why of it and coping.  It just seems that we are so busy with the ‘buzz word’ of it all, that we are failing to carry through with the successful coping of it all.

 

Boy you check out of life for a bit and…

It’s been a few weeks since I have been able to look outside myself for any period of time due to health issues.  Nothing with deadly consequences mind you, but enough to make me wonder if it was time to get ready to pay the piper.  As horrible as it sounds it was a cold.  Just a cold.  Except it wouldn’t go away.  Dec 18, 2012 I finally went to the doctor rather embarrassed to walk in and say, “I have a cold.”

Doc says, “I hear chest sounds lower right quadrant (he knows I am a nurse) so let’s do an x-ray and depending on results I may have to order medication.”  I was impressed that in this day of madly writing prescription physicians who are overburdened by our health system and who just need to push on to the next patient, this man sat back and said what he did.  I thought this quality kind of health care was long gone.  AND he was a younger doctor!

Long story short I get a call I have right lower lobe pneumonia (something I have never had before) and can pick up a prescription at my pharmacy.  The ten day supply seemed to go on forever but by the end I was all ‘Yeahhhh I am healed’.

That is until two days later when I awoke coughing and sneezing.  I couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe I had a cold so spent another two weeks convincing myself it was a figment of my imagination before relenting and heading back to the clinic.  This time definitely bronchitis, also something I have never experienced.  More antibiotics.  Ten more days.  Yesterday I returned to the clinic on my last day of this round of meds.   Chest clear but my cough sounds, as someone said, like it comes from the soles of my feet.  Follow up x-ray to ensure all is clear and puffers to take for a few days.  Good grief.  These were meds I gave out for years to patients, mostly the elderly.  Was it possible I was now ‘elderly’?  Yikes!

But none of this is the point of my post.  Now that I am securely back in the land of the living, and I am not sure if that is something that is ever ‘secure’ I started looking around at the world around me.  What is going on?

The Pope resigns – unusual since it is the first time it has happened in 600 years, but later that night lightening is photographed striking the Vatican not once but twice.  To paraphrase one comedian who said, “It looks like his Boss is not happy with his resignation.”

Asteroid2012 DA14 – buzzed earth then continued its cosmic cruise.  It came a little too close for comfort I think at 27,600 km away.  I consider our moon pretty close at 239,000 odd miles so this asteroid flew closer than some of our satellites.  This guy weighed 143,000 tons. How do they know that?  Are there interstellar weigh stations these objects but stop at, much like truckers on our highways?  That baby may be much smaller than the one that supposedly ended life for the dinosaurs but it could still have done considerable damage wiping out about 2,000 square km *Associated Press.  But while everyone was watching this spectacular show the cosmos had a bigger surprise for us.

Photobucket meteor

Photobucket meteor

Meteor Explodes – While all eyes were turned to our expected cosmic company a meteor speculated to be about the size of a bus but weighing 7,000 tons blazes across the Siberian sky exploding before hitting our little blue marble, but the resounding explosion which equals about 20 Hiroshima bombs caused incredible damage to buildings and people.  Had it not exploded prior to actually hitting the earth, the press (and we all know we can trust what they say) said that the result would have been similar to the destruction shown in some fiction movies.  I don’t doubt it.  We never knew this meteor was coming, and the only reason we had any warning on the asteroid is that it was discovered not too long ago by a dentist whose hobby is looking ‘out there’.

I am surprised that all the folk who forecast the end of life December 21, 2012 have not come forward saying, “This is the beginning of the end.”  Of course there is always someone out there making forecasts, and while some may not believe, you just never know.

There is nothing mankind can do to change the way the universe functions.  We don’t control space.  Heck, half the time we can’t control our own immediate inner space.  I figure that the best we can do is to live well remembering the Golden Rule, accept the miracle of our existence, whether Science or Creation based, and get on with it.

Except of course for those days when micro bugs take over and force us to have a ‘Benylin Day’ or two, or three.

Daily Prompt: In Loving Memory and The Last Word

An oil lamp, the symbol of nursing in many cou...

An oil lamp, the symbol of nursing in many countries (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (video game)

CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (video game) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

‘Write Your Obituary

 

Christine loved words.  And her favorite were the last words.

She lived her life well enough to bring special meaning to the word, ‘Regrets, I’ve had a few”

But they certainly were too few to mention.

She never quite took life seriously enough feeling it was all so transient

And most of tragedy had a good maniacal comedy about it.

Life itself was not a joke to Chris, it was the seriousness that people persist in believing it to be that was funny.

Christine wanted to impart some good to the world so she became a nurse and thought, ‘Yes this is doing good.’

Then she became a teacher of nurses and thought, ‘If I can fill one person with the passion for nursing that I have then that is good.’

Then she became a manager and director thinking she could make the most impact there.

She sat in Queen’s Park on the Emergency Health Services Committee and though, ‘Yes here I can make a difference.’

By the time she retired Christine wondered if in fact she had made even a ripple in the great ocean of health care and then

It occurred to her that she had – not to the great cumbersome machine itself but to individuals which may seem small but in the larger picture is not.

Christine raised two sons who were her pride.  She loved each fiercely and respected them and their families in all the choices of their lives.

She had two great great loves in her life – her grandsons and the opportunity to be in the moment with them every day meant more to her than all the riches on earth.

She thought herself a poet and writer but the best stories stayed deep within.

She wanted her death – well her passing since death itself does not exist – to be a time of great joy and hilarity.

No tears – do not let the best part of her earthly being, the joy, insane laughter and stories be lost to sadness.

Get out and party and laugh.

Talk about the time she and B got lost in the golf club parking lot and could not find their way out.

Talk about the time she and J CSI’d the vacuum cleaner bag.

Talk about the time…the time…

Christine would want you to know that you should be smiling and laughing this very moment

And all of the ‘times’ she remembered are on CD for your viewing pleasure because after

All – She did want the last word!!

 

FITFS Friday – Georgette Sullins

Footsteps

Footsteps (Photo credit: courosa)

For those of you who may wonder what each Friday’s FITFS series is about, I will catch you up.  It’s all about heroes, specifically my heroes in the Blogosphere.  People I admire, have a blogging relationship with, people I want to emulate in some way (or in every way).  People I learn from.

You know that corny line in the movie with Jack Nicholson and Helen Hunt, As Good as it Gets? – “You make me want to be a better man?”  Well, my Following in the FootSteps heroes enrich my life and by their very example make me want to be a better person.

And so it is with Georgette Sullins where this multilingual wife, mother, daughter, and grandmother takes us along on her journey of memories, life lessons, and new things discovered.  We get to arm chair it with this well travelled southern lady.  On her very first blog in Sept. 6, 2010 she started us off with memories of Oaxaca Mexico.

As a teacher for over 30+ years Georgette continues to teach us in the most delicious way.  Her entertainment value is first but oh my there are wonderful things to learn from all over the world.  I love how she did an end of the year review and in December 2011, I think it was, she gave us a recipe for mulled wine, that I had been searching for since 1985.  The exact recipe!

Georgette’s blog has universal appeal, I believe – and I say universal because should there be an intelligent life form in space I am sure they will also be reading her.

Oh! And she names scarecrows! Don Francisco is one!

Do I have a favorite blog?  Can’t say I do because as soon as I read one, it becomes the fave.

Now just what would I like to emulate about Georgette?

Certainly her ability to place us along side her as we travel, observe and learn.  Becoming part of her reality.  It’s a nice place to be.  In her company.  Could not ask for better! And, her enthusiasm for life, her joy and her faith! Oh! and her humour and wisdom.  Oh! and of course her appreciation for me which makes me want to do the same for others.

Please do drop by, say hi, and leave a comment or two.

*How do I choose my heroes?  Well, in the main it is they who choose me.  I cannot choose in order of importance as they are all important so I started first with those whom I have the closest relationship through comments on my blog and those who subscribe to Bridgesburning.  I have a long way to go because I have been very blessed by these most wonderful people. And if I can ever truly emulate them it will be by inspiring others.

http://georgettesullins.wordpress.com/

This Writer: The Unsuspected Truth

My mind sometimes rides on an endless roller coaster trying to sort out unsortable things.

Truth is one of those – the truth we think we see and the truth as perceived by another.

I had an old friend long ago.  She was old in tenure and age with friends of all ages.  As a matter of fact I and many others called her ‘Mum‘.  She was born sometime around 1916 and lived in a large stately home her father had built in the town of Preston.  She and her sister grew up learning good housekeeping from a very young age and when their school day ended they dusted both banisters of the front and back staircases.

She grew up well mannered, polite and demure as was expected of all ‘ladies’.  She was always a lady.

We became friends in 1967 when I was a nursing student and she a patient. A couple of years later I went to live with ‘Mum’ and ‘Pop’.

She died in 2002 after a few years as a widow.  She always kept her emotions in check as a lady should, through the death of her daughter and the difficulties with her son.  She never spoke out of line.  Never uttered a word of despaiir or anger.  Her daily life, for her whole life was centered in the kitchen, preparing food, planning, cleaning… After dinner ‘Pop’ retired to the living room  to watch TV as we cleaned up.

When her daily chores were done (about 8pm) she would go up the back stairs to the small room where she kept her craft supplies.  There she remained until time for bed.  She said it was truly the only time in a day that was hers.

Once Pop passed away she continued living there, taking care of the house and grounds.  One of the things I talked about at her funeral was that she appeared to have no problems.  She seemed to view them as challenges to be solved quietly.  When she could no longer kneel to garden she she would sit on a plastic garbage bag and slide along the ground.  When she could no longer carry things upstairs she filled a basket attached to a rope on the top railing and pull it up once she got to the top floor.

We spent many many evenings after a meal playing cards and talking.  The only time she ever used an unladylike word was during cards when just before she threw down a winning hand she would say, “I’ll show you where the bear sh*t in the buckwheat.” They were spirited games filled with moans groans and laughter.

As her time here on this earth became shorter she started to get her house in order. Literally. Wanted to make it easier for her son, her only living child.  She also started writing down the family history and told me tales of yore.

One Wednesday I suddenly felt an  urgent  need to see her so I stopped in on my way home from work.  She was pretty quiet during the meal and later during cards.  Quite suddenly, out of the blue, she said she was going to have a stroke and would be found on the kitchen floor.  She said it factual like not expressing emotion.  Just real quiet.  I opened my mouth to say I would stay the night in my old room but a message as clear as a bell came to me.  “You cannot stay.  Death is in this house. You cannot stay.”  I tried to get my mind around the thought and again the words were clear.

She held me for a long time that night as we hugged on the front porch and the next day I got a call from her Grandson who spontaneously decided to stop in to visit.  He looked through the kitchen window to find her lying on the floor.

But that’s not what I started to tell you –  as ‘truth’ and what we perceive are so often different things.  I asked ‘Mum’ after she had been widowed for awhile if she would ever marry again.  To me she had always seemed a woman happy in her role in life.  The crisp anger in her voice startled me,

“I would never marry again.  I spent my life looking after my family and my husband.  I was a good wife and mother and did a good job.  Now I get to look after me.”. And then we got up and went to the living room where she sat in ‘Pop’s’ easy chair and watched television.

She also told me that she followed the rules she was raised by.  “Never say anything in complaint and you can never get in trouble.  If I had it to do over I would talk up.”

So the truth I believed about an admirable always politically correct woman was not the truth of how she felt.  Marguerite was an amazing strong incredible woman and all who knew her were blessed.

Oh the Plots We Weave

I was all set today to post something light today catching you up on my week with the felines.  The fam got home from vacation today but the feline population seems to be intent on staying with me.  Perhaps they think it is just a dream that their loving family is back.

Anyway as I was saying….an article in the paper caught my eye this morning and it has been weighing heavily on my mind since.  Not just the story but the questions it raised.  First I want to ask you – can you take a look at your life and figure out who writes the plot and directs your life?  Are you in charge of  your life?  Do you believe in fate?

There have been events in my life where I have definitely felt the strong hand of fate but then I get wondering, if I believe in fate does that automatically mean I believe in predestiny and if so does that mean we have no control over our lifes?

Something happened on Friday.  A young woman named Jessica Ghawl at the age of 24 was one of 12 people killed when Jason Holmes decided on a killing spree at a theatre in Aurora Colorado at a screening of The Dark Knight Rises movie.

This in itself is horribly sad  and one thought is, how awful to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  But there is more.

This same young lady was in Toronto last month when there was another killing spree at the Eaton Centre and she missed it by  3 minutes changing her mind on a certain course of action.  She had planned on shopping and then sushi and for some unknown reason changed her mind at the last minute, decided on a burger and left the shopping mall.

If she had gone for shushi she would have been one of the victims.  Afterwards she said she could not identify the feeling in her chest, the odd feeling in her chest that saved her life.

I remember a case a few years ago when a man missed his plane and that plane ended up crashing.  Sometime later he died in a crash anyway – I think it was a car accident.  I think the movie Final Destination dealt with this type of thing to the ridiculous extremembut my point is it happens.

Have you ever changed your mind on a course of action due to an unexplained feeling or thought?  Has it ever completely changed the plot of your life?

I guess there are more questions than answers in this post none of which could be answered in just a few words.

12 people dead and 70+ injured.  Hundreds of lives changed – perhaps thousands.

*Someone mentioned to me that the guilty party will probably be deemed insane and get off.  So the only other comment I will make is that I believe, sane or insane we must all always be responsible for our actions.  Insane?  Drunk? Incapable of good judgement?  Oh that’s too bad.  You still have to pay.  Just my opinion.

Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m sixty-four?

Will you still need me; will you still feed me, when I’m sixty-four?

When The Beatles first sang this song in 1967 I was young enough that 35 seemed very old and the thought of ever turning 64 seemed pretty much impossible.  I just didn’t give it much thought.  Well sixty-four now passed me by.

I’ve been musing a lot lately; thinking, considering, evaluating, contemplating.  Probably because I am about to enter my sixty-fifth year and it is a new frontier.  Neither of my folks reached this age and I am the oldest of my siblings and most of my cousins.  I know, I know.  Many of you are saying 65 is not old and I keep hearing things like, ‘sixty is the new forty.’  Well, I remember forty and no it isn’t quite.  The spirit is willing, and there are many things I do that make me feel pretty good, pretty healthy, pretty young, but the song I most identify with is Toby Keith’s ‘As Good As I Once Was’.

‘I ain’t as good as I once was

But I’m as good once as I ever was.’

The most interesting thing to have happened this past week in talking to my friends/family about my party on Friday is that I don’t want any gifts because….and this is the most exciting part…I suddenly realized that there is nothing on this earth that I need or want.

This doesn’t mean that I have everything – it means I am happy, content and satisfied.

I went outside for my usual evening outing to look at the sky last night and on spying the first star I began my little ‘Star light, Star bright, grant the wish I wish tonight’ and stopped just as I started with the realization that I do not have anything to wish for.  And then the epiphany – I am happier right now than I have ever been in my life.  The knowledge came to me quite suddenly and without much ado – it just sort of is.

I still have mountains to climb, dreams to fulfill, stories to create, but I also have happiness, contentment, and gratitude.

I guess as I finish writing this I realize there is a wish I will make on tonight’s star, and that is that every one of you will find this same happiness.

I am fortunate to have people who love me – in spite of myself (I have marveled at that before) and if I have one particular goal this year it will be to let all of them know how much they mean to me.

Who knew?    I do know that this is already the best birthday of my life.

Previous Older Entries

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 313 other followers

Archives

blogsurfer.us

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 313 other followers

%d bloggers like this: