Where Does The Time Go?

OK. I can handle getting older. For MYSELF. I have resigned myself to cragginess; even embraced it. It's kind of a demerit badge of honor for me. But what I cannot handle is the aging of my daughter. Those of you who know my baby girl know that she is my hero. I often like to say that, when I grow up, I'm going to be her. Fat Chance, but it's a nice idea. I could never be who she is. She is an an adult. I just play at it. She is smart and beautiful and kind and every other thing that I am not. I couldn't be she if I had a total body transfusion. a brain replacement AND a personality-ectomy. And my hero is now engaged. She will marry a fine young man in less than 5 months. This perfect person is about to create her own family. What happened? Did I fall asleep and wake up 26 years later? Where does the time go? Tempus fugit, they say, so carpe diem and gather them doggone rosebuds because life is ephemeral. It makes me think that perhaps I should be about gathering. And perhaps learning latin. But what is there to gather? Stamp collections? Rare books? Hummel figurines? I know the answer to that. And so do you. My only little girl is an adult now. And as I age, I can honestly say that I've learned more from her than I have ever taught her. She will make the world a slightly better place. This is all any of us can aspire to. May we all contribute small great things that make a positive difference. This is my old lady prayer.

Before I Die...

Unless we are fortunate enough to stick around until the Rapture, every single one of us is going to die. There's no getting out of it; our only choice is whether we do it on our own terms, which my religion teaches is a sin--no different than murder--or wait to be called home by Our Heavenly Father. I don't mean for this blog to be a downer. Quite the opposite: It is meant to be encouraging. If you are still drawing breath, then there is still hope: for redemption, for reconciliation, for change, for forgiveness, for action, and fulfillment, and closure. Before I die, I want to make a difference on this planet. I'm not aiming for anything extravagant: I just want to be a good friend, a good mother, a good daughter, a good sister, and a good spouse. I want to be faithful, supportive, trustworthy and honest with my fellow humans. I want to intuitively kmow when a kind word is needed, and I want to have the courage to offer it. I want to be kind, respectful and appreciative to all God's creatures. I want to adhere to the Hippocratic Oath: to first, do no harm. I want to draw breath and exhale it in a way that says, "I am here, fully present, and eager to make a positive difference." I want to use my time wisely in ways that encourage and uplift. Let no one whom I encounter walk away any the worse, and hopefully better. I want to live like I'm dying. Because I am. And so are you. But if I am honest, one of the things I want to accomplish most before I die, is to publish one more book: the book I promised Mrs. Pooser I would see to fulfillment, on her behalf. Anne Pooser spent years researching an historical figure who, to this day, has not received her just notoriety. When Anne could no longer continue the research, she magnanimously gave me all of her notes and everything she had written to date. It was a selfless thing to do; she yearned to tell the story more than she wanted the recognition. And as of this writing, I continue to let her down, although I have tried very hard to make her dream come true. Just a few days ago, I submitted her story to another novel contest, and With each submission I am, once again, hopeful. Because I have not (yet) been turned down again. I like this pocket of possibility. Publishing is a very difficult business, but I continue to persevere, and have recently sent the manuscript to a novel-writing contest. Just doing that one little thing gives me hope. Because until the answer is positively "NO,", then answer can still be "YES." I would like to hear from you. What is that one thing that you secretly hope to accomplish before you die? Send me your deepest, most private, yet-to-be realized accomplishment. Perhaps we can encourage each other.

Writing...

I couldn't have been more than 20 when I saw a cartoon in the newspaper that described me perfectly. It was simply titled, "Writing." The cartoon featured an older, portly businessman in a tailored suit. He sat behind a daunting desk, smoking a pipe. Behind him, floor-to-ceiling bookcases brimmed over with the sum of every civilizations' knowledge. The whole vibe was so intimidating that it let you know, in no uncertain terms, that you should have called to cancel that appointment before you even made it. Across the desk from the pipe smoker, a hippy sat: long hair, sunglasses, wearing blue jeans and a sleeveless vest with no shirt underneath. The beatnick spoke to the businessman. This is what he said: "It started out as a suicide note. Then I corrected the spelling of a few words; rearranged a sentence or two; became interested in the style; developed plot lines and added suspense; inserted a few flashbacks to my miserable childhood and, of course, many bedroom episodes from my formative and adult years. Never once did I dream I would wind up talking to you about subsidiary rights." I loved it so much that I embroidered the cartoon on a piece of muslin and framed it. It is sitting on my desk even now. The cartoon has kept me going, even when I wanted to quit, all my life. It reminds me that so often, we find ourselves on the precipice of dispair, never realizing that we are just one key stroke away from success. Perhaps it is the despair, and perhaps only the despair, that can get us where we need to be, that can save us. That can get us to the place where we can finally reach the dream. And all the while, we rarely realize the untold numbers of souls who, without ceasing, encourage us. The angels who fight our demons unceasingly, in their effort to see us achieve our best lives. We should not fight against them. For Susie. Thank-you.