For a period of time I will just write of trivial things. There is no purpose in doing so, other than in marking one day from another. And then I will take spells when I will write more emotionally. I suppose the purpose in that is just actually writing it down for me – making myself find words for it. And maybe so that someday someone will know that I wasn’t all two-dimensional – a pancake, as a friend once described it. I may not have been a great 3-D person, but that I have thought about things, regretted things and understand that I have wrestled with my flaws – am sorry for them.
So what now? A litany of sad thoughts? The memories I keep in a bottle in the closet as if they were immortal fireflies? No. No. I don’t want to do that.
But I don’t have any AmeliaJake jokies today. Nothing particularly odd happened – no paint cans tipping over – although when I put the lid back on and gave it a tap with the hammer, little droplets flew out onto my glasses and cheek. I was actually in a position where little miss who has worn glasses for half a century and claims she can see through major smears finally decided on her own she should actually clean them. Der Bingle will appreciate that; he started wearing glasses as an adult and I think he’s a sissy for cleaning his glasses frequently. He can’t understand my not cleaning mine.
When he first got glasses, he actually bought cleaning cloths for them! I was so stunned . . . my gosh, didn’t the man have a shirt tail handy? Wasn’t his breath capable of making a light fog on the lens? Ah, well.
I’ve been thinking about my parents and their being dead. And other things. Lots of “what if’s” and other laments. I believe I’ve been thinking more about the repercussions of being a jerk more than I usually do. No rationalizing; just the facts, ma’am.
It’s painful. When my granddaughter got her first B+, she lay down on the floor and sobbed; her grandpa lay down beside her and told her it was all right. I think I want to lie on the floor for awhile; I don’t think it will ever be all right, yet I’m betting I’ll eventually get up.
I often wonder why we grieve the things we can’t change? I’ve lived by the Serenity Prayer for about 15 years, but I really do have a problem with accepting the things I can not change. I also work hard at choosing, each day, to be happy, but again there are days that are a struggle.
I wish I could be more like my dog, I think. Every minute of every day Jimmie is happy. He is ready to play and looks at you with such expectation that you have to smile. He loves completely and forgets the bad things within a split second. He never looks back, he is always looking forward ready for the next adventure happy to be with me whatever I am doing. Yes, I wish I were more like that.
The blood runs true. The first time I cleaned Summer’s glasses for her, she was amazed that she could see colors through them. They had been dirty even by her grandmother’s standards, like they were coated with Crisco.