That post title up there? Well, that’s all that is left of a post I wrote this morning, not because I goofed up and fed it to cyberspace, but because I looked at it and thought, Jeez, Louise, AJ, this is rotten writing, rambling, just muttering around . . . whatever. I erased it; I thought it was the best thing to do. Of course, taking the time to wish for World Peace would have been a better use of the time, but that’s been well-covered in beauty pageants and movies spoofing movie pageants.

And explaining why I just wiped a bit of today’s writing off the face of the earth serves also to give reason as to why I am not writing anything else.

Sigh and ok: World Peace.

Of course, a vague post title. Even I sighed. You do your best, cut the slack, hope for the best . . . and then it comes: the little announcement or action that all along you knew would come. It’s usually the little things that disappoint the most – the ones that indicate – in some people’s eyes – that those who have held the fort have not strived, not been pained, not sacrificed. And you sigh and say, “I see.” It’s not really a surprise: it’s more the out of the blue moment when it pops out; you knew it was there but you just wanted to pretend maybe it wasn’t.

This is, for the most part, a fill in the blank post. I in our lives, so many of us have situations where the truth of the matter is the same, just the details vary.

I feel better, having rambled on. I would recommend rambling on to anyone who has experienced the let down of being left to hold the bag, and reminding oneself of what we have always known: the bag has been empty.

Her birthday, not that today is the only day I think of Jody. I see that picture framed by where I sit; I think of Thomas Bickle everyday too – his light is still shining on the wide window sill of what was once the old north porch. You can see it better from the outside now that the bushes have been trimmed, but that’s just with your eyes. Thomas Bickle’s light burns straight to one’s heart.

But this is about Jody, about her picture, actually. It is my favorite picture of her; I once wrote to someone that she reminded me of a young Queen Elizabeth II. I said she looked so royal.
The person to whom I was writing – a very intelligent person – responded that yes, she did look regal. Of course, regal was the word I should have used; it’s an adjective . . . and I am a stickler for grammar. But for some reason, when I look at that little face under the scarf smiling out over her shoulder, I don’t see a description, I see the an essence. I am looking at someone royal.