If Wanda the fairy godmother shimmered into my living room, wand at the ready to grant three wishes, the first wish I’d spill is to produce an eight-episode television series from “The Curse of Chalion” by Lois McMaster Bujold. I read this book at least three times a year. It’s my opinion that it’s a masterpiece of world building. The linchpin of this story is the elegantly constructed religion base upon Five Gods: a god for each of four seasons, and a fifth god for chaos. Perhaps chaos misses the mark. The fifth god governs the unexpected the misplaced. When I find my engine idling, I entertain myself by imagining myself as a producer of this show. Oops! Times up! Hit the publish button
DAYS OF WAR
The sun is rising, bringing with this new day more accounts of death and destruction in Ukraine. More lives lost, more buildings razed, more rubble piled in the streets, and more fertile farmlands strewn with metal detritus instead of young, green plants.
This morning I read billions have been donated in support of Ukraine’s resistance to invasion. Of course, it is heartening that such support is being provided; still, I ask myself why such huge support is triggered by such destructive activities as war, and such meager support is provided for more positive activities such as solving the issues of climate change, pollution, and famine. One wonders if humanity will ever outgrow romanticized view of war.
Yielding to depression helps nothing; it only adds another grain of sand to the pile of despair. Once I read about a World War II fighter pilot, who said he never allowed himself to fly a mission until he felt happy. The “lightness of being” he experienced in his state of happiness opened his senses to enemies lurking behind the glare of the sun. True, that was lifted from a novel, not a biological account. Nevertheless, it gives me a reason to elevate my mood
DON’T WORRY, BE HAPPY
Sunday was a big day for me! A very big day! I decided to live a happy life right now: this very minute. There is simply not enough time to accomplish those objectives that would make me happy or grant me the right to be happy. If I want my epitaph to read “Lived Happy” today is the time to start.
I’ve decided to be happy despite of goes on around me. Step One is stop trying to fix the people (including the animals) around me. When I go to bed, I fall asleep when my head hits the pillow instead of lying awake worrying that “Person A” is not eating right, or “Person B took should have acted differently, or the cat is refuses to eat the “good food” instead of that awful dry food he has eaten his entire life.
The required action is changing the nature of my thoughts, ten thousand of which whiz through my mind life shooting stars. Of course, that many thoughts are beyond my control, but I can manage the thoughts on which I focus my mental energy. Not so long ago, much of my time was consumed dwelling on angry thoughts about a family member. I was creating a rift where I wanted a friendly relationship. Each time I caught myself with an angry thought (which had become the knee-jerk). I immediagely shifted my thinking to something more upbeat. In short order that “heated issue” that seemed so important dissolved into thin air: all sound and fury signifiying nothing.
Out of time to be continued
“I ain’t dead yet!”
Although I am sure that the handful of my followers certainly think so because I haven’t posted for how long? Let me count the years: one, two. Think I will don the green eyeshades of self-delusion and pretend it hasn’t been longer. My “end of days” plan was to write, write and write even more. The plan execution was avoid writing, avoid writing and avoid writing even more.
Here I am (with new driving gloves) reeving the engine, pulling out of the driveway, and entering the fast lane. It has the be the fast lane because I must increase my speed to 75 miles an hour to catch up.
The Thanksgiving when I was seven, I suddenly announced to the tableful of relatives that I was going to marry when I was seventy. To this day, I haven’t the foggiest what prompted that declaration. Here I am, past seventy, rarely a bridesmaid, never a bride.
So here’s the deal. Having no grandchildren (Holy cow, I am at the age of great-grandchildren) to justify my existence to myself, needs must hustle my butt to claim a better epitaph than