My grandfather Myron, when someone told him they were depressed, had just one piece of advice. "Think Good Thoughts." He firmly believed that if you're thinking only good thoughts, only good things will happen. I try. I really do.
I woke up a few mornings ago and was actually sort of disappointed. I had gone to sleep thinking that surely, if someone "up there" loved me, I wouldn't wake up. But I did. And, so, I decided to "think a few good thoughts."
These are what I came up with. I was greeting with two laughing little red faces with brown button eyes and long pink tongues. Bailey and Kindle truly are a reason to get out of bed every day. Usually to find "presents" they've left during the night...they REFUSE to totally be housebroken...but at least they're usually "wrapped" (ie: on a pee pad I've learned to leave out for them). I know, I know. I should crate them at night. But, "sometimes when I awaken to the darkness from a dream that made me weep, they snuggle closer to me and we all go back to sleep." (The misquoting of a line from a poem I wrote many years ago, about the joy of having a hand to reach for in the night...ironic, eh?)
It's a good thought to have my yard looking a little more like someone lives here. Other than Redd Foxx in his junk yard. Thanks to the wonderful friends that came three days this week to help me wrestle all the junk and jungle into submission.
I didn't really want a new entrance to my driveway, but a friend bugged me until it stuck and I had to do it. Now it's done. I still have to order gravel, but the bare bones are there. And I like it. A lot. More thanks to a neighbor who offered to do it for me when I said I was planning to rent equipment. Thank you!!!!
Friends are always the best thoughts you can have. If you have good friends. And I do. Thanks to the friend that not only sells me fresh eggs from her beautiful hens ever week, but after a recent fiasco (no thanks or good thoughts to Sand Mountain Propane who sent someone in the early morning hours to hook up to my propane tank and remove it without ANY prior warning or notice...pffffffffft) with my propane tank that left me with no way to cook, she boils a couple dozen.
Another friend lets me cry on her shoulder when yet another "dating prospect" lets me down. Or I let him down. Or whatever happens that ends things. I know she's sick of hearing about it. But, she's a good sport. And I will always love her for it.
I'm blessed to have a wonderful cardiologist who is trying to figure out the electrical issues that suddenly are plaguing me, leaving me with an erratic heartbeat that comes near to sending me to the ER way too often. Thanks to a doctor friend who listens to my complains about aches and pains as well. Love you more!
I love my house. Love my creek. Even love my car now that all the bugs are worked out. I want to add a second car, for emergencies, but I'm afraid to trust myself at the car auction again. I know me.
A very sweet man has become my "auction buddy" and is always up for meeting for supper when I don't want to cook for myself. We met on a dating site, but decided we needed each other as friends. We make good ones.
My grandma Ruth used to say "if all of our problems were hung on a line, you'd keep yours and I'd keep mine." A cute way of saying "there's always someone worse off." And I am well aware of that.
My doldrums come from the season, deathaversaries coming in floods, and an absolute dearth of good news coming out of any source (and no, I don't watch mainstream media blah blah blah, so just don't freakin' start!).
I will survive this season. Again. It's what I do. I survive. I'm not really living. But I'm making "survival" an art form. And the main paint brush for my art is "think good thoughts.
May you all have only good thoughts in the days ahead as summer falls under the spell of winter and the earth goes to sleep for a while. Which reminds me of another poem. For some reason, since I was a child, it touched me. It was read at both my mother and father's funeral. And I ask for it to be read at mine.
Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep...
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
I think of that poem every time I watch the shadows lengthen with the coming of winter. It makes me smile to learn that this was the only poem that the poet ever wrote. Scribbled on a brown paper sack. And it has endured almost 100 years. Surely a few of my words will survive after I am gone.
I'm looking at my Bucket List today and figuring out what I can do of it alone. Or if perhaps it's time to just get a new Bucket List.
I ain't dead yet. I've still got good thoughts left to think.
THAT'S MY STORY
I've never been normal. I've never tried to be. I can't imagine anything more boring.
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