Monday, December 16, 2013

It's that holy time of the year when birds fly home, when warmth becomes the only comfort..

Even Christmas is a  thing  of choice  – you see, there is an option you can sink down under the blanket thru’ the entire light of the day and wake up to a cheerio brunch and throw your aching knees on the recliner and watch television, thanking heavens for a day off  –  or – you can outdo the first light of the day, crawl to the Christmas tree to reach those tiny, shining boxes with the restlessness and the impatience of a child and have some loved ones over to cut into that fruit cake you spent an entire evening on and let the glasses spill some eggnog and make smiles and laughters of love.  Everything about life is in reality a thing of choice. Everything – happiness, love, laughter, friends, holidays, or a simple scoop of ice cream - any single thing of beauty- if you see is never an accident. Neither is it all simply sachets of gifts thrown from above. It is what you choose, what you make of. And we all have potential as gigantic as this universe to turn an empty window of time into a bracket of sweet make our own fill our heart with love. And no matter how brutally life hits you down on the head with a sledgehammer, make yourself a promise to fearlessly come back for a lot more of life and never ever give up on happiness and to create many smiles and laughters of love. Happy holidays.

Monday, December 2, 2013

Cancer & other disasters of life...(2)

Memories from mom’s last days, you know, from the hospital, are kinda like those dementors from Harry Potter – they come in masses, knock every ounce of strength away and blow me down to tiny, wobbly, brittle pieces until I become nothing but a miserable puddle of tears once again. And I succumb another time, this time worse than the last, until I’m so blind from pain I can only weep like a child, lost in the woods, not knowing which direction home is. All the resolve to be strong fails. All of life’s logic flops in front of my own eyes into ripples of nothing more respectable than some cheap magician’s humbug. All of it, like God and other animals of life, seem such a spectacular waste of time.