I’ve had a blind faith in The Man Upstairs for a long time. I grew up small-town Catholic but knew little about the Bible. Catholics have Catechism, not Bible study. We did not have nuns. We were lucky to share a priest with a triangle of other farm towns.
I’ve come to the conclusion, in my seventh decade, that there really is no such thing as too much fun. It seems to follow that people with more friends tend to have more fun. So, I’m branching out and meeting new people.
A couple weeks ago, I had a real down-in-the-dumps day. I’m almost embarrassed to admit it because my life is normally good, and I’m grateful for so, so much.
I grew up near a rural town that had everything we needed: a grocery, the pharmacy and a hardware store. The main drag was lined with a bank and post office, a florist and the barber, our doctor and insurance agent. We even had a bowling alley that served a mean catfish dinner on Friday nights.
Summer’s not nearly over and we’re bombarded with back-to-school ads. It’s an exciting time for school kids – time for new clothes and supplies, for moving up to the next grade and reconnecting with friends. One thing I miss about formal education is that fresh start every semester.
Chatting long distance with a dear friend, I caught myself whining about having too many obligations and not enough time to do the things I’ve set as goals for myself.
I’ve never been a good sleeper. As a kid, I remember reading for hours by the hall light while my sister slept.
I had the pleasure, on a recent cruise vacation, to help celebrate a woman’s 100th birthday. She clapped with such joy when the entire dining room chorused Happy Birthday. She blew out her candles with the enthusiasm of a 10-year-old.
Why is it that time seems to fly now that we’re 60 or 70 or 80? I’m often amazed when a wedding, the death of friend or a move to a new city was 20 or 30 years ago. Heavens, it’s already 2018! What happened to 2017?