Today the world told me that I should leave my aches and pains to someone who really knows. Someone who has cancer, or a brain tumor, or whose leg has been chewed off by a wolf.
Today the world told me to let up a little, to not push so hard at doing. I ask myself, “What is rest?” And I must say he’s a poor acquaintance, and often unwelcome at my door.
Today the world told me that perhaps what I wish for is something not so big. A little loosening around the waist and eyes could be good, to let in a little more seeing and a little less thinking.
Today the world told me that a runny nose can be a good thing. I’m moist, liquid, made of moving matter.
A woman client said to me, “I love my baby. I have a good husband, two dogs and a wine cellar full of Beaulieu and Chardonnay and that it is enough.”
My Aunt Rosie keeps in her wallet a 70 year-old photo of her standing slim and proud, her hand on an old Chevy, her head cocked slightly to one side. “See,” she says, “See, I was once thin and beautiful.”
She has never learned to cook, or drive. People magazine is her Bible and everyday the thing she looks forward to is her next meal my Nana makes faithfully, every day. And I wonder, how do we judge a life? The past, the present, the future. What matters most as we sit down to yet another meal?
