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🙋🏽‍♀️ My .02 Cents: If You Try Stuff Out Anyways...

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🙋🏽‍♀️What You Appreciate Appreciates

I've noticed something really interesting over the last several months. It has to do with the energy, time and motivation I have for people who are appreciative. Now, while this may sound like an extremely obvious idea, which perhaps has taken me forty years too long to grasp, I've also

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"Only I can change my life, no one can do it for me." ~Carol Burnett

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Covid19

Spring.

I find irony in the juxtaposition

As I walk briskly at dusk in my pastoral neighborhood, I admire the beauty and detail of each home and yard. 

The trees are freshly green, that  spring green that’s so beautiful against the various blossoming shrubs of pinks, lavenders, and whites.

The birds are busy getting ready for night, finding one last grub or morsel before settling in their nests.

And for a moment, I forget.   The tranquility of the scene lulls me ever so briefly into the calm comfort of normalcy. 

But of course nothing’s normal now.

For within this pastoral setting may lurk the unseen killer.   Which house might it find?  Which car might bring it in?  Is it that one over there?

The lyrics to a Doors song 50 years ago enter my mind:  “All our lives we sweat and save/building for a shallow grave/must be something else to say/somehow to defend this way”

For all the hard work we do to live in a place free from insecurity, we find there’s never true security.

Who ever thought the killer could be an assemblage of proteins not even classified as a living thing that mutated either by man or nature from an animal (s) on the other side of the globe.

The Spanish flu killed 50 million people a hundred years ago.   Even then we travelled so much that it followed human activity to all the corners of this world, leaving death in its wake. 

Yet as I watched the birds sing to each other as they busily gathered seed and fruit for dinner, I noted that they still sing. 

They still sing even though the raptor lurks overhead, ready to strike like lightning from nowhere and snuff them out in an instant. 

They know of the danger. 

Yet they still sing. 

And as I come to turn in for the night, I carry a thousand worries. Just as the songbird does.   Will her nest be there?  Will her eggs be safe?  Will her mate meet her faithfully as he does, safe from the dangers?  And those worries will be there when I awake tomorrow

And unless we find a cure, the hidden danger will still be lurking with all my other worries.

I cannot choose the worry away Any more than the songbird can choose the hawk away

But I can choose to sing

Tonight

Tomorrow

This too shall pass.

A story for my yet to be grandchildren and yet to write history books

The question will really be, did I sing?