The Worst Brings Out the Best

     Being a writer is a lonely profession, but
so is being a singer, song writer, painter, dancer,
when you have no audience.  I include musician
in that, not just singers.
    I am grateful to the scientists and technicians,
and medical professionals, including mathematics 
and rocket scientists.  A little private humor,
when my son Ted was a teenager, I reprogrammed
our old desk top because someone, a friend
who did not know what they were doing messed
it up.  My vision was fairly good then.  He
said "it's not exactly rocket science".
     That was cute.  Recently I read The Stand
by Stephen King, yes all forty-five hours of
listening time.  Much of it takes place in Boulder,
Colorado, which I find interesting because
I once tried to settle down in Boulder.  My 
recently divorced from me husband was living
there, and I thought it would be great if we 
could share responsibility of our children.  
But, unfortunately, the timing was off and the
altitude just swallowed me and spit me out.
I felt so uprooted, so not grounded, and yet
my own pain killing nerve synapses, without
alcohol or drugs sent me into the highest heights
and the lowest lows.
     I felt like that a little today.  It has been a
difficult time lately.  For a moment today I
felt the warmth of good thoughts coming in
the direction of my family, a feeling I have 
only felt in the depths of despair.
      Only today was different, because as I walked
my dog, I saw the old familiar school bus 
that used to bring my kids home, and that
nostalgia came back, longing to have been
a better mother when I was young, when it
truly mattered, feeling that any attempt to be
a good mother was lame now even if I were 
to be a saint, because the crucial time is gone,
and this makes me sad.
      But then a little glimmer of light came my
way.  A child asked me for help.  He needed
to use my phone.  He was locked out, a latch-key
kid as mine were sometimes.  I helped in every
way I could.  
     This to me was happiness, to be able to help.
Sometimes I feel like a stepford wife minus
the husband, especially when I wear certain
sweaters and really have the house clean, only
today it felt good to be a middle aged stepford
wife minus the husband, because that is better
than other things I could be.  
     I am getting older, and I know as I get older,
it is really not about me.  I can love myself
in a new age way, but I am not number one
in anyone's book, and with that I am alright.
     So, perhaps the worst suffering has brought
on the highest heights, but I can live with that,
at least for today.  If you are reading this article,
I love you for that, for taking the time, for believing
in me, and I love you for your self.