I typed it in. If you, the semi-vast group affirmed that you were once again on the receiving list, I would give you a Thursday off. Then on Sunday night through Monday morning names started appearing, “I am here for you!” Not as many as Taylor Swift or even a local influencer, yet each reply recalled to mind a face and why that person was important to the cockles of my heart. Like Henry V as Shakespeare had him say, I stood and proclaimed:
But we in it shall be rememberèd—
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
We group do matter to me. Without you, a song is wasted on empty air or art collects only dust in an ancient dark cave. If no one reads, what is the point of writing. I only wish each one of you could know another and move from my story to your story to that unusual connection with someone else. I choose a topic and think that younger family members might not have heard that particular tale. The details are not all clear, yet one email has had a week that only needs to be lived once and survival counts. A rare response appears, “How did you know I wanted to be cared for?” Then the morning comes when I brew a pot of hot water because I never put grounds in the proper place. You can join the chuckle that I not only did that, I poured a cup and got as far as lifting it to my lips before reality dawned. Sometimes you gotta laugh.
We’ll never be able to spill over into my house together and take turns sharing, yet if I work it just right a send share your thought request might create an immense picture of life as it unfolds. In the meantime, just consider this Thursday is not a mistake to be taken back, but the opportunity to say thank you and hum a bar of “We’re on the road again.” After all, without you I would lose my defining phrase: An old lady who writes.
Two are better off than one because together they can work more effectively. If one of them falls down the other can help her (sic) up.
Ecclesiastes 4:9 -12
Let Me Tell Ya 