Two important things happened last October.
First, was my mother’s 8th death anniversary on October 3. And second, on October 27, I commemorated the 1st time G and I went on a date.
That is my life, it seems, the morbid and the glorious juxtaposed with each other.
My complaint to god (if there is one): How come the morbid parts happen more often than I want? And the glorious portions end too quickly?
I can hear god’s answer: ho ho, that’s my joke for you, my dear.
Needless to say, I am not often fond of god’s sense of humor.
Last September, a writer named Charlotte Kitley died. I do not know her but her words moved me.
So here they are —
So I guess, what one learns from all this is that no matter how brief and inconsequential our “stuff” may be, in the end our words remain.
And if those words manage to touch some other sentient being, then all our “stuff”, however petty, small or ordinary, can be elevated to some degree of greatness.
But then again, on a morbid note, pride is one of the seven deadly sins. And the devil’s favorite, if Al Pacino (in “Devil’s Advocate”) will be believed.