Sixty-something woman shares ruminations as she plys the latter third of her life with the caveat that age entitles her to be absolutely outrageous whenever possible.
"We Three"
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Starting over, and over, and over
I went with a friend to see Company last night at our local Summer Repertory Theater. Really fine and clever production, with superb singing and acting and dancing. Talent all over the place. And what an interesting play. It seemed to be about married vs single existence, but really it was about how alone we all feel, and how no human power can alleviate that. No one was particularly happy in this play. Which made me ponder why I am so happy most of the time, here in the little yellow house, all by myself with the fur people. Oh, none of these folks had a fur person to cozy up to. Well, none of these folks had a yard, as they all lived in NYC. Still, they could have had a CAT. Maybe they would have been happier? And none of them had a spiritual life. Well, they were all in their 30s, when it appears one is bulletproof. That may explain some of their disaffection. Well, a lot of it. Knowing that I am part of something much larger than I am, knowing that I can reach out for help whenever I need it, that's huge. Moving right along, time to get butt in gear and do errands. Groceries! Library! Gym! All worthy pursuits for a fine summer day. And I closed my lady's mouth a little and like her better. Now see other adjustments that need to be made. Later. Time to pack away the pastels and SEW. Kiddo needs 8 more runners!
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