Where does the time go? That wonderful cliché says it all, or more to the point, says it often. I try to post every other day, but that doesn’t always happen. My last post, on August 17th , was on my brother’s 67th birthday. Where does the time go? Already he’s three days older; so am I; so are you, whoever you are out there reading this. What’s my point? Maybe I’m just observing. No, more than that, I’m thinking about how I have spent those three days, what I have done, and how I feel about it.
I’ve done some sitting around, working on a jigsaw puzzle, happy as can be. I’ve made it through the day safely and in good health. I’ve made progress toward a personal goal, namely working on the memoir I’m writing about my mom. I’ve done something for someone else by visiting some elderly friends.
How has the time gone? It’s always a good day, or three, when I can get up in the morning and be grateful for all that I can do, and for the possibilities of the new day.
I’ve done some sitting around, working on a jigsaw puzzle, happy as can be. I’ve made it through the day safely and in good health. I’ve made progress toward a personal goal, namely working on the memoir I’m writing about my mom. I’ve done something for someone else by visiting some elderly friends.
How has the time gone? It’s always a good day, or three, when I can get up in the morning and be grateful for all that I can do, and for the possibilities of the new day.