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TURNING 70, FEELING LOW
Soon I'll be 70. Seven decades of existence is a miracle itself getting this far. There's not a day I miss saying my solemn gratitude to the ONE who breathed me life. Yet, I can't figure out why my happy hormone is depriving me this special feeling of perk-ness considering the exciting prospect of a family get-together on a weekend away to the mountains. Thanks to my daughters who organised it on my behalf. They gave me a hint: a weekend sleepover and winter warmers. All the rest are under wraps in the form of "surprise", whatever!
Feeling low and slow, I abandon my packing. Suitcase and clothes are in disarray. They're screaming a protest, I heard them. My washing suffers too. I do wash by hands. My washing machine is barely new when one small external part went missing - I don't know how. Hence, my hand-washing days are far from over. I prefer it that way anyway. Only, it relies on my mood and duty of care. Occasionally, my youngest daughter would offer in taking my washing to her place and do them there. She lives an hour away from me.
I ended up doing something else. I turn to reading instead. There's this WOMAN'S TREASURY hardbound British edition published in 1985 hiding in the closet. That's 35 year old book half my age. "A LIGHT ON THE MOORS" by Rachel Murray is actually a light love story written in synoptic essay of 3-1/2 pages. I rarely read novels in tome. Short stories are my forte.
Reading done. The story ends well. I'm pleased! Now it's time to get back to my packing task. That's all the light I needed, perhaps; not necessarily a light coming from the moors.
Soon I'll be 70. Seven decades of existence is a miracle itself getting this far. There's not a day I miss saying my solemn gratitude to the ONE who breathed me life. Yet, I can't figure out why my happy hormone is depriving me this special feeling of perk-ness considering the exciting prospect of a family get-together on a weekend away to the mountains. Thanks to my daughters who organised it on my behalf. They gave me a hint: a weekend sleepover and winter warmers. All the rest are under wraps in the form of "surprise", whatever!
Feeling low and slow, I abandon my packing. Suitcase and clothes are in disarray. They're screaming a protest, I heard them. My washing suffers too. I do wash by hands. My washing machine is barely new when one small external part went missing - I don't know how. Hence, my hand-washing days are far from over. I prefer it that way anyway. Only, it relies on my mood and duty of care. Occasionally, my youngest daughter would offer in taking my washing to her place and do them there. She lives an hour away from me.
I ended up doing something else. I turn to reading instead. There's this WOMAN'S TREASURY hardbound British edition published in 1985 hiding in the closet. That's 35 year old book half my age. "A LIGHT ON THE MOORS" by Rachel Murray is actually a light love story written in synoptic essay of 3-1/2 pages. I rarely read novels in tome. Short stories are my forte.
Reading done. The story ends well. I'm pleased! Now it's time to get back to my packing task. That's all the light I needed, perhaps; not necessarily a light coming from the moors.