Sunday, June 28, 2015
7:30 a:m on a Sunday and I was getting dressed to go for a run. My husband came into the bedroom, pale and anxious and said he needed my help. Worried, I hurried to finish dressing and found him sitting at the desk in the family room with his laptop open. "I can't get this to work. I just don't know what to do. I feel terrible". He was due to leave for a week long workshop in Colorado, a seven hour drive, and was trying to post a letter of recommendation to an application portal that was due the following day. It wouldn't let him in. I couldn't help. His despair deepened. I suggested he call the listed contact number the first thing the next morning for help. "But everything is here in the computer" he groaned, "and I've got to get going". I reminded him that the computer was a laptop, and he could take it with him. His face brightened. I made us some breakfast, we ate, and he drove away, free of his burden IT burden.
Sunday, June 14, 2015
But we are still the same us inside, still making the same silly mistakes that we have always made. We are still sure that we will live forever and think of death and misfortune as something that happens to someone else, but not us. We swear that we won't make the same mistakes as our parents who refuse to go into assisted living even though they can't see and can't remember, but, of course, we will. We carry bad feelings about family members, and it's only when they come down with a serious illness that we realize how foolish we've been, and how much time we've wasted thinking bad thoughts and saying hurtful things. We think if we don't eat sugar, and cut grains and processed foods from our diet, our memories won't go, and we will avoid pain and discomfort because we exercise regularly. I'm hoping that at some point we will acquire wisdom, patience, and tolerance to substitute for all that we've lost. However, I'm afraid we may just keep bumbling along, just as we always have, thinking that as long as we can stand on our heads, we will be okay.