Writing occasional notes to people who would be quite surprised to receive them from me has long been among my intentions…my failed intentions. But I plan to give it an honest try. Some mornings, instead of writing my blog, I may start writing notes to a long list of people who I hope will be not only surprised to get them, but will appreciate receiving an unexpected message from someone from whom they would least expect to hear. I mentioned, in my December 24 blog, a lovely note I received from a friend at church. That note boosted my spirits and inspired me to think about writing such notes. It’s a little late to do a Christmas card this year, but not too late to start regularly writing “just because” notes. Now, I just need follow through on my intentions.
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Now, here’s something a little at odds with my good intentions to write “just because” notes to people. When I chastise myself for thoughts and actions that run contrary to the old Unitarian Universalist principle, “To affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person,” I have to remind myself that it is an aspirational principle. So, yesterday, when I implied to my favorite nurse at the cancer center that one of the center’s receptionists was intensely stupid and slower than black-strap molasses on ice, I told myself I shouldn’t have uttered (nor should I share) such thoughts, but I should continue to try to adhere to that principle in the future. But, really. This receptionist has been on the job for months, yet she had not improved her speed or accuracy (or level of friendliness) one iota since she started work. Granted, she may have some inherent limitation about which I am unaware. But… No buts! She merits my appreciation of her worth and dignity. I just have to continue to try to train myself to think positive thoughts about all people. There are some, though, about who that is simply impossible…I’ve started to consider those creatures may not actually be people. That’s just an excuse. And not a good one, at that.
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Half a banana. 5 walnut cookies. 2 demi tasse cups of espresso. Not enough water, but working on it. After I finish breakfast, which may consist only of what I’ve eaten thus far, I will drink a carton of artificial sustenance juice. Then, shortly thereafter, another radiation session. Later still, an injection meant to stem infections that could emerge after chemo has weakened my immunity. The chemo and the post-chemo injection is not a daily aspect of my weekdays, but the rest is. BUT, if my latest calculations are correct (confirmed by the radiation technicians), my final radiation session will take place tomorrow. I’ll have to figure out what to do on weekday mornings after that. Perhaps I’ll write some more. Or sleep. Or try a new recipe for a Bloody Mary every day; mi novia probably won’t permit that. Except I could start early, while she’s still sleeping. I haven’t had a Bloody Mary in years. It’s about bloody time! When my sister comes to visit (soon, I hope), I will make her a Bloody Mary, as I promised her I would. And I will, by God, drink one (or more) as well!
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Here we are, Tuesday morning, January 7, 2025. I had hoped Kamala Harris would have said, during yesterday’s certification ceremonies, “Wait, I cannot certify this election. I was a candidate, so this would be a conflict of interest! You’ll have to find another way.” After a series of explosive pulmonary embolisms had erupted in the House chambers, she could have repaired ruptured Republican vein and lung tissue by adding, “Just kidding!”
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An unfinished fictional scene outside a Baptist church, where a funeral service had just concluded.
Ellen watched as the Baptist minister shook Tim’s hand and squeezed his shoulder. The minister nodded solemnly to Ellen as he walked past her.
As Tim approached her, a barely visible smirk crossed Ellen’s lips, as she spoke to him.
“I think I could smell the bromide on his breath,” Ellen whispered.
Tim, sneering, responded. “Yeah, ‘It’s all part of God’s plan.’ Funerals bring out the most irritating platitudes from the most annoying preachers. Especially this one. Hackneyed preachers and trite words of comfort, when properly mixed, can ruin even tolerable funerals.”
“If Charlene could have heard him, she would have leapt out of the coffin and choked the man,” Ellen laughed. “I can just hear her say ‘What the hell?! Whose God planned for me to drive off a freeway overpass? And what am I doing in a coffin? I expressly asked to be burned!'”
Tim, Ellen, and Charlene had been close since their common birth; triplets whose social, political, religious, and economic philosophies aligned with one another, but were opposite of their parents’ attitudes. Tim and Ellen had not objected, though, when their parents insisted on a church funeral for their atheist sister. The fight would not have justified the ashes. Or, as Charlene would have said, ‘The game would not be worth the candle.’ Charlene had been opinionated but practical.
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Still tired. Too tired. I got up before 4 this morning. It’s almost 7 now. I’ll drink my artificial sustenance, then take a nap and awake by 8.
