I believe I've hit on the definitive essence of life: It's good news, bad news, and so-so, who-gives-a- damn news. In my case, the latter is the fact that I stripped and re-made my bed, did a white wash, then walked to Wal-Mart.
Good news: Shannon called and offered me a part in the next show. Actually, I didn't read for that one and its a very small part. That's fine by me, I want to be included and it's just as well that I won't have to memorize page after page of dialogue. She'll send the script today.
Good news two: I finally, after buying and returning three others, got the handbag I want after I bused to Penney's and returned the third one. This is the keeper (for sixty-nine bucks, it had better be):
Good news because I always enjoy it and have good friends there: attended the Soaring Spirits dinner at Stone Fire Grille last night. There were about twenty there, several being my Facebook friends, who knew about the bad news below and expressed their sympathy. Here's Vera, our leader, my dear friend, with her son, Kyle, who is six foot five. Vera herself, who just turned 48, is about six foot. She's the one who introduced me to Fractured Actors, so she has a special place in my heart. Her husband was killed when Kyle was two years old and she was pregnant with her daughter.
His shirt? He lives with his grandparents down south somewhere and follows their fundamentalist Christian kookiness. This drives Vera crazy, but there's not much she can do about it.
Not too interesting news: Stella called and asked if I wanted to go to the promotional lunch at Lure today. I had forgotten all about it, but sure, why not, so I'll meet her there at 11:30.
Very Bad News: My last remaining sister-in-law, Therese, has died in Bangkok. She was in hospice only a few days, after suffering a massive stroke. Too bad, but Jim died just over a year ago and little by little, she was leaving the world. Here's Therese a few years ago:
And here she is, sixty-five years ago when they were married on June 28, 1958:
How do I remember the date? Because it was exactly one week after Jim walked me down the aisle for my own wedding.
I keep thinking of Andrew Marvell. One of my favorite poets, he was born n 1621 and wrote, among other exquisite verses To His Coy Mistress. In truth, the poem concerned his efforts to get a gal into bed. It should be read in its entirety, but I was always struck by several of his lines, including "The grave's a fine and private place/But none, I think, do there embrace" and the ones that resonate most with me: "And at my back I always hear/Time's winged chariot hurrying near." Boy, do I hear it every time somebody in my extended family goes. Essentially, Larry (whom I talked to yesterday) and I are the only ones left: Gene and Jimmy are gone; Marybeth, Helen, and now Therese gone; and Frank and Betty are essentially gone, too.
Well, I'll end this with maybe the best news: I'm still here.
2 comments:
Rosemary,
A fact of life is that we will most likely lose someone we love. It just happens too often. I don't know what eases the pain except maybe to say I understand.
BTW I am no poetry buff and had to read that poem in a poetry course; never forgot it. It haunted me for a long time.
Betty and I used to speculate on whether it's "easier" for survivors to lose someone suddenly, in an accident, say, or after a long illness. As you can imagine, we never came to any conclusion. Yes, Andrew Marvell's poetry is--well, a marvel, especially that one.
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