The Best is Yet to Come
"[Joan Rivers] could have been remembered as the woman whom Johnny Carson rejected, or whose husband killed himself, or who turned herself into a plastic surgery freak show. Instead, she will be remembered as the woman who, no matter what, always found the punch line."
I didn’t exactly have a great new year’s eve last year. I rung 2013 in with a stroke. One that almost ended my life. Each and everyone I’m sending this to helped me grow and heal during a very hard year. I can never repay you all for the laughter, tears, encouragement and just reminding that I’m not going through this by myself. I love you all and thank you for helping me make it in all your special ways to 2014! Xoxox Q
"When you’re in the middle of a story, it isn’t a story at all but rather a confusion, a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass and splintered wood, like a house in a whirlwind or else a boat crushed by the icebergs or swept over the rapids, and all aboard are powerless to stop it. It’s only afterwards that it becomes anything like a story at all, when you’re telling it to yourself or someone else."
Like so many others, I suffer from depression, diagnosed in 1989. While I must habitually address the chemical imbalance in my body, I find I must also make the conscious choice to choose my happiness. For that reason, I embraced the #100daysofhappiness. And yet, I find that my 100 days linger on … I have not managed 100 consecutive days. Life intervenes— grieving lost loved ones, sharing others’ struggles, continually mulling over past errors, lingering too long at the tempting edge of darkness.
While walking this morning, iTunes shuffle brought me this gem:
Oh let us rise
Above the bones
Let us remember the memories
Filled with compassion
Not scarred by anger
No not blinded by the ashes of the past
My eyes have not seen it all
yet it in my soul I know
No conception is hidden
Let there be love
Mishka - “Above The Bones” Lyrics
Orson: The report, Mork.
Mork: This week I discovered a terrible disease called loneliness.
Orson: Do many people on Earth suffer from this disease?
Mork: Oh yes sir, and how they suffer. One man I know suffers so much he has to take a medication called bourbon. Even that doesn’t help very much because then he can hear paint dry.
Orson: Does bedrest help?
Mork: No because I’ve heard that sleeping alone is part of the problem. You see, Orson, loneliness is a disease of the spirit. People who have it think that no one cares about them.
Orson: Do you have any idea why?
Mork: Yes sir, you can count on me. You see, when children are young, they’re told not to talk to strangers. When they go to school, they’re told not to talk to the person next to them. Finally when they’re very old, they’re told not to talk to themselves, who’s left?
Orson: Are you saying Earthlings make each other lonely?
Mork: No sir, I’m saying just the opposite. They make themselves lonely – they’re so busy looking out for number one that there’s not enough room for two.
Orson: It’s too bad everybody down there can’t get together and find a cure.
Mork: Here’s the paradox, sir, because if they did get together, they wouldn’t need one.
Mork & Mindy: ‘In Mork We Trust’ (#1.21) (1979)
Via Facebook: Jason-Manford
"I’m sure most of you have heard the story of the man who, desperately ill, goes to an analyst and tells the doctor that he has lost his desire to live and that he is seriously considering suicide. The doctor listens to this tale of melancholia and then tells the patient that what he needs is a good belly laugh. He advises the unhappy man to go to the circus that night and spend the evening laughing at Grock, the world’s funniest clown. The doctor sums it up, ‘After you have seen Grock, I am sure you will be much happier.’ The patient rises to his feet, looks sadly at the doctor, turns and ambles to the door. As he starts to leave, the doctor says, ‘By the way what is your name?’ The man turns and regards the analyst with sorrowful eyes. ‘I am Grock.’"
Whoa. Just whoa.
Yesterday consisted of several trips from here to there, with little bursts of productivity in between the mini road trips. My creative brain hopped immediately into action tossing me idea after idea for blog posts, lesson plans, lines of poetry, DIY projects … I could barely keep up with the cacophony.
Now I sit staring at the screen, begging a single idea to bubble to the surface once again. Must be time to employ that bluetooth for more that just GPS. “Note to self…”