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As I stumbled out of bed
this morning, I immediately shifted into a gear
of depression.
The trigger, of course, was the news:
Wall Street blues.
Washington blues.
The usual dose of reality dampened my
dark spirits even more.
What are we coming to?
Was this the dark depression of the
thirties all over again?
Or was it an even more draconian forecast
for the future?
Surfing the channels didn’t help.
Volcanoes meet my eyes on the TV screen.
Riots and homicides and murders (by a
mother for God sake).
Are we ready for the big one? Is this it?
Is this really it?
A big bang and then nothing.
Surely not! Surely not!
The ruling question seemed
to blur my vision, reminding me that it sure as
hell wasn’t a happy, cheery sign for the future.
As I glanced up from the tooth paste on
my brush, I saw a rather sad sight:
My unshaven face and reddened eyes
threatening to pop.
Was I really this old? Had I really
crossed that line?
That 38th parallel of life?
Strangely the tooth paste tube brought me
to a sudden stop.
It broke my self-absorption for a second?
What is that taste – cinnamon?
Rather nice really.
Certainly different.
And, yes, come to think about it – rather
pleasant.
Hmmmmm.
Back to the dark reality.
Where was I?
Oh yes, the world’s
condition.
Our wrinkled blue marble’s current
condition.
Hmmmm.
Oh yes – I think it was volcanoes.
Yes.
I have never been in or near a volcano I
reminded myself.
Seen them from a far distance.
But no skin off my nose.
Buttoning my shirt I couldn’t help but
notice it was not only clean, but rather dapper.
Not tailor sewn, but made of some
remarkable material that refused to shrink or
wrinkle.
How do they do that?
Modern science?
Amazing!
And clean.
No scrubbing. I struggled to get back to
the volcanoes and other catastrophes, but I was
hindered by a concern.
My trousers.
I had left a note in my addled brain last
night to make sure the trousers were clean and
pressed.
They were.
Who did it?
Oh, I forgot, my old do-it-yourself Colby
English presser.
They even managed to keep my blue jeans
acceptable.
Hmmmmm.
And what a wonderful gift from one’s
daughter.
Looking outside a sudden
break in the clouds revealed that yes,
Virginia, there is a
light up there somewhere.
I turned the radio on and immediately the
hymns of angels met my ears.
Was I delusional?
Or was that Debussy?
Poetic and such magic to the ears.
Hmmmm.
That little radio seemed to morph into an
eighty-piece symphony.
To hell with the television.
I am not late for work.
I’ve just awoke.
Awakened from a dirge of depression.
Suddenly I had begun to see that the
truly beautiful things in life are oft not seen
or heard, but obscured by the shattering news of
the economy or the international crisis.
Not exactly a revelation in itself, but a
reminder that all in all, economy or not,
international crisis or not, inconvenience or
not, all in all life ain’t that bad really
compared to so many others in so many other
countries.
Not bad at all.
Really.
That when you consider in
three short centuries we have stubbornly clung
to the American dream.
Nighmarish as it may be at times, it is
still a viable aspiration.
Workable if we work at it.
Doable if we do it.
And durable if we believe in it.
And I believe.
I do believe.
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