And so there you have it. One of my favorite go-to phrases when I've run out of information and things to add, or it just seems like we've reach the conclusion of the subject at hand. "And so," I said, realizing there was not much more to say and we might not ever really understand, but need to agree that's that, "There you have it."
Not sure why I go on this, this morning, but it seems appropriate. Sometimes I just sit back and think, "Well, there you have it. That's explains everything...and nothing." Sometimes you just need to let it go, rest or go back to the back burner to percolate a bit more. That's where I am right now. Percolating.
Like last night. I woke up after some weird dreams and had the muse whispering in my ear with what sounded like great inspirations. "Wake up! Write them down! You'll forget them by morning if you don't." So I did. And now I have these little inspirational snippets to cobble into a poem or an essay or throw in the trash. But it makes be feel better to know the old brain is still working, still ready to create. So here I go. Stand by.
And so, there you have it.
You never know what you'll find searching the 'net.
About the picture.
The Mystery Re-ignited
I always knew I had a half sister somewhere. Rumor had it she was somewhere on the west coast. My father was married once before he married my mother. I knew there were two children, a boy and a girl. My dad's first family was in his home state of Pennsylvania. He divorced and moved to Detroit. I always heard that that marriage was stormy and that I shouldn't ask too many questions, so I never did.
What I Knew
I remember visits from my half brother who was a long distance truck driver. He seems like a good guy. Always offered to take me on a run with him, but that never came about. I remember him parking his semi and trailer on our street in Redford. The neighborhood kids were always curious. He didn't stay long. Occasionally we'd visit him and his family in central Pennsylvania. And that was about it. He passed away years ago and now I can't remember how I heard.
But my half sister was another story. I remember one encounter near the town where my father grew up. We there around the Fourth of July for our annual family vacation in Pennsylvania to visit my dad's relatives. We were at the Fourth of July parade. I remember this young woman and my dad talking on the corner. Later my dad said that was my half sister. The only time I saw her.
Curiosity Has Occasionally Killed Some Cats
Now, over fifty years later, I was doing some ancestry search on the internet when I found my dad's obituary. I'd never seen it. It listed everyone I knew about including me, my aunt and uncle, my dad's parents and his third wife whom he had married after he returned to Pennsylvania when my mother died. And there was my half sister listed too. So of course I had to check it out.
Thanks to 411.com, I seem to have found my half sister listed in Portland, age 80, Maiden name same as my last name. Somehow I know it is her. Now my dilemma is, should I contact her? I remember being cautioned not to. The divorce was not pretty I was told. I can't imagine after all these years it being a problem, though. Just curiosity more than anything at this point.
And So My Quandry.
What could she tell me about my dad, my grandparents and other family stories? Do I really want to know? I'll think about it a while then decide what to do...if anything. And just to add to the curiosity, I just read the obit again. It lists that my dad was pre-deceased by his parents and a son. Name not listed. But my half brother I knew was listed.
Fascinating what you find when you aren't really looking. I'll let you know what I decide to do next, if anything. Should make an interesting chapter in my memoirs.
I love Mondays and I believe you should too. Here's why.
Mondays are the beginning of the week. The week is laden with new possibilities. You chose to get out of bed and to do whatever it is you are doing with your time, whether it be work, play or vegging.
Mondays are days when .... oh, phooey. I'm not even buying this. Love Mondays? Really? What kind of madness is that? Mondays always follow the weekend when most people are off doing things they would rather be doing than what they are doing on most Mondays. What's not to not love Mondays?
Now there are people who actually work the weekends or nights or whatever. Their Mondays may come on Tuesday or Thursday or some other day of the week. And their Mondays may move about, change each week or after four weeks or....well, you get the idea. Monday, it seems, is really any day that starts a week no matter what day the calendar says it is.
So love Mondays? Well, it depends. If you are doing something you truly love, then you probably love your Mondays. If you are not happy in your occupations, (work or whatever you do with your time), hating on Mondays should tell you something about how you are living your life.
And there it is. The secret of Monday. Monday is a litmus test for how you truly feel about your life as it is going for you. It's a wake up call. It's your heart and soul giving you a report on how you are doing living your life. Perhaps that is why Monday gets a bad rap. It's misunderstood. As is the purpose of life. What is that? Well, depending on how you feel about Mondays, you get it. Or you don't.
Ah, Monday. I guess I was right in the first place. I love Mondays and I believe you should too.
"One lives in the hope of becoming a memory." -Antonio Porchia,
It occurs to me that this is probably the best that anyone could ever really hope for. Not fame or glory; not vanity either. I am not even talking about true immortality the kind that lives on after we are gone, in others, in their hearts and minds. This is not about heavenly immortality. I tend to believe that Soul or Spirit, lives on after we are gone in some fashion. But that is not what I'm talking about here.
Its about what we leave behind. The memory of us. As long as that lives on, we never die. Nor do those whom we have loved and lost.
We create the memories of us for others, but ultimately it belongs to them. To be thought of now and then after we're gone; whether it is for the love we shared, my works or deeds (good of not so great), my writing, or any of my contributions to life I may have made.
I just hope not be forgotten. And I hope to keep those I have loved alive by talking and writing about them. To matter, to leave a memory of what was, who I was, and what I did and said while on this mortal plane.
More the memory of my smile, my voice, my touch, to warm the heart and still the soul, long than any frowns or angry words I may have spoken. To live aware you are creating memories for everyone you encounter.
If not to be a memory, what would our life's ambition be? That, gentle reader, I do wonder and hope the memories of us are fond.
In deference to Ayn Rand, whom I must confess I have not read, I do take liberty with her title here, and make it my own variation.