Is It Too Much To Ask?

This has been a puzzling and thought-provoking day for me. We had coffee with Mark and Kim this morning, and that was fun and pleasant, as it always is. But this afternoon, for some peculiar reason, a foolish phrase has been running through my mind. (Nothing to do with the morning coffee chatter, honestly.)

And I feel impelled to write about it; I can't get it out of my mind.

Here is the phrase, "Is it too much to ask ..........? To ask whom? Well, just to get the discussion going, put in "the Fates," "the quirky gods of the universe," "blind Chance," the One True God, or anyone or anything else that we poor human beings think is in control of human affairs.

Got that? Now, let's complete the phrase with some grand hypothetical questions. Such as, "is it too much to ask
that starving children in Africa might somehow be fed? Is it too much to ask that a friend painfully dying with terminal cancer be released from agony? Is it too much to ask that a hearbroken parent might find some kind of comfort when he/she can do nothing to stop a child from destruction?

Are these grandiose questions too heavy? Then how about some simple ones?

Is it too much to ask that a frightened child might find comfort in the arms of a sensitive parent?

Is it too much to ask that a middle-aged Mom might find assurance in her heart that all will be well with her teenager?

Is it too much to ask that an Aged Person might feel compassionate love from unexpected sources?

Is it too much to ask that Someone might find unusual kindness from just an acquaintance or friend?

If you happen to be a pessimist or a melancholy person (as I sometimes am) you would answer "Yes, it is too much to ask. Life is not going to give you reasonable answers to these questions that crowd uncomfortably in your heart.

If you are an optimist or a person of faith (as I sometimes am), you would answer, "No, it is not too much to ask," and I will patiently wait for some kind of reasonable response from somewhere in the universe that will give me hope.


Well, that's the phrase that has been bedeviling my thoughts all day. And do you want to know the cause for this quandary, this morass of twisted thinking, this philosophical mismash of nonsensical questions?

Here it is: "Is it too much to ask that an eighty-six year old woman might have a small, frisky, and hellish little dog to keep and love and fret over?"

And the answer is, "Yes, it is too much to ask."

And I am sad. And I am lonely. And I don't understand.

Giving Up Barney

I'm having a terrible time giving up our dog, Barney. And I thought writing about it might help, but I don't know.

Mark got a home for him this morning, very quickly, and at first I was elated because it sound like he has a great home and will be happy there, and all the problems we were having with him will be gone.

But I have spent most of the afternoon crying about what has happened. We got the little stinker when he was a puppy and i went through all that agonizing time of trying to teach him to poop and pee outside, and then trying to fit him into our routine so that he would be our pet, and during the process I fell in love with him.

And now he is gone, and I am very sad.

I know that he had to go. We couldn't handle him so that he would not bite Bill and that was too dangerous and too devastating for Bill to handle. And I was nervous as a cat, trying to intervene and keep Barney away from Bill. So I know intellectually that all that has happened was for our good and ultimately, I hope, for Barney's good. I know that, but my emotions don't seem to jibe with my intellect, and so this sadness grips me.

I will get over the loss, I guess, and life will go on. But I have a lump in my throat still, and I don't know when it will go away permanently.

I realize that Barney is just a dog, and that he will be fine with other people who will fall in love with him as I did.

But right now, there is an ache in my heart, and a loneliness for something that was and now is no more.

I have no philosophical explanation that will help, no intellectualism that will lessen the sadness, no insight that will make things better, only a dull sense of despair and unexplainable ennui.

And I am sad.

Life is what it is, and sometimes it is . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Keeping Up Appearances

I couldn't think of a good title so I just put "Keeping Up Appearances" because it happens to be one of my favorite British TV shows which I only see occasionally because it comes on at 10:30 on Sunday nights! It is hillarious, and worth staying up to see, but sometimes I don't have the energy to keep my eyes open that late.

So what's happening and how am I keeping up appearances? Not much happening here (favorite quote from my son) but the beat goes on, and I do very ordinary things most of the time. I push myself out the door at least 4 times a week to walk, so that my old bones won't freeze up on me, and that's pretty routine.

I push Bill out the door to get coffee and a sweet roll almost daily because if I don't push he would sleep the rest of his life away. And I enjoy his company. I do all the talking and he nods occasionally to urge me on, and I rail on about whatever is in my emotional agenda to talk about on that particular day.

I've found out that when you are eighty-ish, the hot weather is just about as debilitating and dangerous as if you were in frigid Alaska with temps 50 below zero. When I get inside from doing errands in 100 degree weather, I am panting; my head is kinda dizzy; my legs feel like lead, and all my energy has run out through my toes. So I"m looking forward to the fall weather which is usually invigorating.

I'm subbing at SS at FBC these days for various people. LaRue got my name on the list, and the phone rings a lot. Today I taught the group that is designated "the ladies whose next promotion will be to heaven." They are that old!!! But they were all still alert, still willing to listen, and anxious to add their bits of wisdom to the group. It was kinda fun -- but I don't want any permanent teaching slot -- too much responsibility and hard work.

I find that I am more peaceful and content these days. Don't know exactly why. But when I start to worry about something, or someone, I just have a feeling come over me that worrying is pretty useless and that the people I worry about (my children (old as they are), my grandchildren (who are not my responsibility), and my husband (who is his own person and has to walk his own path), friends (whom I love) who need for me to listen. I usually just voice a short prayer for them, and go on my merry way.

Maybe that's a bit of wisdom I have learned as I get older, and older, and older.

Jesus taught us not to worry, and that we should take life as it comes and trust in Him for what we need. I'm beginning (at this late age) to actually attempt to do that!

Other writers have looked for answers to the questions we have about life and its meaning, and come to some conclusions which may give us some comfort. The atheist Voltaire said, through one of his characters, that the best we can do is "to plant and tend to our own gardens." Which, it seems to me is good advice.

T.S. Eliot said in "The Waste Land" that for some of us it seems like "we have measured out our lives with coffeespoons," suggesting that for the modern man his life may seem inconsequential and meaningless.

And his conclusion (my interpretation only) is a question: "Shall I at least set my lands in order?", suggesting that perhaps that is the best we as humans can do. Or as he further puts it, "These fragments I have shored against my ruins."

You knew I'd get off into literature or philosophy or something else, didn't you?? Well, I find that that happens to me when I start writng and maybe write too long!

But nobody ever died from thinking too much, did they??? I don't know.