Woody's 41st birthday has come and gone. Life goes on unchanged, or does it? Woody has been gone three years now. Yesterday with his parents, we celebrated his birth with carrot cake, and later in the evening toasted his memory with carrot juice made by our son Rene and his girlfriend. To fully honor Woody we might have played a game of charades (his favorite) or drawn some pictures or written a poem, but the best we could do was remember him lovingly and go to bed.
I'm experiencing a little bit of the "Sunday evening blues" as the weekend winds down and preparation for the coming week---both mental and physical---begins in earnest. Trying to stay in the moment, but also watching the clock and knowing that work will begin in 12 hours. How much of an energy-waster is that?
Meanwhile back in the present, earthly matters of acute back pain, school and work preparation, laundry, and other flotsam and jetsam of daily life crowd my mind and my dining room table.
I was just on the phone with a friend whose mother died on Friday. Life is fickle and its demise can be swift and painless or long and torturous. Whichever way my ending arrives, I hope I can see my life flash before my eyes and know that it was well lived. Dreading the arrival of Monday morning will not improve quality of life in my book. It's time to nip that behavior in the bud and take it all for face value before my days here come to a close. You never know---I could die on a Monday so I'd better make each one the best it can be.