Patty's Weblog

Walking in from my car to work, I was thinking of noting how nice the day was in a blog entry. The usual mushy stuff, like, the sky is blue, spring starts tomorrow, things in general are going well in my life, how it's good to stop and appreciate the good times, blah blah and rah rah. (Although I really mean it.)

Then something really cool happened. I went to the rec center and was getting ready for my workout. And then - and then! - I noted that in the stall the case that usually covers the toilet paper roll was off and folded back. The whole huge roll was exposed! No reaching up to try to find the start of the roll. No getting my hand stuck between the roll and the case. No spinning the roll one way and then the other hoping that the end would dislodge and decide to let the user know where the start was. No pulling on the end of the cheap paper and having it crumble into small bits. I could gracefully unwrap as much as I wanted.

I sat there staring in rapt amazement. Now THAT'S the sign of a good day.

Once in a while I feel that I am going into a fog, the fog that I used to work so hard to get to when in my twenties.

Maybe the hippies will be a generation that does indeed age gracefully, back into the fog.


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I have a favorite poem torn from a SF magazine tacked near my computer at work. It's by W. Gregory Stewart (and while researching for this blog, I realize that I also have a W. Gregory Stewart poem beneath my display at home - that one's about playing marathon solitaire, and I've played over 13,000 games).

For copyright reasons, I won't quote all of Stewart's poem. It's entitled "as much as most". Here are the parts that I find especially compelling:

"Here is as much as most folks need to know about space, time . . . If you go fast enough from as many A to as many B as you can why then you will eventually come to a place where you see yourself across a river. . . . And here is as much as most folks will want to know about Freud and the boys - whether you can meet your dreams on the AB itinerary will determine whether you look yourself in the eye when you do, or blink if you do - or want to wave."

Each time I read this, I think of it anew. If I saw myself across a river, like a river of time, would I look myself in the eye, blink, or wave?

I'd wave.

I think of this as I pass through my days. What am I working towards? It comes to me that I should choose to do things that would make my old and young me's want to wave at my now-me. It's a kind of a philosophy, if you think about it.