It's Really About Me

My posts are really about me. But for now, I'll write something I wrote about my 91 year-old mother.

My mother --

At 91 years old she shines like the sun. Her beautiful skin, which I have been so lucky to inherit so that at the age of 54 many say I am 35, has wrinkles earned by time.

What a powerhouse. Not rich or wealthy, but a true wonder. Wonderful.

After all she's been through -- Bottomline -- She has survived.

As so have I. From her wreckage I have my wreckage. And hopefully, not so on. My line stops here. Anyway, my son, so disabled, will most likely never have children even though I've dreamed of it, as I did as a child.

The greatest gift of all is love, not life. But life with love.

1st Corinthians 13. Believe in the Bible or not -- the best description of love I've ever read.

Tolerance is key for love. Understanding, even when not relating. The suffering of all . . . we all endure. For pain is relative.

I'm so new to this, I am really just experimenting how this whole thing works. I am in San Diego, CA, USA. It rained early this a.m. The sun is about to come up. I am just getting over a cold. I hope. It really hangs out in my lungs due to my partial asthma.

I guess I'm just trying to get myself to start writing as my mother has always said I should. She says I should write a book. I've had a lot of bizarre things happen in my life.