Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Smelling the roses

I've never been so glad to see the gold of the morning sun as I was today, on a calm drive into work.

I can't tell you that I feel like my old self. I'm afraid that guy may be gone for good. But I do feel better. I'm ready to get back in the game -- and stay there for good this time.

Was quite humbled by a note this morning from Brad Nelson, a Halls native serving overseas. Brad says my blog is the first one he's read and that he checks it when he's able.

Man, that's something else. I'm proud of Brad and all of his fellow soldiers. They put their lives on the line daily.

Brad, and several readers and friends, have been clamoring to know who the girl is I wrote about a couple of times last week.

Well, the honest answer is there's two of 'em. One is the story I talked about -- a girl I haven't seen in several years. It was a "ships that pass in the night" kind of thing, one of those great "What ifs?" that I seem to have a knack of getting myself into. I think of her often.

The other woman, who peppers in and out of my fiction and blogs from time to time (besides the so-called "reunion girl," who is actually a high school classmate I had a big crush on once) is a old and dear friend. I can't say much more for fear of embarrassment, but she is someone I really care about, someone I hope has a great life full of happiness, someone I miss a whole awful lot, someone I love very much.

(My favorite guess was from an older friend who thought I was talking about my favorite singer, RobinElla. While I love to hear her sing, and think she has such a charming personality, that's about it. Although I do fear I embarrassed myself while talking to her after a Barley's show a while back. I was heavily medicated because of my illness and all I can remember is her telling me a friend e-mailed her about my sickness and me blushing and grinning like a smitten schoolboy. Robin is mighty talented, folks. I do hope you'll take time to hear her beautiful music sometime. It lifts my spirits.)

Last night I finished reading Truman Capote's "In Cold Blood." Capote's classic "nonfiction novel," about the murder of a small-town Kansas farm family and the two men who did the deed, sings with a musical rhythm that is so obviously in love with the English language. Oh, to have that kind of talent.

Reading Capote's words made me thankful, so wonderfully, gloriously thankful, that I'm paid to get up each day and toil with the written word. I could sit here in my office the rest of my life, telling stories of this life's real heroes, and my fondest dreams will have come true a million times.

So this morning, just before making my way into the office, I stopped a moment, opened my lungs and breathed in a big dose of this beautiful world in which we live. It was just what the doctor ordered, much better than all those pills put together.

For you see, I hadn't stopped to smell the proverbial roses in a long, long time. I'm glad I did though.

It made me realize what a wonderful life this is after all.

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