I am 45 . . .

Up late last night working off my wife's iPad . . . it would not let me write my blog . . . I do not know that I like the iPad much, but I can check my email and it is lite . . . On to the thought . . . I am 45, and my blog goes unread . . . but I still write. Today, this very morning I had the joy of writing a postcard through Postcrossing that passed away just this month . . . It is odd and exciting that the Daughter seeing the joy and love her mom had for postcrossing is keeping her account alive for a while. What happens when folks die. They live on in our memory, and in our thoughts but they no longer carry on in the daily routine that we know as life. Their mail goes unanswered . . . the food in their fridge goes bad . . . the bed remains unused, the television is not turned on . . . the phone stops ringing . . . the car remains parked . . . Others, loved ones hopefully enter somewhere and begin to uncover the woven matrix that was life for the person. With wonder they sort through stuff that has been kept and stored in the space they once called home . . . It is not my intention to make this blog morbid, but to embrace reality. I was also watching hoarders last night on the TV and it got me wondering about the stuff I keep and why I keep it . . . and what the heck folks will say once they go through it when I am no longer living in this realm. I ask myself . . . what is important to me. What is necessary . . . what is valuable in my life. Where does my energy need to be focused. I want to be a good man, I want to be a good me, I want to be a good Dad, I want to be a good husband, I want to be a good teacher, I want to be a good lover of others, and many times I just want to be left alone. Seems odd that all these i wants are all in the same me. I have a well visit today with my doctor, I am ready to be told that I am well. I can not eat until after the appointment at 3 pm so I am sitting here drinking my clear water . . . there is a nice thing. I have water, and folks in Africa are walking 8 or 9 days to get water and dieing on the way . . . and I just step over to my fridge and grab ice cold water anytime . . . how am I suposed to process that? My mind is a spin and I look forward for school to begin . . . I want my life back on that routine . . . at least until the end . . .