Randomness
Baby, it’s cold outside. Random song line to describe today’s weather. No point really. It just seemed the thing to do. This tendency toward randomness often happens when I get a good night’s sleep and I got one last night. Woke up once because I was hot. Turned down the heater. It also happens when I feel good, and I feel good when I get a good night’s sleep, which I think is the point of doing it. Win, win.
This also happens when something to say escapes me. Like a sad story, a dream, that sort of thing. I’m really at a loss this morning, but I have to write. So, write I do, which means I’m sort of running around scrapping random words from my brain pan, putting them down, and hoping it makes sense. Eventually. Or is at least mildly entertaining. It’s the written form of gathering leftovers to make a meal.
I did talk to my daughter last night about Christmas at her new house and was informed she would take any random Christmas decorations I have left over because her new house is bigger than her old house and thus there are more places to decorate. I was happy because my attic is stuffed with unused Christmas decorations because my retirement house is small. I will have fun in the attic today bringing back to light fifty years of Christmas memories to start a new life with new children. And it’s still cold outside, but it’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale