look at your man, Annie

Many a sad life story is to be heard among the customers at the Little Shop of Harmony. Many a sigh have I sent up to God as I see refugees struggling to make a life for themselves, alcoholics struggling to find something to live for. And above all, as I see the aching loneliness of those not loved by anyone.

And then I go back to my own life and whine over the lack of a decent cup of coffee and the cost of hair dye.

Today, an old man wandered in to buy a present to bring to some celebration he obviously had been invited to. He asked for directions to the gift book shelf but politely declined offers of help to choose, as if not wanting to trouble anyone. After looking around a bit at random, he chose the first suitable and not too expensive book he found. I took his money and idly reflected over the fact that such an independent man still could seem so lost in the world. But after all, lone male shoppers tend to seem out of place in our small shop - it's usually the women who buy gifts.

As if in explanation, he suddenly remarked as I handed him his change: "My wife, Annie, she used to buy the presents. But she is gone now."

I mumbled something inane and then he left. But despite all the sad stories I have heard, this one gave me a sharp stab of pain on the inside. In fact, I cried. Over the loneliness, the helpless despair, and the incredible courage of people who make their lives go on even though the bottom of their world has fallen out.

I hope Annie in her heaven is smiling down at him through tears of pride and love.

more tips from the coach

Seize life! Eat bread with gusto,
Drink wine with a robust heart.
Oh yes—God takes pleasure in your pleasure!
Dress festively every morning.
Don't skimp on colors and scarves.
Relish life with the spouse you love
Each and every day of your precarious life.
Each day is God's gift. It's all you get in exchange
For the hard work of staying alive.
Make the most of each one!
Whatever turns up, grab it and do it. And heartily!

from Ecclesiastes 9, The Message Bible

seven questions and one answer

Coffee, bleak sunshine, a favourite book (The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell), online praise music. Walking around the flat, sighing in front of the computer, translating animal rights activists and steering documents of vocational education. Am I good enough? Will I ever be happier than I am now? What will I have for a late lunch and why is cooking so boring? What is the meaning of life? How long is the season of unrequited love? What would you name a self-help group for people who talk too much?

Answer to the last question: On and On Anon.

girl talk

My 9-year old niece, already an expert on romantic relationships (recently broke up with a boyfriend as she felt he was not committed enough), sneers at me when I suggest I too might know a thing or two about men. "Really?" she says sceptically and proceeds to test me:

Niece: So, what do all men have that women don't, in the front?
Me: Eh... a... (feebly trying to avoid the obvious answer and wildly think of another possible one) ... an adam's apple!
Niece (in triumph): So you don't know!
Me (defensively): It's the correct answer!
Niece (in a patronizing voice): No. The correct answer is: Chest hair!

not so hopeless

Dreamed that I had a dream. Woke up and felt hope - the hope to acquire a dream again. It's a start.

Yesterday I sat on a beach as darkness slowly fell. Smoked a cigarette (I'm cutting down on my one-a-year habit), listened to the quiet of the autumn evening and tried to think, and believe: I am loved.

not so hopeful

The elk hunt has started and a man I admire is going to raise his rifle. I should be resting but is torn between work and moral obligations and almost in tears. I am proud of my skills and worried about my knees. I face the winter of my discontent.

my life in a Dalí painting

On the steps of the gazebo I sat crying and the actor had to go somewhere else to rehearse his monologue. I read poems to the blind man and whispered to his guide dog. With aching knees I bought three odd-shaped lightbulbs.

Drifting again and my life seems too surreal to me. I'm taking out my cigarrettes; I still have a packet from last year.