I enjoyed writing the previous post. I hope you did too. It had a life of its own. The craft of writing is akin to sculpting. Hemingway said it took nothing to be a writer. All you have to do, he said, is sit at the typewriter and
I am thankful for life and the richness it offers. I feel blessed, believing that I am the wealthiest man on earth. Abundance is not in how much we have, but in how much we enjoy. I'd venture to say over the past four years I have shared at least 30,000 gratitudes, not counting those I've penned in my black-spined composition book.
Tonight means I don't have to die to know what my funeral will look like. A gathering of friends shared what they like and love about me. I was humbled. I wept, several times. I agree with Emerson, if I can make one life breathe more easily, than my life has been a success.
I was gifted several ways this evening. Even receiving an unexpected letter from someone special. Something dear to me, that moves me deeply, was given also. Thank you, Jane. I heard from my oldest brother.
We reminisced about family. He told me his experience several years ago, when I entered this world and was brought home from the hospital. Why all the fuss tonight? Because tomorrow is my birthday.
Wishing you a great and grateful Thursday. I know mine will be!