Remembering "Letters from Jenny."

Back in my early teaching days I came across a book called "Letters from Jenny." As I recall, it was a collection of letters written by an aging woman to her son's friend. What's that got to do with anything? Well, some time ago I started a document called, "Mona's aging diary." I thought it would be interesting for my survivors to observe the changes as they occur. Of course, I expected it to be boring, since I plan to hang around for another twenty-five years at least. (My children are kind enough not to reveal their horror when I say that.) And what does that have to do with this blog? Well, point number one, I realized I don't need that document, 'cause this blog serves the purpose I intended for my "aging diary."

And these days, I'm quite wrapped up in reviewing my life. So many things have provoked that. One is the fact that my former husband is suffering from a terminal brain tumor. I have no direct contact with him about that, which proves to be frustrating, but I do get the news from my son and daughter and friends in New Haven. Do I need to say more? The purpose of life is farther toward the forefront of my thoughts than usual. To summarize, it becomes even more real that our journey here is limited, as is the time for us to be making our [hopefully helpful] mark on the world. The funny thing is, given those thoughts, I find myself doing things like getting rid of unnecessary paper, and even books, in my study. It seems like I'm doing anything to avoid getting down to writing. I think maybe I'm in a waiting mode.

There's another reason I'm thinking these thoughts. Walter Cronkite. All the reviews of his life bring back memories of so many major events that have occurred during mine. I won't bore you with all the images and emotions that come to mind. Just this -- with every one of those crises I lost sleep over the direction we could or could not be taking as a nation and as a people, and guess what -- we (including me) are still here. So many of those things I've lived through make sense in the backwards view. Now I try to hang on to the patience to realize that wherever we're going (with my little bit of help, I hope) will make sense twenty years from now when I look back.

Those thoughts of patient confidence that there is a purpose evolving, along with acupuncture, keep me sleeping pretty soundly. And verging on getting back to writing "Riding in the Back Seat."

If only more people would discover Mrs. Job. Those who do read her, are almost lavish in their praise. (Try "Mrs. Job." You might like her.) There, I even got in my marketing licks.