I began the day out of sorts.  I walked around in a kind of funk all morning.  My son came up with his own perception. He flatly commented on my “state” with his own diagnosis: “You are in a bad mood.” Thanks Dr. Freud.  I had a host of things that required my attention, which I begrudgingly attended to one by one, all the while yearning to go back to bed. I kept telling myself that I could talk myself out of my blue mood. (I believe that most of us can pick our mood flavor of the day, just like we select a breakfast cereal or a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.)

All morning, I listened to the voices whispering in my ears. The angel kept saying, “You can choose happy.” The devil answered, “Go back to bed, pull the covers over your head and hide.”

Miraculously, the sun emerged and the temps warmed. Change was in the air. I could feel my spirits lifting. The angelic voice had won.  Kind of scary that I hear voices, huh?

My husband has been deceased for over seven years, yet he regularly receives mail to an address he never lived at, in a state he had only visited once or twice in his lifetime.  He receives magazine subscription offers, applications for credit cards, and my personal favorite, a request to extend the warranty on his car. What car?  Have times gotten so tough that companies are now soliciting business from the dearly departed?

I believe that my husband is in a better place. There is no Reader’s Digest, MasterCard or hybrid car where he is. There isn’t even a post office. The only “mail” that my husband and other spirits receive are the thoughts and prayers from us earth-bound beings. No postage required.

I am pretty sure that I was the last person on this planet to get a microwave, and most likely the second-to-last to get a cell phone.  I am SCARED TO DEATH of technology and tend to stay away from it whenever possible, which is hard to do in this century.  Up until just a few years ago, the most I could do with a computer was turn it on and manipulate the mouse thingy.  I have come a long way.  This week alone, I started my own writing blog (that still cracks me up when I say it out loud or write it down), and I just used the self-scan machine at the grocery store (the clerk did have to help me).  I did this ALL IN ONE WEEK!  I am pretty sure that either Microsoft or NASA will be calling soon, begging me to come work for them.  But just for the record, I still refuse to learn how to text message on my phone. I prefer the sound of the human voice. LOL

I have a small, black frame on my dresser.  My sister gave me the card that is carefully housed inside and it reads, “this too shall pass.”  (I believe the author is “unknown.”)   When I was in the hospital undergoing chemotherapy treatments for leukemia, I contracted not one, but two skin infections simultaneously.  I was in some degree of pain and discomfort and one of the infections was communicable, so I was quarantined in my teeny tiny room for 16 days.  When I questioned the on-call oncologist (not my regular doctor) about the infections, the course of treatment, how long I was going to spend in solitary confinement (oops, I mean isolation), he brushed me off and said, “This too shall pass.”

Now, I understand the good intention of using this four-word phrase.  It can be translated as, “Don’t worry, things will get better” or “Things can only go up from here.”  They are meant as a means of encouragement when one faces a serious illness or injury, or a catastrophic event such as a job loss or house fire.

Just for the record, I did not fully appreciate the doctor’s attempt to uplift me at my darkest hour.  I think that the phrase, “this too shall pass” should be reserved solely for references to gas and kidney stones.