I have a huge pile of dry laundry to sort, fold and "deliver" to every family member's closet, but I have deferred the chore in order to write a few words. I don't want this day to go by unremembered.
At the rate dear ones are falling ill or dying on me, the time I have left has become so precious. The sense of mortality is doubly heightened.
I've become acutely aware of some kind of legacy I can leave behind. Not in material goods, goodness, no!, because I have little where those are concerned, except for anyone who'd take interest in my overused fountain pens. I hear they have resale value -- they come with legit papers, I might add, thanks to Joseph Uy.
Since the month started, I've tried to do "jottings" on this space on sundry matters from making my Mom's chicken potato salad to my husband Rolly Fernandez's hobby of collecting stamps. I don't turn up every day with something to say.
There are days like today when I'm just sifting and shoving the papers that have piled up on my desk, papers that signify the amount of work I attended to in the last 11 months. I should sort them from the useful to the useless the way I do with the dry laundry and gift myself with an uncluttered desk on Jan. 1, 2019.
The spirit is willing, but the body, suffering from holiday languor brought about by a rich diet of ham, cheese, steak, pate and the like, is dragging itself. Anyone who suggests "Exercise, Babeth! Stretch your extremities and go for walks" will be shot.
On days like this, it is best to just follow your bliss, go with the flow and succumb to the allure of another nap.
Source of illustration found here: https://www.huffpost.com/…/cartoons-for-anxiety_n_5bacd763e…
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