Just Trying to Get By…
As the blog title says, the mood around Chez Caffrey tonight is exactly that: trying to get by.
I can’t ignore the stresses in the world. They bother me. And I can do so little about them.
For example, I hate it that the people in Hong Kong, who are protesting for democracy, are not being backed up by the United States in word or deed. (I don’t want the U.S. to go to war with China. But this is a situation where diplomacy might’ve done some good. Yet the Congress, as well as the President, remains for the most part eerily silent.)
I also am unhappy by much of what I’ve seen and heard regarding the impeachment inquiry in the U.S. Congress. Everything I’ve read (and I have read the entire 300-page report put out by the Congress yesterday) shows that President Trump seems to believe that Presidents are like Kings, and can do whatever they like. I can’t abide that. And I don’t understand why others can.
Mind, I believe in the rule of law. If the Senate, which probably will get the impeachment from the House sooner or later (the House hasn’t taken a vote yet), refuses to carefully ponder the evidence, I will be extremely unhappy. And if they do what Senator Lindsay Graham (R-SC) has already said he will and refuse to even read the evidence, that will make me furious.
These people are not being paid to duck the evidence. They are being paid to do what is in the best interests of the country.
Not their party. The country.
Anyway, I mention all of this because it does weigh on my mind. And I can do so little about it.
What I can do, mind, is write about it. (Which you see, for what good it does.) I can register people to vote when my health is strong enough. I can also weigh the evidence, when it fully comes out, in my own mind, with my own knowledge of the U.S. Constitution, and decide for myself what I’d do if I were in the Senate.
(Hint, hint: I do not believe in party over country. I believe in what John McCain did. Country over party. Or as John Quincy Adams said, “Always vote for principle, though you may vote alone.”)
Mind, if the evidence ultimately isn’t there, then it’s not. (Though it’s hard to believe right now there won’t be enough evidence to show that. And if you doubt me, go read that report and put “Obama” in there instead of Trump. Would you think this behavior is OK then? But I digress.)
The evidence should be heard, should be weighed, should be measured…and if the folks in the Senate who are apparently blinded by Donald Trump’s cult of personality can’t figure out that what the current president has done will be used as a measuring stick for all presidents to follow, then they are idiots. (And should be voted out of office forthwith.)
Anyway, I see all this, and wonder what in the Hell the point is. There’s so little I can affect. And it bothers me.
But all I can do, from day to day, is be my best self.
(And so should you, even though it may seem completely pointless to try.)
So, I’ll keep on trying to get by. And as I do that, I’ll continue to work on my writing, my editing, my music, and whatever other abilities I have that can do some people some good somewhere…as that’s all I know how to do.
——
P.S. We still do live in a free society. I am grateful for this. I am able to say what I feel, in a way I feel is right, and not be hauled off to jail for doing so.
May it continue ever so.
In Remembrance of Trouble
Folks, years ago I wrote a blog called “Losing the Family Pet,” about my Mom’s Cocker spaniel, Blackie. That was hard.
This is even harder.
My favorite dog in the whole wide world, Trouble, died a few nights ago. He died at home, similar to the way Blackie died; the only difference was, Trouble went to sleep and just didn’t wake up. (The eyes did open at the end, though. Bigger than they had in weeks. I know this because I had to carry him out again. But more on that anon.)
Mom and I adopted Trouble in 2006 from the Humane Society. He was a Shih Tzu mix with black and white coloring. He looked Shih Tzu in the face, had the big brown puppy dog eyes they’re known for, but his back legs were much shorter than the front. He was smart, loyal, kind-hearted, loved his food, loved to play, loved to “romp” with his “girlfriend” (a pillow; Trouble had been neutered, as standard in Wisconsin, but his mind still felt he was potent, and that was that), and was the best dog I’d ever been around.
Yes, he was a typical dog. He loved walks. He occasionally escaped the back yard before Mom moved to an apartment, and that always worried me. But he came back — once with the help of a neighbor, as we had a major snowstorm that day and we were almost completely snowed in. And he’d look at me, and my mother, with puzzlement: “Hey, I always come back. So what’s the big deal?”
Mind, he never did escape again after that blizzard incident. He had learned his lesson. When the neighborhood kids unlocked the gate (as they weren’t supposed to do, but often did), Mom’s other dog Brat would escape. But not Trouble.
Nope. He stayed right in the backyard, and when I’d go check and find him, he’d give me a look that said, “Hey, I’m a good boy!”
And he was.
Trouble had the softest fur. But we kept it short, because it was easier for everyone. And I do mean everyone, because when Trouble was younger, he loved to play in the mud. We’d have to give him baths — sometimes more than one a day — to get him clean. And of course he hated the baths, but Mom and I hated the muddy feet and the muddy everything more than that, so into the bath he went.
When we adopted Trouble, they said they thought he was two. Our now-retired vet told us that Trouble could’ve been anywhere between a year to three years. So we went with two. And we adopted him at the very beginning of 2006, to the best of my knowledge…meaning he nearly made it to sixteen.
Of course, we got used to saying he was sixteen at least six months ago. As we honestly didn’t know, it was as good as age as any. And by then, Trouble had really slowed down. Like Blackie before him, Trouble lost his hearing first. Then, unlike Blackie, Trouble lost his vision. He also had severe osteoarthritis, made worse by the aforementioned short back legs; his back was spiny, toward the end.
But he never complained. Never whined. Never moaned. Never did anything, except come up to be petted. Or at least to sit by our feet (or in my case, on my feet, as he seemed to like that for some reason!), so we’d know he cared.
Trouble ate well up until a day before he died. He continued to drink water. He was able to eliminate, though it was harder for him some days than others. He slept a lot the last six months. And he’d gotten to the point that when I took him out for a walk, he’d do his business, then sit right down.
Mind, he still loved to sniff things. (He was a dog. That’s what they do.)
He also enjoyed being around “his people,” and loved us with every breath in his big-hearted body.
I once asked Trouble on a Valentine’s Day, “Hey, Trouble, will you be my boyfriend?”
He didn’t know what I was saying. I’m sure of that. But he perked up, and he must’ve heard something in my voice, because he came right over to me and put his head on my lap. (This is when he could still partially get up on my lap on his own. He’d stand on his back legs and put the forelegs and head on my lap; I’d pull him up from there.) And he stayed by my side that night, and many other nights; he knew when I didn’t feel well, and he knew when I was lonely, and he knew when I needed his attention.
Then, he’d play tug-of-war with me. Or he’d let me pet him. Or I’d give him a treat. Or he’d just look at me with his big brown eyes and say wordlessly, “I know how you feel. It’s OK. I’m here.”
Trouble was my favorite dog. And it’s been hard to write this, because I picture him in so many ways. It’s hard to remember how much he loved life, in a way, because I’m the one who had to carry him out again and take him to the crematory. (This time, Mom was not up to it. And who can blame her?)
But he did love life. He was a wonderful canine companion. He adored us.
And we adored him.
I will miss Trouble terribly. And already am.
Book Review: “The Night of Blind Ambition”
As I said in my previous review, I never know how long Amazon will take to put up a new book review. And it’s too important these reviews don’t get lost. I don’t want Mr. Wardlaw to suffer the same fate I have, of being way too little-known, putting out books that are damned good but no one reads.
So I’ve done my best here to let people know Mr. Wardlaw’s books exist. And I do hope that’ll make some sense.
Now, onto my review of Mr. Wardlaw’s second book, THE NIGHT OF BLIND AMBITION, cut and pasted from my Amazon review:
As I said in my review of A BLOODY ARROGANT POWER, it astonishes me to find a work of such superior quality as THE NIGHT OF BLIND AMBITION, Malcolm J. Wardlaw’s second book in his “Sovreigns of the Collapse” series.
Indeed, this is the story of Lawrence, the younger brother of Donald’s (from the first book in the series). Lawrence is a former military officer who did unspeakable things, but that’s not what got him exiled to the “Night and Fog” (slave labor camps, roughly). Nope, ’cause in Wardlaw’s dystopia, unspeakable things are just part of the game for competent military officers. Instead, what got Lawrence exiled was noticing a scheme of graft and corruption, wanting no part of it, reporting it…and instead being tagged with the crime himself and exiled, because the higher-ups in Lawrence’s chain of command didn’t want to deal with Lawrence’s allegations (probably profiting from the graft themselves).
Worse even than the Night and Fog is when Lawrence is sent to something called “The Value System.” This is an all-male penal colony that does things so disgusting, I hesitate to say. (Let’s put it this way: the man who came up with this system, Prentice Nightminster, is a piece of work and a half.) They are forced to labor for long hours, almost as if they lived in a Siberian gulag. But now and again they get days off, can listen to music, think about their plight, and remember their real names and their real lives.
Most of them get dead drunk during these times. And who can blame them?
Anyway, Lawrence is made of stern stuff. He was indeed competent, as a military officer, and he learned how to survive, strike, and evade. He has a gift of knowing when, exactly, to fight, but also when, exactly, to bide his time.
And when Prentice Nightminster, also known as The Captain (and yes, that’s how Nightminster wants it styled), gives Lawrence an opportunity to get out of the Value System penal colony, Lawrence realizes it’s a poisoned chalice and escapes. (The friend he escapes with was a very learned man, high up in one of the enclaves of high society before his fall. That this learned man helped Lawrence realize this is important; that Lawrence again seizes the gift of knowing when to escape, on a night of raucous merriment for the slaves at the penal colony, is highlighted.)
It’s hard to know when to stop giving a plot summary, especially when much of this book concerns Lawrence’s escape. (We know he does escape from the first book, mind you, so me telling you that is not exactly a spoiler.) So I will stop there, except to say that Lawrence’s exploits are harrowing. And his realizations of who he used to be, coupled with who he now is, are well worth the price of admission.
Honestly, you need to read this book, as well as A BLOODY ARROGANT POWER. This is a very thorough society Mr. Wardlaw is depicting (that is, when he’s not skewering it to a fare-thee-well), and the full immersion within it is total.
All I knew was, after I finished A BLOODY ARROGANT POWER, I had to read this book, THE NIGHT OF BLIND AMBITION. And I’m glad I read both.
Five stars, highly recommended to all SF fans, but most particularly those who enjoy military SF and escape stories.
Barb Caffrey
P.S. Write faster, Mr. Wardlaw! I can’t wait to see what happens to Donald, Lawrence, and Sarah-Kelly next.
Book Review: “A Bloody Arrogant Power”
This is cut and pasted from my recent book review at Amazon. I don’t know how long it’ll take them to get this book review up, and a few times I’ve had it completely go astray in their system.
That would be a shame, in this case. Which is why I’m going ahead and posting it here, at my private blog, in the hopes it will not get swallowed up.
Short version of the following: You need to read A BLOODY ARROGANT POWER by Malcolm J. Wardlaw. It’s just ninety-nine cents as an e-book. And it’s a worthy read, one that’s hard to put down…and even harder to understand, once it’s over, how a book this good has been thus far overlooked.
Then again, as my own history as a writer has shown, sometimes good work does not get noticed (immediately, anyway; I refuse to believe otherwise). One can hope Mr. Wardlaw’s conception will escape the fate of my own two books in the Elfyverse.
Now, here’s to the cut-and-paste:
I had never heard of Malcolm J. Wardlaw before picking up his book, A BLOODY ARROGANT POWER. As an author myself (and as a little-known one at that), I am sympathetic to other authors struggling to break through the noise of independent publishing to get their vision out.
And what a vision: A BLOODY ARROGANT POWER is astonishingly thorough, and shows what the world could be a century or so hence after the current society collapses. Wardlaw’s dystopian vision is completely realized, down to the lexicon (“drains” are roads, or at least public thoroughfares, which “surplus” — people who don’t make enough money to protect themselves from being turfed out on a moment’s notice — are “discharged”); the people all feel real, with some being quite venal, some being quite opportunistic, some being idealists, some being realists…and the worst of all blending those four things into something abhorrent. (Prentice Nightminster, I’m looking squarely at you.)
A book as good as this should not be languishing in obscurity.
In fact, I read this book in three hours. And I came over here, to Amazon, to make absolutely sure it finally got someone rating it and commenting on it, all the while wondering what in the Hell has caused people to overlook A BLOODY ARROGANT POWER in the first place.
Honestly, if you enjoy SF, dystopian SF, future visions of a harrowing nature, or just plain good writing, you need to read this. Donald, the protagonist, is well-realized, and goes from company man to revolutionary without missing a beat. (Trust me: If you had an ounce of sense if you lived in this world, you’d do the same thing.) His love-interest, Sarah-Kelly, is also well-realized; she’s a smart, educated woman with a vision of a better society, and refuses to live in the world she finds herself in. (Good for her, I say.) And finally, Donald’s younger brother Lawrence, an ex-military officer with a conscience, emerges just at the end to give a glimpse of what the next book in the series is likely to be…he’s brash, but well-intentioned, and he’s lived through some harrowing stuff.
Very solid work, all the way around.
In fact, if this book had been picked up by a major publisher, I think it would’ve won several awards. It is that well-realized, that well-considered, and that thoroughly satisfying of a read.
I do not say these things lightly.
In short, if I could give this book more than five stars, I would. But since I can’t, this book is given five-stars and a highly recommended tag.
I hope more people read this book. And I hope Mr. Wardlaw finds his audience, because he — and his book, A BLOODY ARROGANT POWER — deserves it.
Barb Caffrey
A Brief Bloglet
Last week I finished up another edit, and had intended to come back here and write another blog. But the best laid plans sometimes do not come to fruition, and thus, the blog is now.
I’m dealing with an unusual situation here, health-wise. I don’t really understand fibromyalgia at all. It does seem to have elements of chronic fatigue to it, which means I’ll have to come up with strategies, and fast, to continue my life on my terms.
In addition, I’ve dealt with an unpleasant infection/abscess. (Or infected abscess? Is that a contradiction in terms?)
More difficulty, less energy. That’s where I’ve been at.
Now, am I completely unable to do anything? No. But I did just spend two days down at home, doing nothing other than sleeping. (Trust me, that is the most boring thing in the world to do. But some days, that’s all that’s possible.)
I have hopes that the rest of the week will be better. I have an appointment with a new doc later today, and we’ll see if he has any ideas. And I’ll talk with my friends, and my family, and see if there’s anything I can do to make things any better.
I get tired of the feeling that all I can do today is “not collapse.” I want more out of my life than that.
But for now, as I continue to struggle, that’s where I am.
Let’s hope I’ll be able to write soon. (I can still edit, thank God/dess.)
Political Thoughts on a Friday Afternoon
The national mood (much less mine) has seemed apocalyptic. The politics get more polarized; the POTUS bloviates and prevaricates, then deserts long-term allies in a shameful move; the politics get even more polarized, where some people for some reason still think this POTUS walks on water (and most of the rest realize not only that he doesn’t, but none of us do).
The mood in my state of Wisconsin isn’t that great, either. It’s fall, and it’s chilly. Our state politics have been polarized a long time, and that’s not going to change anytime soon. But worse yet is the feeling that very few elected officials are looking out for us at any level…and that this isn’t going to change unless we vote as many of the current crop of politicians out as possible.
(Except for those few who do seem to have a shred of public service somewhere deep inside, that is. They can stay.)
I can’t help but see these things, and be appalled. I care that we get the best representation possible at all levels, from honorable people doing their best to figure out how to run things the very best way they can. Not for greed or graft. Not for personal gain in any way. But because it’s the right thing to do.
Maybe I’m still an idealist at heart. Perhaps I am.
But we should be doing better than this. We deserve to have open, rational dialogues about the tough issues facing our world, much less this country and this state. We need to know the hard facts. (Not alternative facts, whatever the Hell they are.) We need to understand that traditional conservative values about saving money and paying down the national (and state) debt and not spending money on frivolous things like gold-plated faucets in executive washrooms are good things. And we also need to understand that traditional, small-l liberal values of freedom, justice, and the dignity of human worth are also good things.
We’ve become so polarized in the US that it’s possible to say one thing, and depending on what political party one belongs to, people hear it two ways.
That’s just wrong.
We are all human beings. We all deserve the chance to figure ourselves out. And we deserve the chance to live in a peaceful world, one where we don’t desert our long-term allies at the drop of a hint or the whim of an erratic and unskilled POTUS.
Our Congress, and our state government, on down to city and local governments, needs to start working for us. Rather than above us, besides us, or in spite of us.
I don’t know if we can get there anytime soon. But we have to start trying.
Otherwise, we’ll continue to get the neglectful, wasteful, and spiteful government we have now. And that is completely nonsensical.
Fatigue Fog and Frustration
Folks, I liked the above title because it works with or without punctuation. (Yes, I’m weird like that. Goes with the territory, I guess.) With punctuation, it would be, “Fatigue, fog, and frustration,” but even without, it sums up my mood quite nicely.
Yes, I continue to battle. I have finished up a few more edits. I am going to play the next concert with the Racine Concert Band (next Tuesday at Park High School), too. And I’m still at least thinking about the plots and stories I want to write, even if I’m too tired/sick to write them at the moment.
So, what in the world is going on this time? My best guess (and the doctor’s, too) is fibromyalgia. That’s a much-misunderstood disorder that has to do with chronic pain, chronic fatigue, and sleep problems. Everything else has been ruled out (save my migraines, which are being treated elsewhere, and of course my asthma, under maintenance care as per usual). So only fibromyalgia remains a viable diagnosis.
What it means for me is that I must rest more. I have to continue to get gentle exercise, eat well, and do my best to get more than six hours of decent sleep a night. I’ll also be evaluated by a sleep specialist soon, and hopefully by a fibro doctor as well, depending on whether my insurance wants to pay for it.
I’m fortunate that my editing has not been affected by this issue. But my writing definitely has been. And while I can do a little bit of writing, here and there, I still have to ration my strength for what needs to be done rather than what I want to do.
Though in an ideal world, I’d figure out how to do both things. (And I do hope to live in that ideal world someday, of course!)
I will keep doing everything I can to get healthier. That’s all I can promise right now. That, and read widely, and comment as I’m able, and write a few blogs here and there…and hopefully work again on fiction sometime in this lifetime.
That’s what I need to do. And that’s what I’m somehow going to do, once I get to feeling a little better.
Do I enjoy writing updates like this? Hell no, I don’t. But as I haven’t written anything here at my personal blog for a bit, I figured I owed one…even if it’s not what I wanted to say, or probably what you wanted to hear, either.
So, that’s why I started this off with the title of “Fatigue Fog and Frustration.” I am fatigued. I sometimes feel in a fog. And I certainly do feel frustrated by it all…but I’m going to persevere and do my level best.
Because that’s all I can do.
And I’d rather be honest, and admit my shortcomings, than try to “fake it ’til I make it.” As the latter does no good…and the former, at least, may tell someone else battling with much the same thing that they’re not alone.
When Life Is Like Baseball
Folks, if you’ve read my blog for a while, you may have noticed that I am a baseball fan. (My Milwaukee Brewers jersey, worn in the picture I put in the “About” section, kind of gives it away.) And while I haven’t written much about baseball in recent years, that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped watching it.
Or learning from it, either.
Yesterday evening, the Brewers played the Washington Nationals in the National League Wild-Card play-in game. This is a one-game playoff, and whichever team wins the game advances.
My Brewers did not advance.
Now, they were ahead until the bottom of the 8th inning. (One inning away from winning the game, if you’re not a baseball fan.) But at that time, three pivotal events happened:
- Home plate ump called a hit-by-pitch instead of a batted ball when the ball clearly hit the knob of the bat of the hitter rather than any part of the hitter’s hand. And when the Brewers complained, and asked for a replay, the umps doing replay didn’t fix the call.
Had that call been a batted ball (inadvertent, but still), that runner would’ve been out. Instead, the runner was awarded first base, and that ultimately mattered because…
2. Josh Hader, the Brewers bullpen ace (and “closer,” meaning he finishes games and usually shuts down opposing hitters cold), did not have his best stuff. He was missing the locations catcher Yasmani Grandal was asking for that Hader normally would’ve hit…and Hader was clearly rattled by the ump’s bad call, too. And that led to the bases being loaded, which led to…
3. Hader gives up a single to Juan Soto of the Nationals. Soto’s ball went to right field, where Brewers OF Trent Grisham waited. However, the ball got past Grisham (somehow), meaning three runs scored rather than one, or two. (Probably two runs would’ve scored there no matter what, but for the sake of argument, you could say it was possible that had Grisham fielded the ball properly, he could’ve thrown out the second runner at home.)
This error was costly.
Check that. Beyond costly.
And after all that happened, instead of the Brewers leading, 3-1, as they had at the beginning of the inning, they now trailed, 4-3. And they weren’t able to muster a rally in the ninth and climactic inning, though OF Lorenzo Cain singled with one out. (This meant the tying run was aboard, but was unable to score.)
Game over.
But that doesn’t mean the season was a waste. Far, far from it.
The Brewers season was good this year. They had ups and downs. They could be streaky. They lost their best player, NL MVP Christian Yelich, at the beginning of September. Several of their other best players, such as former NL MVP Ryan Braun, Lo Cain, Keston Hiura, and Mike Moustakas, were battling through injuries. And they still kept going, and made an improbable run in September (going 20-7) to get to the Wild-Card Game at all.
Persistence, grit, and heart in action. It was fun to watch them overcome so much adversity in September.
That said, this was a disappointing loss. It hurt, as a fan, to watch it. And I’m sure the players didn’t enjoy it either, most especially not Grisham and Hader.
Now, the title of this blog is, “When Life Is Like Baseball.” So you might be wondering, “Barb, what on Earth are you going on about, nattering about the Brewers game? They lost. So what?”
Well, life is like this, too. You try, and try, and try again, and sometimes you make errors. Sometimes you get bad calls, where you did everything right, but the person in charge feels you still did it wrong…and sometimes, your best play (or player) is going to let you down, because that’s what the law of averages is all about.
No one wants to make a critical error in a one-and-done situation like Grisham did, mind. And no one wants to blow a save at the worst possible time, as Hader did.
Sometimes, you are going to make your best effort, and still lose. This doesn’t mean that you should stop trying, but it does mean you have to learn from your mistakes.
You have to keep going, though. Despite disappointment. Despite adversity. Despite setbacks.
You have to pick yourself up and dust yourself off, and sometimes you have to wait a long time to “get a bit of your own back.” (Or better yet, just live well and let that be the best revenge. Or in the Brewers case, play well.)
But you can do it. No matter what the adversity, setback, or disappointment, you can do it if you learn from your mistakes, you keep on trying, and you make your best effort every day.
I firmly believe that. And I hope you do, too.
OUT NOW – Favour The Bold (The Empire’s Corps XVI)
I edited this, and I know it’s excellent. Try it!
An all-new story of The Empire’s Corps!
Earth has fallen.The Core Worlds have collapsed into chaos.War is breaking out everywhere as planetary governments declare independence, entire sectors slip out of contact and warlords battle for power.The remnants of the once-great Empire are tearing themselves apart.
In the shadows, the Terran Marine Corps works to save what little they can to preserve civilisation and build a better tomorrow.But powerful factions are competing with them, determined to establish their own order.If they cannot be stopped, if the marines cannot hold the line, the galaxy will fall into a new dark age.And there may only be one chance to nip their scheme in the bud.
Does fortune favour the bold? The marines are about to find out.
Download aFREE SAMPLE, read theAfterword, then purchase from the below links:
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Who Do You Want to Be? A Meditation
Normally, at this time of year, I write about my late husband, Michael. He was the most wonderful person I have ever known, and thus I want to keep my memories of him — and his bright, lively, and fun-loving spirit — alive.
But today, I want to talk about a different side of Michael. And, therefore, of me, too.
One of the questions he and I pondered quite often was this: Who do you want to be?
Too many people out there don’t develop their talents, partly because they don’t know they have any. Or they repress their talents, because they need to make money and their talents don’t seem to be useful toward that end. Or, maybe, they’re just frustrated with trying to work with their talents (guilty!), and don’t know what to do with themselves.
The thing is, our talents are only part of us. They’re not everything.
We humans are a complex lot. We have so many different things inside us, and so many different things we can do.
That said, the question “Who do you want to be?” has particular resonance for me for a different reason, too.
There’s a well-known axiom, “Know thyself.” To know yourself should be the first step in figuring out what you want to do, what you need to do, and what you must keep doing to make not only your life-circumstances happy, but your immortal soul happy as well.
(Yes, I went there. Michael believed, too. But it’s OK if you don’t. Moving on…)
But again, knowing yourself can be fraught with peril. People go down paths they shouldn’t be on, all because they convince themselves the ones they need to be on aren’t good enough. Or that they will never be accepted for who they are, so they’d rather “fake it ’til they make it” or worse, pretend to be someone else.
(Yes, I know some of you live by the “fake it ’til you make it” philosophy. If it works for you, and you still know yourself, good. If you don’t, and are on the wrong path, go meditate for a while and figure yourself out. But I digress.)
To me, the most important thing to do every day is to help others. Whether it’s by music, writing, a gentle (or sometimes, not-so-gentle) word, or running an errand, I try to help others as much as I possibly can.
Why? Because I can’t live with myself if I don’t. And because to my mind, if you can help someone but refuse, you aren’t worthy of very much.
“But Barb,” you say. “You can’t help everyone. You know that.”
True. But as Lois McMaster Bujold’s character Mark Vorkosigan says in MIRROR DANCE (my best paraphrase as the book is not in front of me): “Everyone always says they can’t do it all, so they won’t do any. And they don’t.”
In other words, you should try to help others as much as you can.
Because really, what else are we here for? (Surely it’s not to ascend to our own one-person Heavens.)
Back to Michael, though. He believed in helping others as much as he could. He ran errands. He rebuilt other people’s computers. He fed feral cats. He listened and helped as much as he could.
And, oh yes, he reached out to a lonely woman suffering her second divorce and wondering, “Why, God/dess, why?” And the result of that was the richest, deepest, most rewarding, and by far the best relationship I have ever had with anyone in my entire life.
So, just for today, be like Michael. (And, maybe, like me.) Help someone else. Be there, even if they don’t expect it.
You could find a friend. (Or more.)
And if you do, toast Michael in The Good Place (TM), as it’s because of him and his love that I still stand. And still write.
Barb Caffrey's Blog 