Heaven's tears

I love rain. I do not love rain when the windshield wipers break. I love rain. I do not love rain when I have errands to do. I love rain. I do not love rain when I have a million packages to carry from the car to the house. I love rain. I do not love rain when the wind blows. I love rain.

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A nice post on my FB wall started my day with a smile. Thanks.

* * *

I wonder if I will be missed when I leave. We all hope someone cares enough for us to mourn our passing.

Men seem more concerned with legacy than women. Something concrete, tangible.

For many women, children set the benchmark. For those of us without children, the standard is more elusive. A song written for us. A poem scribbled on the back of a envelope in our honor. To be loved for who we are rather than our outward appearance. To love another enough to let them go. To find joy in the happiness of others.

I hope to find patience with others. I hope to catch a glimpse from their perspective.

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Every day cannot be John Steinbeck. Some days a hack writer shows up. Sorry about that.

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I miss you, dude. What can I say?

Later.