My father adored Barbra Streisand.

We owned every vinyl on which she sang and we spun them over and over.  From Funny Girl, the musical in which she played Fanny Brice, he most adored her rendition of “Second Hand Rose”.    One day I whined about having to wear clothes from my cousin Kati and my sisters, so my Dad tried to cheer me by nick-naming me his “Second Hand Rose”.

As I grew into young womanhood, second-hand clothes became a way of buying designer labels on a budget.  I try to always look presentable, though at times my combination has garnered scorn or ridicule — friendly, some of it, but with a little nugget of truth in the jabs.

This morning I fished into a side-pocket of my purse, trying to figure out what a crinkly sound might be.  I’ve had the purse since February, when I got it at a consignment shop to take with me on one of my California trips.  I thought it had been empty when I brought it home; and I’ve carried it for five or six months.  But the crinkly noise suggested that someone had left something behind when they sold it to the store.

Sure enough, from the depths of the pocket I extracted a small square of waxy paper.  I held it in my hands, looking down at  it, reading and re-reading the words.  I kept it with me all day, occasionally sliding it from my pocket to run one finger over its lettering.

When I got to Rotary, one of my fellow members asked how my day had been.  I thought about the paper which I had found in my purse.  I mentally reviewed an e-mail exchange that I’d had with someone addressing a lamentable and life-changing series of deep misunderstandings.  I looked at my colleague and replied, “Enlightening.  The day has been enlightening.  But on balance, I have no complaints.”

It’s the thirteenth day of the thirty-first month of My [Never-Ending] Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

I couldn’t find a video of Barbra Streisand singing the entire song, but if  you would like to hear her astonishingly beautiful rendition of a mildly amusing ditty, click HERE.