I stood on my porch talking to my neighbor about the terrible state of the country.  My computer bag weighed on my shoulder.  I shifted to one foot and listened as he confirmed that he feels the same way.  Then I walked down the driveway and drove to one of my favorite haunts.

Tucked in the back of the place, I eat a healthy dinner, scanning my e-mail and social media for the laments of others.  And for a little good news.

The wide window lets the setting sun sear into the place.  It warms me; the air conditioning here works a little too well.  I drink my Power smoothie and think about the chores that I will either do or ignore when I return home.  A sigh runs through me.  Before I park the car for the night, I have to retrieve a prescription.  Words fail me when I think of the raging viral battle that my body endures.  But I breathe.  A friend’s brother suffered a devastating heart attack and life support sustains him.  The deaths this week in Minnesota, Texas, and Baton Rouge stand as a searing reminder of how fortunate I am, how petty the annoyances which I must navigate each day.

I have survived another day on earth.  My son texted a picture of a smoothie that he made in the machine that I sent for his birthday.  Tomorrow I will have coffee with a friend and make a home visit in the afternoon for one of my GAL cases.  On Sunday, Jenna Munoz and I will meet to pick art for September’s Beer & BBQ Benefit for SAFEHOME and Rose Brooks Center.  Afterwards, I will lunch at Brenda Dingley’s house and see her newly cleaned closets.

I have no grievances.    It’s the evening of the eighth day of My [Never-Ending] Year Without Complaining.  Life Continues.

Whether or not you believe in a divine entity, this song might soothe your soul:

PS22 SINGING “LET THERE BE PEACE ON EARTH”