Experiential Reference

My friend Laurie and I agree that we accept people’s foibles but do not necessarily wish to allow the impact of those foibles on our psyches.  She pours a glass of chardonnay.  We sit in the comfortable warmth of her electric fireplace, our bellies full of good food and the pleasant feeling of kinship.

Around eight, I pick my way across the rough surface of the lot between us, watching above for the soar of a hunter owl.  Back in my house, I scan the photographs which I took on my way to work today.   I need to do something about the tilt.  But I wouldn’t know the shot had a crooked aspect if I hadn’t been there, standing on the side of the road.  I couldn’t find the proper framing if I had no experiential reference.

I reflect back on the conversation at dinner.  Both Laurie and I had reached points in our respective lives at which we could no longer tolerate screaming.  We talked of the peace which eventually followed after each of us took that stand.  I see again the twinkle in her eyes, the small smile as she leaned back and raised her wine glass.

Then I download a couple of photographs and put my mind to the editing process.  I can’t help humming as I work.

It’s the eleventh day of the sixty-second month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.


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