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.