My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Losing Happier Times
There definitely are those days when life does not seem so great a gift, but there are others that are better. Of course, even the good ones could do with a bit of adjusting. Falling into the unhappiness is so easy to do, and it never seems a surprise, while the happier times are more fragile and losing them is rarely more than minor news, an item for the second section.
Labels:
insecurity
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment