Thoughts on a blue/gray morning:

The gospel of money again. I’m wildly back pedaling, looking at the journey.

I like what I do, but if I do it being half there, then, my gosh, who am I?

I don’t know why things and life and death have to be dark, why my parents Great Depression scars pressed into my own skin. I don’t know why I had to say “F” you to my inheritance before I could say that I loved the money, was grateful for its presence, and finally got on my knees to God for all of it. I had to get rich before I got smart?

But it’s all there, all the black and blue of it, picking myself up, over and over with all the paper bags of stuff still clinging. I keep holding those old bags. When I arrive, hey, I can say I carried my load. I ran the slower race, but I wasn’t whipped. It’s no life if there hasn’t been a million tons of “why’s! Why this and why that?”

The church taught that we were blessed with guardian angels. I hope mine accompanied me in all the harshness of learning to grow up, to see things in brighter light. I hope my angel closed its wings in prayer for me, maybe even lifted me when the bridge to sanctity split in two, but stayed away at night when my nightmare got me crying, so that maybe, the next night, I slept with a smile.

All of us must learn before we die, to know what we are running from and to where we are running and why.