Earlier today I walked down to Starbucks on Kuhio Ave.--recommended for my sanity. I took a coffee and the paper to do my crosswords/sudoku/astrology and sat outside on the patio. At one point I was staring off into space, in a good way, thinking good thoughts and a man drove up to the front door in his motorized wheelchair. He was an older Black man, maybe in his fifties, and we made eyecontact for a split second. I glanced at the door to see if it was wheelchair friendly and it wasn't so I stood up to open it for him. He smiled real big and jolly-like and gave me the knuckle fist and said thanks.
I've been thinking lately, being relatively unemployed and all, about developing a "happy system" or program. A way, or a list of things I can do, to keep me positive about life. Because when I'm positive, I'm more productive, and I'm a much better housewoman for my man. I've started depending on him, when he walks in the door after a heavy day of physical labor, to bring me out of my funk. That's not fair. For all I know he's gonna start dreading coming home. That would really really suck. So here I am stirring up my brain, throwing in different ingredients, trying to find the exact right recipe to be happy, and a man, by no means past the prime of his life, stuck with unworking legs, so happy to be alive made me happier to be alive.
That's pretty cool. Makes me realize how little I understand, yet, of this life.