I’ve been sitting marveling at how my body keeps breathing in and out, in and out even though, right now, I don’t particulary care seeing as I’m feeling blue.
Luckily, two of my precious women friends are seated around me. Each of us has a sleepy dog in our lap while we drink Kumeu River chardonnay and eat buffalo brie and fat, bright green Sicilian olives. And talk. Mostly I listen.
We’ve been mulling over my situation, and whether perhaps God has shown a touch of fallibility in his creation of the male species in a couple of ways. One of my friends shouted a catagorical “YES! Definitelty a cockup on His part." Her words, the volume of which the dog on her lap didn’t seem to appreciate. I don’t know what I know at the moment so I just laugh a little, settle the startled doggie and feel that determined breath trudging on its weary way.
I am so grateful for my friends. Especially the female variety. I doubt a male friend would have thought to bring olives, especially Sicilian ones, let alone a small, delicate, eggshell green oval dish for the pips. I could be talking out of turn and giving all the lovely men in the world a bad rap. Like I said - I have no idea what I know these days. All I can manage is to watch the breath - in and out.