reality intrudes

Since MS (multiple sclerosis) is doing an excellent job of ravaging my mortal body, I thought it prudent to start writing the story of my life. At least to remember some parts that have had a significant impact on me to become who I think I am. If I wait for someone else to write it, I won’t be close to reading it. If I take any longer to start, I may not be able to remember my life at all.

I guess it’s normal to want people to say nice things about you, after you’re gone. Sometimes you can make a deal with them to say nice things about you, if you just go. Since I don’t have much to make a deal with, I think if I want some good things said, I’d better say them myself.

I remember what I once said about a dog I had. “He never bit anyone…” I don’t recall biting anyone either. Another dog, which I adopted, kissed everyone. Although I tried to do that too, I was never as well received as he was.

Cats don’t try to kiss you. They spend all their time licking each other. Lots of people I’ve met do that. While many things are still within their power to accomplish, they give up.

I have learned that there is no shame in trying and failing. It was a shame when I didn’t try. We all have our share of failures. No one else can have them all. If you’ve never failed, you’ve probably never tried the impossible, like being a good marriage partner or eating soup with a fork. I feel better married every time I try.

In this story, I don’t think I’ll change the names. No one is so innocent that they need protection.

* * *

izee continued

Chapter Two

We moved into Izee early Saturday, to the house we had never seen the inside of. Mom was following us in the car, Dad requisitioning a borrowed truck with all of our earthly possessions. Robert came with us to Izee this time. As mom would be explaining “The Boarding House Rules” to him for high school far from home, “I rode with dad thinking it was funny that my brother ate more dirt than I did, as they followed us down miles of unpaved road like a disgusting ghost out of the planet’s dust, Robert kept emerging from the ’52 Ford, retrieving whatever flew of our loose cargo.

[Continue on in Chapter Two if you still wish to read more.]