I spent my afternoon yesterday, attending a funeral of my good friend's father. He was a good man. He loved his family and spent time with them, and they in turn, loved him.
When ever I came over to the house, he never yelled at us when we got in trouble. He always had kind words of advice. His wife was much the same.
At the end of the funeral, the bishop asked us to take a good look at our lives and reevaluate them. Were we doing what we should be with our lives?
I couldn't help think of writing. Writing is something that is done alone, sometimes in the middle of the night (when it's quiet- and the kids aren't doing that weird chicken dance), and always up for ridicule (well, only if you want a really good piece of work). But very rewarding. It inspires others to do good, face fears, and conquer evil.
Is writing a worthwhile thing? I think so. I love writing funny things, even if I'm the only one laughing at it - although, I look kind of funny when I'm hysterically laughing by myself (please don't ask the mail guy about it, I think I frightened him once with my mwa ha has, why do I keep doing that?).
So as I reevaluate my time, my life, my choices, I'm happy with what I have and hope to become a better person as I do so. I only ask for one thing. More late night writing time when the kids aren't dancing and I'm not dozing off.
Is that too much to ask for? If it is, I'd be happy to settle for chicken dances, late nights, and no dozing. And maybe a gigantic large cookie... Sprinkled with those big bits of sugar...Or covered in pink frosting...Now I'm really hungry...must find cookie...Maybe if I check the fridge...