Change of Focus…
…A Journey of Death
By
Ann Wilmer-Lasky
Perhaps
I should change focus from contemplating my final dying breath to merely
exploring my more imminent mortality. It may not be as direct, but perhaps, it
would frighten my friends and relatives less.
And
as long as I am living a little more than day-to-day, perhaps I should also get
my ducks in some sort of order. I have nine novels in various states of
completion, and I have a memoir to write. Also, my DH should at least know
where the financial and legal papers are located (as soon as I locate them, of
course).
As
to why I should finish my novels and write my memories when it appears few are
interested in my work - even my dying declarations - I simply ask why not? They
may mean nothing to anyone else, but at least they will occupy my mind and keep
me from sleeping what's left of my life away.
Also,
since I have lived through most of eight decades some of what I remember may be
of historical interest. At the least I can offer opinions and comparisons of
the times and draw some conclusions that no one will bother to heed. (I sense a
trend here.)
Do you know
it used to take seven long hours to fly from Midway Airport in Chicago to Los
Angeles? And that's non-stop on a prop job with actual propellers. And LAX was
in the middle of farmland as far as the eye could see. Even in the 60's gas was
25¢ a gallon, if you crossed the county line a few miles away. A loaf of bread
was also a quarter, and those hamburgers from under the golden arches were 15¢ -
2¢ extra for cheese.
Not
much ranting today - just some and some advice:
A half-empty glass
Is still half-full.
(An admission of perspective.)
My
poem of the moment follows. Mortal Writer - the fourth in a new
collection which will be published at or before my death, depending on how long
I have left.
Mortal Writer
By Ann
Wilmer-Lasky
I am merely mortal,
Yet embrace thoughts of gods.
In my well-penned hand I
Do create paper lives
And deal them blows or boons
With equal whim, fancy
That I might perhaps gain
My own most mortal coil.
I write death's scenes for good
And evil as the same,
Nor feel within my soul
That justice ought prevail.
Among the words, I blur
The good deed done and flaunt
Perpetration of bad.
For grayness tints and taints
Life as I perceive it.
And I would not draw those
Lines as black, nor as white.
If I could curb my words,
I would say the same of
My life as the life of
My neutral pen's worst fiend
With bold audacity
To create life and claim:
I shall not die today.
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