Indulge Me

Posted on 30 November 2003

Indulge me. I am in that rare state called “happiness.”

Yesterday, Brendan sent me a quote by Abraham Lincoln: “Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.”

This morning I drove my friend, Penelope, to the airport. We had dinner last night with Rob and Isabel, her daughter but we wanted some private time – time to tell the honest-to-goodness truth about how we feel about our selves and our lot and, as I was going to Ikea anyway, I offered her the ride. (She doesn’t allow me to indulge her often.)

I met Penelope first year university, way back in 1969. We both majored in theatre and became friends because both of us were afraid to sing and so the director of the program allowed us to take singing classes together – a required course. In those days, she wore nothing but purple and was smart (still is) and funny and the bravest woman I knew – she did some nude modeling for the art program to get over her self-consciousness. I was so impressed.

When “Penny” finished university and found that acting was not going to pay the rent – nor was her English degree – she decided to go to McGill and study law. After articling, she flew to the Yukon to work for a small law firm. She only intended to stay for a year or two but there met Roy, a home-steader, who did New York Times crosswords – that caused her to salivate. She called me one Christmas with the news that she had just married and was expecting her first child. Over twenty years and two daughters later, she still lives in the Yukon with Roy. Her first daughter is studying at Simon Fraser.

So we talked about the old days, our bodies with their new aches and pains, our men and children, our dancing and present activities. And then I told her I was happy with my life.

This doesn’t mean that all is perfect, least of all me. But I am happy.

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