The trick with getting anything done is making a beginning. Elementary, my dear, you say. It is at that but a very important elementary point. So we’ve begun, Sheba and I. It is 2:59, not quite 3:00 pm. She rises and whimpers. I said no. Down. She does. We are both sitting, she on all fours, me on the chair. We will wait it out. The minute passes. She rises on her fours. I continue to sit and tap. Patience is a virtue. So is discipline.

I could easily become a hermit given my disposition and inclinations. I know very well it is not healthy to isolate myself socially. I was also brought up and trained to to live properly. Those things have saved me from myself. I always try to do the right thing or else it would nag at me. Even having bad improper thoughts gnaw at my conscience. I could never be a thief but I have sinned.

Sheba passed her test. 3:10 and I reward her with her supper. She is getting it. Obedience and Patience = food. I’m getting it, too. Consistency and Patience = success. Our successes comes slowly and in increments, sometimes sliding back and forth. The furry princess tries and does get on my nerve in the afternoons. At 11 years old she is still full of vim and vinegar. After eating, she energetically humps her bed. Then she wants to play, insisting that I play toss her squeaky toys with her. What a mad house! I lose my patience.

That’s how it is at our house. Most mornings I’m not geared up or look forward to doing anything. Today is a Wednesday, an exercise day. I have breakfast, pack my gym bag, vacuum a room or two and head off to the YWCA. I’m trained by habit and routine. It’s not a big deal or painful as in the beginning. Some ruts are healthy. It get things done. I repeat this every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

Sometimes I bored myself writing every day. What could I possibly have to say – every day. It’s a discipline I want to keep up – within reason, of course. It gives me clarity and direction. I hope I am not boring you. I write mostly for myself but I do appreciate the support and readership. I’m now pushing and struggling to increase the length and the quality of my writing. I’m doing the best I can. Today is not a day when words flow. They come slowly after much thought.

Another daily practice I’m doing is my art. It has been dormant many, many years. It came alive last year much to my own surprise. It has been mostly talk on my part. You know how it goes. It’s my passion but I was too this and that – all the usual excuses. It takes very little time to pick up a pencil or a paint brush and art. So that’s what I do every day, a little practice. It takes minutes sometimes, an hour another day. The thing is to begin and do it. I admit starting can be difficult. I just do it.





Life sometimes doesn’t start till 10 some mornings, or I should say most mornings lately.  The darkness presses down on me and I am happy to stay in bed, listening to Sheba being fed, smelling the rich aroma of coffee being made.  I snuggle deeper into the comforter.  What is there to do anyways in the dark?

I am unable to think or feel beyond the sensation of nothingness.  Of course it is impossible to stay in bed indefinitely.  One can get bored in the void.  I reason that there must be others like me.  I cannot be the only one.

So I sighed and threw back the covers and swung my legs over the edge.  The simple act of doing this one thing led to other things….getting dressed, brushing my teeth, washing my face.  In other words it led to what is call living.

Sometimes it takes a lot of effort of putting one foot in front of the other.  You have to train and practice until it becomes a habit.  After that you can put one foot in front of the other even when you think your life stinks.

It’s taken me a long time to get here.  I have cried and whined a river and an ocean.  But nobody can live my life for me except me so I have to haul my own ass out of bed, dress and show up every morning in person.  Man, it’s hard!