I’m scratching my head to remember another catastrophe to write about. Life has been fairly calm the last few years. I’m hard pressed to come up with another episode. The distance of old memory takes the bite out the catastrophes of younger years. For instance, the fact that my father tossed my 2 year old butt out on the doorstep in a fit of bad mood does not bring tears to my eyes. I do not have any recollection of it except the ‘aunties’ often loved to tell that story. They also loved telling me that I inherited his temper. Because of that and my scarred arm, I would have trouble finding a husband.

The husband part is true but I’m not sure about the reasons. Those repeated stories could have traumatized me. Who knows, eh? Maybe I have been damaged. But I’m not going that route. I don’t like the blame game. I have felt the blame for everything and everybody for many years. I don’t wish that on anyone. I’ve felt responsibility for everything that’s gone wrong. Really, I’ve realized that I’m not that powerful. Slowly I’ve let that go. Life is full of good, bad, joy, sorrow, successes, tragedies and catastrophes. It’s not all on me. That’s how a full life is. I’ve learned to embrace it all.