Soft Life

What a soft life; always food, always shelter, always clothing, always water education books family jobs.

If I wanted to bake a cake, I baked a cake. I've never grown, harvested, winnowed or ground wheat. I've never raised chickens for eggs or cows for milk. Sugar came in pink bags from the grocer. Making a cake was always, well, a piece of cake, and easier still if I just ripped open a box. Ovens for baking were a switch not a wood box, nor did I have to find, chop, or carry the wood. The big ole oven just sat there waiting for me.

Yeah, I walked over a mile to school winter and summer. Sometimes my shoes were a little thin. I pay taxes -- not much of a hardship. I ran vinegar through my coffee pot to make it drip a little faster -- ooh that's tough. I've had to do laundry in my bathtub, scrub floors on my hands and knees, stayed up all night with a sick baby, and wash other folks underwear.

I've had a soft soft life.

I've been broke, skinny, lost, upset, cranky, fat, sick, and in pain, but no hardship or sacrifice can I recall. I've never been burnt out, bombed out, or disastered out. When Lonnie and Little Lonnie died in that car crash I read about a family in Missouri where nine family members died when a water tower they were all working on collapsed. Gave me perspective. Unfathomable pain is shared universally.

My tiny soft life is my life as lived on this earth. Not particularly transcendent or illuminated, but gentle, quiet and filled with warm memories of picnics. Small silly activities that filled me with pleasure. Making a film called the Missing Link. Mom parading in a swimsuit. I watched my sons grow to manhood, my dad grow old, I've seen a few changes in the world.

Would I do things differently? Should I have done more? Been more creative, wrote more poetry, saved the whales, walked across America in protest or for some cause, taken fewer naps? Is appreciating every spectacular sunset out my west window enough? Are warm memories of picnics enough? Is my life, surrounded and supported by family and friends, enough?

I've had a soft life and am grateful.

May all your todays be on the soft side.

I think I'll go write a poem. "Electric flu on a memory stick" is still rattling around up there. If that's not a poem nothing is.