Not even the blues can hold up against the out-loud declaration "I had a big crush on you when I was young."
Nor can the quick addition of "I'm over it now" stop the grin.
It's just short of rude, I'm thinking, to so quickly take away that little thought of sunshine, but I'm just glad to learn of said crush. I didn't think anybody liked me way back then except my family, and there were times I wondered about them.
Then, the day after I learn somebody did like me, I get a note in the mail from a reader in Webster City who said she likes to read what I write, and to make that even better, my friend Dee was standing with me when I read it. Proof it happened.
Oh, good heavens, I just about went to the front door again. I'm washing clothes and the machine knocked a bit, as the dryer did last time. You'd think I'd get over being jumpy at those sounds.
You'd also think I'd soon learn to ignore shiny objects that take me off thought.
What is missing, I wonder, in a mind that can so easily slip from one thought to another, sometimes before the first thought is even complete. I'd prefer to see it as an accomplishment, as having such a broad grasp of reality that a wide spectrum of information infiltrates the brain, rather than what is often referred to as a short attention span.
It's a matter of semantics, really. Not everyone sees things the same. Which is a blessing, for how awful would it be for everyone to have the same thoughts. You'd never have to do anything, go anywhere or listen to anyone. You'd get up in the morning, shake your head and immediately have the same thoughts as everyone in the world. Now that's a creepy idea.
Were that the case, then, I'd have spent last Tuesday to no good.
Last Tuesday, Dee and I drove to Jumbo Jack's in Audubon to check on printing prices for books each of us have in mind. The place mostly does cookbooks, but is branching out for whatever anyone wants.
You've heard me through the years pondering an idea of pulling together a book I intend to call "When We're Not Together" to include a bunch of stuff I've written that doesn't show up here on any given Sunday. Sometimes the need to do something outweighs the jitters that come with doing that thing, so I pulled on my big-girl panties and took the plunge, even though the little voice in my head that wants to keep me all to itself doesn't like the fact that I'm taking said plunge. It hates even more the epiphany that I now know more people than my family liked me early on and people out there like to read what I write.
So, as of Tuesday, "When We're Not Together" has been bandied around the birthing room and looks as if it will make it.
Don't know when, but soon.
So long friends, until the next time when we're together.
Sandy Mickelson, former lifestyle editor of The Messenger, may be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.