A Gift for our Guest Speaker

We had a fantastic meeting last nite. Just finished sending out emails to a couple new members welcoming them to New Directions. What I'm really doing, however, is welcoming them to the new world of mental illness. It's a very important job.

Last nite everyone in our small group worked in concert with one another to encourage people on their new journeys of life with mental illness.

Really, it's not so bad. Sure, major suffering required, but then certain alleviation of same. People say we feel life deeper than other people. Not sure I agree. What about artists? What about journalists? I'm reading a 5-part NY Times series on a reporter kidnapped by the Taliban. This man felt so deeply about life he exposed himself to the worst dangers a man possibly can and unfortunately fell victim to the crazed brainwashed world of these extreme Islamic militants.

The rigors of the terrain they live in seems to have seeped into their pores, their view of God and all of life. Their god is merciless and all-punishing as is their landscape, with its harsh climates - sunscorched earth and droughts. This is all they know. Is it possible to be any different in a land like this?

We all worked together last nite to congratulate members who had gotten promotions, returned to work, found a job, reunited with long-lost children or adult children, sold their homes for better homes, lots of victories.

I was not victorious however in selecting a good gift for our guest speaker. I'd erroneously thought he had 2 young children. Instead our corpulent speaker whom I'd never met has a 4-month-old daughter Haley Jo. At Kremp's Florist, with great aforethought and pacing round the store in deep thought I purchased a gift for the whole family: chocolate covered pretzels.

How those two kids will love the colorful pretzels I thought. I bought the worst ones, the ones I would definitely never eat: one choc-covered pretzel was covered with M&Ms (yuk! too sweet), another had tiny colorful jimmies (whoa! stick in your teeth), another had coconut (where's my dental floss?) and the fourth was the one I'd eat, slathered with caramel.

I know what you're saying: It's the thought that counts. Thanks for your support.

When I got home I made myself one of my delicious fried eggs and sliced a piece of homemade bread. I sat on the couch and munched away. Then Sarah came in, she's visiting from NY, and we attacked the licorice I bought on Sunday.

Mom, this is so good, she said, so moist.

I was popping em in my mouth nonstop. Then Scott came upstairs. He was exhausted.

Hide the licorice, I said, covering my eyes with my hand.

Hmmm. Wonder where he put it. Ever play Hide the afikomen? I ain't gonna look.