Life is Drama

 

In looking for something, I found treasures…I think I have used that phrase before...anyway...

Well, not treasures exactly.  Journals from years ago, I found my journals. 

At times throughout life, I have kept one or more journals at any given time.  They would be filled with everything—a record of good and bad events, thoughts, and concerns.

In my childhood, there was nothing print-worthy happening in my opinion, so my journals-diaries were little snippets of drama.  A verruca wart on my foot was exaggerated to be a crippling illness.  That would then morph into life threatening.  To make the diary appear even more dramatic, I dribbled some cologne water over entries to create tear smears.  Oh, I was big on drama as a child, my father always maintained.

Drama must be part of life in one shape or another.  Falling in love, getting married, childbirth—those are darned dramatic.  I have photos to prove it!

But, the little dramas, the ones that are interspersed on a daily basis?  

Losing one’s car keys?  Not drama.  Standing in line at Starbuck’s behind an elderly couple holding hands?  That’s drama.  Their whole life was played out before me in simple gestures, soft looks, few words, and even their order. 

She had “…the decaf coffee with vanilla syrup…not too much, now…and room for creamer…”  He had the “…full-strength stuff, and …NO, I will not have decaf instead….”  (There lays a whole one act play, filled to the brim with drama, leaving a little room for cream:)  “…leave room for cream…you have real cream, dontcha? Not that fake stuff they call creamer…”

See what I mean?  Real drama.  I wanted to follow them to a table, but my order was ‘to go’.  Who knows what I missed? 

Those journals covered months!  Months, I tell you. They morphed into years without realizing it. 

 

Disappointment is a Harsh Burden

Disappointment is a harsh burden, especially when there was great expectation.  Any fan of mysteries can understand this sentiment.

I remember the Agatha Christie books and how my white-haired grandmother would devour them.  Devour them!  Then those books came to me, and I became a Christie fan.

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In 1985 or so, BBC released the Agatha Christie Mysteries starring Joan Hickson.  She was an amazing Miss Marple, perfect to the letter.  The excellent filming, settings that screamed “England!  Right here!”, as well as the accuracy of clothing and times presented all the engaging drama one has come to expect from BBC mysteries.

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Let’s leave Dame Margaret Rutherford out of this, shall we.

Today’s American murder/drama/police dramas have gone down a dark, predictable road.  My heart is broken.

It is a dead give-away who did what the moment actors start appearing.  Excluding the usual main characters, the “bad guy” will be the once-off actor who is the most famous and gets paid the most.

And the plot?  The instigating event occurs by the 14^th minute.  The searching for clues lasts until the 47^th minute.  The big “Ah HA!” hits around the 52^nd minute, with winding down (through commercials) until the 58^th minute.  Then there are ads and previews of the next episode.

Disappointment, indeed.  Agatha Christie would have wept.

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There Go I

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On Christmas Day these events I observed:

A lone man shivering and looking at his feet while waiting for a bus

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Cold rain falling on an overloaded pick-up truck as it moved belongings from one abode to another

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The sound of an ambulance coming from a near-by assisted living complex

Christmas tree lot with many unsold trees, all unattended

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A single car parked at McDonalds

On the freeway, a car with a flat tire and a woman with children inside waiting for the tow truck

On Christmas Day these events I experienced:

My granddaughters in their pajamas, opening gifts, squealing with delight

My grandson (six months old) sitting in my lap, chewing on his favorite finger

Laughter from my family

Safety

Warmth

Food

Holding my husband’s hand

But for a twist of chance or fortune, I/we could have been in the first list.  In fact, we have been on that list at one time or another.  What about you?  What did you see on Christmas Day?  Have you ever been in one of those spots?

Drama of Life

In looking for something, I found treasures…I think I have used that phrase before...anyway...

Well, not treasures exactly.  Journals from years ago, I found my journals. 

At times throughout life, I have kept one or more journals at any given time.  They would be filled with everything—a record of good and bad events, thoughts, and concerns.

In my childhood, there was nothing print-worthy happening in my opinion, so my journals-diaries were little snippets of drama.  A verruca wart on my foot was exaggerated to be a crippling illness.  That would then morph into life threatening.  To make the diary appear even more dramatic, I dribbled some cologne water over entries to create tear smears.  Oh, I was big on drama as a child, my father always maintained.

Drama must be part of life in one shape or another.  Falling in love, getting married, childbirth—those are darned dramatic.  I have photos to prove it!

But, the little dramas, the ones that are interspersed on a daily basis?  Now, those are the stuff of life. 

Losing one’s car keys?  Not drama.  Standing in line at Starbuck’s behind an elderly couple holding hands?  That’s drama.  Their whole life was played out before me in simple gestures, soft looks, few words, and even their order. 

She had “…the decaf coffee with vanilla syrup…not too much, now…and room for creamer…”  He had the “…full-strength stuff, and …NO, I will not have decaf instead….”  See?  There lays a whole one act play, filled to the brim with drama, leaving a little room for cream:  “…leave room for cream…you have real cream, dontcha? Not that fake stuff they call creamer…”

See what I mean?  Real drama.  I wanted to follow them to a table, but my order was ‘to go’.  Who knows what I missed? 

Those journals will have months!  months, I tell you, of future postings.  I can feel the drama vibrating through the cardboard covers.