The shining hour has arrived. Something different has been waiting for a long, long time.
My wife for one has never stood so straight or looked so beautiful. Either this depth and richness is a wild new thing or I just passed third grade. Best not go into that. I’ve never felt so strongly that I have a friend. She always tells me I can do absolutely anything I want. Well then.
For my part, I understand more clearly what I’m here for. I never thought that that would happen. This morning she told me, “You look better. Not so worried…”
I never saw my father when he wasn’t worried. Now that I’ve outlived his span of years, I may have out-evolved him, too. That’s what you get for not hugging your kid, you’re just not carried along. You get the things you think about. That’s just the way it is. The reason I never killed myself or ended up in jail has nothing to do with those who gave me birth. There is a deeper context.
I am blameless in the shining hour.
Now if I can only learn to work!
John Hamilton Farr lives at 7,000 feet in Ranchos de Taos, New Mexico, U.S.A. As New York Times best-selling author James C. Moore tells it, John is “a man attuned to the world who sees it differently than you and I and writes about it with a language and a vision of life that is impossible to ignore.” This JHFARR.COM site is the master writing archive. To email John, please see CONTACT INFO on .png)
My dad was a worrier, like me. He died of a stroke when he was 73. My mother is the most positive person I’ve ever known, she sees the good in everything. She will be 104 later this month. Her mind is still perfect. I think there’s something to that positive outlook thing, along with good genes.
Congratulations to your mother! That’s just amazing. (My dad died of lung cancer at 67. )
good drugs?
Nope, she doesn’t even take aspirin.
I didn’t mean the mom, I meant JHF!
Wouldn’t make any difference in the way I write.
If you know what you’re here for you’re better off than most. I grew up thinking I’d never live past thirty-five. Thirty-five came and went…then forty-five…then fifty-five… So now I’m thinking, “what the hell am I here for?” I’d only planned for thirty-five.
I do, actually. It’s kind of inevitable, which is nice.
The question of purpose is probably related to what do you want, at this point. Don’t want to be dead and dragging around regrets.
A guy I used to work with sent this out, it applies to a lot of us:
“What if you were stuck in one place and every day was exactly the same?”
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