I’m glad you asked.
Blogs have always represented the ultimate in useless self-indulgence to me. Does anybody really care if you ate lunch and had gas? Or just saw a leaf that reminded you of your childhood pet? Or your boss was mean? I sure don’t. But, I’ve always enjoyed writing, and it’s one of the things I can still do. I find that my most recent writings have been very helpful regarding my experiences and recovery. It should also keep me from getting into trouble (depending on what I write, that is).
So, I decided to do (keep?) a blog. I can’t stand Facebook more than blogs and nobody wants to be inundated with unsolicited emails. Besides - this way, you can simply not log on and I’ll never know.
A blog gives me a chance to occasionally share my thoughts and feelings on a bigger scale - something I’ve never been all that comfortable doing but seems to reflect one of the changes I’ve faced over these past several months - in a controlled environment. All of a sudden I’m an open book. I’m also guessing that for many of you, I’m the person most affected by COVID (who actually made it) that you know. One of my mother’s favorite expressions was “You don’t know what goes on here.” Well ... now you will.
You’re probably also wondering about the title of this blog. Another great question!
Just before I turned three (and before you start thinking I was some strange little kid - which I was - I only have a few blurry still pictures in my head of this incident but my mother spoke of it often) my parents and I vacationed at a swanky hotel in Miami Beach, the Sherry-Frontenac. It’s probably long gone by now. Big, right on the ocean, and off the grand lobby was an even grander ballroom where bingo games were frequently held.
Since the games took place in the early evening my parents took me with them one time. And that night my mother won a game. She immediately took me out to the lobby - carried me as I recall - and we made our way to the table near the ballroom entrance where a man handed out the prizes. Behind him was a series of shelves on which different items were displayed. Although, now that I think about it, with her bad back she probably just lifted me up so I could see all the prizes.
My mom asked me what I wanted, pointing toward the bottom shelf. I looked at the different choices for a while until my eyes landed on a large stuffed donkey wearing a sombrero that was sitting on an upper shelf. I silently pointed at it. The man behind the table smiled and shook his head no, telling me he was sorry but the prizes on the upper shelves were for people who’d won many games not just one. He pleasantly directed me to choose a prize from the bottom shelf.
I just as pleasantly shook my head no, and again without saying a word or exhibiting any temper or displeasure continued pointing to the donkey. The man slightly less pleasantly repeated the rules and his suggestion, telling me I could have anything I wanted from the bottom shelf.
This went on for a few more rounds, my mother remaining as calm as I was while people were beginning to stop and watch the standoff between this guy and me. He was starting to get a little frustrated while I never broke a sweat or made any fuss. All I did was continue shaking my head and pointing at the donkey.
Finally, after one of the onlookers said that I was just a good kid and he should give me what I wanted, the guy threw in the proverbial towel and handed me the donkey in defeat.
And ever since that night I’ve somehow always managed to get my donkey in my own way without making a scene.
