THE GOLDEN MEAN

Little Cuddy just got a bath in the kitchen sink.  His step-daddy scrubbed and rubbed, and now he's fresh and clean and comfy.  Dale lifted him out of the sink and put him in a big bath towel I had ready to wrap him up in.  Then I put him out on the deck where the sun dried his curly coat.  Now the little guy is cuddled in his bed.

The chicken bought yesterday on sale is in our large dutch oven bubbling into a savory broth that will be ready for the egg noodles that will complete the chicken noodle soup.  Sundays are good soup days, even in the hot weather.  A loaf of the best rye bread came home in the grocery bag, and a slice with butter will top off the meal.  

Have been out and watered the petunia plant.  She's filled with red and white blossoms.  Still no sign of a wren.  Can't imagine that they've not arrived in this area yet.  Chances are good the little house will remain empty for the season.  We'll leave it out there, cuz it is a cute one that resembles a woven basket with a blue roof.  

While sitting out on the deck last evening sipping on a vodka-tonic, I read the daily words of Tao that I wish I'd read when I was young.  

To destroy something, lead it to its extreme.

To preserve something, keep to the middle.

Good advice, but too late.  These words mirror the idea of the Golden Mean.  Oh, how I remember thinking I had to invest myself 150% in others and situations.  I'd have been far better off if I'd have invested 75% of myself.  Perhaps I could've avoided a lot of pain and heartache.  Sometimes what we intend doesn't come off as a good thing, but rather an interference in someone else's life.  I think anything we do, we can over-do.  

This refers also to the business of "letting go."  I'm still learning how to do that.  I've learned that life is like an ocean.  There's no way we can understand its vastness and its depth.  Yet, we must float around the ocean, deal with the tides and tsunamis.  At times we can barely hang on, yet we must.  We cannot understand life anymore than we can understand the majestic seven seas.  I cling to the feeling that there's gotta be a compass and life-jacket inside me to have kept me from drowning.  

The older we get, the smaller our world becomes.  Things aren't so scattered, but rather drawn in closer.  We have less time left, and we can focus on that more.  The past shrinks in importance, and every moment prays for more moments.  

Isn't life interesting?  In one sense, we must try to "let go" of the stuff that brings us down.  At the same time, we "cling with all our might" to keep breathing and remain a microscopic part of the universe.