Looking out my back door: Do not go gentle into that good night

I’ve been accused more than once of being Polly Perfect or Goody Gertie Two-Shoes. “It’s your smile. You always see the bright side. You think life is always wonderful.” (Accusation often accompanied with spit.) Not guilty. Take this morning. I woke up on the down-in-the-dumps side, unaware of any obvious cause. A case of poor, poor pitiful me. My outlook black and bleak.

Poet Dylan Thomas, urges that “old age should burn and rage at close of day.” This ol’ gal barely managed a smoldering yawn at dawn. Sighed. Rolled out of bed. Into shower. Into clothes. Studied clouds. Listened to distant th...