Fret My Thread

My thread is frayed and worn with age. Though it shakes now, my thread will never break.  Yes, a given day may force a particular fiber to waver, but it will hold together.

My thread is strong. My thread is fierce.

My thread is the belief that it – I – will be okay.  That despite the curve balls life throws, I will hit each and every one of them. And even if I merely bunt, that I will still connect and the game will go on. I believe that readers will understand my reference, though most know my athletic abilities are … well, “limited” is a kind way of putting it.  I will survive – with analogies, similes, and the occasional metaphor — with all of my word friends in whatever form that they appear to help me, and maybe, if I’m on my game,  provide a strand for others too.

My thread is hope. I hold onto it with great vigor.

I hope for a Parkinson’s cure. I hope that those who draft gun control legislation will talk to those who are fond of guns.  And that together they will break the stranglehold the NRA has on this debate. I hope that my children will thrive and remember me with kindness – I never, ever claimed, nor even aspired to parental perfection. I hope my friends will hold an honest mirror to me and that my enemies will extend the same courtesy.  I hope the best for you, and I hope for an end to hopelessness. I hope beyond all reason because I choose the light over the dark, and hope over despair.
​I hope because I can, because it is my thread.