Life is just a bowl of cherries.
Don’t take it serious; life’s so mysterious.
You work, you save, you worry so,
But you can’t take your dough when you go, go, go.
So keep repeating it’s the berries.
The strongest oak must fall,
The sweet things in life, to you were just loaned
So how can you lose what you’ve never owned?
Life is just a bowl of cherries,
So live and laugh at it all.
— George Gershwin and performed by Judy Garland
Life isn’t always a bowl of cherries, is it? Sometimes it has the irony of a joke whose humor one doesn’t appreciate when one suffers grief, disappointments or declining health and vitality. Robert Browning wrote, “Come grow old with me — the best is yet to be.” Browning was a romantic.
The subject of Peggy Lee’s hit song “Is That All There Is?” was never satisfied. Probably most people have times when they’re restless or dissatisfied. I prefer the great Erma Bombeck’s appraisal: “Life may not be the party we hoped for… but while we are here we might as well dance!”
It’s human nature to kick the can of our future — and inevitable — demise down the road. As Scarlett said, “Tomorrow is another day!” Practical and considerate people buy their grave sites in advance. Alas, Bill and I can’t agree on our destination! (Remind me to tell you a funny story!) My attitude has been, “Why should I spend money that I could be enjoying today on my grave?”
“It is easier to sail many thousand miles through cold and storm and cannibals than it is to explore the private sea, the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans of one’s being . . .” — Henry David Thoreau Walden
Bill said, “At least we should write our obituaries so that Vicki won’t be burdened.” Eek! I reluctantly agreed and was catapulted into an exploration of my “private sea.” Why in the world does one need an obituary, anyway? I’d just as lief give my dates, names of my spouse and daughter and say, “Been there, done that!” and let it go with that. The people who know me know what I’ve done, and those who don’t won’t be interested.
“We are such stuff as dreams are made on . . .” — William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream
I found myself returning to questions that we talked about when we were earnest college students: “Who am I? Why am I here? What’s the meaning of it all? Where am I going?” I am you, and you are me, and we are everyone. Unless we’ve done great deeds or become famous or notorious, most of us live pretty much the same lives with minor variations in the details. We love, we laugh, we cry. We have triumphs and tragedies. We have friendships and families, establish homes, marry, divorce or remain single, perhaps have affairs, work, and enjoy vacations and hobbies.
An obituary gives only a broad outline so that some may recognize our passing. My obituary lists which school and universities I attended and that I was a teacher, wife, mother, government employee, Realtor, volunteer and the writer of this column. It reveals little of who I really was.
If the day and the night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more immortal — that is your success . . . The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little stardust caught, a segment of the rainbow that I have clutched. — Thoreau
Shakespeare also wrote in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, “What fools these mortals be.” I must not worry overmuch about the past and its regrets or unfulfilled dreams. Instead, I must greet each fleeting, precious day with joy and be on the lookout for rainbows. wclarke@comcast.net