Sometimes it's hard to do the right thing. Like me, today. It's raining and cold and dark despite it being daytime. (Here in Maine we haven't seen the sun all week.) It's downright dreary outside and I want to stay in bed, certainly not drive downtown and spend four hours comforting the parents of sick children in a hospital. Yet that is what I have committed to do once a week for at least six months. It hasn't even been
one month and I'm already starting to concoct excuses in my mind. (My garage door is frozen and my car is trapped inside? I forgot I'm having root canal this morning? I ate some bad shellfish last night?)
But then I saw this thing my son posted on his Facebook page and it snapped me out of it. I have no memory of who Ralph Waldo Emerson is or was, and cannot think of one thing he ever wrote, but today, after the sick children but before the hot tea in front of the warm fire, I will stop at a bookstore and find something by him. He obviously had the clues.
Sometimes my son -- and let's not forget Ralph -- can be so on target.
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