It's been said many times that life is a crap shoot; I think of it more as a walk through a minefield. Like yesterday, for example, when a high-speed commuter train from Seattle to Portland derailed on a bridge and dangled over the road below like a child's Christmas toy gone bad. I was not on board, but 77 other people were. Three of them died and today hundreds awoke in serious condition in area hospitals, yet I woke up in my cozy bed same as usual and was just fine. Lucky me, and how come?
I also was not at my desk in Manhattan's financial district when a jet plane crashed into it, killing me instantly, or worse, sparing me and making me choose between death by the encroaching fire or by falling 100 stories to the concrete street below, a fate met by many in 2001. Nor was I partying at a Las Vegas country music festival last October when a maniac shot random concertgoers, killing 58 and injuring hundreds more. Why them and not me?
The simple answer is that I didn't work at the World Trade Center and I'm no country music fan, but is there something deeper? Closer to home, in fact just a few miles from where I live, a painter of great talent, a woman just about my age, contracted a crippling disease a few years ago and has been unable to paint since then. Now confined to a wheelchair, word is she's doing poorly. Why her and not me? And why did a friend of mine down the street receive a diagnosis of breast cancer just a few days before I got a letter saying my recent mammogram was "normal?"
The only thing you can do is be careful out there. And if you make it home in one piece, be sure to pet the kitty, put the kettle on and praise the Lord.
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