My little town.
We often get sidetracked. We start something and forget to finish the job. Sometimes it takes years to get back to the task.
Usually, you see the front of a building that has been painted and the sides left for another time.
But, not this building. Something really got in the way. I’m hoping it was a beer or a mixed drink. Or, a lot of beers and drinks. But, I fear the worst. This building is located in a really rough neighborhood. I’m not sure that I’d work there even in the blue light of dusk. I’m thinking that someone started to put some real work into this rehab project. The bare wood isn’t worn. It’s been stripped and patched in places. Someone doing that kind of work wouldn’t just leave it. Whatever happened was in the past. The pink paint is…
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“When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.”
Most of my readers are probably already familiar with the famous words of Helen Keller quoted above. It is my assertion that her statement is but a half-truth, omitting even a mention of the doors of sadness that line the corridors of our lives and behave in like manner. If it were not for sadness, I could not know happiness; if it were not for happiness, I could not know I was sad.
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