A real dilly

Dear Madrone, The other day, I was sitting at my formica table, in the kitchen, trying to get my papers in order, and staring at the pictures on my refrigerator, of the kids and their kids, all smiling, but none of them as young anymore as they are in those pictures. I can't complain, my children call me, they come around, and they treat me right. And my health is not bad considering I'm pushing 90. But all the papers, the bills, and the junk, it comes every day, rain or shine, and I wonder why we go through it all. make ourselves crazy trying to get our kids raised, keep food on the table, the house clean, all of it, since in the end, we check out, people divide up the stuff, and maybe say a few nice words, or shed some tears. What's the point of it all? Sitting around, Merrick

Dear Sitting, What do I look like? The Pope? As my father used to say, may he rest, if you could talk people out of being crazy, the looney bins would be empty. I have nothing to tell you that is going to me of much use. You have a nice house, good health and children who show you respect, even if you don't appreciate it. Somehow this is ruining your day. It takes all kinds.
God bless, Donna

Readers, remind me tomorrow to tell you more about a shot of stupid. It's not sinking in.