Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.

Slowly we became silent, and silence itself if an enemy to friendship.

As for my father, I never knew whether he believed God was a mathematician but he certainly believed God could count and that only by picking up God's rhythms were we able to regain power and beauty. Unlike many Presbyterians, he often used the word "beautiful.

So it is that we can seldom help anybody. Either we don't know what part to give or maybe we don't like to give any part of ourselves. Then, more often than not, the part that is needed is not wanted. And even more often, we do not have the part that is needed.

Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.

It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us.

When exhausted and feeling sorry for yourself, at least change your socks.