I met with my women's group this week for a night of restorative laughter. At one point, someone said, "On Martha Stewart's show today, she showed how to take a piece of okra and make a decorative rubber-stamp with it."

Oh, that's funny, and it's anything but funny. What have we done with our lives? Am I wrong, or is this really sad?

Speaking of sad, I saw "About Schmidt" on Friday night. I saw it with a friend who likes light comedies, and I know the movie was nothing like what she expected. Or little like I expected. Today, I checked the ads once again; they say, "you'll love this comedy." Technically, drama needs only a happy ending to be called comedy, and this one has at least a moving, affirmative moment. I won't tell you what it is, in case you haven't seen it. And I laughed quite a few times; rarely were they easy laughs, though. Some satire, some just that uneasy laugh we give because something is so pitiful. Great acting, very good movie. Immensely sad, though, and where is the turnaround I expected? It's not just the character, either. The writers are fabulous observers of the most mundane our society has to offer, and I swear they found some of the ugliest places in the country for settings.

My husband and I agreed that the Jack Nicolson character is a "terribly sad man," but we meant something very different by that, I found after a little conversation. I said that they did a great job of making me care about him. He said he didn't care about him at all. So I understood that he meant "sad specimen of a man"--should have pulled himself up by his bootstraps and moved beyond sad, I suppose. My husband is always telling unfortunate characters to "get a life." I'd say this poor man tries to. His successes were qualified, at best. There's apparent epiphany, the beginning of feeling beyond oneself, of empathy. But I think there's also more, I think. I remember what seems to me an amazing flexibility, considering that the character had few resources to draw from. After every step of his journey that proved disappointing, he found a way to move on, without external incentive, without blaming others, without even existential will and the confidence of being right. Here is the affirmation I sought, a desire for my own life.

A Prayer

Let me do my work each day;
and if the darkened hours
of despair overcome me, may I
not forget the strength
that comforted me in the
desolation of other times. May I
still remember the bright
hours that found me walking
over the silent hills of my
childhood, or dreaming on the
margin of the quiet river,
when a light glowed within me,
and I promised my early God
to have courage among the
tempests of the changing years.
Spare me from bitterness
and from the sharp passions of
unguarded moments. May
I not forget that poverty and
riches are of the spirit.
Though the world know me not,
may my thoughts and actions
be such as shall keep me friendly
with myself. Lift my eyes
from the earth, and let me not
forget the uses of the stars.
Forbid that I should judge others
lest I condemn myself.
Let me not follow the clamour of
the world, but walk calmly
in my path. Give me a few friends
who will love me for what
I am, and keep ever burning
before my vagrant steps
the kindly light of hope. And
though age and infirmity overtake
me, and I come not within
sight of the castle of my dreams,
teach me still to be thankful
for life, and for time's olden
memories that are good and
sweet, and may the evening's
twilight find me gentle still.

Max Ehrmann
posted by Sandy at 4:24 PM