One old lady’s ramblings at the garage sale has me thinking. She said she was always told that she had rose-colored glasses, as if that was a bad thing. Better to be realistic according to her brother, she said. I’m not so sure. I began life like any child–wide-eyed, open, curious. My innocent look on life was shattered early, and I was one who only saw bad. Bad things, bad people. No way out. As a teenager, I considered myself a realist. Superior to those around me who saw only good things. Let’s be honest…a realist is just a glass-half empty person who think he/she is seeing things as they are. None of us see things as they are. I worked hard to be positive. It was a little like pretty icing on a mud pie. This lasted for years. Perhaps until my son was born. I know something shifted then. Now, I think having ros-colored glasses isn’t such a bad thing. Good for peace of mind. Yes, the world often seems nuts, crazy, insane even. But one person cannot fix it all. You can choose what you focus on and what you choose to fix, if that’s you’re thing.

I told the short elderly lady that I didn’t think rose-colored glasses were too bad after all.

You may wonder what she bought. She bought my extra copy of “Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life.” I think for grandkids. I can’t remember. It’s totally brilliant. The moment couldn’t be more perfect:  to be discussing how one sees life with someone buying “The Meaning of Life.” Odd. Serendipitous.