Today was awesome. It included cooking, spending time with awesome friends, and watching a wonderful (albeit slightly pitchy in places) rendition of Gilbert and Sullivan's Pirates of Penzance.
I met someone today. He was an older gentleman, a friend's grandfather. We went to visit him in the hospital. Even in his weakened state, I could see the strength that typified his generation.
Of course, not all from among his number were so strong. Still, I found myself comparing my generation to his, and finding ours lacking.
We're soft, used to all our petty comforts: our TVs, comfy couches, and milk that comes carefully prepackaged so we don't remember how it got there. Sometimes I tell myself that it would be nice to leave civilization for a while, just for the challenge. Think about it! Foraging, hunting, living simply...I'm starting to think the Amish had the right idea.
I exaggerate of course, but only slightly.
I don't really know what it takes to be that strong. Probably another World War or a major hardship like the Great Depression, unfortunate as either may sound. In any case, if I were to attain only half of the discipline, fortitude, and self-sacrifice owned by the man on that hospital bed, I would count myself more than fortunate.
Writing these words, I sink back down into the cush of my armchair, shaking my head at the world's sad state. It's all going to pot, really.
Cush, by the way, is not a word sanctioned by any dictionary unless it refers to the Kingdom of Cush, which I believe is supposed to have been somewhere in Africa.