Some people sit around pondering on the real meaning and purpose of life. Some of those who think about it come up with theories. Some theories are complete trash, some are quite weird, some fairly sensible but illogical, some with nothing. Those are the ones that suffer from depression for the rest of their lives.
Many people past and present have written down their theoretical findings, some have published them. Others have bought the books and some have read them and tried to understand what the author is trying to say. Those who succeed, think they know it all. Those who cannot fathom what it is being said gets depressed as in the previous round, and they’re even more depressed that they’ve spend hard-earned cash on a book that has merely increased their depression index.
I, on the other hand, can’t care less. Who am I to imagine that I can hit the nail on the head and come up with the explanation of life in my greying wintry years when all the great philosophers of the past haven’t been able to help us?
Having expressed my total indifference, I wonder how people will remember me when I have died /expired/ moved on/ transcended (strike out the words you don’t like). If a few remember me at all. For a while, anyway. Is there any specific or peculiar mannerism by which I may be remembered?
I certainly remember some people by specific words or expressions. Especially entertainers, like Dell-boy’s “purr-fick”
On the planning whiteboard in the pantry is one of Brynn’s typical theme drawings, the image of which will always be with me:
(Above): Brynn’s work on the whiteboard: Coco the (late) cat sitting at the window (presumably in Tyler’s upstairs bedroom) on the window cill, tailed curled up with outside trees visible through the panes.
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