Come What May

“Just when you start to think you’ll never again think ‘I’m deeply sad’…” Delores sighed. In happier days she was Dee or Didi – names so chirpy a sparrow would be embarrassed to own such a moniker – but today she was
Delores, full of sorrow in this vale of tears. 

“Why are you sad, dear?” Frona frowned at her friend. She was well used to Didi/Delores’ ups and downs, although she didn’t understand them in the least. Life was a practical common sense affair, Frona thought, you lived your life, you did what needed doing, and it was good.

“I have no idea,” Delores said, “As usual. Haven’t got a clue. Can’t write, can’t create, I’ve got nothing.”

“That seems like a reason to me. If you’re a writer, you need to write. If you’re a reader, you need to read. Painters need to paint. Bakers need to bake. Simple as that. I’m feeling like some cookies, hot from the oven.”

“Drowned in wine,” Delores snipped back. “I didn’t ask to be an artist or a writer.”

“Ha!” hooted Frona. “I grew up with you girl! You wanted to create from preschool – probably before but you don’t remember because memory doesn’t work so well when you can’t storify it.”

“Storify?”

“Set it to words. Can’t do that if you can’t talk, now can you? It’s all raw experience, no context, just like dogs and cats, only not having stories, if they don't have them, don’t hinder their memories none. But humans, we can’t do anything not set to a story; we were gifted with language and then stories it had to be.”

“Cursed more like it. Given a sacred duty to clothe the world in story? Life is best when dressed in fairy tales?” Delores smiled at her friend, intrigued by the idea.

“Yes, a sacred duty,” Frona agreed, a solemn expression playing on her face. She continued, “I read once that Jesus was a god who told stories and Christian scripture does say that we are made in God’s image…”

“Frona, you think God ever sat there, maybe on a hot afternoon one of those seven days and thought, ‘I have no idea what to do next'?"

Frona laughed, “Sure thing, dear, that why we have platypuses, star-nosed moles, and really colorful butts on baboons. You just know God was messing about because the ideas just weren’t flowing. But, you know what? The world would be sadly lacking without platypuses."

“You got me there; but, a god without ideas is a scary thing perhaps,” Delores mused, not so optimistic about the concept.

“More a delight,” Frona laughed, “showing us that some of the best ideas come when we’re bored and stumped and haven’t got a clue.”

“Come what may, I will create today,” Delores rhymed, “sucks as a couplet.”

“That it does. But then, some things round about, like fleas, let you know that sometimes even God misses when it comes to writing the poetry of life. But then, you turn around and there’s gay penguins. You can’t ever say it’s all meaningless and hopeless and empty in a universe with gay penguins.”