Accents
At wit’s end
Copy-pasting is what I’m doing, dear reader, because my right shoulder has severe tendinitis. My right arm goes limp on the keyboard. The culprit: household chores in this America where a domestic helper (d-h, what else) is a jewel, a cut diamond, a treasure you cannot find in this vast continent. My writing hand, the left, is trying to manage a brief intro. Oh, gosh, I’m almost at wit’s end in a crack to meet a deadline.
Chuchi Pestano of Kababayinihan, advocate par excellence of women’s concerns, women’s welfare, and women’s rights, has sent me lines from Erma Bombeck, a widely syndicated humor columnist, before sickness did her in. For title of this column, I used the name of her book, At Wit’s End, I read a long time ago—a compendium that stirred up a lot of laughter, besieged as she was by the trials of everyday, leaving her at wit’s end.
I drank in her pain, grief, anguish, and being a cancer survivor, I passionately empathize with Erma Bombeck’s lament for the things she missed in life: the what-might-have-been’s, the many “If only I did what I should have done” at the spur of the moment — to relish every second, every minute, every hour in the spontaneous flow of time. Gosh, the things we left undone, the many things that should have been lovingly, richly, fully accomplished. So much to pine for, and then there was no more time. Too much, too late.
IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER - by Erma Bombeck
(written after she found out she was dying from cancer)
"If I had my life to live over... I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day. "I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage. "I would have talked less and listened more. "I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained, or the sofa faded. "I would have eaten the popcorn in the good living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace. "I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed. "I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains. "I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth. "I would have cried and laughed less while watching television, and more while watching life. "I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil, or was guaranteed to last a lifetime. "Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle. "When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, ‘Later. Now go get washed up for dinner.’ There would have been more ‘I love you’s.’ More ‘I'm sorry's.’ "But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute... look at it and really see it... live it... and never give it back. "Stop sweating the small stuff. Don't worry about who doesn't like you, who has more, or who's doing what. Instead, let's cherish the relationships we have with those who DO love us. Life is too short to let it pass you by. We only have one shot at this and then it's gone."
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Apropos March as Women’s Month, the mystique of womankind is brought to the fore by African-American activist Maya Angelou in her poem, Phenomenal Woman. Angelou's early childhood was filled with tragedy that only a formidable spirit could overcome. Here is a woman emerging from what she herself described as a "roller coaster of challenges and triumphs” to become a best-selling author, educator, historian, actress, and a strong voice for blacks and women worldwide.
Phenomenal Woman
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies/I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion size/But when I start to tell them/They think I'm telling lies./I say.../It's in the reach of my arms/The span of my hips/The stride of my steps/The curl of my lips./I'm a woman/ Phenomenally/Phenomenal woman/That's me.
I walk into a room/Just as cool as you please/And to a man/The fellows stand or/Fall down on their knees/Then they swarm around me/A hive of honey bees./I say.../It's the fire in my eyes/And the flash of my teeth/The swing of my waist/And the joy in my feet./I'm a woman/Phenomenal woman/That's me.
Men themselves have wondered/What they see in me/They try so much/But they can't touch/My inner mystery./When I try to show them/They say they still can't see./I say/It's in the arch of my back/The sun of my smile/The ride of my breasts/The grace of my style./I'm a woman/Phenomenally/Phenomenal woman/That's me.
Now you understand/Just why my head's not bowed/I don't shout or jump about/Or have to talk real loud/When you see me passing/It ought to make you proud./I say/It's in the click of my heels/The bend of my hair/The palm of my hand/The need for my care./'Cause I'm a woman/Phenomenally/Phenomenal woman/That's me.
Erma Bombeck has passed on the torch to Maya Angelou and to all of womankind. We honor them when we keep the torch burning.(Email: lagoc@hargray.com)