In Sunday's New York Times there was an obituary that ended with the words: "He wanted to be remembered by asking that you read anything written by Aldous Huxley". This gave me a lot to think about. What if the person had been a joker and wrote "anything written by James Joyce". I don't know about you, but I have tried time after time to read Joyce and I can't do it. I've never read "Brave New World" either, but I think I will look for a copy and see if it is readable. Myself, I would say read "anything written by Anne Morrow Lindberg". She is my favorite author and I have every book she had ever written. Some of my favorite quotes from her are as follows:

"Don't wish me happiness, I don't expect to be happy, it's gotten beyond that somehow.
Wish me courage and strength and a sense of humor. I will need them all."

"There are no happy days, just happy moments."

"Grief can't be shared. Everyone carries it alone. His own burden in his own way."

Now you may think those quotes are gloomy, even downers, but I see her common sense and realistic view of life coming through them. Who, without drugs, has ever been happy every minute of an entire day? Even with help, no one can be happy all the time. After Maria died, I wondered if I would ever be happy again, really happy. Then I thought of the movie "It's a Mad, Mad World" and the final scene when everything has gone wrong with their quest for the money, the men are all in traction in hospital beds, and Spencer Tracy says he'll never laugh again. Then in storms Ethel Merman and slips on a banana peel and they all start laughing, laughing so hard they can't stop. I catch myself laughing now and then, sometimes at my grandchildren and sometimes at things I am remembering. Today on television they were talking about cruises and I remembered a cruise Timmy and I took. It was the Captain's party and everyone was dressed up and a photographer was taking pictures as you entered the ball room. You had to wait in line for the photo shoot and finally Timmy and I had our turn. We stood stiffly in front of the camera and the photographer, unhappy with our pose, directed Timmy in a beautiful poetic Jamaican accent "to put your hand on the lady" . Timmy, always the comic, grabbed for my tits and the photographer said excitedly "No, No, not there!" Well, almost twenty years later that memory came back to me and I laughed. I don't think you can stop laughter.

Maria loved to laugh. She would probably have advised "read anything by David Sedaris" her favorite author. His Halloween story of the neighbors trick or treating or his Dutch version of Christmas Eve would make anyone laugh. Maybe after I read Huxley, I will look for Sedaris.