by Frances Edstrom
I'm a little worried about 2007. I'm not usually into omens, but it started Christmas Eve when Fred said he had the worst cold he's ever had. Actually, it started a little sooner, when Katie told me her daughter was going to the urgent care for a strep test. The next week, a candidate for a job at the office called to cancel his interview, saying he'd gotten norovirus for Christmas. My friend Dort called to say we shouldn't come visit because everyone had the flu. Then the day before the kids left for home, I came down with something that acted suspiciously like Fred's cold.
I spent New Year's Eve alone reading a thriller. John came home from the house party where we were both supposed to be guests in time to ring in the New Year with Dick Clark (if I didn't feel depressed before seeing him, I sure did after). We blew each other kisses from opposite sides of the room, and went to bed "” me to the "sick room" bed. Right now, I'm looking up the dates of the Muslim (January 20) and Chinese (February 18) New Years, wondering if I'll feel well enough to celebrate by then. What I should really be doing is finding out how to buy stock in Kimberly-Clark, the paper products division.
But, unlike Anna in the "King and I," whenever I feel afraid, I don't "whistle a happy tune." Nope, I read the newspaper.
People are always saying that there's never any good news in "the news," but they just aren't looking in the right places. Of course there's a lot of bad news if all you focus on are the Vikings, Gophers and Iraq. But hey, there are at least eight people who feel so good about life that they want to be the next president of the U.S.!
It has always puzzled me that anyone would want to be president. Fame and fortune don't seem to me a good trade for personal freedom. Sure, you get your name in the history books, but what good does it do you? By then, you're history. It wasn't until Gerald Ford died that I ever heard any of the major media saying anything nice about him. Maybe I'm too attached to being able to jump in my car and take a five-minute trip to the store. Can you imagine Laura Bush timing her trip for groceries to get in on all the free samples of frozen pizza and little smoked wieners? How would that play in Peoria?
See, I already feel better. Reading the newspaper does it every time.