Hey Marion! Isn't it Shakespeare - "Sweet are the uses of adversity"?
When bad things happen, some people just roll over - but we dig in.
Somehow we must have that in our natures.
My mother used to say to me: "You're just like your father!" (Ha! Not always meant
as a compliment). I eventually had to admit she was right. I think I'm like my mother only by
training & like my father by nature. There's an element of intensity/ferocity that is our fuel -
for the passion you speak of.
For awhile, my Dad was on a lamp-tinkering kit. He'd retrieve castaway lamps from
the town and rewire. My mother finally had to put a stop to it & say: "Frank! Don't you dare bring one more lamp into this house!".
After he died, I assumed the care & maintenance of his beloved yard & garden not knowing
a weed from a perennial. I'd catch sight of myself in a window, marching by with his big
pole lopper, covered with dirt & pine needles - and think:"Oh Crap! I've turned into Daddy!".
The neighbors noticed it too, because they'd yell out their windows: "Hey "Frank Howard #2"!
Do you think you could possibly stop one or two seconds for a cup of coffee?".
Strangers passing by the house have asked me: "Who did your landscaping? It's fabulous."
and when I tell them I did it - they look at me in disbelief.
That's another example of joy from sorrow. After Dad died, I couldn'r bear the thought that
his yard would be neglected - so, for his sake, I "dug in" (literally). I found out that I loved
it just as much as he did & it's now one of my greatest joys.
I was 29 when Dad died (he'd just turned 70). How old were you Marion when you lost your Dad?
mary ann