Some days it's had to choose what to write about, to stop or pause the inner dialogue long enough to settle on one topic. And some days, as during this week, it's hard to be, if not cheerful, at least - oh dear, this is difficult - non-committal? Don't dwell on depression. Difficult when you had the dinner guest I had last night. I'm still getting over him. You know the glass half-empty, half-full image. Well, he sees dirty water in a cracked glass and complains about it. He was really vicious about it last night. vicious and profane and vituperative and bitter. Well, he's unhappy. Perhaps we all are, most of us. The American writer Russell Baker said that there is as much happiness in a bottle of wine as most of us can bear. He also said you should never drink a martini more than fifty feet from your own bed. Something like that. I'm not checking right now. My point is, and I do have one, is that most people are not basically happy. Contentment is the most you can hope for, except on special (martini) occasions. I said in my book BEGINNINGS: A BOOK FOR WIDOWS, dealing with my and others' grief, that happiness is a by-product, not often achieved and not for long. However, I believed, and still do, that it is our obligation to dispense joy. That's why we send birthday cards and take soup to neighbours, and talk to strangers. My grocery delivery person this week, for example, works out regularly and gave me some physical training tips. How would I know that if I didn't talk to him? Oh, and remember Thumper's mother (in Disney's Bambi)? "If you can't say anything nice, don't say nothin at all." I can't believe I'm referring to Disney! The world according to Disney is not a good one for women. Move on. Oh dear. Have a nice day, and if it isn't, I don't want to hear about it.