I decided recently that the worry that woke me in the morning, that tagged along with me on my travels to work, and the worry that sat with me as I readied myself for bed at days end, was part and parcel of an elite initiation into my senior years.
That’s what I thought, for quite awhile actually. But not too long ago, I was going through my old jewelry box and dug out my charm bracelet from the vintage ’70’s. Tucked amongst some travel charms, near some love charms was a tiny little worry bird. What? I thought. I was 17/18 years old when I wore this bracelet. I know quite well that worry was part of my make -up, my father seemed to me the close second cousin to Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh, but I didn’t think worry was a close friend of mine. The worry bird stated otherwise.
