LIFE IS WORTH LIVING

New Zealand Listener, Volume 1, Issue 11, 8 September 1939, Page 10

LIFE IS WORTH LIVING

looking for bargains in blankets. My old ones were perfectly threadbare. I refuse to keep them forever. Anyhow, I simply stage a nightmare and thrust a foot through all the weakest spots so that there’s no excuse needed for my sudden mid-season refurnishing bout. Well, there I was, and suddenly there beside me, buying tea-towels as though her life depended on it, was a school friend I hadn’t seen for years. It was jolly to see her again! I knew she’d married — and pretty well, as to this life’s comforts. She seemed glad to see me too-and then suddenly she was in that tearing hurry again. "Good heavens!" I said, "What is the rush?’ "Rush!" she answered, "Why, I rush from morning till night! My life is one long rush!" "What on earth for?" I said. "Why?" "Well, to begin with, there’s eight beds to make, and... oh, Lord, look at that clock, the children will be home! Come and see me... oh, any time; I’m always there." Ve other day I was cruising round

Partly because 1 was curious, I did. I couldn’t imagine why she should be hurtling through-her days with as much time to look about as a comet. Of course I found she hadn’t a maid. And more to do in her twelve hours of daylight than any woman should attempt to make possible. Her nerves, muscle, and temper were strained to breaking point. She said herself that by the end of the day she wasn’t» fit to live with, and that she never spoke to the-& children except to snap their heads off! It was depressing. When I'd known her she’s been one of the pleasantest, brightest and cleverest girls. . All the way home I tried to work it out. And I came to the conclusion that her life just wasn’t worth living. But really, it is madness to attempt the impossible. We all do it at times, of course. But, if we just can’t find a maid to share our household chores, then ‘ we should simply slacken up on our job. Peel it and pare it away to its barest essentials, till we can take a deep breath and begin living like a rational being again. The sacrifice of all our energies helps no-one. And it doesn’t go on indefinitely without a crash. It’s the little extra efforts that are so killing. Cut * them out. Finish with them. What are all those tuppeny-ha’penny obligations, after all, compared with the one we owe our husbands and children? Maybe they'll miss certain small things, comforts and care they’ve come to expect. But do nothing at all for at least part of your day, and they'll be overjoyed to find you back with them — not nervewrecked but sympathetic, not exhausted but full of health and repose. At the least, it’s worth trying.

Ann

Slade