It’s Not Divine, Trust Me or Trust me, It’s Not Divine.

(Your choice of usage of the above is dependent on what form of sales you happen to be in.)
Words that glide off the tongue disappear more quickly than those words tending to block a happy incident of any kind.  Saying something positive and nice usually helps generate moods free of divisiveness.
There’s the word divine – which conjures up sublime. It doesn’t bother a person’s ear. Nothing about divine could possibly be painful. That is, unless the word happens to be used without practicality.  As an example, one mature (old) person says to another, “Isn’t the aging process divine?”
See what I mean, nothing about growing old is beautiful, magnificent, extremely pleasant, or delightfully perfect. Look at those new little crow’s feet just popping up around both eyes; aren’t they just divine. Not!
It is, of course, the alternative to growing old that warrants the label divine.
“You’ve got a lot more years a head of you,” the doctor tells you.
Tell me again.
Tell me again.
Please tell me again.
I love the way it sounds.
What a divine phrase.
I lingered in the large lobby of the medical building in order to “do my thing.” What kind of a thing would a mature man be doing as a lingerer in the lobby of a medical building?
Not to worry, it’s all good. I’ll try to make my explanation as reasonable as possible though, to some, this is going to come off as if I were doing my Clintonesque version of an oratory about what is – is.
Many years ago without realizing it, my Father exposed me to his humorous skills as an observer of life. As we walked or talked together, no matter where we happened to be, he prevailed with never-ending comments as he observed those around us. And as we grew older together I noticed his observations contained a great deal of ridicule as well as a noticeable increase in vulgar language. However, it always remained between the two of us.  No one was ever hurt by our ridicule or lack of pleasant demeanor; they couldn’t hear us.  I never dreamed this habit-forming procedure would become such an important part of my life’s pursuits.
A medical building is a virtual melting pot of humanity. If you’d like to experience a wide variety of folks, then it’s the place to be. How they walk, talk, hurry, scurry, amble leisurely, or reflect on the news they just received from a doctor (or the worried visual in anticipation of what they might hear as the result of a test taken during a previous examination) is what some refer to as a slice of life.
For me, it is life.
Young and old bonding and bonded together as human beings.
A full screen ever-changing scene study/reality workshop set before me to experience first hand in living, three-dimensional color. It is a never-ending method actor’s dream unfolding there, ready for the taking. 
That man could be me. (He must have received good news, as did I.)
I wonder if the little girl will one day be able to stand a little straighter?
I do think that little old lady in the wheel chair was smiling at me. (I wonder if it was because I was smiling at her?)
 Thanks Dad.
In case you didn’t hear, all went well for me at the medical building. Actually, you could say it was divine.

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