In which my husband saves the day yet again.

I'm sorry to say that I'm not feeling funny. I'm sad and everything is terrible. People are hating each other and it makes me sad. My 12-year-old labradoodle is having trouble walking and has stopped sleeping through the night and it makes me sad and very, very tired. The oak mites are still dropping from the sky and biting poor, innocent people and it makes me sad and itchy and welty.

So, to combat this, I'm delving into a deep well of joy. Obviously, I'm talking about the notes I've scribbled hither and yon, based on conversations with my husband. My Guy pretends to be a mild-mannered software architect, but really? Really, he's the funniest human alive. Here are a few of his direct quotes.

"I'm sorry to say we no longer eat on Thursdays."

"I ain't refurbishing no damned IHOPs."

"He has curry sweat."

"My jokes are varied and rich."

"You don't know shit about beach towels, but I do!"

Sometimes, you have to find joy in the small things, the one-off comments, the way the light of the super moon reflects off your geriatric dog when he decides he needs to sit on the patio at 2 a.m. This is one of those times.

What's keeping you afloat? And can I have some?

Use the "good" soaps and the fancy "guest" towels.

I know it's not appropriate to stomp your feet and yell, "No, no, no" upon reading the obituary of a 92-year-old woman. But that didn't stop me.

My mom sent me the obit for our family friend Bea. The Cliffs Notes version is that Bea lived life to the fullest and 92 years is a good, good run. We should be celebrating her life.

And I am. But there's more to it.

Back in the day, Bea finally got me to try online dating. First of all, she wanted to set me up with her ENT doctor. That didn't quite work out - something about him being not-quite-divorced and the dad of, like, 17 kids. But Bea led by example ... and met a man when she was in her 80s. Her exact words were, "I'm just over the moon! We don't have a lot of time, and I don't want to waste any of it!"

Bea's son walked her down the aisle. And I figured if Bea could find joy, I could, too. So I got off my couch and started interacting with the world again after a long hiatus.

My memories of Bea are of lipstick and laughter and being involved. She was on a committee with my mom. She helped out at the church with my grandma. She made my dad laugh with her funny stories.

Today, reading her obituary? I learned that Bea's mother died when she was just 4 years old. She was eventually sent to live with a cousin. But what could have been a heartbreaking situation was a house filled with love, a home where Bea was welcomed as a sibling and as a daughter, not as a stranger. I'm so thankful. They helped fill her tank for a lifetime of loving everyone she met.

I can't help but think of the Erma Bombeck column, "If I had my life to live over." Bea burned the fancy candles and used the "good" soaps. And I feel like that's the best way to honor her. Live it up. Use it up.

I always found it comforting to know that Bea was in the world. I think now the task is to be the Bea. If you need me, I'll be out with the girls, enjoying fou-fou cocktails and wearing an outfit that's a little too fancy because, well, why not?