Monday morning musing
Yesterday it rained. Today it will rain. It has been raining for two weeks, and that's a lot of grey sky, and a lot of weather to be under. My cat Bobby is doing the sensible thing: sleeping until the sun comes out. I am having a cup of tea, and letting my mind roam in a sort of "puzzley puzzley wonder why" (a John Lennon coinage, as I recall) about a lot of things, in no particular order.
Will the New York Times ever review me?
What would be the state of the world if those of us who claim to be following Christ actually did?
When you fall through a crack, do you land on something, or do you fall forever?
Manhattan is not a very big island - why can't it be car-free?
What exactly is the problem with universal health care?
Was Little Feat really a better band when Lowell was alive? Or did it just have Lowell?
Why are the arts so poorly-supported in this country? Is this somehow related to the health care question? I mean, is there someone actually deciding who and what deserves life and who and what does not? Based on what criteria?
Why are people who are incapable of returning phone calls hired to book venues?
What would happen if I went down into the subway and just started singing what is in my heart?
What would happen if I did the same at a cathedral?
How much longer will the watermelon be sweet this season?
How does one truly surrender?
Will I ever get a handwritten letter again?
Will the New York Times review the JaLaLa cd?
How do we really feel about Facebook? Isn't it a little "let us be your entire universe" creepy?
What's in the refrigerator for dinner?
Untroubled by these and many other questions, Bobby's still sleeping. All his needs are attended to (in aforementioned refrigerator there is lots of cat food, and he has trained me to execute a complicated behavior chain - go to fridge, open same, remove jar of food, close fridge, remove lid from jar, get spoon, put food on spoon, convey food to dish, place dish on floor, put lid back on jar, place jar in fridge, close fridge) and in return he has only to keep breathing, and be himself. He doesn't even have to heel.
Verily, I tell you, it's the cat's meow.