I Wonder If It's Available in CD? Cassette? Eight Track? Vinyl? Laser Disc? Is There an Accompanying Video?

 

So much to love about this, maybe particularly the hairstyle. 

I found this photo posted on Bluesky by Mrs. Betty Bowers who wrote: "Apparently, on Christian album covers in the ’60s, the only thing worse than the hair was the obliviousness to the lewd double entendres." Amen, sister.

You Might As Well Believe in Unicorns, My Take on Astrology and Religion

I mentioned to a co-worker that I'm going to be a grandfather for the first time in the Fall. She congratulated me and expressed great delight at the blessed event. But then she proceeded to tell me what astrological sign the child would be and how she has the same sign and how cool people born under that sign are. I said nothing as is my usual response to such nonsense. Later I thought it sad that one would ignore things like DNA and upbringing and the environment one grows up in and attribute a person's characteristics to the alignment of the stars when said child was born. I’ve always hated it when people reference astrology as if it had any basis in fact. 

If I’m wrong, show me the scientific evidence.

Astrology descriptions are written to fit almost anyone, to wit: “you value close relationships but need time alone,” “you can be confident but also self-doubting.” The accuracy is coming from the reader, not the system.

People look for patterns, it’s a way to make sense of things that seem random and unknowable (ya know, most of life). They connect dots between a horoscope and a real event and ignore all the times nothing lines up.

Systems like astrology create the feeling that there’s an underlying order to the world. The sense of structure can be comforting.

It’s also why we have religions. There is little to no historical or scientific evidence to back most of what Christians, Muslims and Jews believe. Holy books are elaborate fictions. They can be instructive in teaching fables and morality but they can also be perverted to do things like demonize homosexuality. People who believe that there’s an invisible man in the sky who controls everything, take comfort in the existence of this supreme being. Some people believe he sent his “only begotten son” to Earth and he performed miracles before rising from the dead. This he did to absolve humans of their sins. Makes as much sense as believing in unicorns. Christians often call their organizations “faith-based.” I think of them more as “fantasy-based.” 

While all the power rests in God — by whatever name — people do believe in the power of prayer. Which just goes to show people will believe anything. I told a former colleague of mine who is Christian that a former student of ours had been reported missing. Later he let me know that his congregation was praying for her safe return home. As I understand it his assumption was that God would hear these prayers and think: “I better find this woman and make sure she gets home.” Evidently the all-knowing God had not previously considered her plight. In any case the woman has still not returned home. God evidently ignored the congregation’s prayers. Why? What’s the point of praying if God is going to do what he wants anyway? (It was God’s will!)

Why do people believe that praying will move the needle even the tiniest bit? Because I can assure you it does nothing more than make the person praying feel like they have influence in a situation in which they are, in reality, powerless.

Astrology, religion and the like give answers for people who can’t be bothered thinking for themselves. A ready-made belief system saves a lot of time and energy. Never mind that the answers it provides are facile.

To each their own, of course. The problem comes when people share their nonsense with others like the woman who tried to tell me about my future grandson months before he was born. When I thought about it later I was offended. Keep that crap away from me and my progeny. In the same way I don’t want to hear about your prayers or your faith or the good book or Allah or sitting shiva or any of the other superstitious nonsense you waste your time with. 

Seriously, people.

The Author Worries About a Former Student Who is Missing and Then Has a Go at Religion

A few days ago I learned that a former student of mine  is listed as a missing person. In my last year as a middle school she served as the editor of the school newspaper for which I was faculty adviser. I had selected her for the position which tells you what I thought of her. She did an excellent job and I had great respect for her. At the end of the school year we went our separate ways — this was seventeen years ago. The only thing I knew about her post middle school days was that she went to college at UC Davis.

The short newspaper account of her disappearance noted that she was “at-risk” which I’ve been given to understand means that she is suicidal. Her listed address was here in Berkeley at the home of her parents. Beyond that all that was said about her was what she was last seen in the neighborhood where she lived and what she was wearing.

I was stunned. 

It seems that they never stop being your student, you continue to feel responsible for them. Even seventeen years later.

There was next to nothing that I could find out about her via google. She had studied environmental science though she hadn’t landed a job in that field and had been, according to Linkedin, “Seeking new opportunities” for four years now. I have drawn the conclusion that she’s not been working for four years. That’s an eternity when you’re in your late twenties/early thirties.

I’ve had a lot of former students go on to enjoy great success in life: doctors, engineers, business owners, actors, directors, professors, lawyers. I naturally assumed that this now-missing young lady would enjoy similar success. But people can be badly derailed in life. I don’t here refer to those who choose a different path and meander their way through life in various places and occupations before settling down later, I mean those who get knocked for a loop by terrible circumstances or hauntings by inner demons.

I shared the news of the young lady’s disappearance with two former colleagues who had also been her teachers. Both shared memories of what a good student and person she’d been. One assured me that his church congregation would be praying for her. I find this endlessly mystifying. Specifically the notion that offering prayers will somehow help. I suppose it a reflection of helplessness. People pray when there’s literally nothing they can do. It gives them a sense that they’re helping. People pray when a loved one is badly sick and in the care of doctors. What else, they reason, is there to be done? But how do they imagine this works? Does god here that a person or a group of people are praying for a person and suddenly think, “by jove, I should help this person out instead of leaving them to die, I’ll cure them.” If it worked that way word would have gotten out and no one would stay ill for very long at all, they’d need only have someone pray to the almighty and they’d be good as gold. 

What happens when prayers are offered for someone fighting cancer and the patient dies all the same? We’re told it was god’s will. Well, if god was going to do what they wanted anyway, why bother with the praying?

Two people are in a car accident and are taken to the hospital in serious condition. Their families are devout and pray for their recoveries. One of the two dies and the other makes a full recovery. What’s god playing at here? Why answer one family’s prayers and not the others? Seems cruel. But people are often told not to question god. That’s convenient. Whatever god does cannot be questioned and is their will. What a scam.

Holy Christ! Not a Lot of Christ in Christmas Movies (Thankfully)

Carol, no Jesus but there are lesbians

There’s not a lot of Christ in Christmas movies. The holiday on December 25th is ostensibly about the birth of Jesus of Nazareth who, as you may have heard, is believed by some to by the son of God. Yet Hollywood has downplayed the whole Jesus business. I, for one, am grateful that Christmas films tend to be secular in nature. Here’s a look at my favorite Christmas films and how much Christianity they inflict on us (spoiler: not much).

It’s A Wonderful Life (1946) Capra. At the beginning of the movie we meet three characters, one an angel, who seem to reside in heaven though no reference to the kingdom of God is mentioned. We also hear people directing prayers to the almighty. In the last quarter or so of the film the angel, Clarence, is present and he has supernatural powers but we don’t hear anything about Jesus.

Christmas in Connecticut (1945) Godfrey. Not a word about God or Jesus that I can recall.

Fanny and Alexander (1982) Bergman. Nope, nary a word about the “savior’s” birth.

Mon Oncle Antoine (1971) Jutra. Ditto. (Someone dies but he's not resurrected...wait, that's Easter, never mind.) 

The Shop Around the Corner (1940) Lubitsch. Not a word.

Rare Exports (2010) Helander. Same again.

The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek (1943) Sturges. Ibid..

Happiest Season (2020) DuVall. Hardly. (There are gay characters, however.)

Carol (2015) Haynes. Again no Jesus, but lesbians.

Tangerine (2015) Baker.  This time transvestites and no, no Jesus.

The Bishop’s Wife (1947) Koter. Okay so you would think a film that centers around an angel (Cary Grant) giving assistance to a bishop (David Niven) and his wife (Loretta Young) would be chock full of Jesus. You’d be wrong. There is a bit of religion in the film but just a smidge and only veiled reference to the son of God, or even God herself. 

Home Alone (1990) Columbus. There’s a scene in a church with hymns being sung, but that’s about it.

Home Alone 2 (1992) Columbus. Not even that.

Elf (2003) Favreau. Yeah, right.

A Christmas Carol (1951) Hurst. Tiny Tim talks a little about Jesus but not to the extent that it gets annoying. This goes for all the other versions of the story.

The Holdovers (2023) Payne. Nope.

Trading Places. (19830 Landis Not a peep.

Miracle on 34th Street (1947) Seaton. The miracle here is unrelated to a deity bringing about virgin births.

A Boy Called Christmas. It Happened on Fifth Avenue. Remember the Night. Muppets Christmas Carol. Miracle on 34th Street. The Man Who Came to Dinner. No, no, no, no, no and finally no.

There you have it. I can’t speak for the millions of Christmas films that Hallmark, Lifetime and Netflix churn out but from what I gather they are mostly free of Jesus.

If you want some Jesus in your movie you can always watch The Last Temptation of Christ, but then again, it’s not set during Christmas.

The Writer Rambles on About Writing and Visits a Few Other Topics

Margot Robbie Who is Not Mentioned in this Post

Writing a novel is not easy. Writing a good novel is especially difficult. Finding someone to publish your novel is a gargantuan task. But I persist. I’m writing number four now. Actually it’s five if you count the one I wrote a few years ago that I don’t know what to do with. Actually it’s number six because there was one I wrote about thirty years that is now lost and wasn’t all that good to begin with. I’ve started one other that I may or not get back to someday but that surely doesn't count.

I love writing novels and only wish I’d started earlier in life. I always meant to but things kept getting in the way. Working for instance. Much of it as a teacher. There was also the matter of raising children. When your offspring are young they can be time-consuming. No complaints from me. I enjoyed every minute of it. Now they’re grown and because of the type of people they are I have further evidence that it was time well spent. That I didn’t make a mess of being a father and indeed was rather good at it (I think so, anyway, I’ve never been told anything to the contrary) is a singular accomplishment. Combine that with being a good husband and what else do you need? How about a published novel? That would be the proverbial icing on the cake. It’s been a life well spent — so far — but a published (and I don’t mean self) novel would be a crowing achievement. When autumn comes I’ll resume trying to peddle number three.

I had a friend once who said he didn’t like the word “autumn.” An odd word not to like if you ask me. Especially since it’s so highly thought of. I prefer it to fall which has, as well all know, another meaning. Autumn has no other meaning, Just the season. I believe many people actually find it a particularly nice word. Not like plenary. That’s an ugly word. It makes you want to avoid a plenary session. Don’t care for template either or a similar word, boilerplate.

The friend previously mentioned was a devout Christian. We managed to get along just the same. He spewed a lot of bollocks about the rapture coming fairly soon. That was nearly fifty years ago and I’ve seen nary a sign of it. He also speculated that Henry Kissinger was the antichrist. Kissinger was indeed a no good son of a bitch and a war criminal but he was no anti christ. Then again, who is? Best as I can tell there isn’t one. Silly nonsense most of this religious stuff. I’m always amazed when I hear tell of sane, otherwise intelligent people speak of the power of prayer. Muttering under your breath or trying to send messages to a supreme being via some sort of nonexistent telepathy has never moved the needle on anything. Oh sure it might provide comfort to the person offering the prayers, might give them a sense that they’re doing SOMETHING but to act is if they have an outside impact is — here is use that word again, silly. 

Christian or no, he was a decent bloke. When I first met him he was married with a three-year-old son. They went to an Assembly of God church. Speaking in tongues was one of the features of their services. He was a regular on Sundays. Not so much his wife. She talked the talk but when it came to it didn’t go to church on the regular. Hypocrite. She ended up leaving him for a man who had something he couldn’t provide — a lot of money. Poor guy slaved away at a job to send her on trip — alone — to Europe. (That’s either love or stupidity.) She came back with a tan and notice that she was filing for divorce. He kept custody of the boy. So it went.

Anyway I have fond memories of him. Except for him not liking the word autumn. Come on.

Speaking of words I believed I recently mentioned that no one uses “sharp” anymore when referring to a time as in: "be there at six o’clock sharp.” Times are never “sharp” anymore. But sharp also used to be used like this: you look sharp. Where’d that go? Maybe it’s because no one bothers to look “sharp” anymore. Most people, particularly men, don’t give a flying fuck what they look like. Shorts and a tee shirt and sandals with no socks are so often the uniform of the day. I’ve seen people go out to eat wearing track pants. Hardly anyone wears a tie anymore. Sports coats are virtually non-existent. If it’s cold men put on a hoodie.

No one has any style anymore. Clothes are functional. I don’t get it. I’m especially appalled by how many men decide we need to see their feet. Men used to only wear sandals at the beach. Beatniks wore them. You see people wearing sandals when it’s raining. That’s less a matter of being lazy and more a matter of being fucking stupid. Cover those feet up. Nobody wants to see them.

Look at this I’ve gone on another tangent. Talk about being someone you don’t want to get started. That’s me. I do go on.

Soze like I was saying. Novel writing. Number four in progress. Halfway through the first draft. Little more than that actually because I’ve written the ending. Now I just need to figure out how to get there. Should be a snap.

"Just because someone is God doesn’t mean they’re perfect" -- My Exclusive Interview With God's Parents

Earlier this month I visited God’s parents. Though private people they graciously consented to an interview (they’re admirers of this blog). Floyd and Gloria live in a modest home in Arlington Heights, a suburb of Chicago, with their cat Bubby and a cocker spaniel named Fred. Floyd is a retired insurance salesman and Gloria still works part time as a middle school librarian. Floyd is an enthusiastic philatelist who admits using his son’s connections to bolster his stamp collection. He also enjoys puttering around in his garden, bowling and watching baseball. Gloria is an avid knitter and enjoys reading a good mystery. When I visited them Gloria served tea and oatmeal raisin cookies she’d baked that morning. 

Me: You must be proud of your son.

Floyd: Well, yes, he’s accomplished quite a lot, creating a universe and having all encompassing power is pretty impressive plus —

Gloria: But more importantly he’s always been a good boy, maybe a bit temperamental at times….

Me: What was he like as a child?

Gloria: Precocious. He was walking and talking almost from the beginning. 

Floyd: He was ahead of the curve on almost everything.

Gloria: Well, except for potty training, he struggled —

Floyd: Don’t embarrass the boy by talking about that.

Me: How soon did you realize that he had what it took to be the almighty?

Floyd: When he started creating creatures.

Gloria: Out of thin air, mind you.

Me: Would some of these be the animals that are with us today?

Floyd: Oh no, this was awhile ago. We’re talking now about dinosaurs. 

Me: I’d imagine that could have been terrifying.

Gloria: Dear me, yes. I was almost eaten by one.

Me: Did he gave you any trouble as a child?

Gloria: Not really except that he pouted a lot. The school counselor noted he responded well to praise. I think we overdid it. “Nice job cleaning up after yourself,” “oh look how nicely you got ready for bed” “thank you for putting your toys away.”

Floyd: Yeah he got to the point where he didn’t just expect praise but was demanding it. It’s a problem to this day. You know how he wants a whole day set aside to honor him —

Gloria: He’s a gone a bit too far with all that and not saying his name in vain, I mean that’s a bit extreme. We should have put him in his place right then and there.

Floyd: We were too lax with the boy.

Gloria: Still he’s been a fine son and done a lot of good in the world.

Me: But what about all the famine and pestilence and war. I mean the Holocaust alone —

Floyd: Just because someone is God doesn’t mean they’re perfect.

Gloria: It’s easy to point out his mistakes but remember there are flowers, sunny days, mountains, beautiful creatures, music, all kinds of wonderful things.

Me: Bit of a mixed record.

Floyd: Now you’re getting into the whole argument about whether what humans do are his fault or theirs.

Me: Does he listen to everyone’s prayers? Seems a big job.

Gloria: Frankly no. He’s got a service. But they’re really good about getting important messages to him.

Me: Let’s talk about his son.

Gloria: Such a fine boy. 

Floyd: Very proud of him. Really sensitive kid. We were devastated when he died.

Gloria: But so delighted when he came back.

Floyd: Yeah, sure but then he ascended to heaven again. We rarely see him.

Me: By the way, where exactly is heaven?

Floyd: You head toward Saturn then take a sharp right at Titan — it’s one of Saturn’s moons, you know — and in a few light years you're there. Our boy’s a real stickler about people not coming unless they’re deceased. 

Gloria: He’s always been one for rules.

Me: Is there a hell?

Floyd: Are you familiar with CPAC?

Me: The Conservative Political Action Conference?

Gloria: Bingo.

Me: What do you call God?

Floyd: By his given name, Craig.

Me: He has a brother and a sister.

Gloria: Yup, Craig's the middle child. Our oldest boy Lonnie lives in Canada, runs a bait shop near a popular fishing spot. But you've met him. The baby is Celeste. She manages a Banana Republic in Stowe, Vermont. Divorced -- poor dear -- raising two lovely children.

Me: Does Craig visit you and his siblings often?

Gloria: Not often enough. Always claims to be busy overseeing the universe.

Floyd: You’d think by now he could leave a lot of the day-to-day operations to underlings.

Gloria: We do seem him on holidays. He particularly loves Thanksgiving. He has a fondness for my pumpkin pie.

Me: Is he married?

Gloria: Separated. 

Floyd: We liked LaShondra but they’ve had their troubles as some couples do. He can be pretty possessive.

Me: I sometimes hear people, athletes for example, say that all the glory goes to God. What exactly does that mean?

Floyd: It’s nice to hear your boy recognized but frankly neither of us can make heads nor tails of what that means.

Gloria: It’s a little much, if you ask me. I understand people thanking him for this or that but they do tend to go to extremes. He may be a deity but he puts on his pants on leg at a time just like everyone else.

Floyd: Well, actually now, dear, he can put them on two legs at once.

Gloria: It's just an expression, dear.

Me: Is there predestination?

Floyd: I’ve asked Craig that a number of times but he just winks.

Gloria: You’d think he’d tell his own parents.

Me: Does he remember you on your birthdays?

Floyd: He’s very good about that. If nothing else a gift materializes in the morning with a card. If he has time he drops by or takes us out.

Me: Do people recognize him?

Gloria: Some do. 

Floyd: Not enough, though. He loves the attention.

Me: Are you religious?

Gloria: Yes, we’re buddhists.

Me: Really? How does your son feel about that?

Floyd: We try not to argue about religion.

Gloria: I don’t like arguing with him at all. He tends to take a holier-than-thou attitude.

Me: How does he feel about organized religions, specifically Christian one?.

Floyd: He likes the singing but isn't too crazy about some of the strictures religions often put on people.

Gloria: Yeah, for example he's fine with consensual premarital sex between adults. 

Floyd: The one that bugs him the most is the Jehovah's Witnesses. He find the whole knocking on doors thing really annoying.

Gloria: Matter of fact the last time he was here some came to the door and he told them to take a hike.

Floyd: Slammed the door

Me: Some people claim that hurricanes, earthquakes and the like are God's retributions for people's sins.

Floyd: Hogwash. Craig has never figured out how to start or stop natural disasters. He's got some tech guys working on it.

Me: How does he feel about sinners?

Gloria: He's used to sinning. I mean, aren't we all?

Me: Have you ever been really angry with him?

Gloria: We were furious when he turned Lot's wife into a pillar of salt. We grounded him for a week for that. But lately not so much.

Floyd: We got a little peeved about AIDS, the ebola virus, Covid, things like that but he's grown man now, what can you do?

Me: Does he ever ask you for advice?

Gloria: Not about running the universe but he asks me about cooking and Floyd about bowling.

Floyd: I love my son but he's headstrong about his work. Thinks he knows everything just because he's all-knowing.

Me: Still you must be enormously proud of what he's done.

Gloria: Creating a universe and so many species is something to hang your hat on, that's for sure.

Me: Thanks so much for your time. I really enjoyed meeting you.

Floyd: Well, we’re such fans of your blog that we’re honored to have had you as our guest.

Gloria: This was fun. Next time you're in the Chicago area come by again.

Me: Thanks and give my regards to your son.

Floyd: You can always do that yourself with a prayer.

Me: Oh no, I meant your other son Lonnie. Him I believe in. 

Mafia Justice, Religion and Myths and Memories An Excerpt From My Journaling

I rather liked what I wrote in my journal yesterday -- I don't write everyday, but often enough -- so thought I'd share it with my readers (both of us).

Feeling a bit lost. A two hour afternoon nap will do that. It’s the day mostly shot. Could have watched a film. Read. Written. Didn’t need a walk or work out. Already had the former and it’s the off day for the latter. The old saw is that I needed the sleep. This is undeniable and I should it accept it and move on.

Accept it and move on. How often in my life have I needed to do that yet failed? Constantly. It’s not as easy as it sounds. Regrets are persistent naggers. Hovering around poking at the brain.

I read some years ago about the Italian mafia killing someone by putting him in a cage with a very large and hungry boar. The man didn’t stand a chance. Now that I think about it I can’t say for sure the the the boar was described as very large or even large. One assumes and sometimes accepts it as fact in later recollections.

We change our memories. Indeed our memories are not so much of actual events but of previous memories. We get things wrong a lot that way. There are many parts of my life that I’m shaky on. Things from my youth that I can’t be certain happened or at least not in the way I recall. The fact that I was high a lot of the time is no help. That’s one of the worst aspects of having been a practicing alcoholic: there are holes bored into your memories. In my early years of sobriety I recalled a lot that had been forgotten. Events, occasions, interactions that had been buried came flooding back. Some clear, others hazy. Many more memories remain inaccessible.

I know there was one person who I’d been friendly with who refused to speak me again after one night of debauchery. It was most definitely as a consequence of some things I said. I had — and not without reason — a lot of pent up resentment towards her. As it was I soon moved out of town. She subsequently died of cancer while still in her early forties, maybe late thirties. I’ve always felt bad about how things were left between us and especially about not knowing what in blue blazes I’d said.

I started this off with a memory of reading about a boar killing a man. Obviously a horrible death with terrifying last minutes on this planet. Likely the man had been a “snitch.” Criminals are rarely merciful in dealing death to those who they feel betrayed them. A garroting or a bullet in the brain is not enough. The victim must suffer. Imagine such a mentality. Imagine being in a line of work that requires one to torture people to death. I’ve read awful accounts of the manner in which Mexican drug gangs dispose of people. Many victims have done nothing to harm the gang. It makes one shiver to contemplate the level of evil that persists throughout the planet. The willingness to kill and torture without — seemingly — giving it a second thought. No remorse at all. I feel bad after a negative interaction, I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I…. Not worth thinking about.

A lot of torture over the centuries has been done in the name of religion. Tells you all you need to know about the impact religion has had on the world. Bad enough they put prohibitions on certain activities, that they’ve demanded a cult-like adherence to bizarre behaviors, strictures and codes, they also kill and maim those who don’t believe or believe else ways.

Religions appeal to people’s tribal nature. You get to be part of a group. They can provide structure, rules to live by and give meaning to life and explanations for eternal questions. This has been of great comfort to many over the millennia. It is undeniable that religions have helped many, providing succor, nurturing, support and guidance. But look at the damage too. Look at some of the ludicrous beliefs and practices that people have developed. 

Still it must be acknowledged that myths are important. Myths explain, give meaning, are part of folklore, oral traditions and belief systems. 

Myths often require heroes. We’re not supposed to meet our heroes. We’ll inevitably be disappointed. I suppose this is because people make the mistake of transforming their heroes into something non-human. It is the humanity of a hero that makes her or him compelling. Who wants a robot as a hero? You should hope your hero is human and thus fallible. Of course there are certain sins we can’t forgive. Some wrongs are so bad they have to knock a hero of their pedestal. A hero who rapes can’t be a hero anymore. But maybe one who committed adultery can be given a pass. Heroism, to turn a phrase, is in the eye of the beholder. 

I’ve also been thinking about how nice a full belly is. Not too full. Gluttony leads to the just punishment of a bellyache. Stopping when you’ve had enough is not always easy, but is always wise. Pity those without enough. Appreciate a good meal and don’t abuse the privilege by over indulging. Same with so much else. Spirits for one. Take it from one who knows.

Nice to have written again today. Always a blessing and this journal is to be commended for providing an important service.

The Author Contemplates Life's Great Mystery

I’m thinking more and more about death. Specifically my own. I’m tempted now to write that this is not a good thing. I’m also tempted to write that this is a perfectly natural state of affairs. There is truth in both statements. I do not have a terminal illness (that I know of) and my health is excellent (so far as I know). But I am at an age (sixty-seven) when I’m much closer to the end then the beginning. I have not reconciled myself to death yet. I’m not entirely sure what it’s all about though that is the cessation of being seems most logical — not to mention most depressing. 

I’ve not given much thought to reincarnation but have considered the possibility that we are afforded the opportunity to live our life again and that we in fact get several turns at the same life. If this is so then surely this must have been my first crack at it for I made a preponderance of rookie mistakes. It is something of a miracle that my life has turned out as well as it has (loving wife, two children I adore) considering what a colossal fuck up I’ve been at times. Indeed the many wrong turns, miscues, faux pas, errors, blunders, miscalculations and lapses in judgement that have pock marked my life beggar belief. I ruminate over this constantly and this can make me very sad indeed. It is a poor exercise to engage in and serves no purpose. True, it is good to recognize and acknowledge one’s mistakes and in turn learn from them, but the dwelling on is a bad idea. Better to celebrate one’s triumphs and I’ve had a few.

Now that my depression is abated (many thanks again to TMS, previously mentioned on this blog) I am dealing with sadness. (Hopefully not with this intensity for much longer.) And as mentioned I’m also dealing with mortality. Oh the existential angst. I think it a luxury to be able to spend so much time on such concerns. When I was working full time and being parent to young children I rarely gave such matter a thought and then only briefly. 

Now I’m busy writing but with infinitely more free time for my mind to wander into dark corners and contemplate the very meaning of life. There is a meaning, isn’t there? It would be a shame if when life ended we didn’t discover what it was all about. Or is it possible to unlock the secret before shuffling off this mortal coil?

Then there is the matter of eternity. Is it truly possible to wrap one's mind around the very concept of forever? In mortal life there is always a beginning, a middle and an end. Maybe not so in other possible existences. Of course the very notion of time plays an enormous role in our understanding of the world and life. We divide everything into units. Be they seconds, months, decades, years, millennia. This skews our thinking, maybe even perverts it. Thinking, thinking, thinking, where the mind can go and what can understand, the realities it can alter, the truths it can uncover or obscure, the concepts it can miss or misunderstand. Does time wrap around itself? Can it be altered? Reversed? Surely not stopped.

I think therefore I am and I and still mostly happy and perhaps more importantly, content. I do wish I knew more and understood more and saw more. Maybe that will come in time. One hopes.