There are things worth being afraid of: pestilence, vegan cheese, the awakening of the 17-year horde of cicadas, people who think it’s a good idea to eat aforementioned cicadas, Christopher Walken. There are other things not worthy of our fears: change, aging, our own littleness, mystery.
As recently discussed, not everything is yours to keep. However, there are things no one can take from you.
There are things that are not for you. For instance, the presidency of the Pine Bush High School Ski Club was not for me, despite the fact that I was duly elected, despite being a freshman, despite never having skied in my life, no not even once. For another instance, Claire.
As I write this post, there is a ship the size of the Empire State Building clogging up the Suez Canal. As I write this post, there is a cat the size of that ship clogging up our ability to function at Tabby’s Place. By the time you read this post, one of those issues […]
You may be vaccinated. You may be agitated. But spring, and hope, and cats are marching on, and I hope you’ll come along.
It’s easy to forget that we are animals. But bust out a giant yellow sunball and some temperatures over 38, and suddenly we’re mere, mirthful mammals, reduced or elevated to pure instinct and rebellious giddiness.
My grocery store is fond of reminding me, and the grandmother price-comparing mayonnaise, and the nice man carefully selecting just the right avocados, that “every single one of us has the devil inside.” While this is a worthy avenue of theological discussion, it’s also frankly not true.
The rains in Mozambique have been relentless. The cyclones seem to have a crush on Madagascar. But here in Ringoes, NJ, things are fine and dry.
I don’t believe in luck. Or coincidences. Or the existence of bad cats, bad people, bad Mumford and Sons songs, or good vegan cheese.