Tiny Thoughts

Sunday was one of those days: 72°, lots of sunshine, and an azure sky without a hint of cloud. I hate days like that. Okay, I’m kidding. Mostly. But not entirely.

Today started off cloudy, which sometimes makes me feel better than sunshine does. I like for the day to match my internal feelings. Some may say the day is the external  projection of our internal feelings. To that, I say, “Meh.”

Soon the day turned sunny, and the temperature steadied at 72°, and the sky was once again without hint of cloud. It was a carbon copy of Sunday. (I wonder if today’s kids know what a carbon copy actually is, despite every email program having a “cc” button. And do they know what a second sheet is?)

I know I should get up and walk about the ‘hood for exercise, but it gets old after a decade. The cracked sidewalks and aged streets I've walked hundreds of times: you get to a point where you just d’wanna see the same old same old.

Last night I made a decision to not turn my cell phone on unless I am driving somewhere. I’ll keep it just for emergencies, like when my car breaks down (though it hasn’t done that in a while). “But what about contact with the outside world?” you ask. Yes, what about it?

As I lay in bed this morning, priming myself to get up and throw myself at a new day, I thought about the Afterlife and I wondered if it might possibly be like the "hunting" dreams I sometimes have. “Hunting” in the sense of searching – searching for something but never finding it. Searching, and searching, and more searching. One thing about an Afterlife: you can’t wake up from being dead. People should consider that when they hope for an Afterlife.

The midday local news is on my television. The talking heads are talking about changing the name of the Washington Redskins football team. The news people talk about that a lot these days. It’s a big, ongoing kerfuffle in Redskins land. Some people have way too much time on their hands.

I went to the grocery store around noon. I am increasingly dismayed to see food containers looking just the right size for me but bearing labels proclaiming them to be “Family size.” And why must deli-made potato salad carry a nutrition label listing servings, calories, and so on, while deli-made coleslaw does not? Why must a salmon fillet from the store’s seafood department carry a nutrition label when crab-stuffed mushrooms do not? It seems inconsistent.

As I type these words, I have a window open beside me. Outside air drifts through; it smells fresh and feels pleasant. I hear intermittent sounds: a car, a motorcycle, a snippet of conversation, squeals of children at play, a dog barking. My front door is open and sunlight streams in and gleams off the oak floor. Sound and light are my connection to the outside world, the real world. Cell phones, marvelous as they are, can’t connect you to that world.