Twas brillig

Bread and Chocolate. I was going to stop at Nina’s, but I didn’t have enough cash. But the good news is that there cream cheese bran muffins today. It may be as mundane as Tuesdays means cream cheese.


Last weekend, Liam and I went to the Subway sandwich shop in our neighborhood. The last several times that I have gone there, it has been the same people–young people–kids–behind the counter. They seem pretty on. This is in marked contrast to previous years, when the staff did not seem so on. Also, they are all black. Don’t know where that’s going, but it is of not.
There was one guy, though, that didn’t seem so “on.” He was out front, cleaning. Kind of loudly complaining, too. He said he was done, and that was interesting, the front didn’t look clean. Then, he went over to a table, with his hand brushed crumbs off the table and the seat, and sat down. And continued to complain. I wonder, in hindsight, how often I have been just like that, grudgingly “doing my job” but missing the point.
Swam at the Y, did several laps, the most swimming that I have done in quite awhile. Was thinking about Dorothea, Madeline, and Dorothea’s sisters swimming in Lake Superior on their sailing trip. How we’ve been going across the street and swimming in the neighbor’s pool, how Madeline has really been shining, doing great with swimming. And how difficult it is to get her to go swimming at the Y anymore, something that we used to do all the time. But, she is an adolescent now, uncomfortable with her body because it is not “perfect.”
And I muse about myself, and my condition. Not perfect. Really, no one is. We all have our things that we have to deal with. And I think, while I am doing laps, that nobody’s perfect, except for God, maybe.
Well wait, whoa. This is personifying God. But I suppose that is inevitable. And maybe it doesn’t matter. Whatever works?
How it is a slippery slope, whether you are a Christian Quaker or a Grand Inquisitor cum Pope, the necessity trying to nail down with language that which is beyond words. Silence, the anti-word, is Quakers or religion at its best.