1. First thing this morning I dragged my sleep deprived, foggy self over to Yoke's to buy some milk, a cube steak, and four new containers of cat litter. I hadn't had coffee yet (no milk at home), so I stopped at McDonald's for a drive thru senior coffee and returned home. I fixed myself a breakfast I don't prepare often, but that sure hit the spot today: cube steak, two fried eggs, and toast.
It's an odious job, no doubt, but I was happy to empty Copper and Luna's litter boxes, clean them out, and put fresh litter back in. I can't blame any cats for being finicky about their boxes. I've tried not to give Copper and Luna a chance to be finicky by scooping their boxes regularly and deep cleaning them periodically. Copper and Luna ask so little of me -- they just want to be comfortable and content and regularly fed. We have a pretty good deal together.
2. After not Zooming for three weeks, Bill, Diane, Bridgit, and I jumped on Zoom this afternoon and continued our wide ranging, exhilarating, and formidable discussion of the literary genre of comedy. As the person sparking this discussion, I would have liked to have been a bit more prepared, but the good news, as always, today was that Bill, Diane, and Bridgit had plenty of things to talk about. All I had to do to light the fire was say that our focus today was going to be on vitality and goodness.
We had a great discussion of the sources and experiences of vitality in the movie, Enchanted April. I saw it back in 1992, I think, and I remember that it helped me form a lot of my ideas about goodness and vitality and to have it all start to come back to me today was not only stimulating, but an emotionally moving experience. We veered in a slightly, but not totally, different direction when I read a paragraph from Ross Gay's essay, "Loitering", published in his book, The Book of Delights. I wanted to look at the value of being materially unproductive, of not being a consumer, of loitering or loafing or lollygagging, of joining Walt Whitman whose lines in "Song of Myself", filled with vitality, often regarded as the core of his poetic vision, open this way:
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loaf and invite my soul,
I lean and loaf at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
Before long, our discussion moved away from Enchanted April and Walt Whitman and Laurie Colwin and, I'd say, was invigorated by Joseph Campbell and his vision of vitality and the importance of following our bliss. We discussed aging. We discussed how retirement and illness can mean losing central aspects of our self-identity. We discussed how if our identification is primarily formed by the work we do, then retirement is very challenging. We lose an important part of our identity. Likewise, for Bill, who has MS, his identity is profoundly shaped by playing his guitar and performing. The pain of MS and its impact on his coordination makes playing increasingly difficult. If he can no longer dive into this profound source of goodness and vitality in his life, what will he do for invigoration, for purpose?
These are compelling questions, questions I dare say we didn't give much thought to when we were younger, when it seemed like we would do what we cherish forever.
Our discussion today was both electric and sobering, exciting and solemn.
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