Much Insane Joy

It’s Monday but only people here in Asia will treat it as such.  Folks back home are still in Sunday night.  I was glad the presidential news cycle slowed to a drizzle.  Trump left Washington to enjoy a big pep rally among supporters.  The candidates he chose to replace Flynn as national security advisor have all politely demurred.  I am not satisfied and keep looking back to see if there has been a new outrage.  Even though it is now well into Sunday evening in the U.S., you never know. 

One call I knew about happened first thing this morning.  Another is an immediate follow-up.  The next call was unexpected.  Someone calls while I’m talking.  I’ll have to call that person back.  The morning is gone and I’m nearing 2:00PM by the time I go make my lunch.

My cat has been waiting for me.  This has to be her favorite part of the day.  I nearly always open a can of tuna and begin to prepare a tuna salad for myself.  Usually I shoo her off, spritzing her with a water bottle when I prepare things in the kitchen.  But it wouldn’t be right to finish this whole can by myself, when I know how much insane joy it would bring her, and so I trot down to her feeding area with about a fifth of the can still in there and let her have at it. 

The other night my older daughter mentioned that they had taken a survey at school the results of which placed them on a political spectrum.  She said that she was ranked as an anarchist.  Unexpected, this filled my heart with joy.  “Good.  It’s quite a tradition”, I offered, running off to my bedroom to find my copy of Peter Kropotkin’s “Mutual Aid.”  Music had at the same age drawn me towards the philosophical consideration of anarchism.  I was her age when I found books by Bakunin and Kropotkin at the local Poughkeepsie library and brought them home to read to the detriment of my homework.  For a while, I was an outspoken zealot, as only a seventeen year old can be.  A storm is brewing.  Healthy downpour expected.  The conversation is underway.

Monday, 2/20/17