Let’s keep it light today, I suggest to The Interaction. Great idea, she nods happily. You go first. Right. Me. Well, I could fill this day with music.
The Interaction feigns interest. I laugh. I have a playlist called Music for Dogs Riding in Cars. This is because the dogs I know best like to ride in cars and get treats from drive-through vendors.
The drool of a dog on the dashboard speaks to anticipation and delight. Even the managers at the landfill keep a supply of treats. Perhaps defensively, perhaps lovingly. Doesn’t matter to the dog.
Our senses evolved to perceive the fragile majesty of creation. The earth has thus evolved with unspeakable splendor. Perhaps defensively, perhaps joyously. Doesn’t matter.
How am I doing? I ask The Interaction. She is a spritely old woman, prone to praise and bouts of hilarity. I’ve never been sure of her sanity. Neither has she. Doesn’t matter.
Oh, so good. So tasty. So dangerous, she says. Irreverent in the extreme. Real people have been martyred for less. She pumps a fist. You go, girl. Okay, I smile. You Daughter of a Drooling Dog. Let’s roll that stone.
I’ve never been sure of my own sanity or the point of it all, and I don’t know if we’re opening a grave or joining Sisyphus. But we only roll stones that are ready. Stones that want to be rolled.
We begin this new endeavor with glee. We’re at the County Fair. Guess the weight of the stone, the Barker barks. Win a Teddy Bear. That would be cheating, I tell him. We already know the weight of the stone.
The Interaction and I link elbows. We’re drinking dialectical lemonade squeezed from a stone I painted yellow. Sweetness mediates bitterness. None of this matters to the imaginary lemon. We savor every sip.
Short visits with an honest God 