The Jesus and I Told You So!

I commute precisely 5 miles between the doors of work and home. I do it in about 12 minutes, depending upon the time of day and the mood of the traffic signal gods. I watch the home dudes on GPS all day, every day as they traverse the valley. They sit at some intersections for up to 6 minutes waiting for all the lights to change, so one pays tribute to the traffic signal gods in Las Vegas. Although this seems a short amount of time spent in the car, I sometimes see more than I want to in the mean streets. And sometimes I have more fun in 12 minutes in that unremarkable, sensible little car than the law allows.

I'd barely buckled the seat belt when the BlackBerry announced incoming e-mail. I am generally against driving while intexticated, but one does come to the damnable red lights . . . . I thought I knew who'd be e-mailing me, but I got a surprise ~ Friend Tag. "I thought you and the Badger might enjoy this" was all it said, and it contained a link. I could see the link contained the words The Big Lebowski and I broke into a grin. One block farther, I laughed out loud. A quarter of a mile onward, my shoulders shook. At the next stoplight, the driver in the next lane appeared frightened of me. Dear reader, I am a woman who can recite much of the script of The Big Lebowski from memory. Say "Creedence" and I chuckle. "Nice marmot!" makes me squirt Diet Pepsi out my nostrils. The vision of John Goodman tossing a satchel of "the whites", his "undies" out the window to fool the nihilists into thinking it is the money . . . Walter, Donny, The Dude and The Jesus seem to be people I actually know. "Eight year olds." I forwarded the link to the Badger and continued my virtual viewing of the movie for a short distance.

Mother Badger circa 1927

New incoming e-mail ~ how many can one get in a short jaunt? Mother Badger has been reading the blogs again. She saw my statement that our business is booming unexpectedly and for reasons we can't discern. [David advises me to stop trying to discern it, for fear of my mental health. I can't stop. I have a tremendous need to know, to understand the "why" of things. I nearly make myself ill over it.] Mother Badger's message made me grin and then guffaw. For she hadn't had a worry in the world about our business picking up. "I love to say I told you so. I knew after the holidays, one look at the rugs and "Let's call the carpet cleaners!" would happen. I didn't even have to look in my crystal ball. Hope that the new year is calming and enlightening for you. Stow the angst." Arriving at home, my abs were tender from cackling non-stop.

We have a homecoming ritual, Dylan, Virginia Woolf and I. They meow to scold me for my hours of absence. I apologize out loud and explain that I'm responsible for the roof over our heads and the food that we eat. They meow more. They head-butt me for petting. Although I usually want to eat something or turn on the computer or put on some music, I invariably sit down for a few moments to stroke their fur and tell them how much I appreciate them keeping our home safe while I am away. It's a nice little program that we enjoy. I was tiring of it. They were not. I remembered Tag's link, fired up the computer, putzed in the kitchen and finally found a moment to sit down at the monitor.

Everything came together in quick succession. About the same time I clicked on Tag's link and realized it was a blogger's short Shakespeare-izing of The Big Lebowski, the Badger's e-mail landed ~ he'd seen the link, too. We "knaved" and "prithee'd" back and forth a bit as I chortled in front of the screen. The Lebowski scene rewritten in Elizabethan language was the one about the rug being soiled with urine . . . . something I would know about. There may be a future in rewriting movies for me, readers! I could get into this. I know about Shakespeare and Lebowski and dirty rugs and lots of things.

The day's lesson showed itself to me! Make sure to laugh, long and hard. Laugh until it hurts. Put down the anxiety. Appreciate the good things right at hand.

In my ears right now: A song I loved in the 70s and I love today. YouTube being the mixed bag of stuff it is, I'd advise the reader not to try to derive much from the slide show. Just enjoy J. D. Souther delivering the tune.



Something that charmed me: The desert's sophic reply to the age-old question, "Where do I go from here?"



We asked each other, "Do you suppose that occurred naturally?"