Feel, in the spirit of the whole country being covered in snow, except for the divinely favored in the south, who apparently have spring, but must have sacrificed the firstborn, or at least a couple of pigeons to get it, that I should begin the daily blog with the report that it is snowing. There it comes, gently out of the sky, to remind us that all flesh is as frozen grass, humankind is a sinful proposition, and deserves only judgment and wrath, and not the light warm blessings of God.
Truly, I have cleaned my house an awful lot, when I should have been outside digging around in the dirt. It must be that both I and my parents have sinned, and their parents before them.
Speaking of which, not my parents and grandparents, but here is an article about the oldest man, whose favorite pastimes are soaking in hot springs and eating sweets.
I rather liked the picture of his comfortable life, his happy smile, but felt that I must not be carried away by anything so agreeable, and so went over and looked at the pictures of Mark Zuckerberg done up in a suit, flanked by lots of important people, on his way to testify before Congress. There, I presume, he explained that its fine, everything is fine. Feel, somehow, that the suit makes him look even more like a baby. He must surely be in his 20s by now, but goodness, he does still look like he just turned 16.
Funny how, as you get older, age becomes a thing worth having, not to be rushed through, certainly, because of it’s going too fast already. It careens by like a drunken man, lurching irresolutely into the street, standing there for a hair-splitting second, and then wandering back again. But still, worth something, not so dread, and ever more precarious as it goes by.
I wonder though, what are we all going to think of all the years we spent on facebook? Having put our very souls, our diligently composed selves–our thoughts and feelings, our goings and comings, our virtuous identifying markers, our bright smiles–into the hands of a veritable child? I mean, does he have wisdom? Knowledge? Understanding? But I, who put all my bits of quantifiable information into his hands, do I?
Can’t decide if I want to live to be 116. There are too many variables. Will I be alone by then? Will everyone else already have run away to the next sphere? Will it still be snowing? Will there be sweets? Will my arthritic finger still be able to scroll up and down the bright incandescent screen? Or will I have gained some sense by then?
It’s hard to say. But seriously, enough with the snow. Stick a fork in it winter. It’s time for spring.
Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In