I'd like to thank my agent, and my director, and all the people who made this evening possible, and all you wonderful people sitting out there in the dark...

...and thank you, William James, for inventing stream-of-consciousness, and thank you, James Joyce, for employing it so well. Here's Molly in Ulysses, seeking sleep:

a quarter after what an unearthly hour I suppose theyre just getting up in China now combing out their pigtails for the day well soon have the nuns ringing the angelus theyve nobody coming in to spoil their sleep except an odd priest or two for his night office the alarmclock next door at cockshout clattering the brains out of itself let me see if I can doze off 1 2 3 4 5 what kind of flowers are those they invented like the stars the wallpaper in Lombard street was much nicer the apron he gave me was like that something only I only wore it twice better lower this lamp and try again so that I can get up early... (p. 642)

Well, that's enough of that.

Today's post will contain a little bit of this and a little bit of that.

Okay, here goes.

this

that

I don't know why I continue to bother to try to blog when I have nothing whatever of worth value interest to say.

I guess it all boils down to Bloggo, ergo sum (thank you, Descartes).

For those of you who didn't take Latin, it means "I blog, therefore I am." It is as simple as that, and as complicated.

Nevertheless, I plod on valiantly to fill the ether with blather that can be traced directly to me, so that extra-terrestrials finding these words ages and ages hence (thank you, Robert Frost) will know that while it may not necessarily be true that I came, saw, or conquered (thank you, Julius Caesar), it will be irrefutable that I did at one time, someplace, somewhere, actually exist. Looking at it from their perspective, I blogged, therefore I was, which is so much better than their having to use the past imperfect conditional (I think I just made that up), as in if he had blogged, he would have been.

Immortality. To be remembered. To be not just remembered but celebrated. To have counted. To have mattered. I think that is all any of us really want, and it is something hardly any of us will get. After only a generation or two, perhaps, of being fondly remembered by our own descendants, no one will recall the sound of our voice, how we parted our hair (if we had any hair), what toothpaste or deodorant or cereal we bought, what we believed in our heart of hearts. Like all the others except for a very precious few, we will become non-entities, as anonymous as those rows and rows of skulls found under the streets of Paris.

Speaking of perspective, I need my morning coffee. This is getting too depressing.

There, that's better.

The Psalms are always a good way to start the day. I will read a couple. Psalm 30. Psalm 118. Psalm 23.

I almost forgot. Today is Good Friday. Things may look bleak, but Easter is just around the corner. There is hope.

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning (thank you, Psalm 30).

"Spring forward, fall back" and other March trivia

Ah, March, the time of spring, when a young man's fancy turns to what the young ladies have been thinking about all winter. March is the month that comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, unless it comes in like a lamb and goes out like a lion. Actually there are two more choices: March might come in like a lamb and go out like a lamb or come in like a lion and go out like a lion. Someone should apply for a federal grant to study what the weather in March has actually been like for the past umpteen years and then write an article about how the findings either totally prove or disprove global warming, or, as it is now being called in some quarters, climate change.

As it happens, the climate is always changing, thanks to the tilt of Earth's axis. Two of the most intriguing events caused by seasonal climate change occur each year in the month of March. On or about March 19, the swallows return to San Juan Capistrano, California. On or about March 15, the buzzards return to Hinckley, Ohio. One seems sublime; the other seems ridiculous. Both are true.

On March 9th this year, we turned our clocks one hour ahead to start the annual Daylight Saving Time period, which has been steadily lengthening. Now we have eight months of Daylight Saving Time and only four months of Standard Time. This nonsense, which is very confusing to dogs and cows and chickens, started back in the 1940's and was originally called British War time. The British War may end someday. We can only hope.

Julius Caesar was killed by his pal Brutus on the Ides of March (the 15th) in the year 44 B.C., which was not called 44 B.C. at the time except by the most clairvoyant citizens of the Roman Empire and a few prophetically gifted people living at the eastern end of the Mediterranean Sea. The first part of the previous sentence is true, but the last part is only conjecture.

March 17th is the feast day of St. Patrick in the Roman Catholic Church. There may be a reason why that particular day was chosen to honor Patrick, but I have not been able to find it. It doesn't seem to be the date of his birth, the date of his death, or the date when he drove all the snakes out of Ireland. You must decide for yourself whether the statement made in the last part of the previous sentence is true. As for myself, I think of Ireland every time I look out our back door, because when I look out our back door, I see (wait for it, here it comes) Paddy O'Furniture (groan).

The vernal equinox occurs in March, and it was the date of my grandfather's birth in 1875. Somehow, the vernal equinox seems to have shifted since 1875, because his birthday was March 21st and nowadays the vernal equinox occurs on March 20th. Go figure. Maybe we have accumulated too much Daylight Saving Time since the British War.

This year Easter comes early too; it occurs on March 23rd. For some reason known only to the people who decided to do it that way, Easter falls on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox (except in the Eastern Orthodox churches, which calculate the date differently). Speaking of calculating dates, I must have been conceived around the time of a solstice, because I was born around the time of an equinox. We could get into a lengthy discussion here about equinoxes and solstices and how much the Earth's axis is tilted, and why, or we could discuss John Philip Sousa, who was called the March King for an altogether different reason. Let's not, though, because my head is already swimming. It must suffice for now to tell you the most interesting terrestrial phenomenon of all, one that should be obvious in March or any other month: Love makes the world go 'round.