As I write, the crabby cat is, as ever, asleep beside me. I just said to her, "What, exactly, is the point of you?" But she just slept on, snoring softly, her paw draped over her stripey nose.
Read a chilling article in the "New Yorker" on Mohammed somebody or other, the actual mastermind behind 9/11 - Bin Laden was a johnny-come-lately who only provided money and support while this guy did all the planning, recruiting and organizing. What's so horrifying is that this Mohammed doesn't seem to be an ideological or religious fanatic; he just wants to destroy indiscriminately, and had plans to kill the Pope and plant explosions all over the globe. Perhaps the most terrifying enemy of all - someone utterly irrational, who wants to kill just for the hell of it.
Speaking of which - Happy 70th birthday, John Lennon. My mother just called to tell me to turn on Randy Bachman's show on CBC, a marvellous 70th birthday tribute to John Lennon; when the show ended to the haunting strains of "Imagine," Mum called back, and we cried to each other. The program highlighted the tender, vulnerable side of John, in songs like "If I fell" and "Woman," as well as his songs about love and peace. What a terrible loss for our planet when that lunatic chose to kill, just for the hell of it. We miss you so, John.
Speaking of loss - I recently had my own little tiny brush with death. I was zipping along on my bike feeling so grand, heading north on Avenue Road from Bloor. A bus was idling next to the curb, so instead of pulling in behind it and waiting for it to move, as I usually do, I decided to go around and pass it. As I was level with the bus, it began to pull away from the curb - I must have been in the driver's blind spot and he couldn't see me, so as he swung out, he forced me further into the centre of the road. I managed to slow down till he drew away and then flee back to the curb. The thing is - as I was wobbling about in the middle of the road, there was a red light at Bloor. If the light had turned green, streams of cars would have hurtled toward me, and I'd have been sunk.
Thank you, whoever you are, for not squashing me like a beetle in the middle of Avenue Road. If only John had been so lucky.
And finally, speaking of luck and gratitude ... Google Analytics tells me that over 300 people follow this blog every month, logging on about once a week - over 1200 hits a month. It's an odd feeling, knowing that more than 300 people, most of whom I've never met, know a great deal about what I'm thinking and doing. I love writing here, to you, but I've been wondering if the considerable time and energy that goes into this blog is taking time and energy away from my other writing work.
Hard as this is, I'm going to cut back for awhile. I've announced this before, and couldn't bear not to write, as it gives me such pleasure - I always have a notebook with me, in case something happens I'd like to jot down and share. But for the next while - the next SHORT while - I'm going to post less often, so that my thoughts and concerns go into a longer work that might actually become a book, get published and make some money. Instead of this blog which I adore but which brings in exactly $0.00. Yes, I'm mercenary at heart, as you've always suspected. It's all about the money.
And if you believe that, I've got a blog book to sell you.
(Not quite sure if that makes sense. I think it does not.)
Talk to you soon. On Wednesday. I'll have lots to tell by then.
This scares me, you know. What if all 300 + of you go away and never come back?
I found so many interesting stuff in your blog, thank you for sharing.
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