Blissful insignificance

As Wayne left this morning on his Harley cycle to witness his nephew's induction in the US Army near St. Louis, Missouri, all I'm accountable for are two dogs, two goldfish, one turtle, and one gerbil. Easy enough.

I'm not making the bed, vacuuming the carpet, cooking, weeding (okay, maybe a little if the humidity goes down) but otherwise nothing to try and stop the law of entropy from marching forward. Let it march for a few days unabated by me. It seems to be winning the battle more and more every year anyway.

I'm at liberty to stare into space for as long as I want, and I do want. I can think for a long as I want, and I want to think. It takes time to think, don't cha know?

I'm aware of my insignificance to the rest of the world, and I am relishing in it.

Except for Thursday when granddaughter Olivia is coming to spend the day with me. I'm including her in my reprieve from the world too, but we'll just experience it, not explain it. We will do whatever. I'm sure we'll put on some Sousa marches so she can practice twirling her baton for her daddy's football viewing season. And maybe watch Ice Age again, both sprawled in the giant beanbag chair and laughing from the depth of our bellies at the antics of Scrat, Manny, Sid and Diago. "Why does Diago want the baby?" Olivia asks. "Tigers are carnivorous," I say, hoping the truth of being carnivorous eludes her for a couple of years until she can better deal with the way of life on this earth.

It's a mood thing, this blissful insignificance. I am writing about it on a blog for people to read. How insignificant do I really want to be? Not much, apparently.

Sigh. But I am going to relish the time. Here's hoping you have some blissful insignificance time too.