Monday night, while enjoying my late night snack, I popped in a DVD that has sat on my shelf since I had won it (as part of package of DVDs) in a silent auction five years ago, a biography of the architect of the Great Society, Lyndon Baines Johnson.
I had to smile when the Democrat’s friend, former Texas Governor (and former Democrat) John Connally said that the 36th president “had no interest except politics. He was totally committed to it. He never read anything . . . . ” Sometimes it seems our readers see us as that Texas Democrat, entirely focused on politics because our primary internet exposure is through our posts on that topic.
And yet there remains a part of us, the better part perhaps, which can’t be discovered though google. And that’s where my mind has been of late.
As time permits, I do hope to return to regular blogging perhaps as soon as this afternoon. I can devote a few hours a day to blogging about politics and the rest to mythology and its related manifestations in popular media/culture.
Let me briefly share with you some thoughts on, well, relativity, some observations and serendipities from Monday night through Tuesday morning. Have you ever noticed how sometimes the greatest joys you feel come not when you achieve a particular honor, but when you find the status quo restored?
Let me illustrate. Monday night, I was driving home from the Valley via Laurel Canyon when all of a sudden the interior lights in my car went on. Keeping my eyes on the windy road, I reached up to flip them off, but accidentally hit the switch not for the light, but for the sunroof; it began to open (with the lights still on). And I began to panic.
You see, when last I had opened the roof, it jammed and wouldn’t close; I had to take it into the dealership. They were able to close it, but informed me that it would cost over $1,00o to get it working properly again.
I decided to save the money; I could live without a sunroof.
Monday night, with the roof refusing (again) to close, I fretted that I would have to take the car in again. Back home, I tinkered with the roof (as they had advised me to do should it open again), got the roof to budge a bit, but couldn’t get it to close all the way. I realized I would have to take it in, suffering an additional aggravation in an already busy week.
Keeping my cool, I drove out again, this time to get a snack at 7-11. There, when I turned the key into the keyhole in the front door, I held it there for a second in order to close all the windows and sunroof.
To my surprise, the roof closed all the way. And it was supposed to do. I wouldn’t have to go into the dealership.
I was in an amazing mood, chipper, smiling at (instead of cursing) the busybody patron who kept changing her mind about what to purchase when it was her turn to pay for her purchases while I waited in line behind her. I held the door open for a group of slow-moving college kids. It struck me how wonderful I felt just to restore the status quo (something I had taken for granted for over a year) of barely twenty minutes prior to my visit.
I even slept well.
Yesterday morning, I woke up to rain. And smiled at my good fortune. Good fortune that I would certainly have taken for granted if not for the problem of the roof the previous night.
So, I wondered if our happiness, our state of mind, is relative.
This notion of relativity struck me yet again when I returned home from Starbucks later in the day. I delighted at how clean my apartment was. To be sure, it wasn’t really clean, just cleaner. Those who had not been here before would wonder at my clutter. But, over the weekend — and on Monday — I had consolidated some piles, tidied up, straightened the rugs and vacuumed thoroughly. It seemed clean, well, that is, in contrast to how it had appeared on Saturday.
With the story of the tale of the sunroof fresh in my mind, I wondered again at how much in life really is relative. . . .
Just a thought.