Life, death, and itty bitty pith helmets

It was only a Super Moon sitting up in a paper sky, but Norton the rabbit didn't get out to see it.  He was ever so pleased this morning to get out on the patio to continue crafting his rabbit cave in the ground cover.  He wore his make-believe pith helmet.  I took a big mug of coffee.  It was sixty-three degrees.  Together we might dig the Panama Canal and find a cure for malaise.

The moon over White Rock Lake was quite fabulous last night after Fred Curchack's one-man play at the Bath House Cultural Center.  Dang if the play wasn't about life, death, generations,  words, and our sense of self.

Dad is not wearing his pith helmet.  Still in his hospital gown, he is refusing to get out of bed.  This would seem right if he was just protesting the end of spring break.  Alas, it  is a larger comment on mortality, the weekend staff, over-grown nose hairs, and self-determination. 

One of the stand-out reviews read in March issues of Library Journal  was Elizabeth Foley's consideration of  the Law of Life and Death.  When are we alive?  When is life gone?  What happens when the latest medical information meets the current legal opinions?  Why is the juice always red?

Started reading Diane Ackerman's One Hundred Names for Love while sitting under a tree by the jogging trail.   Kites.  I love kites.  So many families picnicking and frisbeeing in every language.  What is language?  How do we communicate love?  How can we repair a writer's brain after a stroke?
© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder