It’s a beautiful day in our neighborhood. The sun is brightly shining and glinting sharply here and there between the leaves of the oak trees. Even the horrific tenants next door are quiet enough so I can open my window. The birds are singing, happily I presume, and they’re at the feeders enjoying breakfast. Gracie and the cats are napping. It feels idyllic, perfect to inspire some sort of a poem, a short one like an Emily Dickinson’s.

I’m going off cape today to the Apple store. I probably shouldn’t as it is an occasion for sin as the nuns would say. I think the Apple store entices me to spend and be an electronic glutton, but I’m looking for some technical help. When I bought my Mac, I paid for one on one tutoring, and that’s what I’m getting today. I figured out to copy the Ghana 1969-1971 DVD Tim made but got flummoxed when it appeared as two files so I couldn’t figure out how to copy it. They’ll show me, and by the time I get home, I’ll have forgotten so I’m bringing a pad of paper.

This is a busy week for me with something every day. Most are social events. The play this week on Friday is another musical. My friend, Tony, a musician, gets personally offended because I don’t like musicals. I tell him I love music, but that doesn’t soothe his feelings which I hate to hurt, but I can’t lie. I love drama and mystery and comedies, not a play where someone sings when words could work as well or even better. I appreciate music, but I appreciate even more the turn of a phrase or the cleverness of a playwright. I’ll go this week as I skipped the last musical, but I saw a musical just last week at the other theater so I think I’m being punished.

I figure hell isn’t fire and brimstone. We are stuck for eternity with what drives us crazy. People who don’t like kids will be in a room with thousands of terrible two’s all of whom need their diapers changed. Speed demons will be buckled into cars which go no more than 5 MPH.  Beer drinkers, never seen without a bottle in hand, will be a hand’s length away from an ever flowing tap. I will be stuck in a theater watching the same musical over and over. It will be one like Carrie which is on every worst musical list. The devil will chose singers who sing off-key, which, I suppose, doesn’t make them singers at all. I will have to sit there performance after performance listening to lines like,

“All we ever do is park
Then for hours you grope me in the dark”