möbius-ity

42 might as well be the meaning of life. It’s as good as anything anyone else has come up with, as far as I’ve noticed.

Today, after the usual pets and breakfast routine, I met a friend for tea and “breakfast cookies” at The Big Bean. We had a wonderful (but too short as usual) chat, then I bundled up against the wind chill and quick-stepped the 1/2 mile home. By then, Jeff had managed a shower without a shower-director. I noted the extra undies scattered around the bed, a rejected t-shirt, his washed-with-conditioner (instead of shampoo) hair, and the same old dirty jeans. Good enough.

We headed back out into the chill to tick the next item off my list--replacing the ceramic birdbath, whose basin had cracked from freezing water. Just before my immersible de-icer arrived a little too late.

The new birdbath top--positioned with hodge-podge imperfection atop the existing pedestal--is (with de-icer at work,) doing its job.

Furthermore, Otis the kitten will (I hope) soon pass the colon-load of paper, or whatever inedible he consumed, that prompted 2 trips to the vet and an x-ray in the past 3 days. The water heater, meanwhile, is back in operating condition after a day’s work by Yank the plumber yesterday, and our upstairs is once again, therefore, heated.

The thing that likes to drive me crazy on a regular and ongoing basis is this question: Is any of this of consequence? I think if I could send a letter back to 1973...have a little word with myself...deliver some advice, the letter would contain the following: First, I would list the areas in which the grown up me has a modicum of both skill and interest. This part is important, because that 11 year old had no clue what she liked and even less motivation. So I would tell her that she’d be a decent writer and had skill at language acquisition and usage. She should relax and not let math frustrate her so much...approach it with less fear and loathing and she’d be capable. She should stick, arduously, to her study of viola, and add in fiddle while she’s at it. Finally, she should steer herself in the direction of a helping profession--most likely in the area of scientific research. I’m going to have to anticipate that--being a tolerably bright child--she’ll ask what she’s doing heading into research if she’s good at languages and writing. So I will answer that question for her: She will not find a way to be useful to the world as a writer or linguist, so--while she should hone these skills as personally edifying--she will need to be a provider of value to the human race in order not to fret later, as an almost-50 year old, about adequacy of being the caretaker of an impaired spouse and the saver-of-kitties, who writes works that the world does not require.

But back to 42. Apparently I do what I do, because it is what the world requires of me. Or at least a sufficient part of it is. What I really think is that--if I sent that letter to the 11 year old, and even if she took it to heart (the lazy little underachiever,)--I would merely trip the existential feedback loop of Möbius, and end up exactly where I am. So, I don’t know exactly what 42 means, but I think it’s that.