Brief Meditation On A Line From Hopkins

Today I went for a walk. I saw a trail I'd never taken before, and followed it to a street I didn't know. For some reason, a single line from a poem began to run through my head: The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

The word "charged" means many different things, of course. You can be charged in the sense of being accused of something. You can be charged in the sense of being entrusted to carry out a task or duty. When you charge a battery, you cause it to store energy drawn from another power source.

I looked around.

There were a scattering of pink petals on the sidewalk, fallen from a flowering bush that stood taller than I ever will. Water drops on the petals winked back at the sun.

There was a tree with some kind of berry hanging from its branches. Large dark berries, like a cross between blueberries and olives, cast in silhouette against a golden light.

There were long swathes of grass growing out of the soil next to the sidewalk. Water drops on the grass sparkled like diamonds. I stopped, crouched down, stared, ran my fingers along the thin green blades. The diamonds melted away the moment I touched them. But everywhere I looked, there were more. If God so clothes the flowers of the fields, I thought.

The world is generous with its riches. God is generous with the world. And yes, the world is charged with His grandeur. In every sense of the word.

A Laid-Back, Totally Non-Road Ragey Note To Drivers In L.A., Yo

The following is a public service announcement from your friendly neighborhood frogg.

To those who are going below 65mph on the freeway, please take a moment to look at the posted speed limit signs. You'll be able to read them just fine because no way are they going to be a blur at the rate you’re going. So you will see that they say 65mph. Consider what this may mean, not just for you, but for everyone on the road with you. Especially those who are stuck in the huge line of cars stacking up behind you in the fast lane. Which, by the way, you shouldn’t be in.

To those who are going exactly 65mph, you may be interested to know that you have a 5mph leeway. This is not written in any "official laws" per se, but we all know it. Except you. Until now.

To those who are conscientiously going 5mph above the posted speed limit, please take a moment to get out of the fast lane. You’re going too slow.

To everyone using the L.A. freeway system — the fast lane is the one on the LEFT.

I realize all this may sound a little more like a diatribe than a public service announcement, but I don't care.

Thank you for tuning in. Back to your regularly scheduled day now. With kisses, of course, from the frogg princess.

M&M Overdose Imminent—Intervention Please!

OK, seriously, I think I am addicted to M&Ms now.

I blame my roommate (in, of course, the nicest possible way). She came home the other day with a giant plastic tub filled to the brim with M&Ms—a prize she had won at an anniversary party for some friends of hers. So maybe I should actually blame her friends. Anyway, there are enough M&Ms in there to last til Doomsday. Or whenever North Korea decides to fire their rockets at us, whichever comes first.

Er, wait.

Whatever, the point is, I can't manage a simple walk through the dining room without taking a scoop of M&Ms out of the little glass bowl that sits on the table. Or sit in the living room without having a few—or a few too many—out of another glass jar on the coffee table. I can't even eat oatmeal anymore. I mean, by itself.

On the other hand, I've been wondering what to give up for Lent this year. Maybe I have my answer.

The Breakfast of Champions...

...can get a little old after a few days in a row.

Not that I would know from personal experience or anything.

In other news, I'm off for a hike near Malibu today. A much-needed opportunity to get outdoors and clear the brain after a tough week. Hope you all have a wonderful Saturday! With love, as usual, from the frogg princess...

Oatmeal + M&Ms

= the breakfast of champions. Strange champions, perhaps; quirky champions that you almost kind of wonder if you should maybe worry about their mental health, but champions nonetheless.

Although I should clarify: you have to actually put the M&Ms in your oatmeal to qualify. Besides, if you don't, you won't see how many pretty colors your oatmeal can turn, and then what fun is it?

I'm going to go now.

Time For Another Frogg Award

Haven't handed one of these out in a while, but I'm proud to announce that, in the "Most Embarrassing Moment of My Life" category, we have a winner. For those of you too lazy to click on the link (and honestly, how lazy are you, that you can't click on a link?!), our recipient was participating in a guided tour at the Met in New York when, for some unexplained reason, she stumbled and fell. On a painting. By Picasso. And tore it. In front of many other people.

Yikes.

As an expert in embarrassing moments, having played a starring role in more of them than I care to remember, I just have to point out that there's really no good way to ever live something like this down.

I also have to point out that the article kind of leaves a lot of unanswered questions rolling around in my mind. Not least is the question of what on earth Picasso was thinking when he produced that painting. And if you'd just click on the link like I said, you'd know exactly what I was talking about. But also right up there is the question of how the docent leading the tour reacted in the moment of the accident. I mean, museum docents have kind of perfected the art of looking vaguely threatening even at the best of times; i.e., times when you are not falling on an irreplaceable masterpiece and destroying it. So really, I can only imagine. After all, we're talking here about a painting which had been negotiated for a sale of $139 million.The woman is no doubt thanking anything but her lucky stars (which were clearly asleep on the job that day) that the museum did not enforce a "you break it, you buy it" policy.

Thoughts On A Rainy Night

The long, stormy day is done. Earlier this evening I saw lightning through a heavy rain as I drove the streets near my house. Now I'm home again, sitting in my room with a cup of chamomile tea, the light dim and a few candles burning. Just thinking. I make a few false starts on the ol' blog, but nothing flows. Sigh.

I pick up my old journal and flip to the entry for this date last year. Turns out that on January 21, 2009, I was on a plane headed to Thailand. Strange. Seems a lifetime ago and then some. In a way, I suppose it was. Just over two weeks after getting back from that trip, I'd find myself starting chemotherapy. Life is full of surprises.

My hair has grown back very thick, and curlier than before. Darker, too. Meanwhile, the biopsy scar at the base of my throat is fading. I doubt anyone would notice it anymore, if they ever did. I see it, though. Every day.

I pause and listen. The rain has stopped. I wonder if it stopped a long time ago and I just never noticed until now. Everything is quiet outside. Inside, well. That's another story.