YBLOG ZA: The Blogger's Cat

Trouble

"So what's her name?" my colleague enquired on hearing I had a cat.

"Trouble," I replied.

"Yes, but what's her middle name?" he asked without hesitation.

When you notice a cat in profound meditation, | The reason, I tell you, is always the same: | His mind is engaged in rapt contemplation | Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name: | His ineffable effable | Effanineffable | Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

T.S. Eliot | The Naming of Cats

Watching the River Flow

Moonset at Sunset...

If I had wings and I could fly, | I know where I would go. | But right now I'll just sit here so contentedly | And watch the river flow.

Tomorrow I go back to work after a week-long break. I'd recommend it to anybody — the break, that is. Work, as a great man once said, is for other people.

Sunrise at Silvermine

Before heading out to Bon Echo, Mark Woods pointed to a wonderful 2005 conversation between Phil Rockstroh, Joe Bageant, and John Steppling.

Recommended... umm, required reading for those unable — or unwilling — to take it easy.

But this ol' river keeps on rollin', though, | No matter what gets in the way and which way the wind does blow, | And as long as it does I'll just sit here | And watch the river flow.

Bob Dylan | Watching the River Flow

Destinations...

The beginning...

Now, I don't care just what you do, | If you wanta have a picnic, that's up t' you. | But don't tell me about it, I don't wanta hear it, | 'Cause, see, I just lost all m' picnic spirit. | Stay in m' kitchen, have m' own picnic... | In the bathroom.

Despite giving only twenty-or-so metres to Table Mountain, Devil's Peak is much overlooked. We walked up Wednesday, setting out at around 08:00 in dense fog. It persisted, giving way to cloud that dissipated briefly only on reaching the peak at 10:30.

Given our early arrival, I lay down under a rock for a nap — to dry and wait out the cloud howling across the mountain on a gale-force westerly. While dozing, a bunch of walkers reached the summit and stopped for a break. Around my age, they were obviously seasoned hikers — as in "good, healthy exercise" being their gig (it's certainly not mine).

A jocular, chatty lot, they jabbered away above the gale until I felt like throwing all of them off the edge. One guy was going on about setting his GPS to Google Earth and finding, on arriving at a destination such as Devil's Peak, the instrument telling him ten metres remained to be climbed.

For some reason, his cheery chums found this a source of great amusement.

I thought of Whiskey River and the old Zen master who, on being asked by his student what he should do when reaching the top of the mountain, answered "Keep climbing."

The old buggers eventually checked their watches, made loud happy noises, and returned to the invisible city beneath.

I giggled and went back to sleep.

Now, it don't seem to me quite so funny | What some people are gonna do f'r money. | There's a bran' new gimmick every day | Just t' take somebody's money away. | I think we oughta take some o' these people | And put 'em on a boat, send 'em up to Bear Mountain... | For a picnic.

Bob Dylan | Talking Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre Blues