I have an annoying tendency to worry about Life, Death and What's It All About, but I think it's time to leave those questions to the professionals.
To this end, I have decided that a boxing match between Richard Dawkins and the Pope will settle all matters and maybe I can get to worry less.
I imagine this is how the fight would go, but it's all in my head so please sue my unorthadox imagination and not my suffering bank account.
(Richard; "Take that Benedict! Carbon dating! Biff!. Fossils! Kerpow! "
Benedict; "Mercy Richard! Peace! Love!Faith! "
Richard; "You mean war, persecution and murder!You might as well believe in the Tooth Fairy!"
Benedict; "You mean the Tooth Fairy's not real??? Noooo!!! And the war, persecution and murder thing was just an unfortunate side effect of a book cobbled together hundreds of years after the Big J was knocking around"
Richard; "That beardy hippie Bam! was a communist who preached that we should love each other unconditionally and own nothing more than the shirts on our backs. Crunch! The exact OPPOSITE of the elitist, multi-billion dollar business of the Vatican! Splat!"
Benedict is getting tired and Richard moves in for his fatal blow.
Benedict; "But...but...faith can move mountains!"
Benedict screams and covers his ears.
Benedict; "Richard, please, no more!"
"Evolution!" cries Richard as Benedict stumbles and collapses, defeated, on the floor.)
But that's just me.
And in fairness, the Pope is at a disadvantage. His pointy hat and flowing gowns do not exactly lend themselves to boxing.
So as I decided last week, I've scaled back on the Big Dreams and the Big Questions and I'm focusing instead on the smaller, more pedestrian goals.
It's not cosmic and it's definitely not sexy, but already the small steps are yielding results.
In the last few weeks Finian has mastered swinging on his own...you can see by his face that he kinda likes it.
Meanwhile, in the garden, anarchy reigned
The rebellious blackcurrants laughed in the face of the Irish summer and ripened regardless. They seized the three minute window of fabulous sunshine and commanded their little purple armies to ripen now! Blackcurrants are nothing, if not opportunistic.
The intrepid James took Finian and Ellen to harvest them, armed only with a bucket, a hat and a shed-load of patience.
|Rockin' the hat look|
|Checking the merchandise|
I got a few opportunities to go walking during our unseasonably nice Summer weather, and sometimes I forget just how breathtakingly beautiful it is where I live because I'm so accustomed to it.
|"You talkin' to me?"|
I bought some wool and knitting needles and have resurrected a hobby I used to enjoy years ago, before the onslaught of rowdy kids terrified me into getting rid of all sharp objects. I had visions of children falling into my knitting basket and emerging looking like overgrown voodoo dolls.
Knitting ain't rock n'roll, but it's relaxing and is a healthier hypnotic than skulling a small lake of wine during the week.
I snatched an hour in a lovely bookshop yesterday and disciplined myself to avoid the science, psychology, educational and self-help sections.
And the medical and sociology sections.
I came out with three actual novels under my arm that made me laugh out loud at their first paragraphs. They won't unlock the answer to life, the universe and everything, but they will make me laugh. And that's a much more achievable goal.
It would seem that babies know what they're doing when they learn to crawl before they can walk.