Some upbeat mystical music on the puck this morning fires up the bird, but me, not so much. I don’t wanna be fired up before breakfast, and especially on Shabbat morning. I think this is also going to be an ibuprofen day before I start breakfast. I am hankering for creamy scrambled eggs this morning, but it is always a one in five chance that they will come out soft and creamy. More likely they’ll come out as salted yellow rubber chunks as I have never mastered the theory of heat on an electric range. But I try.
Other than crowing from the press over a rabid President hater who talked a judge into ordering the Whitehouse to admit the oafish boor into the press room. I can think of half a dozen ways the Whitehouse can turn this ‘victory’ into gravel. One would be to just revoke all press passes and convert the press room into an aviary.
So the day begins. Coffee, music, roughhousing dogs, and braying reportage. Still, it is a holy day. God rests while creation plays out over the æons and we barely comprehend it. Still we try.