Thursday, May 24, 2012

How To (1)


    Those of us prone to nihilistic revere might look at either Solstice and declare it an opportunity to cast aside the onerous and often unnecessary demands of the day to day, enter the portals of debauchery, and remain there until either the day to day or its constabulary come again to knock on the back door.  And I can well understand how such a moment may be cast into the stone of  theology.  Christmas, for example, has its communion for the strict observer.  A sacred moment for many, I'm convinced.  Which is followed or preceded by gift giving and feasting to the point of generally feeling ill and fed up with each other.  Eid - which celebrates the equally sacred moment when Abraham sacrificed a sheep rather than his son - also has its equivalent of  feasting to the point of feeling ill.  And I guess if you had the patience you could travel the world to find numerous examples of how theological understandings of "why?" tempt those of us prone to nihilistic revere by dignifying gluttony and excess with what I will call the Occasional Hall Pass.  And I too remember the valiant phrase "Christmas in July" that inspired so many of us.

     I am, however, increasingly convinced that Summer Solstice this year will for me include some sort of ice cream, because this June Twenty First, I might still be under the influence of a Job Creator, which means I would be obligated to feast to the point of feeling ill or suffer the classic consequences of not even trying to be a team player.  In which case, I'd prefer not just that common or garden vanilla ice cream, but something with the best of the milk and caramelized sugars and those little bits that crunch, and which are kept safe behind lock and key at the Grocery Store.  Bread pudding with raisins would be nice.  And I'd like to fly to the City of Dublin for a pound of pork sausages.  Perhaps too I could have my tee-shirt hand-laundered in Cairo where Nile water will leave it soft as ear lobes. As well I would send for Matoki and Banana leaves, which means I'll need charcoal. Naturally there will be Chicken Lobster from the West Indies to roast on drift wood and several  young Trout, from a river in Scotland, to grill over the smoke from the sawdust of fresh Apple wood.  Necessary also, would be tambourines and interpretive dancing.  And to the question "why?" I could answer "06/21/2012. 23.09. GMT."  


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