I witnessed something poignant and beautiful today. My mom's 16yr old cat, Hutch, had reached the end of his life and had been suffering from a terminal illness for a while. I accompanied her to the vet, operated by a family friend of ours, for his euthanasia. It felt right. It felt like a merciful, compassionate step to relieve their suffering and allow them to exit this life with ease and a release of love and honor. As the doctor gave the injection and Hutch's body relaxed as he passed away, there was a sense of relief and release to the experience. I was moved and grateful to be there for my mom and also be present for the cat who'd lived a good full life. My personal philosophy is that everything, and I do mean everything, is impermanent, and everything is energy down to thought or even the molecular structure of the physical presence. I felt good to witness this transition, believing that there's always something left behind from the emotional and spiritual aspects that never truly dies but caries forward in fragments and particles. Lauren called and made plans to come down 'spur of the moment', arriving right after or movie plans. We went to see "Asteroid City," tonight, the new Wes Anderson film. Our path/plans were modestly delayed due to what appears to be a continuous leak in the left rear time that required inflation and oversight. I loved it but was lost in many ways, which is my usual first experience lately with many films. And in particular, his. I also know from experience that a second viewing allows me to focus even more on his/their unique and poetically stunning sets, cinematography and, in this case, more than any prior, the dialog. It was a non-stop homage to the mid-50s era of dramatic theater writing and production. There's more going on here, though. Something more introspective, I believe. I'll see it again for sure. We picked up Lauren, and she and Tommy went to Chick-fil-a and returned in time for us to … go to bed. 10 pm. This routine is working, and I want to keep it up. I feel a clearing writer's roadblock on the horizon, and I want to lean into it. For once. More.
