I seem to remember that each chapter of Alice Walker's 'The Color Purple' began like that. I found it quite puzzling when I read it.
Why the hell would anyone start off every chapter of their Great Masterpiece with 'Dear God', I wondered.
Ever the Literalist, I thought perhaps that Alice was addressing her readers as 'God'.
But writing a blog is Rather Like Writing to God. I won't bother to explain why, but I'm sure you understand. Which again reminds me of another book which mentions 'God' & isn't The Bible or a Book on Martyrs. It's a cheesy piece of fiction for twelve year olds called 'Hello God, It's Me, Margaret'. I can't remember the name of the author but I've seen it kicking around our school library for years. I'm sure no one's borrowed it since 1973. Every time I see it, I roar with laughter.
I've now thought of a famous Australian pop song from my childhood. 'Telephone to Jesus'. Even back then I thought it was Twee. What the hell would you say to Jesus if he called you up?
'How's it Hanging?' perhaps?
I must stop now before I disappear up my Own Twisted Existential A-Hole. Or derriere.
Speaking of Derrieres, look below at the Behind on the one week old puppy I'm carefully holding in the picture below. As you can see, I'm dressed in black & white so I'm Perfectly Themed with it & the whole washing basket of fur that visited me this week.
This is her second litter.
There is some discussion about the Puppies Paternity. It seems that its entirely possible that the father is Frog, a v. small pug owned by Nuddy, Gumby's sister.
It's a pairing that rather reminds me of what the offspring of Jackie Kennedy & Aristotle Onassis may have been like. Perhaps a Frog Princess. Or a Prince.
My daughter, Billie-Mae & I are Absolutely Not Frog Princesses. Here we are in the park across the road from my apartment.
We're standing in front of trees that are wearing Leg Warmers. In fact, almost every tree in the park is wearing them as part of a wonderful Guerilla Knitting Art Project. Every saturday for weeks diligent knitters have been labouring furiously with giant knitting needles in the park. I now feel Slightly Left Out because I didn't bother volunteering to be part of it. But I've got too many Knitting Wounds from Childhood. It took me years to learn & then everything I ever knitted ended up in the garbage. I just couldn't Cut the Knitting Mustard. As well as The Embroidery, Sewing, Crotcheting, Tennis, Basketball & Crossing the Road Unaided Mustards.
Here's Billie-Mae's little sister Freya. She is Adorable. But sadly, not my daughter.
Apparently the identical red hair is a Strange Coincidence. Not that I'm an expert on Genes or whatever they are. But Both parents have got to have the Red Gene. Which is rare.
I always knew that I was Special.