Sure, have a nap up there. I don’t see why not.

The other day, as Oliver took a nap perched precariously up on the bannister and then hung there playing with his own tail for a while, Mike asked me, “Do you think he’s just playful, or is he a little stupid?” I do not know the answer to that question, although to be honest I wonder that very thing about a lot of humans too. Something else I have often wondered is whether anyone ever actually gets the number of cookies a recipe claims it makes. (That is a terribly convoluted sentence but I can’t figure out how to make it better, so please bear with me.) I never, ever get anywhere close to that number, and I always assumed it was because of the little lumps of dough that keep detouring to my mouth, but this weekend I was making cookies for an event at our church and I used our usual recipe, which claims to make 5 dozen, but I doubled the recipe and still only got a little more than 6 dozen, and I was even very careful about not eating the dough! I wouldn’t even consider the cookies to be abnormally large, so I don’t understand what is happening here. Perhaps I need to make some more cookies. For research. You know, for science. (Another question for the ages: how did anyone ever get PAST the dough stage to the baking stage in the first place? Cookie dough is not improved by the baking process. It is far superior in its raw state.) (I also often wonder that about eggs. Who was the first person to crack open the shell and think, “Ooooh, yes, I know, this looks like something I should mix up with some milk and some salt and pepper and cook it in a hot pan and eat it with some toast!”)

I have a song on my iPhone that I keep there primarily because it is so terrible it makes me laugh merrily every time I hear it, and part of the reason it makes me laugh so much is every time I am struck anew with the realization that the lead singer of the band (and the song’s composer) is Leonard Cohen’s son. Which means that the guy who wrote these lyrics:

Without you, I’ve been standing ’round just like a statue, laying on the floor thinking about you
I talk to myself like the crazies do, otherwise I’m great, what about you? Yeah, what about you?

The weatherman says blue skies but it’s raining like the clouds all decided to cry
And every time you hurt me I say “it’s all right it’s all right it’s all right”

Without you, I’ve been standing ’round you like a statue
Laying on the couch all day like cats do
Waiting for the phone to ring, but it won’t ring

Shares DNA with the guy who wrote these lyrics:

Then she dances so graceful
and your heart’s hard and hateful
and she’s naked
but that’s just a tease
And you turn in disgust
from your hatred, from your love
And she comes to you light as the breeze

There’s blood on every bracelet
you can see it, you can taste it,
and it’s please baby
please baby please
And she says, drink deeply, pilgrim
but don’t forget there’s still a woman
beneath this
resplendent chemise

So I knelt there at the delta,
at the alpha and the omega,
I knelt there like one who believes
And like a blessing come from heaven
for something like a second
I was cured and my heart was at ease

(In case there was any doubt, the part that makes me chortle with glee is the line about lying around the house all day like cats do. That’s quite the metaphor for someone who claims to have been tutored in lyric-writing by a famous poet.)