The metaphor of the stick and other randomocity

My mom told me that when I was just learning to walk I had to hold onto this stick.

The stick was a substitute for someone's finger--I started walking by holding onto mom's finger and using that to help me keep my balance. Mom gave me the stick--it was short, just a bit longer than her finger--and it served just as well. As long as I was holding onto that stick I could walk. It was like magic.

Eventually, of course, I figured out I didn't need the stick to walk. But I've always thought this was a very apt metaphor for religion--I thought the stick was helping but it was just a stick. I was actually doing it myself. Anyways, I always found that profound.

On another subject, I just missed a wonderful little photo-op with my dog, Atari. I just went out to get my head shaved--yes, I'm bald again--and while I was there went by Cheesesteak Charlie's to get a grilled steak sandwich and some fries. Of course, when I brought them home Atari smelt the meat and started salivating.

I fully intended to give him a taste of the sandwich but just couldn't stop myself until it was gone. I did have some fries left over, though, and he likes fries, so I dumped those in his food dish. He eagerly ran over and stuck his snout into that dish and then, realizing that there wsa no meat in there whatsoever, gave me the saddest, most disappointed look ever. I wish I'd had a camera ready. It was one for the ages. He ate the fries but you could tell his heart wasn't in it.

My little mini-vacation is over today. Back to work tomorrow morning. Woo-hoo!