The purity of a sliced green apple and steel cut oats drenched in Kéfir is again my morning devotion and invigoration. It is raining outside. My diary is empty today. It’s an ideal day to languish as we wish.

Tabbed as an “it” health food of the 21st century, kefir is a probiotic drink that contains many bioactive compounds, including up to 30 different strains of “good guy” bacteria.

These probiotics, such as lactic acid bacteria, are capable of helping boost immune function and fight against harmful microbes and carcinogens — plus they are often considered key to improving many digestive issues.

We have plans.  Things to do as we await things to be done. It is a consuming agenda though for me at least woefully unproductive, a combination of Christmas in July and anxiety. Somewhere I have read that projection is good for the soul, having things to look forward to no matter how impatiently or uncertainly. There is no amount of reason that quells the anticipation. In the interim I preoccupy myself with repeated performances which have at least the merit of sobriety and exercise, practiced dedication to habit and ritual, things themselves designed to enliven one’s day or one’s body and perhaps even one’s immortal energy.  Or are they but excuses to lessen the blame or to distinguish one’s stock and unglamorous animal transition from the bed to the trough and back again as we await the perishing gloom of Ecclesiastes? Was it all for naught? By whose account is the production either worthwhile or relevant? To whom shall we report in the end? And as for the end, when cometh He with the scythe, when shall we be delivered from…?

And then it happens and we wonder what was all the fuss about? Why the rush? Did we imagine Santa Claus wasn’t real? Was the anxiety and boredom all that we could muster to fill the gap between here and there? And seeing parades of cars and people. Are we but ants on this orb in the universe?