On this date in 1925, the Grand Ole Opry, Mother of Country Stars, started its radio broadcasts in Nashville, Tennessee, and, four years later, Motown magnate Berry Gordy, Jr. was born. It’s another overcast and chilly day in Chicago, though not as bad as yesterday, when, in near-freezing temperatures and drizzling rain, the battery of the Ceiling Catmobile chose to die in a strip mall where I had gone to get nomz. Only two hours later, with a new battery, was I on my way, frozen and drenched. But that’s a First World problem; let us instead give thanks that The Furry Princess of Poland is thinking deep thoughts:
Hili: How time flies.
A: What do you mean?
Hili: Today is yesterday’s tomorrow.
Hili: Jak ten czas leci.
Ja: Co masz na myśli?
Hili: Dziś już jest wczorajsze jutro.
And meanwhile in Wrocklawek, tabby Leon is fretting about his appearance (note the bow tie):
Leon: I’m not sure I’m elegant enough. I would prefer a red bow tie.
…and today will be tomorrow’s yesterday. It all seems so…tedious. Just live for the moment, Hili.
Still, like a banana.
Who remembers how slowly time went as a child? Then, the knowledge that Christmas was still four weeks away seemed an age.
I also remember being told that it wouldn’t seem like a long time when I was older, and I didn’t believe it.
Either way, Hili and Leon are still lovely. 🙂
Ah, the tedium of childhood.
I couldn’t wait to grow up. I thought it would mean no one telling me what to do all the time.
Me too. So far, that has been the best part of adulthood. It has meant that I stay up too late playing Angry Birds sometimes though.
Leon looks cute and dainty.
Got cold here, too! There was frost on the rooftops this morning, though it’s burned off already. I won’t be surprised if we get an actual freeze sometime this winter….
b&
Try as I might, I can draw no cosmic connection between Berry G and the Opry.
I caught the Opry show once, back in the ’70s at the Ryman Auditorium, just before it screwed the pooch and moved to an amusement park called “Opryland.” I’m not a huge country fan, but I was struck by the outstanding professional musicianship of the players there. On par, it seemed to me, with the great jazzmen I’d come to love.
Weird thing was, the performers at the Opry are apparently required to participate in on-stage commercials during breaks. Don’t know about you, but I can’t imagine Miles or Monk or Dizzy or Trane hawking Holsum Bread between sets.
What adorable pictures of both cats!
Also: stupid battery!