It's time for the Easter post-mortem. No basket's, but a lovely clutch of chocolate eggs. Also a lovely gold rabbit. No Easter egg hunt, also known as 'how to frustrate a six-year-old who just knows that six eggs were put out and he only has five, Easter isn't supposed to be this hard and I don't like hard-boiled eggs anyway.'

In other Easter news, I heard nothing about Easter parades or Easter bonnets.

This week in the chair, we seem to be celebrating 'make some odd connections' week. And in usual facc fashion, we're using some very crooked lines.

Huh?

Since we had a confluence of events (April Fools' Day, school break, Holy Week, Easter), my wife idly wondered if Easter could ever fall on April Fools' Day.

Yes, it can. But that's not the reason for this post. I went to Time and Date for the answer, and like many websites, it gave me too much information. Unlike many websites, it gave me the information I was looking for right upfront.

They should probably check into that.

But even that isn't why I'm writing. I kept reading, and bumped into this: Since Easter happens on the Sunday following the Paschal Full Moon, it can fall on any date between March 22 and April 25. (Note: this applies only to years 1753-2400).

It was the 2400 that stopped me. Why then? Did the monk (you know it had to be a monk) calculating Easter dates just get tired and give up, or say, 'that's someone else's problem?' Or is there something else significant or threatening about the date? Is this like the Mayan Calendar? What did Nostradamus say? Maybe something will happen then, like the Second Coming or the Earth stops spinning and falls off its axis, or the New York Jets finally win their second Super Bowl.

I dunno, and don't care. I'm with the monk. Not my problem.

Misreading=creative genius.

According to the Wall Street Journal, designer Conner Ives' cute 'Protect the Dolls' viral T-shirt needs protection from rip-off artists. I understand the protection part. I don't understand the popularity/meaning part.

That may be because when I first saw the shirt, I thought it said 'Protect the Dulls.' Much better. Funny. I'd buy that shirt.

Trying for some positive spin.

CBS News reports Family finds possible human remains in Long Beach during Easter egg hunt, police say.

The best we can do for putting on a happy face is to quote Keith & Mick, who remind us You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you might find you get what you need.

Lament on missing simpler times.

As some of you may have noticed, I have been writing a fair amount recently (basically, the last decade), and the quantity is growing. These posts have grown longer. There is a second website. I still write poetry (so far this year, 30 poems, but mostly longer). Since my foray into comedy, I have written a number of sketches and standup routines. There are occasional bursts of fiction. So I can safely claim 'I am a writer' if anyone bothers to ask (nobody does). But I can't be bothered to undertake the work of publishing, believing my work has all the staying power of daily cartoons in the newspaper, I have a bad case of 'fear of success/failure,' I'm the only guaranteed reader, and I'm faithless. My process:–Think it. Write it. Revise it. File or post it. Forget it and move on.

But there are down sides. I feel that I need to recharge my batteries, to collect material to write about. This is an ongoing process, where I survey my three major sources of inspiration: thoughts, and inspiration from Gabriel my muse; the world around me; and the work of other writers. It's a simple system that has stood me in good stead. I read, I look, I think/dream, I write.

Well, something's gone a bit off. I may actually be writing too much, where it's cutting into my 'inspiration time.' Observing and watching processes is part of my inspiration process. While I wasn't paying attention, the maple tree in the front yard, a source of much inspiration, leafed out. And I missed it.

I'm sure I've missed lots of other things but, well, I wasn't paying attention. 'Deep thought' time, best around 5:30 am, is taken over with fretting about incomplete work, not entering that 'dream' state where thoughts come rushing in like the tide hitting a beach.

But the worst is reading. As I read 'non-productive' (i.e., not potential source material) things like novels, I'm restless, thinking that I should be doing something else, like revising poetry or completing posts. This is not a good feeling. I'm not deriving pleasure from reading, and isn't that the whole point?

So I slog on, hoping at some point I can achieve balance again.

Maybe not just about music.

A headline in Vulture quotes someone as saying Everyone is so jaded about everything.

While originally said about music, I wonder if maybe they're also describing life.

jaded: bored, disinterested, ennui, fatigued, enervated. Antonyms: excited, enthused, energized.

Maybe there's just too much everything. Too many tasks and worries. Too much noise, too much consumable, disposable, forgettable entertainment that keeps us from getting at or becoming aware of the things or activities that would interest us, engage us, excite us, that matter, and so lift the jadedness and boredom, and make us content and give us a sense of purpose.

Bluey.

I heard that the Australian children's cartoon show Bluey was watched 45 billion minutes last year, and became the most streamed show for the second year running. Or roughly the same amount of time as occupied by three combined ad blocks on classic TV networks on cable.

I was responsible for possibly one of those minutes, when I stumblefingered the remote and was dropped into the world of 'an indefatigable six-year old.' Just. too. much. energy.

Apparently there are offers you can refuse.

At least, according to Vice magazine, which explains Why Chris Rock Turned Down More Than One Offer to Be on ‘The Sopranos.’

Maynard, Virginia, Addonizio, comfort, and creativity.

Last week two posts (about Dobie Gillis and Kim Addonizio) obliquely referenced what is needed to be creative. That reminded me of Virginia Woolf's statement about women writers needing 'a room of one's own' to encourage creative expression.

Often forgotten is the first part of Woolf's statement: she would also need money, about £500 (or about $75,000 today) to sustain her creative expression.

Yeah, don't we all?

That would make for a comfortable existence.

But one of the questions is, do artists benefit from being comfortable? Living a life that includes health insurance or a 401-K? Now, I think that the whole 'starving artist' model is bankrupt (or bogus) too, but every artist's life benefits from a dose of cold pricklies. But I think the greater temptation might be to 'accept the norm,' to fit smoothly into society, to not be an outsider. A Pomeranian instead of a wolf, although the life of a gypsy/nomad poet/academic carries its own difficulties.

I just don't know what the balance is, or how to achieve it.

Write your own country song.

I picked up the first part of the title and the parentheses from a poem by Jenny Browne, and filled in between the parentheses, but I leave it to you to supply the tragical lyrics.

I Am Trying to Love the Whole World (but you ain't helpin' a'tall)