To Bee or Not to Bee — Is That the Question?
A dance — waltz, foxtrot, or tango, your choice — of possibilities
To be or not to be is a question, and for some, Like Hamlet, it might be the question. But then again, it might not. Plagued with that order of dilemma Paul Mccartney’s song comes to mind, Let it Be. Let it Be. But what does that mean?
Perhaps it’s a theme song for bees.
After all, they’re endangered. We need to let them be so they can flourish. So please pardon us Paul if we change the spelling to Let it bee, Let it bee. We should be able to create quite a buzz with this adaptation, should we not? We shall see. In the meantime, Let it b-e-e, Let it b-e-e.
To mask or not to mask?
That was a question. For some, not for me. I want to stay alive. No question there. Next.
To coffee or to tea?
What, coffee is not a verb you say? How dare I pretend it’s an infinitive. Well, it could be, couldn’t it? But that would take an infinite supply of coffee to make coffee an infinitive.
But somewhere there is an infinite supply of coffee. I just know it. I feel it in my bones. Flowing through my veins. Rich, dark, and deep. With such a heady aroma I almost don’t need to drink it.
I can be happy all day sipping weak tea if somewhere in an olfactory distance someone is grinding, roasting, or brewing the magic bean. You know they smell 1000 times better than they taste. And the taste is pretty damn good. Especially when enhanced with say chocolate. Or hazelnut. Or even raspberry. The possibilities as they say are endless. Infinite.
I only have one question. Is there coffee in the afterlife?
No matter whether up or down. Is there coffee in the afterlife? Cause if there’s coffee to be had, I think I can live with dying. But if there’s no coffee to be had in the afterlife, well, you can have my share. I’ll stay here thank you very much.
A recent NYT article says if you drink a moderate amount of coffee, you will live long and prosper. And they define moderate as 3.5 cups a day.
I can live with it. But I can’t live without it.
Or at least the aroma. Maybe they roast coffee in the fiery flames of hell and then send it up to heaven for the angels to drink. That would be fitting, wouldn’t it?
But I wouldn’t consider that punishment. Smelling the roasting is heavenly no matter where I am. And besides, who needs to stay awake? It’s eternity after all. If you miss something one day, well, there’s always the next, and the next and the next and the next and the next.
What’s next?
To waltz, tango, or foxtrot?
Waltzing is easy, but it’s also easy to get dizzy waltzing around in circles all in the same direction. Richard Strauss or whoever invented the damn thing did not apply critical thinking to the choreography.
If he had, he would have reversed the trajectory and direction of the circling. So half of it would be clockwise, and the other half counterclockwise. To undizzify folks. In a pleasing alternating rhythm.
So remember that when you fly to Vienna on one of those romantic magical Chrismas in Vienna package tours you’re tempted to try. It’s too magical a place to sit on the sidelines trying hard not to toss your lebkuchen or your Husarenkrapferl (mit Nuss?)
To tango? Ah, there’s a dance and a half!
Cause while the upper body is elegance incarnated, those legs are kicking and flicking and fanning a mile a minute. As if the couples trying to slice and dice each other’s lower extremities off. She has the ultimate weapon–stiletto heels. Every time he does a wide lunge, oh baby, is he a brave fool. One misplaced kick and…
It’s time to foxtrot.
Marilyn Flower writes humor to laugh the changes she wants to see and make. She’s the author of Creative Blogging: Ninja Writers Guide to Character Development and Bucket Listers, Get Your Brave On. Clowning and improvisation strengthen her resolve during these crazy times. Stay in touch!