Playing hooky

Never forget the virtues of hooky.

Despite thinning wallets and onerous work schedules, my lady and I granted ourselves the gift of a perfect outing last night. Nothing special, nothing expensive: A twilight feast of fast-food Chinese take-out in Chatsworth Park, that magical landscape known to Charlie and Squeaky and other fun couples. After that, a moonlight walk along our favorite dog-friendly beach in Ventura. Then a long drive along the California coast while listening to a broadcast of Fritz Reiner's old performance of Beethoven's Ninth. Take it from someone who's heard 'em all: If you're shopping for a superb Ninth, get the Reiner (which comes on a budget CD). Even though I must have heard that piece 1500 times in my lifetime, my eyes moistened; the work was new.

(Be warned! The Ninth is, in my household, the ultimate sing-along, and my voice is nothing like what it used to be.)

Why describe this perfect night in a blog devoted to politics? Because I haven't played hooky in months, and I want to give my readers the reminder someone should have given me: Be gentle on yourselves, and, on occasion, be indulgent. Take a night-time drive along a lake. Toss a baseball with your nephew. Cook up some farm-fresh green beans with almonds. Kiss a beautiful lady while standing beside a moon-lit sea. Remind yourselves of your humanity, and you can better confront these days of fear and rot. As a wise fellow once wrote: "What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed?"

My lady and I used to take midnight strolls on the UCLA campus. The sculpture garden there has one of Deborah Butterfield's magnificant horse statues -- which our dog has also been known to, er, appreciate. While the pooch would show her appreciation, we would sit back and study the stars. They're all different. You don't notice the differences until you take the time to look.