The continuing exploits of Mr. Finnegan as he conquers the world with his cuteness.

It does a body good to take of the fresh air on occasion. On a recent Saturday I suggested to my fellows that fresh air was in order, to which they replied that mine was a capital idea. With a brief frenzy of preparation and packing, our vehicle was readied for what turned out to be a most refreshing excursion into the local wilds.

Baby on the beach

We flew through what I assume are the giant tubes of the universe to a windswept vista of water and sand. What lay before me was called a “river”, which, if I have this right, is like a really long bathtub with the faucet always running. This seemed like a wonderful idea to me, but this visit was not to be a bath time, much to my lasting disappointment.

Mother Dear

This river of the Cowlitz was populated by funny little people in noisy little boats scurrying about. The four-legged creature who is always sniffing me, Maisy I think her name is, was also there, and seemed to enjoy herself immensely as she ran back and forth barking at the little boats.

Father and Maisy

After a short circumambulation about the grassy areas of the park, past the boat launch and the playground filled with screaming children, we returned to our vehicle. Once home again it was time for a light meal of milk and a nap. It was agreed by all that such outings are to be a regular fixture of our routine in future. Capital idea indeed!

In my long life I have learned many things, one of which is to focus on the now and not to waste time worrying about the past. And as for the future, I say let it take care of itself! The here and now is all that matters, and right now I am here in this vibrating chair. And now is the time to smile.

Good Vibrations

Such great wisdom has come to me slowly with the passage of time. With great age comes great wisdom, and I am old, so very old now. More than a month on this fair earth have I lived and loved, cried for joy and cried out in anguish, and experienced the heights and depths of this wide world.

It is hard for me to imagine being even older than I am now, but both Father and Mother must be older than I, of this much I am certain. Is it possible? Could Mother be two months old? Older!? These are mysteries for me to plumb the depths of. In another month of life I should be able to find the answer to all of life’s questions, for a month is a very, very long time.

For those of you who have yet to try it, I highly recommend travel by Mother. The service en route is excellent, and the level of care taken in attending to the traveller’s every need is quite remarkable. If you can afford it, I would suggest that you make use of this means of travel at your earliest convenience.

Traveller

With my Mother providing the means of locomotion I recently embarked on an extensive journey into the wilds of rural Oregon. Let no man tell you that the days of intrepid exploration are over, for I have returned from places where none have dared venture before to tell you that true wilderness yet exists!

I saw creatures of such fantastic description that you would scarce believe me, and vistas of such color and beauty that I am still amazed as I dictate these words to my father (who acts as my trusted emanuensis). Sir Richard Burton never had such journeys as the one that I recently returned from, a journey that must rival even the first landing on the moon!

But please, you must excuse me, I am exhausted from my travels and must tend to my comfort. A drop of nourishment and a nap should do me a world of good. And then I shall scale Mount Everest. . .

I have come to a deep appreciation of what is commonly called “the bath”. It is one of the singular joys in life to take the waters and be refreshed both in mind and in body. I have only had six or so baths in my lifetime, but each has been singularly the most exhilhirating experience so far. After my last visit to the spa I was utterly spent!

Sleep of the clean

I rest my case, as I rest my self. Clean in thought as I am in deed, including between my tiny little toes.

Last night I found myself deep in a dark pit of despair, inconsolable, and bereft of all hope. Weary of this endless vale of misery I cried out in my anguish, shaking my little fists at the skies. My mother and father both tried to help me, investigating my diaper, offering milk, singing me songs and walking with me late into the night – but nothing could prevail over my dark mood. My cries rang out into the black void of the night.

These are the times that try men's souls.

Then my father sat with me at his computer and played some music for me. At first I was shocked at this new sound, and forgot my troubles immediately. Father was playing some delightful and spritely music played by a quartet of rambunctious lads from merry olde England, a magical place where I must assume faeries and gnomes have gay jousts whilst riding on the backs of butterflies and caterpillars.

I am told that what I heard was the music of Led Zeppelin, and many songs of great variety they were. For more than an hour I listened in rapt attention to this universe spanning symphony of sounds and colors and vibrations so varied and energetic that I felt that my very soul was traveling through space and time – a feeling that made me nostalgic for my recent past when floating through time and space was my primary occupation, being as yet incorporeal.

Finally there was one song, the title of which I cannot be entirely certain, that told of a lady who I can only surmise was mother (I know of very few other ladies) who wished to buy a magical stairway. But this was no ordinary stairway, it was a stairway to Finnegan!

Hallelujah

Oh glorious day! Oh wondrous song! That you could so accurately capture my joy and tell it back to me! For is that not what the whole world is? A stairway to Finnegan.

I know of no other destination. Fortunately for me I am already here.