I woke up early this morning and plodded about, searching
for things to think about. Dad was still dozing after a long
night at the hospital. There was a large plate of cookies on
the kitchen table with a sign: CASSIDY: Do not eat!

They must be for a special occasion.

I went out for the papers. At this time, of course, they all
have their special sections to eulogize famous deaths of the
past year. I tried to summon a generalized mourning, but felt
the only real loss to be Pluto. There was a photograph of the
former planet in the science section.

Certain facts invite a peculiar melancholy: the fact that the
Babylonians buried their dead in honey, or the ability of the
Araucana hen to lay pink or blue eggs. Pluto's demotion from
planet to trans-Neptunian object will join the ranks of these
facts.

I called my mother. "Good morn--"

"Happy New Years!" she interrupted. "It's going to be a good
year. Everyone thinks so."

Everyone?

Cassidy

Index