Tag Archives: owls

Acedia

My, but I haven’t written in such a long time. Bubo and I left for Paris earlier this month, wanting a change of pace and a change of palette. Upon my return, I caught a massive head cold, Bubo managed to cover herself in bright orange paint, and Mordecai just yesterday set the entire kitchen on fire whilst attempting to make mushrooms flambé.

Perhaps it is the post-vacation blues. Perhaps it is the prospect of gutting my kitchen. Perhaps it is living with the crankiest owl this side of the the Great Lakes. Perhaps it is my end-of-summer moodiness kicking in, but I am struggling to find my joie de vie. It appears I have a case of acedia.

Acedia is a noun that means spiritual torpor; apathy; ennui. Often defined as a soul-wearying indifference, it must be mentioned that acedia is not willful sloth or indolence, less so “sin,” but a spiritual lethargy or indifference, a turpitude that affects the well-intentioned. (Thank you Hermitary.com.)

The word originates from the Late Latin acēdia in turn from the Greek akēdeia meaning indifference. (This, in turn, can be traced back to the Greek a- + kēdos  meaning care, grief.)

Interesting to note, acedia was first classified as a problem among monks and other ascetics who maintained a solitary life. Their inability to perform daily tasks was distinguished as different from depression due to the spiritual overtones of their lives and work, and thus, their ennui.

Some claim that acedia can be overcome by renewing the sufferer’s faith in the spiritual or in life. How to do that, you ask? I suppose that is the big question.

I’m going to attempt this seemingly monumental task by forcing Mordecai to clean up his own mess (he is a bit of a culinary snob, so a functioning kitchen is a must for him) and by sipping summer cocktails whilst reading in the garden. Bubo finagled herself some hair dye and I’m giving her full license to turn the third floor loo into a foul feather salon.

Ostensibly, either the cocktails or the acedia will keep me from caring what the result is.

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A Short Treatise on Owls and Ice Coffee

I do not regret my fourth ice coffee of the day.

I do regret letting Bubo have one ice coffee.

Owls and caffeine apparently are a terrible combination.

Lesson learned.

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Groggy Fever

Mordecai and I imbibed too much grog last night. We watched Admiral (Адмиралъ), a Russian biopic film that follows Alexander Kolchak and takes place during the Russian Civil War of the early 1900s.

I was thus foggy when awoken this morning by Bubo.

She was crooning Peggy Lee’s infamous song Fever. In Russian. Clearly in her cups, Bubo seemed happy, if exhausted. A trip to Maine means she visits some rather raucous owls.

She is now sleeping it off whilst Mordecai and I sip coffee and watch the wild turkeys chase each other along Harpswell Neck.

By the way, pets, it’s Kwanzaa. Are you celebrating?

 

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