September 14, 2020

Dear diary,

Betty is back. I mean Betty died, but mom is calling the new sourdough starter Betty.

I knew Betty v. 01 was going to die. I didn’t want to say this to mom because she was feeling ambitious. And it’s better to choose the well-being of the household rather than me being right. So I had to hold my tongue as mom went on about how Betty was going to live to be a hundred. I cheered her on and didn’t contradict her. Even though I wanted to. Because, I’m right. And I knew she would be wrong. But I held my tongue. Because love is more important than being right. Right?

But Betty died. Because we had a very, very warm summer. And mom didn’t dare turn on the oven. She did her best to hack the air fryer into a bread baker, but there are limits to what a human can do. So Betty didn’t make it. Like all of mom’s sourdough starters. Betty tried to live in the fridge, but when mom saw that she was turning grey, and smelled of nail polish remover, mom did what needed to be done. And Betty went into the compost.

Mom says Betty didn’t really die. That Betty has been around since the dawn of time. That Betty is air, dust, cloud, fire and earth. Mom says that we are all part of the larger universe and that it is our petit ego which decided that we were individual beings with individual identities. Tell that to the dead chicken, I say. Oh. Was that a bit mean? My judgmental side has been active of late. Mom is known for being yoonsoonami. With her might of a warrior. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

But I choose to practice love. Like mom. And postpone judgment. With discipline. Otherwise we will all end up in a war where bodies and spirits are killed, and postpone our evolution. Because we will evolve. Eventually. It’s inevitable. So don’t lose hope.

Betty is in the air. And she is waiting for us. To evolve. Very, very patiently. I think this is what love is. Waiting. Waiting patiently. Waiting patiently for evolution.

Love, Bob

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