Being content,

as it says, I believe, in the Bhagavat Gita, that we ought to be, with that which comes with little effort--I have always been inclined to think that this noblest (considering its proveniance) of excuses for Sloth should, when extrapolated, contain the further meaning that we ought to be downright pleased as punch (nay, fuckin' thrilled) with that which comes with no effort at all:  as when we win a lottery that somebody else has bought us the ticket for (like, for example, Babette's winning lottery ticket in Babette's Feast).   And I can think of several (at least two) such occasions in my charm'd life which illustrate this [the infinite, yet perfect, gratuitousness of Divine Providence].  But that is for another time...I actually began this morning's blog with some notion of its being a logical, if somewhat whumsical, sequel to the last written entry, in that it should be similarly based  on the unanticipated provision of unguessably good chicory coffee.  Having come (through the divine agency of Douglas Camuso, who loaned me his foodstamps against my promise of repayment at the first of the month in cash, with interest) into a sufficiency (a 15 oz. can) of Café du Monde chicory-and-coffee to see me through the end of the month, with an assured two heaping tablespoons brew per morning--I yet faced the prospect, when my meager supply of milk ran out, of having to drink it iced, with just barely enough sugar, but sadly, not au lait.  And I doubted, frankly, that it would--or could--be adequately delicious.  O me of little faith!  The last couple of days have proven that Café du Monde Chicory And Coffee, with sugar only and no milk, iced, is (Ta da!) exquisite.