you, me and the Man upstairs (grandfathering Pluto)

I enjoy watching the laundry cycling in the washer.  Ever since I was a kid I have imagined all sorts of drama unfolding (a little unintentional laundry joke there) as each bit of fabric is whirled, pulled and sucked into an abyss of detergent water and soiled garments.  No doubt you have pondered as I have why we end up with 27 socks at the end of our sentence in laundromat hell, or what item that we have never worn (or even knew we owned) turned our underwear pink.  Odd things like that make having clean clothing an adventure in our modern society and yet we aren’t too much different from the forgotten pilgrims of the past scrubbing broadcloth against the rocks.  They, too, must have agonized at the futility in the collection of lint.

You have to wonder if the Man upstairs looks down upon us like we are in a giant washing machine.  Adding bleach, borax or fabric softner, balancing the load or trying to compensate for human stains, is He casually thumbing through an outdated magazine as we go through another cycle of delicate rinse?   Set into motion as we are, back and forth… agitated… spinning in circles, in the grand scheme of things will we ever come clean?

There are much grander things in the universe to consider than whether Pluto fits the planetary description mold.  After some 70 years of record should Pluto be demoted to a chunk of ice status?  Hasn’t it acquired galactic squatters rights or at the very least an honorable mention?  I mean, we call them the Great Lakes but really aren’t they oceans by every definition of the word?  Couldn’t tomatoes be classified as fruit?  Is Greenland really all that green?  Should Paris Hilton be called an actress?  Before we get hung out to dry by irate Plutotians I think it is time we face the real issue here.  We are shrinking as a species.

We keep trying to improve, wringing out the old… but the truth is we are not masters of the universal side by side appliances.  We dirty things, we meddle, we confuse… but like our ancestors scrubbing away at a nearby stream it isn’t the cleaning that preoccupies  our lives but the tarnishing of our very souls. 

I say let Pluto be a planet if for no other reason than to mark a progression of understanding.  Way out there in the fringes of our solar system, Pluto acts as a sentry for the other multi-faceted, unique little orbs revolving around our sun.  Our sun… lighting the way, warming us and providing a center point for 9 predominate planets that have held us in awe and inspired generations.  We should not step back for political, scientific or social correctness.  Pluto, the furthest, smallest and coldest planet known to man… with an asterisk. 

No worse for the wear, it all comes out in the wash and welcome to the fold. 

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