Did you ever listen to Shaun Cassidy? Have you, recently? I'm guessing not. I haven't either, and it's hard to relate, from my post in the guest bedroom at the place I'm house-sitting, the sense of optimism and joy the song "Hey Deanie" brought me as a kid. I might not have thought about it, except my sister-in-law sent me the song on Facebook, and hearing its opening chords, I felt a giddy frisson of happiness. Oh, Shaun Cassidy. Shaun Cassidy and his giant puppydog eyes.

Never underestimate the power of pop music.

Your life may have been saved by rock and roll, but pop can subdue a tsunami of ills. That's what I'm hoping for right now.

It has been a couple of sad days here, and I appreciate the kind comments you all have left or sent me.

Everything I write is sounding trite to me, and so I will say this:

I doubt that anyone has ever gotten to the end of her life and said, "You know, I haven't really been critical enough. I wish I had spent more time standing on the sidelines, judging people."

That is kind of a random thought, but it fits in with what I've been pondering over the last several days.

Advice is cheap and largely meaningless, but I am going to put this out there:

If you care about what someone else looks like, if you care about how much someone else weighs, or what car he drives, if you have spent time nursing hurts, or cultivating pet peeves, congratulations. You've been a great parent. Your pets are now big enough to stand on their own. Let them go, and think about something else. The possibilities are endless. And none of them involve celebrities. Consider the structure of a hyacinth. The sound of a star-nosed mole digging a tunnel. The weight of a cashew on Venus. Anything. Anything.

I work with a bunch of people who are fixated on their pet peeves. They adore announcing these peeves, as if there is a receptive audience.

"My pet peeve, and this is just me--it's just kind of my 'thing'--is when people spill coffee on the stairs, and don't wipe it up."

That was one I heard recently.

It made me want to spill coffee on the stairs. I would go so far as to encourage you to do so, as well. I officially no longer care about anyone's pet peeve. I officially no longer care about or accommodate someone's "quirk."

I also no longer (officially!) expect anyone to care about mine.

Perhaps I'll get my sense of perspective back soon.

In the meantime, a brief musical interlude:

Hey, Deanie, won't you come out tonight? The stars are dancing like diamonds in the moonlight.

Star of the day. . .Parker Stevenson