I love it when I pick up on signs from the universe.

I’ve only just finished reading “The Marriage Plot” last week. There is a part in the book where, on honeymoon in Monaco, Leonard Bankstein in a manic stupor speaks disrespectfully about Princess Grace to the receptionist at a hotel.  Apparently yesterday was the 34th anniversary of her death.

Not ten minutes ago, Life on Mars came up on a playlist I haven’t listened to in a while – and today is the anniversary of the publication of that Calvin and Hobbes strip where Calvin announces to his mother his plan to run away to Mars from a world that is fucked up by grownups (his mom does not bat an eyelid).

I’m also halfway through “Germany: Memories of a Nation”, and therefore have been of late a bit obsessed with the imagery of solitary trees. And then it turns out that the first song my teacher picked for my first singing lesson is Ombra Mai Fu, an Italian aria about a beautiful plane tree.

Little recurring themes strung together by an invisible thread. Milan Kundera wrote about how human lives are composed like music – fortuitous coincidences, repetitions of motifs thrown into relief by a sense of beauty…but then perhaps common sense sometimes intrudes on that reverie and instructs us put a stop to it all, because life is, apparently, not a novel.