We live in a society of fear perpetuated by a well-meaning media.
We live in a society of fear perpetuated by a well-meaning media.
I might give a thought to the consequences of my actions but then sometimes I take it back.
A particular pairing of letters, vowels and consonants working in tandem have such incredible power. Power to move mountains and cripple worlds. Wielded by a talented scribe words are indestructible.
But which words?
Subversive. I like that word. Subversive . . . Rebellious . . . Revolutionary. I realize these words can be used to describe negative traits in a person, but they are also the words that are used to describe heroes and forward thinkers. People who think outside the box, people who refuse to let convention limit their artistic and innovative personalities. If we all thought the same, life would stagnate. We need people who challenge our beliefs and our inherent mediocrity. Perfection is stagnant, imperfection is charming, and I am charming as hell!
When someone is placed in a situation that is different or difficult, one adapts themselves to the situation or vice versa. You don’t have to follow the ‘book’. I do not know of one book on ‘how to be a person with a disability’ that ever asked for my opinion. Ergo, it was not written for me. We are all different and that difference is our strength. The professionals in the medical field all seem to have a ‘book’ they refer to when dealing with a person with a disability. Unfortunately that ‘book’ only refers to the middle of the road and most of us are a little off on the shoulder. I have had more than a few discussions with Physiotherapists and Occupational Therapists who seem to think I fall in the same mold as everyone else. I soon convinced them otherwise. To give them credit, when they realized I was actually capable of independent thought we got along much better. Of course I still had to watch and occasionally insist. I used to be so shy. I cannot afford to be anymore.
I hate the word can’t. Can’t, can’t, can’t. Recant, Vacant. Such negative words, harsh words. Unable, incapable or even cannot is preferable. Of course can, able, or capable are even more preferable. And if you look carefully, each positive word is inside the negative one. It is amazing how words can encourage us or even discourage us. Something as simple as a sound, vowels and consonants reverberating have the power to move us. A rousing speech made by an honest Politician, (and you thought I didn’t have a sense of humour) or music, good music. Music that we think is good. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Music, like Art, is personal even visceral. It is almost impossible to explain to another why a particular piece of music, or art, moves us. It doesn’t matter, if it touches you it can be used to benefit your situation. Anything, almost anything, that makes you feel good about who you are, is something you need in your life. As long as it doesn’t harm another and it is legal. I will not condone something that is illegal. At least not openly. Shhhhhh.
The ability to invent is limited only by the boundaries of imagination.
There are people who have no people skills.
I pray for the day when ‘us’ and ‘them’ becomes ‘we’.
Yep that’s me
Looking for angles
That others can’t see.
Straight lines are boring
They’ll just trip you up
I’m liking the curves
That’s my kinda cup.
At the end I am thinking
But the story has a finish
You’ll miss if you’re blinking.
I play with the words
My sandbox of choice
I’ve something to say
And they are my voice.
Thank you for reading
This foray of sorts
It had to be said
Cuz, I’m not into sports!
A smile truly is contagious, pass it on!
Sometimes the obvious has to be pointed out.
My Father was a Wireless Operator/Rear Gunner in a Lancaster Bomber in the RCAF (Royal Canadian Air Force) in World War II. My Grandfather was an Infantryman with the Winnipeg Grenadiers in WWI. I wear the Poppy with pride. And I hate war.
I hate the need for war. And I question if there actually is a need. But I’m not the one living in a war-torn country. I’m not the one living in fear of my own countrymen. I simply don’t understand. But others do.
Both my father and my grandfather understood. They willingly put themselves in harms way for the belief that everyone deserves the right to live freely. That is something I believe it.
I didn’t know my grandfather. He came home after the war but he was filled with a need to see more. He traveled across Canada and took some of the most beautiful photographs. As an electrician by trade he was one of the people that installed the main chandelier in the lobby of the Banff Springs Hotel, one of Canada’s most iconic landmarks. I was there many years later. And I was touched when I looked up and saw it. My grandfather did that!
He eventually settled down and married and had two children. He was there in Winnipeg, Manitoba during The General Strike of 1919. “Our Cause is Just” was their battle cry. That strike helped to change the way workers were treated. He stood proudly again.
My father too survived his war. He came home and settled down. He met my mother just after he came back. Actually, she tells a story about how she was working in a high-rise office building and several Lancasters flew by quite low. They were in formation and evidently it was quite a sight to see. Years later my mother found out that she was actually looking at my father’s plane! The world moves in mysterious ways.
So today I am thinking of my father and of my grandfather. I weep a tear that they are gone. I am also thinking of all the other men and women fighting wars that I don’t understand. But I do understand loyalty and I understand compassion and duty.
The freedoms that we enjoy today are because of soldiers. They are on the front line to protect our democracy and our right to choose. I wish we didn’t have the need. I wish people from disparate backgrounds could learn to appreciate each other. We have so much we could learn from each other. We could learn not to hate. We could learn not to fight.
Today I stand proud as my father once did, as my grandfather did. We will pick up the torch from failing hands. It is our turn to hold it high and not break faith with those who sleep, though poppies grow in Flanders fields.
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