Tag Archives: humour

Oops…

At the beginning of April, I wrote a post about a rabbit hole I had fallen into. I had found an author who is new to me and whose work I was thoroughly enjoying. Well, I’m here to tell you that I’m still stuck. I’m reading book 28 and I’m doing my best to take a little longer to read each book. Because you see everything else has stopped. This is not good.

My muse seems to have taken a vacation and I’m pretty sure she packed a bag, a big one. I haven’t written a new poem or a new short story in months. I used to write a new poem every week, I did that for years. For a while it was two poems a week. Now I have the desire but not the thoughts. Fortunately, I have a cache to draw upon so I should never be without something. I have over 50 short stories, well over 300 poems and 10 years of posts to choose from so you will not do without. But I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that I’m having a wee bit of difficulty getting you anything really new. Sorry.

It’s funny actually. I’m sitting here looking at this blank screen when usually my mind doesn’t stop working. I often relate it to a hamster on a wheel. It’s annoying but right at this very moment I miss it. That’s not always the way. My apartment is so quiet and yet while I crave silence, I’m not enjoying it in my brain. I think I have seven books left to finish. I wonder if my muse will come back then. I hope so.

Hubris

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This a blast from my past, March 2019 in fact. I hope you enjoy it.

Hubris, It’s a funny old word, not widely used but I think we see way too many examples of it every day. The Great Sage GOOGLE says:

hu·bris

/ˈ(h)yo͞obrəs/

noun

excessive pride or self-confidence.

I am a big believer in confidence. We need to be confident in our daily activities, in our workplace and in ourselves. But sometimes that confidence becomes inflated and the result is hubris. And the way in which we experience it, can sometimes be hilarious.

Have you ever been in a bar and spent your time watching what the other people are doing? Of course, one must do this with at least a beer in hand so as not to appear to be a pervert. Put away your camera phone and I would suggest that you not take notes. As you were watching them, the bartender is quite possibly taking note of you. Try explaining this to the police!

But I digress. In any large group of people, especially where alcohol is involved, they’ll always be at least one peacock. An individual who believes that he, or she, is the pinnacle of human evolution. They will prance, yes I said prance, around expecting adulation. They never for one moment think that they are anything less than perfection.

Some people are able to go through their entire lives believing in their perfection. It is quite sad when reality sets in. But not unexpected. After all, Society is the one who feeds in to this idea of hubris. We don’t let our children see reality. We coddle them and praise them, as we should, but they also need to know that failure does happen. We need to understand failure in order to appreciate success. I read a story many years ago about a grandfather who took his small grandson skating. When they were on the ice the older man lifted his arms and said “fall down” the child did just that. This happened several times in a row and the child asked why his beloved grandfather was making him fall down. The answer was simple: “You need to learn that it’s okay to fall down. When you’re not afraid of failure you can truly succeed.”

Our children need to learn that it’s okay to fail. It is part of the equation which leads to success. You are not ‘less than’ if you don’t succeed the first time, you’re simply on the learning curve. We need to let people, children, know what failure is like. Otherwise, we will create a society with way too much hubris and not enough compassion.

The lessons we learn as children mold us into the adults we will become.

Recipe for Life

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A dash of humour,

Is a spice I adore.

Curiosity of course,

Of that I want more.

Compassion and tolerance,

Are vital I trust.

To properly season,

This stew we discussed.

You’re not done yet,

There is still more to learn.

Keep stirring I pray,

And don’t let it burn!

Next add a pinch,

No more and no less.

Confidence is needed,

To this I confess.

Kindness goes in,

And generosity too.

We always need manners,

And not just a few!

Honour and honesty,

Are herbs for this pot.

Perhaps some wisdom,

I’m not asking a lot.

Next sprinkle the top,

With a generous amount.

A smile is important,

On that you can count.

Now let it simmer,

And cook all the way.

The ingredients must meld,

For many a day.

Too many cooks,

Can spoil a good broth.

So just let it bubble,

Away from the cloth.

The day will come soon,

When the recipe is done.

And serving the stew,

Is when life has begun.

D.N.A.

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Do Not Annoy, Dastardly Narcissistic A-hole, Damn, Nearly Away, DeoxyriboNucleic Acid .

Three little letters. Or should I say three big letters? Those three letters can make or break a criminal case in a court of law. But what do they mean to you and me, living our lives day-to-day? It comes back to the question of nature versus nurture. You hear people complaining that their DNA is the reason they are nasty or have pimples. To some extent that is correct. I had pimples as a child and it probably was because somewhere in my genetic makeup somebody had pimples. But to blame my genetic makeup for being a jerk? That I find….Irritating.

I am tired of hearing criminals blame the fact that they have committed crimes of such heinous nature as to almost be unbelievable on the fact they had a wet diaper when they were two. Scientists will tell you that a great deal of who and what we are can be traced back to our ancestors. On this I will concur. But don’t use the fact that my ancestor was a bully to colour me with the same brush. I am not my ancestor in the same way that I am not my brother or my sister. I love and admire both of them but I am an individual. I am myself. Any blame with regards to malfeasance is mine and mine alone.

Children are being raised today to blame others for their actions. I was reprimanded in seventh grade and I bear the scars to this day. Horse hockey! Or if you prefer: Bull crap! While indeed we are the product of our upbringing as well as our DNA we also have free will. Hopefully as children we were taught responsibility as well as compassion and integrity. Nurture is important but so is nature. One has the ability to supersede the other if one is lacking. Time and time again people have proven that they can rise above their less than humble beginnings or the abusive nature of their nurturing. People have the ability to be great but they have to believe and sometimes that is difficult.

Parents have the most difficult job in the world. It is their responsibility to raise children to improve society. Unfortunately, sometimes they never know if they have succeeded or failed. Children also have responsibilities. We don’t always know what it is that is lacking in ourselves and in others. That’s why we need each other. We live in a world with other people. We can help one another. The more we connect, the stronger we become and the better our world will be.

Unrequited Love

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I see her from a far

And I love her.

I watch her sleep

And I want to

Nestle near.

Her lips part,

Warm sweet breath.

I gently touch her hand

And she dismisses me

With a flick of her wrist.

I weep in silence.

My eyes follow her,

I try to be near.

The wind blows cold

To keep us apart.

I strive to touch

Her glistening skin.

I cherish my love.

Our worlds

Are so different,

So alien.

Sigh.

There can be

No future

Between a woman

And a fly.

A Slippery Slope

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A word said in jest,

Can be misconstrued.

Words said in anger,

Are so over used.

The power exists,

For good or for bad.

The power of speech,

Is more than a fad.

Heroes are made,

By the needs of the few.

Their actions for many,

The usual view.

Who wields the power,

The spoken word holds,

Controls just what happens,

As the future unfolds.

Could you be the one,

Who guides with a word?

Ideals we hold true,

Must never be blurred.

What do you see?

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My parents had a mirror that was quite large and quite heavy. In the middle of it was a ballet dancer in a pose. She had her arms out and was standing en pointe, on one leg. Her other leg was not in sight. As a child I always thought it was amusing that a ballet dancer could only have one leg. Eventually I came to understand that in that pose the leg was up behind her and out of sight. But I liked to have explanations for things so I made up my own. She was indeed a ballet dancer who was dancing for the love of her life. The one she danced for didn’t know she was alive but that didn’t stop her from giving everything she had into the dance for him. The gods of dance took pity on her and placed her in a mirror where she could look out on the world but not be touched by it. In my mind I never remembered the second dancer.

I tell this story to explain the picture above. It is a painting I did maybe 35 years ago. It is an abstract done in shades of gray. It’s called Private Dancer. That mirror was what inspired me to paint that picture and I have always thought of her, the dancer, as a lonely soul. A few years ago, a friend and I did an art show and I dug this old painting out because I rather like it. Several people came to me that day and commented how lovely the painting of the horse was. I smiled and thanked them. It was after the third or fourth person had commented about the horse that I finally asked someone what they were talking about. They didn’t understand why it was called Private Dancer but it was obviously a painting of a horse head. I never saw the horse head until it was physically pointed out to me. 35 years I’ve been looking at this painting and I never saw it. They didn’t see the dancer that I did. We stood side-by-side and looked at the exact same painting but saw something different. Isn’t that what life is all about? People go through life seeing exactly the same things but they interpret them differently.

There is no right or wrong way to look at an abstract painting. We see through our eyes not someone else’s and that is always a good thing. I can see the horse now and I can also see the private dancer and that makes the painting that much more precious to me. Because I was shown a vision through another’s eyes. That’s a valuable thing to share.

A Serious Thought

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A serious thought,

Popped into my head.

It seems there was trouble,

With a word that I said.

I cannot remember,

The word that I used.

But my brain is insisting,

That my ego is bruised.

My feelings chimed in,

They felt it was wrong.

The word that I used,

Belonged in a song.

Confusion’s set in,

We’re all in a flux.

The bits that are me,

Think everything sucks!

I need calm in this place,

That I call my head.

Relax and shut up,

I know what I said!

I lied to them all,

I needed some peace.

It is sleep I require,

As the voices decrease.

Have you ever surmised,

About the noise in your head?

They’re loud all our lives,

Until we are dead.

I welcome the gang,

When we all work as one.

But then there are days,

When I am seriously done!

My Muse

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My muse amuses me. I often hear people talking about their muse and I don’t have one. I have hundreds of thousands of one. I get my inspiration from the wind and leaves or a comment overheard on the street. I once wrote a lovely post about an ‘alligator’. A small childhood used that word to his mother to describe the elevator we were all on. I’ve written poems based on a cracked tail light and a misheard comment about soup. I am inspired by the people I read and by the actors I am entranced by. I am placated by a wooden spoon that my Mother used when I was a child, I still have it. It is so full of memories and it is now almost black. I would never part with it. I love the memories that creep up in the back of my mind when I least expect it and the wonderful vacations I can take meandering through my childhood. These are my muses.

I have written about a little red wagon and a broken pencil. I have written about hopes and dreams and puppy dog tails. Raindrops hitting the glass or rainbows sneaking behind buildings. Laughter and tears, a quiet moment with a book or a rousing rendition of cello music. All these things stimulate and provoke and tantalize. These are my muses. This is what compels me to write to share and to learn.

I am often flooded by ideas that won’t stop coming. I am downing but I am also excited and terrified. How do I grasp, how do I hold on. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes they walked by me never to be seen again or perhaps to show up in something else. Sometimes the ideas sit and percolate. They need to be stronger, more full-bodied. I can wait. I write a few words down and sometimes I go back days, weeks, years later and pick up where I left off or I am stimulated by another thought and I will go down another rabbit hole. This is my world. I love, love, hate, love it! I am inspired and I despair in equal measure. But I’m having fun. It is my muse de jour that I have grabbed by the tail and I’m trying to hang on. It might be a bumpy ride, but damn I’m having fun!

An Emotional Hoarder

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I recently posted a poem that I had written about how we need to let go of the baggage we carry around. It’s true. And I am guilty, so guilty. On one of the comments, I responded that I was an emotional hoarder. I really am. I remember a slight I was given when I was five years old, maybe. I was going to the first meeting of a Brownie troop and one of the leaders looked at my fingernails and said, and I quote, “You bite your nails! That is a filthy, dirty, disgusting habit.!” I was five. Of course, there was no recording of the comment so it is entirely possible that I have blown it out of proportion in my memory. But what I have not blown out of proportion is how I felt. That is a memory that will not fade. Because I internalized it. I never went back to that troop. And you know, it still hurts. I no longer bite my nails. But why do I think of that, why do I remember that? Why am I carrying that baggage?

I am also a physical hoarder, albeit a tidy one. I’ve lived in the same place for almost 30 years so I have a lot of boxes full of a lot of stuff. I have figurines that I was collecting when I was a child, think single digits. I think of it as mindful clutter. I have pieces of paper that I wrote in university and that was many decades ago. Recently I’ve been going through those boxes looking at the things I have kept and wondering why? Why would I save a piece of paper with three words that have no meaning to me now. But they must’ve been important once upon a time.

I think I do that with bad memories as well. Why do we hang onto those? I want to remember the good stuff! I think I do but I not sure I give it as much weight as I do the negative. And that is my failing. I think there’ll always be a part of me that wonders if I am good enough or smart enough or pretty enough or… just enough. And I also think we all go through the same thing. But I’m starting to realize that I am enough. Of course, some days I am more than enough. Thankfully there’s only one of me in the world, I don’t think the universe could handle two!