Cartoons

What was the hardest personal goal you’ve set for yourself?

Daily writing prompt
What was the hardest personal goal you’ve set for yourself?
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What was the hardest personal goal you’ve set for yourself?

Oscar Wilde once wrote – “Be yourself. Everyone else is taken.” The Ancient Greeks had a similar phrase – “Know thyself.” Well, to know myself, and then to be myself, are two of the hardest personal goals I have ever undertaken.

Why? Because I was educated in a system that wanted young people, boys and girls, to look alike, and think alike, and dress alike. That’s why school uniforms were designed. That’s why we marched into chapel at the same time every day, and sang the same hymns every day, and said the same prayers every day. Rote learning was a key element in this. I remember, age four, chorusing my two times table: “1 x 2 is 2. 2 x 2 is 4. 3 x 2 is 6. 4 x 2 is 8.” Very little room for thinking. Nobody would ever answer the question “Why is 2 x 2 4?” “What makes this so important?” “Why do we have to learn it?” The stock answer: “Little boys should be seen and not heard.” Or “Shut up and just do it.” Or “Why can’t you be like other children?”

This type of early school life, with anyone who stepped out of line, getting punished, often physically, was not conducive to lateral thinking or freedom of thought. Anyone who moved aside from the prescribed patterns was moved back into them, very quickly. The WWII convoy theory – the class moves at the speed of the slowest ship. No stragglers permitted. This later morphed into the slogan “No child left behind.”

But they were. And they were left outside, looking in. And if they didn’t buckle down, they suffered the shame of expulsion from the herd or the flock or the convoy. And once expelled, and branded as stupid or a trouble-maker, it was very difficult to get back in.

At what stage did I become myself? I am not really sure. First there was the phase of knowing I didn’t belong. Then there was the phase of realizing that my mind didn’t react like the minds of other people. Why not? Well, for one reason, on IQ tests, even the simple ones, I often saw multiple answers. But there was only ever one correct answer. Say what the Inquisitor wanted to hear and it was “Good dog, have a biscuit”. Give an answer other than the one he (or she) was looking for, and it was “Bad dog.” Then your nose was rubbed in the dirt.

Here’s a simple example from this year’s Farmer’s Almanac. Which is the odd one out? Tennis, pickle ball, badminton, squash… ” Oh dear, I think there were five, but I have forgotten the fifth. The correct answer – pickle ball, – it’s the only one played with a paddle not a racquet. GOOD DOG. How about badminton – it’s the only one played with a shuttlecock. BAD DOG. Or squash – its the only one played without a net between the players. BAD DOG. The Farmer’s Almanac was fun, but being judged sub-standard at age 11, and again at age 15, for coming up with creative, and perfectly logical alternative answers, was not much fun.

So – the most difficult personal goals – 1. to know yourself. 2. to grow into yourself. 3. to appreciate the wonderful, unique nature of who and what you truly are. 4. to then rejoice in the creativity of your own individuality.

What’s your #1 priority tomorrow?

Daily writing prompt
What’s your #1 priority tomorrow?
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What’s your #1 priority tomorrow?

I have a couple of priorities, of course. I am not sure which is #1. Maybe I’ll ask the readers to tell me which one my top priority should be.

I guess my first priority is to wake up. That is very important at my age. A couple of my friends went to bed and never woke up. So, I guess an important priority, perhaps #1, is to actually wake up.

Having woken up, my next priority is to roll over, sit up, pull back the blankets, and actually attempt to get out of bed. This isn’t always easy. My back sometimes stiffens up overnight. Or else my hips don’t want to function. Then there’s the gammy knee I hurt playing rugby all those years ago. Then there’s the quality of the light – do I need a light on? If I do, I must reach for it without cramping up. Early morning cramp is not a good thing and really complicates the next step.

If I am in the high bed, then lowering legs, touching the floor with toes, and using arms to push up the rest of the way is relatively easy. But if I am in the low bed, I must turn sideways towards my bad knee, place my feet at an angle, and do a one handed pushup in order to find the right balance to get to my feet. That means watching out for slippery carpets. I do not want to fall. Sometimes I call on the aid of my faithful teddy bear and, by half throttling him, I manage to get that extra leverage.

Oh dear, I forgot another priority – condition of ageing bladder. All of the above activities are dependent upon the state of the union. If that is a problem, then I must call for assistance – and I hate doing that.

Next priority – the trip to the bathroom. I wish I hadn’t said ‘trip’, because sometimes I do. The effects of that can be a sudden grasp at something solid, a stubbed toe, a twisted something or other, or, worst of all, another fall. We certainly don’t want that to happen, especially if we are suffering from what Max Boyce [remember him?] once called ‘twisted legs and tails’.

Other priorities follow when we have reached the bathroom. I won’t go into those. Nor will I mention the perils of the return journey, the difficulties of getting dressed, the embarrassment when I fail with the patented sock-pull machine and have to wiggle my socks off, one by one, and then put them on again.

So, here I am, fully dressed, standing at the top of the stairs… one hand on the hand-rail, one hand on my trusty walking-stick, and down I go, hopefully one step at a time.

So: What’s my #1 priority tomorrow? You tell me. Which would you choose? And before you answer, just remember Dylan Thomas’s words ‘for whether we last the night or no, is surely only touch and go’. Touch and go, tip and run – I remember them well. And luckily I remember waking up this morning. I would hate to face the alternative – not waking up.

What brands do you associate with?

Daily writing prompt
What brands do you associate with?
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What brands do you associate with?

I have been thinking about my parents a great deal recently. Earlier this week it was my my mother’s birthday. She would have been 110 years old. Funny how, as we age, our own minds turn back to the past. So, today’s prompt – What brands do you associate with? – gets an instant answer – none really.

And yet, and yet, there is one. A long, long time ago, my father let me into a big secret: all the shops in our little sea-side town had signs that announced – Jones and Son, or Roberts and Son, or Edwards and Son. “Well, son,” he said, “I have a son, and it’s you. It is time I showed you my little secret.” He took out his pen, unscrewed the cap, and carefully drew an M. Then he drew a W beneath it, taking care that the ends joined neatly. Finally he drew the letter J. It bisected the letters so that the drawing in my painting above was produced: blue-black ink on white paper. “What is it dad?” I asked. “It’s my brand,” he proudly said. “Those are my initials. “I would love to establish something, use this as a brand name, and have ‘and Son‘ written beneath it.”

I didn’t understand. I can’t remember how old I was, but it was in the days when Shorty the Deputy [I pronounced it De-Putty, much to the amusement of my elders] Sherriff ruled the range in my colored comic books. “A brand? Why do you want a brand? Are you going to own a ranch and brand your cattle?” That ended the conversation. The brand was never mentioned again, until, now, but I have never forgotten it.

So, there is one brand with which I associate myself, my father’s brand. I entitled the painting remeMBEr in honour of my father, of his failed dreams, and of the dreams he achieved, including the initials MBE [Member of the British Empire]. The medal itself, together with the letter from King George VI is included among my family treasures. So, there we go – that’s the brand I associate with, my father’s brand.

¡Qué será, será!

¡Qué será, será!

“Those who the gods would destroy,
            they first make happy.”

Twenty-four hours
            after our power came back,
it had been gone for 52 hours,
            we lost it again.

And happy we were,
            cleaning out the freezer,
            draining the water from the bath,
            packing up the pots and pans.

We sat down for happy hour,
            a drink before supper,
            and zap – the power went.

Promises, they made,
            estimates of when the power
            would return – 4:30 pm –
            5:30 pm – 6:30 pm –

Now we don’t know
            when it will return.
            The power site says
            “No estimate available.”

I write these words by candlelight.
            The battery on the radio
            just failed and now our cell phones
            are rapidly draining.

“¿Quién sabe?” Some are saying.
            “¡Qué será, será!” say I.
            Whatever will be, will be.

Bird

Bird

The bird came to me
   on the wings of Hurricane Lee.

Carried along by stronger wings
   he perched in my tree.

A new species, he was unknown to me.
   Our own power lost, the usual ways
               of searching were denied me.

He moved from the tree
   to the window feeder and gazed at me,
               eye to eye, as the hurricane’s eye
                           passed overhead.

Free. To come and go at his will,
   but there is little free will
               when the hurricane blows.

A sudden, strong gust
   whisked him away.

Unknown, and a stranger still,
   he soon was lost to me.

Comment:

All my good will and new resolutions went down the proverbial plughole when Hurricane Lee swept in, washed away one of the roads near to me, and left us without power for 52 hours. We lit candles, as much for warmth as for light, and, when dark descended outside, gathered in their flickering glow. The time has come, the Walrus said, to indulge in simpler things. Water saved in the bath upstairs and in an assortment of pots, pans, and buckets, served for the washing of hands, the flushing of toilets, washing the dishes. Food was served cold – but we indulged ourselves with perishables that needed to be finished quickly. The morning face wash and shave, in cold water, no shower, was a throwback to old times. The experience brought us closer together. Neighbors with generators dropped round with hot food and drinks, and all went well. After two days of picnics, we got a bit bored. I managed to write lots of poems though. The creativity of that experience will live on in words.

What’s your all-time favorite album?

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What’s your all-time favorite album?
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What’s your all-time favorite album?

My stamp album, of course. I am old enough to remember the joy of receiving letters from friends and pen-pals in far-away places with strange sounding names and oh, the joy of those colored squares of paper stuck in the top, right hand corner of the envelopes.

Then there were stamp dates, and stamp parties, where we gathered and swapped stamps, each trying to improve his or her collection. Not that I remember many young ladies saving stamps in those days, it seemed to be a boys only sport, like Conkers. I guess that was because those games were all dependent on one-up-man-ship. And yes, we have boycotts (some of them even open the batting for England), but I have never heard of girlcotts or one-up-woman-ship. I guess there are flaws in the language, all languages. Ceilings as well, probably – the height of linguistic folly.

Then there were stamp competitions when we could take our collections, more or less specialist, and show them off to our friends, admirers, and bitter rivals, hoping to gain fame and fortune. I for one never did. But I learned so much about the world, the rapidly changing world, as maps changed, borders changed, kings and queens changed, countries changed their names, divided their borders and morphed into something else.

Don’t forget those FDCs – First Day Covers – with their postal histories, not to mention the little booklets with the tear-out pages telling us all about Peter Rabbit, Flopsy Bunny, Mrs. Tiggy Winkle. and a dozen other tales. And then there were the special stamps – the penny blacks with their multiple Maltese Crosses, the Queen Victoria 9d green (mint), the Sea Horses, the French Painting Series, the Spanish Civil War stamps, issued on, and by, both sides of the conflict, and you mustn’t forget my own face as it appears on a Mexican do-it-yourself stamp, photo taken in Oaxaca, and the stamp sent back to Fredericton, NB, Canada, just for the fun of it.

My own stamp collection now sits in a cupboard, all covered in dust. I guess it is worthless. Nobody sends or receives letters anymore. Nobody collects stamps. Used stamps are now so much rarer. And those pristine new issues, so bright and cheerful, have never felt the lick of a lover’s tongue. And those envelopes have never borne the imprint of our secret messages – SWALK – PHTR – ICWTSY – and so many other little joys of a life that is long past, but never forgotten.

Friends

Friends
for Sarah
09-09-2023

What do we say when friends have birthdays,
what can we say? The conventional Happy
Birthday seems so inadequate.

It is even less satisfying to send a meme
of cake with candles, or gift-wrapped boxes
in colored packages tied with balloons.

How, in this age of instant communication,
do we reach out with sincerity and grasp
the importance of passing time when
electronic time and distance are meaningless?

I sit here at my computer contemplating
what words of joy and comfort I can send
to an online friend, that I have never met,
to help her celebrate her special day.

My mind is blank. My screen is blank.
I have so many questions, so few answers,
but I will reach out anyway and hope
she understands my tongue-tied silence.

Do you see yourself as a leader?

Daily writing prompt
Do you see yourself as a leader?
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Do you see yourself as a leader?

First, I want a definition of leadership. Here’s one – Leadership is the ability of an individual to influence and guide followers or members of an organization, society, or team. Leadership often is an attribute tied to a person’s title, seniority or ranking in a hierarchy.

Let us begin with the last sentence. Leadership often is an attribute tied to a person’s title, seniority or ranking in a hierarchy. I am without a title, I have no seniority and, furthermore, I do not belong in any hierarchy. So, having nothing onto which to hitch my leadership, I am clearly not a leader. In addition, I can say, in all honesty, that I have no followers. Where on earth would they follow me? I have no wish to go anywhere, let alone to lead other people into the wilderness that so often surrounds us.

So, what am I, if I am not a leader under that definition. Am I a follower? I doubt it. I cannot remember following anyone in thought, word, or deed. A maverick, then? Possibly. All in all, I have always felt that, rather than ‘belonging’, I was outside the hierarchical cultures in which I found myself and was merely an outsider, looking in through the window and watching and observing others as they boldly led, or meekly followed.

So being neither a leader nor a follower, what might I be? Well, I am a creative person. I see the world in a very different light. I also encourage others to see things differently and to present different points of view while embracing their own authenticity. I see myself as an innovator. I see myself as a problem solver. But my solutions have all too often come up against the red taped inhibitions that bind those hierarchical cultures into their unbending, iron strangleholds that limit or deny fresh visions of truth and beauty.

I always remember a story my grandfather told me about one of his experiences during WWI. “See that pile of sand over there?” “Yes, Sarge.” “Well, move it over here.” “Yes, Sarge.” “Right. Well done. Now move it back again.” “Yes, Sarge.”

Ah yes, leadership. And in those days to disobey a direct order was to volunteer yourself for ‘forty days in prison’ or ‘back to bread and water’ or, even worse, to qualify you for a blindfold and a firing squad.

What was the last thing you searched for online? Why were you looking for it?

Daily writing prompt
What was the last thing you searched for online? Why were you looking for it?
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What was the last thing you searched for online? Why were you looking for it?

The last thing that I searched for online was a prompt that I wished to be prompted by, but I promptly lost it before I could respond to it. Then I went looking, but still couldn’t find it, even though I searched everywhere I could think of.

I grow forgetful as I age, and now I can’t remember what the prompt asked for, and that’s a pity because I remember that I had a lovely answer. Now I can’t remember my answer either. So I am stuck in a sort of one-way street, going in the wrong direction, as I draw near to a roundabout that will lead me back the way I came.

I am afraid some Minotaur or other will seek me out, because I am lost in a labyrinth without the thread of Theseus to lead me out. And its no good searching online, because I no longer know what I am looking for. And that’s a bit like my life at the present time – a pointless search for meaning as I wander, amazed, through a baffling maze of days, seeking, I know not what, and never finding it. I don’t want to give up on it yet, because I know that the answer lies just around the corner, lurking like the last sardine in a sardine can, or the last piece of squid, cowering blackly in its own ink, in the tin, not wanting to be eaten.

Life leads me a merry dance, as king-like, a one-eyed man in the kingdom of the blind, I rule my world. For, en el reino de los ciegos, el tuerto es rey / in the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. And no, I didn’t search for that online. It came to me in a sort of dream because, as Goya says, el sueño de la razón produce monstruos / when reason sleeps, monsters are born. And now I see them everywhere, those monsters, and I search online for solutions, but none appear. And so I continue on my merry-go-round way, leading my ragamuffins around those ragged rocks.

Skype or Zoom

Skype or Zoom

I sit and watch the grandfather clock,
listening to every tick and tock.

So slow, the sullen pendulum swings
as time limps by on leaden wings.

When they arrive, the house will fill
with youthful joy and much goodwill.

Age will flee for a week or two,
then we’ll be alone, just me and you.

Watching the telly, watching the clock,
counting each tick and every tock.

We will be lonely, left here alone,
waiting for them to telephone.

The very best thing to lighten the gloom
is to see them again on Skype and Zoom.