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Just Saying…..the king is naked.
Disclaimer: I am not picking anyone. I am not judging the right and/or wrong of these things. I am simply pointing out some observations, just like the child in the story who looked at everyone oooohing and awwwwwing at the naked king’s clothes…. saying in bewilderment, “The king is naked!” Please do not be offended, unless you just want to be. Of course, be free to do what you want, you are free as I also appreciate being free. I celebrate our freedom to speak, and to agree and disagree. Know that I am not pointing at anyone, only at the general phenomenon developing in our culture itself. ----------- Just Saying….the king is naked when: The beauty of a woman is defined by actresses, models, and other women, on TV or print publications in full makeup, perfectly tanned and toned with access to touchups and retakes. Oh yeah, some even with surgically enhanced or de-hanced features also. If only I could add a few inches to MY stature, huh! Then I would be taller. How do us regular, ordinary, doing-the-best-we-can-with-what-we-have-to-work-with women compete with that? We wake up every morning with no makeup and bed-hair. I am suspect that those setting the standard for beauty have no makeup and bed-hair sometimes too. I just bet they do. What do you really think? When well, look, it is the same thing with the guys. The men on TV and in print publications that are so “Hot” probably make being and looking “Hot” their full time job. How does the regular Joe working all day to pay the mortgage, car payment, etc…. have the energy or time to tan and muscle up and compete with that standard? And also manage to spend quality time with the wife and kids. And lend a hand to help his neighbor. And all of that stuff he needs or wants to do. ?? -------------------- When police are not our friends, but are subjects to be taunted, ridiculed and disrespected. On this topic I think maybe the king has been naked so long that he has forgotten what clothes even looked like. Same for teachers….when did our culture make them a subject for mockery? I am not that old and I remember when we said “Yes sir. Yes Ma’am.” And we meant it because they were not only our elders, but held authority. The king is naked when those who protect us and teach us are disgraced and then the disgrace is celebrated. -------------------- Just saying. And although there is more to say about this….I am shutting up….because you either know what I mean and have examples of your own to add….or well, you have already quit reading because you think the king’s clothes are really super cool. The End
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Dear Readers:
Thank you for your attention to my blog. I appreciate you. Also, I am happy to tell you of some recent success. The post “The Short List of Exciting Things” previously occupying this space has been added to a collection of published poems and prose entitled “31 Scraps And A Couple More.” The eBook “31 Scraps And A Couple More” is available FOR FREE DOWNLOAD for a limited time via Amazon’s KDP SELECT Program…starting January 1, 2016. By choosing to enroll this eBook in the KDP SELECT Program, I agreed to make the digital format available exclusively through KDP, and for free, for a limited time to Kindle Unlimited Subscribers. That would, of course, include this post “The Short List of Exciting Things.” Please Click on THIS LINK at AMAZON for your FREE DOWNLOAD. I am sorry for any inconvenience… And Again, I encourage you to download NOT ONLY this post, but the complete collection at the Link noted above. Thank you again for your consideration. Have a very good day. Pj Swink How is it that one leaf catches the breeze when none of the rest of the tree moves?
Have you ever seen this phenomenon? Can you with certainty explain it? On a calm morning, with birds chattering and zooming about between trees and freshly filled feeders, just as the sun is about to squeeze up over the mountains, it will happen. One maple leaf, dressed in its best red will flap. Pause. Then flap again. The remainder of the tree stands frozen as if it were in a snapshot. Did a tiny breath of breeze catch it and flip it like a teenage girl tossing back an errant curl? Did a bug crawl across or drop onto it and tip its balance, and then rebound from it as from a flopping diving board? Was it just my imagination? The sticky from the hackberry tree dotted the freshly painted decking. My house shoes made a peeling-snap sound as they stuck and unstuck each step. I was not thinking of the bob-tailed cat as I escorted the little dog around the porches to the yard. It was just breaking day after one of the first calm cool nights of autumn.
And then I heard him calling. It was not the normal spoiled “Meow” with which I was familiar nearly every morning, as he would cross the yard or road from the adjoining forest. “It was a Help Me I Am Dying Call”. It had the element of weakness. It noted distress and fear. It was a cry of pain. I knew something was immediately wrong and he needed assistance now, or may not ever again need it at all. I cut the little dog’s running short and called her back to the house. She would only be an added worry if she were allowed to “help” me in the coming rescue. She would be safe and out of the way inside the house. Pajamas alone are not appropriate attire for rescues, so I hastily re-entered the house myself. Changing shoes and acquiring a coat, I exited in route toward the frail cry. Dual ears are amazing. We are blessed to hear in stereo naturally. And by having two ears we can follow a noise to its source. I followed the continuing cries down the driveway and across the highway toward the mass of trees and colorful thick underbrush. I thought at first he was in the forest. But as I approached a large oak tree in the open before the forest I realized the bawling was above me. There the bob-tail laid across a limb half-way to the top looking at me. He was not sure if I was help or to be feared. He moved his head about quickly looking. I talked to him. He was searching to see if he recognized me as his own. He became convinced enough to begin descending awkwardly down. Something was wrong with his usually elegant climbing. Almost falling, but hooking a claw at the last opportunity, he swung downward, paused in mid-air and then dropped onto the ground. He instinctively crouched and prepared to bolt. I talked to him and he relaxed and straightened his legs. His left hip was stiff. But on closer examination I saw no blood or open flesh. He was jumpy. He was too jumpy to hold. When I tried to help him he moaned and hissed….not as to threaten, but to say “Oh man, I am hurting.” I encouraged him follow me to the house and then made him a comfortable bed for the day inside the safety of the house. Over the next few days he recovered into his regular arrogant self. We will probably never know what happened during the night. The neighbor told us she heard a scuffle during that night. We wonder if a passing car clipped him. Here at the foot of the Smoky Mountains there could be all kinds of predators present who would love to snack on a cat. Sightings of panthers, wolves, coyotes and foxes have been reported. It could have even been a raccoon. They can be vicious. Nine lives are handy. And so are claws for climbing trees. We will probably never know what transpired, and the bob-tail is keeping the answer to the mystery to himself. Wouldn’t it be interesting if they could speak in human? Well, yes…..except some of what cats had to say we might not want to hear. How to write? How do you help it?
Is it a matter of picking up a pen? Or maybe a typing exercise? Are you brave or fearful to share? Can you simply start to scribble? If not now, so then when? Can you speak in stillness? Will you share endless thought? Is it the result of long-term madness? If so, then what of releasing it? Will a part of self be lost? Will the words ever rest? Or will they morph into emotions yet unexplained? Is it a matter of if you can? Are they drawn out by their own likeness? Is it a rupture of the heart? If not here, so then where? How to write? Can anyone really say? The means, the mode, the direction; Can anyone declare the way? Does the means really matter? Is it a case of literacy? If so why, when many words are trapped inside minds? How they ache for the page or screen, Especially when they are mine. Dear Readers:
Thank you for your attention to my blog. I appreciate you. Also, I am happy to tell you of some recent success. The post “Regret” previously occupying this space has been added to a collection of published poems and prose entitled “31 Scraps And A Couple More.” The eBook “31 Scraps And A Couple More” is available FOR FREE DOWNLOAD for a limited time via Amazon’s KDP SELECT Program…starting January 1, 2016. By choosing to enroll this eBook in the KDP SELECT Program, I agreed to make the digital format available exclusively through KDP, and for free, for a limited time to Kindle Unlimited Subscribers. That would, of course, include this post “Regret.” Please Click on THIS LINK at AMAZON for your FREE DOWNLOAD. I am sorry for any inconvenience… And Again, I encourage you to download NOT ONLY this post, but the complete collection at the Link noted above. Thank you again for your consideration. Have a very good day. Pj Swink In all seriousness, I watch as the new media (in general) twists pieces of truth into amazing tales.
Realizing that we all are capable of slanting facts somewhat to fit our truth, I think they take it to an Olympic Level. This is my news spoof......I have carefully ADDED nothing, but merely disassembled and re-assembled the words from the story (printed below the spoof) and phrased it creatively. It is not a story for kids. It is kind of disturbing actually. But hopefully makes a point..... ------------------------------------------------------ Once upon a time Papa Bear growled and a little girl screamed, “Help!” Goldilocks jumped out of the smallest bed, which was still larger than her own. The very large Papa Bear stood above her tiny little observably helpless fearful body in the upstairs bedroom. Papa Bear was growling. Mama Bear and Baby Bear stood there now also. Baby Bear had been crying earlier, but now he only exclaimed, “…and she is still there!” The whole family of Bears just stood in silence in that moment. The tiny girl ran into the forest alone. She never returned to that house ever again. From the evidence we can gather, we know something occurred in that home that day. Baby Bear cried about the broken pieces of his destroyed chair. Mama Bear could tell that someone had been at their house. By the evidence they left, Mama Bear knew they had been eating porridge, sitting in the chairs, and lying in bed….possibly sleeping there…..but who knows what else? She had known Papa Bear for a long enough time to conceive a Baby Bear…. but how well did she really know him? Bottom line, Mama Bear really did not really know what all had transpired within her house and more recently within her own bedroom in her short absence. If Baby Bear had not found the child, would any of this ever have been exposed to the public? So much mystery surrounds this story and its characters, especially unexposed is the role of Papa Bear. What did Papa Bear know? What had he done? Examining the evidence raises several questions about his character. Perhaps there are more questions than answers in the story being told here. There seems to be more to this story than anyone HAS EVER known. Apparently there is more than anyone MAY EVER be able to glean from the evidence, except those immediately involved in the mysterious circumstances. We are sure they know more than they are telling. It seems there are AT LEAST two versions of a story at work here. Mama Bear and Baby Bear had witnessed the large figure of Papa Bear growling loudly as the frightened and obviously traumatized little blonde girl jumped up from the bed and exited the house at a run. Mama Bear did not know the girl had whined earlier, but Goldilocks had whined. With no one to hear her, she had whined as she was trying to sit in Papa Bear’s chair. But she had sighed too, immediately before the Baby Bear’s chair was broken to pieces! Mama Bear did not know the girl was only hungry and fatigued when she first came to the house of the Bears. Mama Bear did not know how the little girl was lured into the residence, although she could assume it was by the smell of porridge and a safe place to rest for a while. Of course, we know all kids like food, but what else was in the porridge that made her so sleepy afterwards? We can only wonder what was added. Who would have added that foreign substance? We can only try to imagine. With certainty we do know, she ate it all. So therefore we are conveniently left with no evidence to sample. We know things we cannot prove. Goldilocks, in her innocence, had no idea what would take place inside the seemingly safe house that smelled so appetizingly inviting. It could be said she would never be the same little girl again. It could be said that she would never be able to fully forget the trauma or maybe traumas of that day. And how do we know it was only that day? Maybe she had been there “visiting” many times. Maybe only today, and maybe many times before, the porridge made her uncontrollably sleepy. Again, we know something happened in that house that day. We know innumerable facts we cannot prove at this time. Yet we can prove, it was only on that one certain day that Baby Bear found her. Only the few individuals involved know and they are not talking now, and from all indications will never talk about it again. Why are they so silent? We would hope they would offer some plausible explanation for the events of that day. No explanation seems to be forthcoming at this time. It was evident by the small and empty bowl of porridge that the small blonde female child did find food. And it was evident by the small broken chair that something else more violent had occurred in the residence. So many questions, so few answers. How does all this evidence fit together? If only someone would speak up and clear the air about these occurrances. Of course, it could be said that we know what happened, we just are not able to prove it. Papa Bear and Mama Bear did not speak to us of the incident. Baby Bear has not offered to comment. Goldilocks understandably has not been found as of the printing of this article. As is the case many times when great mysteries continue and remain unresolved for the victims of the circumstances… many years have now past, and nothing else has ever been said. It seems once again the guilty will not be brought to justice. And never again did the little girl return to the home of the Bears. The End ------------------------------------------- THE ORIGINAL STORY…..but is it the REAL STORY!!!! The Story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Goldilocks. She went for a walk in the forest. Pretty soon, she came upon a house. She knocked and, when no one answered, she walked right in. At the table in the kitchen, there were three bowls of porridge. Goldilocks was hungry. She tasted the porridge from the first bowl. "This porridge is too hot!" she exclaimed. So, she tasted the porridge from the second bowl. "This porridge is too cold," she said So, she tasted the last bowl of porridge. "Ahhh, this porridge is just right," she said happily and she ate it all up. After she'd eaten the three bears' breakfasts she decided she was feeling a little tired. So, she walked into the living room where she saw three chairs. Goldilocks sat in the first chair to rest her feet. "This chair is too big!" she exclaimed. So she sat in the second chair. "This chair is too big, too!" she whined. So she tried the last and smallest chair. "Ahhh, this chair is just right," she sighed. But just as she settled down into the chair to rest, it broke into pieces! Goldilocks was very tired by this time, so she went upstairs to the bedroom. She lay down in the first bed, but it was too hard. Then she lay in the second bed, but it was too soft. Then she lay down in the third bed and it was just right. Goldilocks fell asleep. As she was sleeping, the three bears came home. "Someone's been eating my porridge," growled the Papa bear. "Someone's been eating my porridge," said the Mama bear. "Someone's been eating my porridge and they ate it all up!" cried the Baby bear. "Someone's been sitting in my chair," growled the Papa bear. "Someone's been sitting in my chair," said the Mama bear. "Someone's been sitting in my chair and they've broken it all to pieces," cried the Baby bear. They decided to look around some more and when they got upstairs to the bedroom, Papa bear growled, "Someone's been sleeping in my bed," "Someone's been sleeping in my bed, too" said the Mama bear "Someone's been sleeping in my bed and she's still there!" exclaimed Baby bear. Just then, Goldilocks woke up and saw the three bears. She screamed, "Help!" And she jumped up and ran out of the room. Goldilocks ran down the stairs, opened the door, and ran away into the forest. And she never returned to the home of the three bears. THE END Reference: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goldilocks_and_the_Three_Bears A Girl's Simple Guide to Catching a Gentleman.
1) Know who YOU are....be that person....everyday. Love that person and treat them nice like a friend....everyday. 2) Create in the person YOU ARE great value....work hard, be honorable, think long-term, speak honestly, improve yourself daily. 3) In your dealing with all potential gentlemen....be like a wise monster trophy turkey, let yourself be hunted with a great price so afterward the hunter can strut around and be proud of his catch. Don't just run out there and let yourself be shot. Be seen in the distance between trees, while the other turkeys run around in the foreground...let the hunter see you but wish you would get a little closer before you do get closer. Make him think he is calling you in to him. And know that sometimes you are thinking about this one hunter and another even better hunter takes notice ...and you did not even realize the superior hunter was watching. 4) Do not choose too quickly....let the boys sift themselves out from among the gentlemen. Boys will take shots and run through the foreground turkeys like a tuna eating in a school of 10 million shrimp, watch them and take note....always keep in mind, you are looking for a gentleman...not a silly boy. 5) Determine within yourself ....you do not want to raise a silly boy while you raise your children. It happens everyday....boy meets girl, boy marries girl, girl has 1.3 babies, girl raises babies while silly boy plays all day, girl becomes angry at being the only bluebird working the nest, boy does not know why girl is angry (because he is a silly boy), there is fighting in the nest in the midst of the children...slamming doors-yelling.....results to vary, many not good. 6) Know this truth....although men like to think they are special and unique and have that extra whatever that sweeps us girls off our feet.....the little quiet voice in the back of their minds also says that whatever you do with them, you do with ALL the other guys. Keep that always in mind...seriously, keep it right in the very front of your mind. 7) Seek out the best, strongest pick of the herd...not the wounded one limping slowly at the back. Leave that one for the lions. You want strong children, they need a strong father. Do not settle, if not for your own sake...then for the sake of your 1.3 offspring. You may have to wait for him to get where he needs to be, so do it, wait. But do not settle....the years can drag by like lead weights around your neck if you settle for a lesser boy. The wait for death on the other end of I DO makes the wait before I DO seem like a couple clicks of the second hand on a clock...if you settle. So don't. And so there you have it...seven easy steps to catch that gentleman of your dreams...and not be scarred, squashed and severed to pieces in the process. :)
Relevance: September is National Suicide Prevention Month....but as winter approaches and the days shorten, our awareness needs to continue..... most of the friends I have lost in this way have been lost in the "shorter" days of the year. I would have encouraged them to still be, but when you stop being it is sadly too late to talk about it. I hope this writing encourages anyone who may be considering not being somewhere, as in “anywhere”, to find hope and help and to hang on tightly to life. Life is precious and priceless, and most of us have lost people…..and so we know how it feels to survive another's "not being". So live as long as you can, as well as you can, and as hard as you can, don't give up. Keep getting up. Keep being. ----------------------------------------------------------- BEING is Somewhere It is a cycle. You live. You love. You lose. You live and start over loving again. Hopefully. This is the play and replay of BEING a human being. Over and over. Again and again. Until, like in the “Velveteen Rabbit”, all your fur is nearly rubbed off. Unless, for survival sake or other reasoning you cease to love. To feel. Understandable. Tempting. Been there and done that, as a matter of fact. And so what is the end game for putting up that wall of protection and cold un-attachment? To stop the pain of living and loving? To eliminate pain or being lovesick or loss-sick ever again? Ceasing or detaching only adds to the misery. It is both unproductive and unwise. Numbing, but not curing. Not fixing. To live and to love is to endure pain. But in the end, living and loving are worth it all. We humans were built to flex and endure. We change, for we were not built to be static structures. It is meant for us to descend to the belly of the Earth and to sail into the Heavens above. But not yet. And not by our own hands. There are things to do still, and that time comes upon us all anyways soon enough. But there are things to do now. Today. One of them is enduring suffering, and one of them is to love again. So do them. Not by placing all the pain of an entire season or year (or a lifetime) into a single hour. But by continuing………CONTINUING minute to minute, day by day, year by year. An elephant is a very big creature up close. The farther away it gets, it is still big, but the smaller it appears. AND we CAN eat the elephant, if we prepare him carefully and chew him up one bite at a time. And so we can endure and arise from loss also….and love and gain again, even more maybe next time. We can walk onward farther from Our Elephant, letting him get smaller in the distance, and taking what we learned from him with us. DO NOT LET LOSS END YOU. You are endurable… so continue to continue. For to love is gain. And it is painful to grow as a human being. But we can. You can. I can. I have lived my whole life trying to be a human being. When all I needed to do was to continue. When all I REALLY needed was to just be a human that was “being”. And a large part of that “being” we humans were meant to be? What is it? This is the key. It is the loving of others, caring for others, putting others before our selves. By getting the focus off of our selves, we can more happily be…humans being. So keep making the cycle. Keep loving. Keep living. Keep being. And as the cycle rotates around again, remember this. It is NOT…..The End P.S.: It is a cycle. Boot Tracks in the Snow
************** Dear Readers: Thank you for your attention to my blog. I appreciate you. Also, I am happy to tell you of some recent success. The post “Boot Tracks in the Snow” previously occupying this space has been added to a collection of published poems and prose entitled “31 Scraps And A Couple More.” The eBook “31 Scraps And A Couple More” is available FOR FREE DOWNLOAD for a limited time via Amazon’s KDP SELECT Program…starting January 1, 2016. By choosing to enroll this eBook in the KDP SELECT Program, I agreed to make the digital format available exclusively through KDP, and for free, for a limited time to Kindle Unlimited Subscribers. That would, of course, include this poem/post “Boot Tracks in the Snow.” Please Click on THIS LINK at AMAZON for your FREE DOWNLOAD. I am sorry for any inconvenience… And Again, I encourage you to download NOT ONLY this post, but the complete collection at the Link noted above. Thank you again for your consideration. Have a very good day. Pj Swink |
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