Ordinary Thoughts, Essays and Short Stories

Category: Current Blog Post (Page 3 of 4)

What? Me Lie?

You know how parents — I think mothers, especially — plant mental seeds that take root so deeply we couldn’t forget them if we tried? They say stuff like, “Money doesn’t grow on trees,” “Do as I say…not as I do,” and “You better go now because I’m not stopping once we get on the road.”

That last one was probably more of a dad quote than a mom one but, regardless, there are certain phrases that simply stick with us. And, as we get older, we find ourselves repeating those same things to our own kids…even though we vowed never to turn into our parents.

One of my mom’s favorite admonitions was, “Be sure the truth will find you out.” I’m not gonna lie now by saying I never kept things from Mom when I was growing up but, because she drilled that warning so firmly into my head, I can say with all honesty that I didn’t try to pull the wool over her eyes nearly as often as I might have been tempted. I was much too afraid of the consequences.

Besides getting into trouble, one of the worst repercussions of being dishonest is the guilt that weighs so heavily on one’s psyche…even if the lie felt necessary at the time and even if it was never said aloud. An unspoken truth may have been kept a secret because doing otherwise would be problematic but, bottom line, a secret is often just a silent lie. The fact that it was never talked about doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

If someone’s secret is exposed, that person may go to irrevocable extremes to avoid having to face the truth. For a prime example of what can happen when it looks like your chickens have come home to roost, click the button below and read Edna and Harold.

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Who Decides This Stuff Anyway?

We all have pet peeves…for example, people who think it’s A-OK to barge out the IN door, sneeze without covering their mouths or talk out loud during a movie.  It’s normal to wish folks would use common courtesy when in the presence of others.  

But something else that has always bugged me is the fact that some unseen entities from the past decided to throw together a bunch of “rules” that we all had to follow if we wanted to live in a polite society.  Ridiculous things like never wearing white after Labor Day and keeping your elbows off the dinner table.  Many rules of etiquette definitely do make sense – belching and passing gas in a packed elevator come to mind – but I can’t help but wonder why we place so much importance on other people’s standards if what we’re doing doesn’t even affect them.  Call me a savage but, if I want to eat my entire meal with the salad fork, that’s what I’m going to do.  It really shouldn’t be anyone else’s concern.

Besides rules of etiquette, I also find it bothersome that the idea of not being conversant in certain matters might cause people to question my level of couth. 

It’s very possible that the real problem here is that I simply overthink stuff but, if you’d like to see what I’m talking about, click the link below and read It’s Just a Matter of Taste.  Who knows?  Maybe one or two of my little irritations get your goat, too.

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Time

You know how people often claim they don’t have time for this, that or the other?  Chances are, they actually do have time, but they choose to use it for something unrelated to…well…this, that or the other. 

Oh, sure, there are those with such truly busy schedules they don’t even have time to change their minds but, for many of us, that old “I don’t have time” excuse is just that.  An excuse.  Once all our daily obligations are addressed, we likely do have some time to spare, but we choose to spend it doing things we want to do instead of things we’d rather not do.  I’m pretty sure the official term for that is “human nature.”

There are a few of us, though, who complicate it even further.  Our spare time is spent on things we sort of like to do instead of things we really love to do.  It doesn’t make sense, but it happens all the same.  There are certain activities that bring us more joy than others, yet we backburner those and while away the hours with mediocre pastimes.  Of course, I might be taking liberties with the pluralization here.  Maybe there’s a small cadre of people who share this trait, or maybe it only applies to the knucklehead sitting right here at my keyboard. 

To see if you possibly relate, click the button below and check out my essay Reading Is Fun....  If you find you don’t relate at all, odds are you’re much more levelheaded than I. 

But don’t get too cocky.  I set that bar extremely low.

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What to Write?

A few months ago, I started this blog as a creative outlet…creative being a rather relative term.  Once I got over the technological hurdles, I discovered blogging can be a fun way to get essays and stories out there that I might otherwise take to my grave.  One of the things I really love is that it’s a fairly inexpensive hobby that doesn’t require many skills beyond balancing a laptop on my legs while lounging on the sofa.  (Which I happen to be doing at this very moment.) 

The only problem is, publishing new content on a regular basis can be stressful.  Frankly, it shouldn’t be because I set my own schedule.  But just like I did when I was working in the real world, I have a tendency to put things off until the last minute.  Sure, I could always move those self-imposed deadlines, but my usually non-competitive nature turns ridiculously aggressive when I break my own rules.  I try to avoid facing that side of myself as much as humanly possible.

While writing has always been something I enjoy, I never quite know where it’ll take me.  Most of the time, I don’t even know where it’s going to start.  I’m not one of those writers who manufactures a plot and then creates an outline before ever typing that first sentence.  I have to pay attention to the chatter in the back of my brain and jump on it if it sounds the least bit story worthy.  Of course, being the procrastinator that I am, I’ll often ignore the chatter and play computer games or watch TV instead.  Because of that, it can be a real challenge to plant myself at the keyboard and string enough comprehensible words together to have something ready to publish every couple of weeks.

Fortunately for me, the story I’m posting this time is one I started a couple of years ago.  Back then, I didn’t get beyond the first several paragraphs.  I can’t recall if that was because other pressing matters kept me away from writing or if the chatter just suddenly stopped.  But, whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter now.  The main character found her way back to my forebrain and finished telling me what she wanted me to know.  And now I’m here to tell you what she told me. 

All you have to do is click the button below to get a glimpse of what it was like Being Basil.

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More Than a Plane Man

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Last month, I acknowledged Mother’s Day by posting an essay about my mom.  Now Father’s Day is approaching and, being one who must do everything as evenly as possible, I felt compelled to post something to commemorate my dad.

Dad was always a bit of an enigma – one could never be quite sure what was going in behind those blue eyes of his – but one thing was certain…he was a man of enviable talents.  They weren’t the outgoing types of talents you find inhabiting a gallery, stage or screen.  His were rather quiet, nose-to-the-grindstone kinds of talents that made him seem able to do almost anything you might need – or want – to have done.  He paid the bills by working as an electrical engineer, but he satisfied his desire for productivity by creating things.  In addition to being a freelance photographer and a homespun guitar player, he liked to build stuff.  Stuff like houses, boats, furniture and, the pièce de résistance…an airplane.  Not just some remote-control model – although he built those, too – but this was an honest-to-goodness, fly-way-up-high-in-the-sky, open cockpit biplane.  A Starduster Too, to be exact.  It took him over 17 years to complete it, working evenings and weekends, but when all was said and done, it was a pretty impressive specimen.  His accomplishment was even featured on one of Paul Harvey’s radio broadcasts. 

Building something like an airplane would never be on my To-Do list.  As much as I wish it were possible, there’s no way I could emulate any of my dad’s dexterous abilities.  The main characteristics I inherited from him were wrinkles and a snarky wit.

When I think about Dad, though, more comes to mind than how skilled he was.  What really sticks with me is how dramatically my opinion of him changed as I grew from a little kid to an adult.  If you’re the least bit interested in learning more, just click the button below to read Discovering Dad

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Taking Stock

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As much as some of us might like to cover our eyes and pretend much of our past didn’t happen, it’s sort of unavoidable.  When you get to be a certain age – and that age is different for different people – you have a tendency to look back over your life and assess what you have, or haven’t, accomplished.  It might center around something tangible like your family, your career, your contribution to society or a combination of such.  It can also center around something more abstract, like how you view yourself as a person.

For me, I often tend to land on how out of place I felt – and still feel, at times – in certain social situations.  When I was a kid, the daydreamer in me would imagine myself as someone entirely different from who I was in reality.  In those little fantasies, I was popular and successful and – this is the biggie – really, really pretty.  Of course, life would then come along and give me a not-so-gentle nudge, and I’d revert back to my real self…which was none of the above.

The good news is, while I doubt that I’ll ever be 100% comfortable in my own skin, I’m not nearly as hard on myself as I was when I was younger.  Time has allowed me to embrace a certain level of acceptance.  And it’s not that I’m settling.  I’m simply acknowledging that I am, in fact, downright okay just the way I am.

That’s actually been one of my favorite things about getting older.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not always a bed of roses.  My joints ache, my skin sags and I’d love to lose some girth, but I’m a whole lot happier about who I am now than I was about who I thought I should be way back when.  I no longer dwell on feeling as though I’m less than.  It took me more than a few decades to get to this point, but I finally stopped wasting precious mental energy on wishing I was someone I’m not.

Along that same vein, the link below will take you to an essay titled Tambourine.  It highlights how the significance of one little thing affected how I felt about myself.  I sort of wonder how many of my peers will be reminded of their younger selves when they read it.  I mean, surely, I can’t be the only one who thought a special something could change my very existence. 

Or then again…maybe it really was just me.

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And Then What Happened?

After I posted Clutching What Little Remains a couple of months ago, a few of you expressed a desire to learn more about the story.  That got me thinking that I wouldn’t mind finding out more myself, so I thought perhaps a follow-up was in order.  That’s easier said than done, though.  I’m not one of those writers who can sit down to a blinking cursor and strategically create a whole new world on a blank screen.  I’m the type who timidly stares at the blinking cursor in the hopes that someone in my head will speak up and let me transcribe what they tell me.

If you remember Cyrus from that first story, you might also recall him mentioning his daughter, Stella.  When I began contemplating the new tale, she’s the one who got my attention, so I simply let her talk to my brain while I played secretary.  

If you missed the first story – or just need to skim it again to refresh your memory – you can find it here.

The new story is available by clicking the link below and is ingeniously titled Stella.  Nothing like being succinct, to the point and ridiculously obvious.  Maybe this will bring a little satisfaction or maybe it will result in even more questions.  Either way, it’s waiting for you.

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Not Just Another Day in May

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It’s May Day!  Trees are budding, flowers are starting to bloom and somewhere people are dancing around a maypole.  I’m not one of those people, though.  About the only dancing I do is when I inadvertently walk through a spider web.  And that’s really more of a flail than a dance.  Which reminds me…it’s time to call the exterminator to schedule our spring spray.

But I digress.  Besides all that fun stuff mentioned above, the month of May brings another annual event that bears mentioning.  Mother’s Day is right around the corner.  It used to be a day I absolutely dreaded.  After my mom passed away, that holiday became a heart-wrenching reminder of what I’d lost.  The annual onslaught of Mother’s Day ads and events was agonizing and I did everything I could to avoid participation.

After several years of self-indulgent wallowing, I finally sat myself down for a come to Jesus talk and realized how unfair I’d been to my own daughters.  While I was trying to protect myself from heartache, I was creating an unnecessary feeling of loss for them.  I mean, I was still here, alive and kicking, yet I wasn’t letting them acknowledge me on that special day.  They did their best to understand and give me space, but that didn’t mean they weren’t hurt by it.

Once I stopped making it all about me and truly looked at it from their perspective, I was able to set my sadness aside.  I know how important it is to remember that Mother’s Day isn’t just for the mom.  It’s also for the people in her life who love her and want to celebrate that bond. 

Having lost its hurtful hold on me, Mother’s Day is back to being an enjoyable day of sharing the love between mother and child.  Of course, even though it’s a special day, it could be any day.  Love doesn’t need a calendar date to be celebrated.

Since I’ve got mothers on the brain, I decided to share an essay about the impact my own mom had on me…pretty much from the moment I met her.  To check it out, just click the button below.

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A Little Something Sweet…

It’s Easter and that involves different things for different people…spiritual celebrations, new church clothes, egg hunts, chocolate bunnies, ham dinners and so forth.  I hesitated to drop a new post on such a special day but, considering the story I wanted to share, I decided it was okay to go ahead and put it out there. 

Anyone who knows me, knows I can be snarky and weird and not-altogether-there, but I do have a tender side.  What you’re about to read – assuming you choose to do so – is a testament to my lifelong preference for stories that have peaches and cream endings.  You might even say this one drips with sappiness.  But, hey, it’s Easter…a time for reflecting on love, hope and the sweetness of life.

Hit the button below to go to the story I call The Silver Pin.  If you wind up with cavities after you log off, don’t blame me.  I’m just the messenger.

Happy, Sappy Easter!

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Springing Forward

I’m b-a-a-a-ck!

If you read my debut post and story a couple of weeks ago, thanks for letting me hijack your consciousness for a bit.  Thanks, too, for stopping by again.  It’s encouraging to know I didn’t scare (or bore) you away.

Is this your first visit to my blog?  If it is, then…Welcome!  It’s still new, and I’m still getting the hang of things, but I’m so glad you’re here.  Feel free to poke around a bit.  You can check out the aforementioned post and story by utilizing the links under Recent Posts at the bottom of the page.

This time around, instead of fiction, I’m sharing my thoughts on decluttering.  For a lot of people, this is the type of activity that proclaims the natural segue from winter to spring.  Since cleaning – of any sort – has never been on my list of fun things to do, I’m not one of those people.  As embarrassing as it is to admit, “Spring Cleaning” isn’t something I officially do on an annual basis.  That being said, I’ve grown rather disillusioned with the amount of stuff I’ve accumulated over the past few years, so it’s high time to make some things disappear.  And, considering the fact that I’m not a magician, it looks like I’ll have to do it the Muggle way.  Click the button below to learn why, and how, I plan to get this done.

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