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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Monthly Archives: January 2022

Con-Con Man’s Special Friend

29 Saturday Jan 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 18 Comments

Tags

Conman, politics, satire, story

The Con-Con Man didn’t think of himself as a “Con-Con Man.” Nor, for that matter, did he even think of himself as a “Con Man.” It was more like this: He thought of himself as the “Only Man.” Or at least, the only one that mattered. The other people who appeared and disappeared out of his tiny circle of consciousness were tools. And what the Con-Con Man enjoyed was conning the people who appeared in that tiny circle so that they didn’t even realize he was using them as tools. 

One day, an Educated Man met the Con-Con Man and said, “If only we could help educate more people.” And the Con-Con Man said, “What a wonderful idea! Let’s do it! I will start a University with the sole purpose of educating more people!” Of course, the Con-Con Man did no such thing and instead started a “University” with the sole purpose of stealing other people’s money. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

One day, a Compassionate Woman met the Con-Con Man and said, “If only we could help those in need. What’s really sad is when kids get cancer. If only we could help those kids.”
And the Con-Con Man said, “What a wonderful idea! Let’s do it!”

The Compassionate Woman said, “Educated Man” says I shouldn’t trust you.” 

Con-Con Man looked shocked. “What? Why?! You know why? I’ll tell you why. Educated man is not compassionate! He didn’t really want to help students at all! He just wanted to get jobs for his snooty professor friends. I saw right through him. You, on the other hand are a Compassionate Woman and you and I will make hundreds of lives better! I will start a Charity with the sole purpose of helping kids with cancer!” Of course, the Con-Con Man did no such thing and instead started a “Charity” with the sole purpose of stealing other people’s money. 

Photo by Sharefaith on Pexels.com

One day, A Politician met the Con-Con Man and said, “If only we could find the right man, we could win the Presidency for the benefit of the very wealthiest people on the planet!” The Con-Con Man said, “What a wonderful idea! Let’s do it!! I know just the guy. Me.” 

“Really?” Replied the Politician. “Your father would be so proud of you. He may have been a great Con Man but you are a Con Man’s Con Man; A Con Man Don. You con as easily as most people breathe. But you must understand one thing, of course. We call the shots. We’re not even vaguely interested in the liberal opinions you’ve spouted over the years. You will toe the line. The policies you put in place will serve to keep us — and you — in power and to keep people as ignorant, ill-fed, fearful, and hate-filled as possible. This obviously makes them easier to control. You think you can do that?” 

“Can I do that?” The Con-Con Man laughed. “I can do that better than anyone!”

“Good. There’s just one more thing. You are great at being a Con Man, no doubt about it. But we are good at being politicians. We will be choosing candidates and messaging and so on. You understand. Of course, we’d welcome your input.” 

“Naturally,” said The Con-Con Man. “You’re the experts when it comes to politics. No problem! Let me take care of conning people.”

And, the Con-Con Man did con people just as he had promised.
And, the Con-Con Man did not leave choosing candidates to “The Oligarchs.” 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com


Of course, the Con-Con Man choose only candidates who would give their power to him. I could say give their power and wealth but that would be redundant. Once he had power over them, their wealth is essentially his already. The only question is how much hassle is worth actually taking physical possession. 

And a Fan Man of the Con-Con Man came to see him at his “hacienda” in Mar-A-Lardo. The Fan Man said, “Wouldn’t it be great if everyone thought just like I do and made love just like I do and talked just like I do and believed just what I believe and looks just like I look?” And, the Con-Con Man said, “What a wonderful idea! I shall make it so! And, not only that, you can help make that happen! Write me a check now, but make sure your friends who are just like you send me a check too! You can always back out of the monthly thing later if you really want to — you know — leave the entire country in ruins and run by — you know — them! Those folks who are not at all like you. Those folks hate you and so it’s right that we hate them right back and that we stay in power so they are always in their place!”

And Fan Man said, “I really want to Mr. Con-Con Man. But, you know. I hate to bring it up, but Educated Man said you conned him. And Compassionate Woman said you conned her. And, your wives — well, you conned all of them. So, we just want to make sure you’re not trying to con us as well.”

Mr. Con-Con Man smiled. Well, not really. I mean if you actually know how to read a face — like if you or I had been there, we would have seen that it was not a genuine smile at all. He wasn’t “smiling” as a friend working together on solving a puzzle might smile. He was “grinning” the grin of someone seeing yet another con unfold before him. He was “grinning” the grin of an angler fish who feels the anticipatory joy of some small fish coming toward his “bait” — the anticipatory joy that makes the angler fish’s joy all the sweeter in cutting it short and destroying the life of another.

Photo by Matt Waters on Pexels.com



But Fan Man did not see that it was a fake smile; a smile that said: “I’m am so going to screw you over and so going to enjoy it! And, you are so stupid you deserve it.” Of course, Con-Con Man didn’t say that part out loud. What he said out loud was this:

“Oh, Fan Man, don’t you worry. Educated man? Of course, I conned him! He deserved it! He just wanted to educate people to make them Communists! And, don’t even get me started on Compassionate Woman! You know as well as I do that she’s a fraud and a cheat and would be in jail right now except for corrupt people in places. Of course, I conned her and good riddance. Now, what was your other question? Something about my daughter? She’s hot, right? Everyone wants to. It’s okay. But the point is, you can trust me because I’m not trying to con you. No, you are the very reason I have power. You are the people I most love because just like you, I had to work my butt off for every penny. And now, people want to take things I have rightfully earned. So, we’re the same. I’m not going to con you. No way!! I am going to fight for you every step of the way! I’ll get you jobs! I’ll keep you safe!” 

But of course, conning Fan Man was, in many ways, the sweetest con of all. It reminded Con-Con Man of that great time when he had forced himself on a 13-year old. And, then threatened her life and that of her parents if she pursued justice. Wonderful times. But all those adventures with Jeffrey were basically just forcing themselves on one woman at a time! This con allowed him to screw millions! This time, a genuine smile did mushroom onto his face. 

Photo by Julius Silver on Pexels.com

One day, Mr. Putin Man came a-calling. He whispered soothing things to Con-Con Man such as: “Oh, Mr. President, I have no idea how you put up with your free press. What pesky little pricks they are, am I right? Yes. Of course, you’re a brilliant man even as you yourself say, so you know I’m right. Sure. You know without me telling you that you’d be much better off if you had no free press. And, I can help you! I have no free press. I can show you how to do it! No problem.”

And: “Oh, Mr. President. Isn’t a little insane how everyone wants to vote in your elections? Wouldn’t it be better for the whole country if a small group of hand-picked sycophants decided whether elections are fair? Then, if any states don’t vote for you, they are overturned! And possibly jailed! Easy as pie.”

And: “Oh, Mr. President. Yes, what an excellent idea to build mutual trust! Here, I’ll hand over our nuclear codes and you hand me yours at the same time. One. Two. Three. Go!” 

Mr Con-Con Man wasn’t born yesterday. “Say! How do I know these are your real codes?”

Mr. Putin Man smiled ‘a more convincing than Con-Con’s’ but still insincere smile. “Mr. President, I would never try to con you! You’re too smart for me! You’re too smart for anyone! Of course they’re real! I just hope you never have to find out just how real they are. You know radiation on the scale of an atomic war would get around to everyone, right? So, we never want to start a nuclear war, right?”

Mr Con-Con Man said, “Huh? Sorry, I was thinking about Hillary. I don’t know why I can’t get the Secret Service to … “ 

Mr. Putin Man said, “Wait. Let me stop you right there. See, relying on Secret Service is a big mistake. You need your own security force of people you own. As the old Russian saying goes, ‘If you break a lot of dishes, expect to be cut more than once.’ Doesn’t really translate well. Here’s another: “A banker and his guard dog don’t agree on cuisine.” Get it? Never mind. Just take my word for it.

“Okay, Mr. Putin. But how can I be sure you’re not conning me?”

“Me try to con you? Hah! I may not be smart enough to con you, but I’m smart enough to know I can’t con you. Haha. Of course I’m not trying to con you! Why would I? What possible — I’ll tell you what. If I make the incredibly stupid move of trying to con you, I’ll let you know. Okay? So as long as I don’t tell you I’m conning you, you’re actually quite safe.”

Still no genuine smile but Putin Man tried. You have to give him credit for that. 

And load of credit for not completely breaking down in hysterical laughter at the irony. Instead, he managed to keep a completely straight face all the way back to his hotel Suite where he spent hours doing vodka shots, laughing hysterically, and posing for himself in front of the mirror before calling a couple special “Ladies of the Night.” A gift of sorts, they showed up at Con-Con Man’s door around 10. “We’re from Vlad! We hope you’re glad!” they sang in unison.


Con-Con Man thought, God, it’s fun to be the smartest man on the planet.

———-

The Interview

The Truth Train

The Ailing King of Agitate 

Absolute is not just a Vodka 

The Oxymorons of the Mango Mussolini

Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

Where does your loyalty lie?

My Cousin Bobby

It Was In His Nature

27 Thursday Jan 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

fiction, growth, psychology, shortstory, tale

Gary never belonged. 

Even younger brother Bruce never played Robin to Gary’s Batman.

Gary’s folks prided themselves on being highly religious. While denomination doesn’t really matter so far as Gary’s isolation goes, it does matter that they ignored the “brotherhood of humanity” aspects and focused instead on finding the teeniest excuse that would allow them to condemn others. Those who really met their extensive criteria for “goodness” could be counted on the fingers of one hand. 

Gary was not one of those fingers.  

And the more alone he felt, the more he acted out. The more he acted out, the more his parents meted out punishment. Spankings for untoward behavior may have been a good idea; locking him in the closet, less so. Deciding that he wasn’t worthy of their love — priceless. 

Unable to navigate the impossibly contradictory maze of strictures and scriptures of his parents, his church, his school and his peer group, Gary lost himself in the worlds of books. Those worlds had damsels, dragons, and doubts, and in the end, the hero triumphed. 

Gary seldom felt triumph in his world. The more he saw himself as a loser, the more he warped his perception. On rare occasions when someone gave him an honest compliment, he discounted it. When kids made overtures to be his friend, he avoided the pain of an inevitable falling out by simply never showing any interest. 

Gary struggled through school, and got a job working in a factory where management discouraged interactions with others. He said little but did much. Gary had a knack for diagnosing and fixing issues with the assembly line and the machines that ran it. 

Gary was fired anyway. 

Low on money, Gary hitchhiked to Washington State.

Photo by Trace Hudson on Pexels.com

Alone, surrounded by a rainbow of intense alpine flowers, staring at the clear summit of Rainier, he felt — he knew he did belong. That insight hit him so hard, an observer would have thought Gary had been struck with an invisible bat. One second later, Gary realized that he had always belonged. 

Everywhere. 

And at every moment. 

Gary belonged. 

Author Page on Amazon

Nancy the Nurse

After the Fall

That Cold Walk Home

The Open Road

If Only

A Horror Story

Naughty Knots

All Around the Mulberry Bush

Inventing a New Color

Claude the Radioman

The Walkabout Diaries: Sunsets

26 Wednesday Jan 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 18 Comments

Why so many pictures of sunsets?

They are all from one sunset.


People all over the world are awed and comforted by a beautiful sunset. It doesn’t matter where they live or what language they speak or how they believe the universe works.

That, in and of itself, should give us pause.

Before discussing differences, we need to focus first on what we have in common.


The second reason for all these pictures is that to remind us both that the sunset is not just a picture — it is a process. It is panoramic; it is colorful to look at and that’s what we typically do.

Nothing wrong with that.

But the sunset also *guilds* things in various ways — some obvious and some rather subtle.
Anyway, where you are, it might be too rainy for a nice sunset tonight. So, you’re welcome to imagine this one is all around you. I can’t make that happen with a few pictures, but you can, using your imagination. What the heck. Give it a try.


The Walkabout Diaries: Bee Wise

Happy Raven Angry Golfer

The Walkabout Diaries: Friends

The Walkabout Diaries: A Now Rose is a New Rose

The Walkabout Diaries: Racism is Absurd

The Walkabout Diaries Lest we Forget

The Walkabout Diaries: Life Will Find a Way

The Walkabout Diaries Jacob’s Coat

Author Page on Amazon

A different day’s sunset.

A sunset painted this.

Every sunset is somewhat different.

The picture, of course, is never so peaceful as being there. But a picture plus your imagination can be.

Siren Song

23 Sunday Jan 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 25 Comments

Tags

Con Game, Democracy, Dictatorship, poem, poetry, truth, USA

Photo by Min Thein on Pexels.com

Listen to my siren song!

Everyone! Look over here! Look over here! 

I’ll say who makes your life so badly suck!

You need to know who takes your share.

No, no, NO! Don’t ever look over there! 

Don’t see the rich who pay no tax!

Don’t ever, ever look at facts!

Photo by Julius Silver on Pexels.com

Listen to my siren song!

Engage your rage!

I’ll build your cage!

I will help you cop a feel!

I will teach you how to steal!

I will tell you who is wrong!

Just listen to my siren song!

Photo by Mau00ebl BALLAND on Pexels.com

A pain in the ass to think it through!

And, there’s no need; believe my creed! 

I’ll show you now a real good time! 

What I do cannot be crime! 

See my flag of “FREEDOM!” red?

I must care a lot! Just like I said!

If it’s all just part of my rant

What more to do? You can’t! 

Photo by Denniz Futalan on Pexels.com

Just listen to my siren song!

Hate the people not like you.

Hate the folks of different hue.

Hate the folks who eat strange things.

Hate everyone I tell you to!

A different accent, different song, 

I’ll teach you that these things are wrong! 

Give me the power to fix it all.

Democracy’s no longer cool!

Once it’s gone we’ll have a ball!

(Oh, my God, you’re easy to fool!)

Photo by BROTE studio on Pexels.com

By twenty thirty, air’ll be dirty. 

By twenty forty, water too. 

But what care we

For ecology?!

A habitable world’s for liberal wussies! 

Caring for others is just for pussies! 

Just listen to my siren song!

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

I’ll get rich if you send me money!

If we kill the bees, eat plastic honey!

It’s just as good; I can’t be wrong!

Just listen to my siren song! 

Legitimate voters vote for me! 

That’s the way to victory!

We’ll have a country white as snow!

And if I steal, you’ll never know!

A perfect system for all who matter.

And that’s just me so I’ll get fatter!

Just listen to my siren song! 

You can’t go wrong; my lie’s so strong! 

Just listen to my siren song! 

Just listen to my siren song!

Just listen to my siren song. 

And when your freedom’s finally dead.

Don’t worry at all your pretty head. 

If you can’t eat or pay the rents

I might just let you live in tents. 

Just listen to my siren song! 

Just listen to my siren song!

Photo by David Cassolato on Pexels.com


You’ll never have to think again!

You’ll never have to right a wrong!

You need not care if sins are sin. 

You’ll become my little puppet.

I’ll open a tube; you’ll go up it.

Jump on command and drink what I say;

Don’t think at all beyond today. 

Just listen to my siren song. 

Such tasty Kool-aid can’t be wrong!

Don’t take a look at history! 

Just swallow my miracle mystery! 

Just follow my nice little siren song. 

Photo by Leonid Danilov on Pexels.com

Your life’s now mine! And, how divine!

You listened to my siren song. 

I own your brain; you’ll need no spine. 

That spark divine was such a pain; 

You had to take responsibility. 

So much easier when I own your brain.

No need to feed your creativity. 

You only need to sing my siren song. 

Every day from morn till night.

And if you ever come to see it’s wrong? 

My troops will come and douse your light. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Don’t go thinking far ahead.

You shouldn’t care if you’re live or dead.

So long as you can help me rule! 

You deserve to play the fool.

And keep on singing my siren song. 

Insisting that you’re never wrong.

Dwelling on the sound of every word. 

You play the clown; all thought abjured. 

Singing still my siren song. 

Just listen to my siren song. 

You’ll soon believe that right is wrong.

You’ll soon believe that weak is strong. 

Listen to my siren song.

—————

Trumpism is a new religion

Essays on America: Wednesday

Absolute is not just a vodka

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

Essays on America: The Update Problem

The Ailing King of Agitate

Plans for us; some GRUesome

Where does your loyalty lie?

My cousin Bobby.

Come back to the light

Orange Mar-Mal-Made

15 Saturday Jan 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

poem, poetry, satire

Photo by Izaac Elms on Pexels.com

He cheats on tax; destroys lives.

He lies on tape and cheats on wives.

The smartest man there ever was!

His brain is filled with orange fuzz

He tells the truth like no-one does!

Photo by Anna Tarazevich on Pexels.com

He’s the one I love to follow

‘Cause inside his soul is hollow.

He cheats his donors, owners, wives.

He likes to bully; ruin lives.

He’ll cheat and rant and scream and rave;

That has to show he’s big and brave! 

He’s never ever fought a battle, 

He’d have to drop his favorite rattle.

He shows me how I have to be:

Ingesting bleach and drinking pee.

The smartest man there’ll ever be! 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

His butt is made of solid gold! 

Everyone should join his fold! 

He is the Christ reborn! Foretold!

I’ll send him cash; I’ll pawn my stash!

I know what’s what; I’m never rash!

I know he’s not a con! Oh my!

He’s victimized by FBI!

The FDA, the EPA, 

The NSA, and CIA, 

All are out to get this guy!

Once he’s king we’ll have free beer.

And open season on anyone queer

Or one with eyes of different slant,

Or one who doesn’t love his rant.

Or one who doesn’t love his lies

Or one who won’t eat baby flies. 

In fact, it seems, that all must die

But that’ll be worth it to save his lie!

He’s such a winner he cannot lose. 

He’ll give us gold & bullion and booze! 

I’ll send him each and every dime,

‘Cause now at last it’s Putin’s time.

————

Essays on America: My Cousin Bobby

Where does your loyalty lie?

The Ailing King of Agitate

Essays on America: Wednesday

Happy Talk Lies

Come back to the Light!

Guernica

Imagine all the people

 

The Mud Pit

10 Monday Jan 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

fiction, Sci-Fi, story

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

“This is a test of your ability to survive! This is a test of your ability to survive! There is neither drinkable water nor any food source in the mud pit. Good luck!” 

Sally bit her lower lip and looked around her. The eyes of her pit-mates seemed cold, calculating. Despite her desperate situation, she shook her head and chuckled inwardly. She muttered, barely audible. “Not exactly what I thought alien abduction would look like. How about you folks?”

A few eyes glanced at her warily. Most of the people in the mud pit were desperately trying to clamber up the sides. A few however, like Sally, watched the others carefully, trying to assess which strategies worked best. Some went to one side of the pit and sprinted across the bottom and then jumped as high as they could. Some attempted to dig hand holes and footholds in the slimy mud. A few not too far away, had knocked out some of their companions and were trying to scramble on top of them. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

It was clear to Sally that none of the strategies worked. It was maddening. The top rim of the pit was only fifteen feet up. This was no ordinary mud. It was the slickest she had ever seen or felt. Handholds quickly disappeared. Climbing up the steep sides rarely allowed anyone to get more than two or three feet off the floor of the pit and even that progress was immediately erased as they slipped back down. 

She remembered a hike along the Napoli Coast and then a movie image flashed into her mind from My Cousin Vinny. The Alabama mud had gotten Vinny’s car stuck after a rain. This was like that. Only worse. Another image flashed into her mind. Naked women dancing in the mud at a folk festival. Oh, yes. She had been one of them. Good times. 

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

Again, the unearthly metallic sounds of the aliens echoed loudly over the speakers. “This is a test of your ability to survive. This is a test of your ability to survive.” 

She muttered to herself, “Go screw yourself, octopus heads. Humanity doesn’t need your help. We were doing just fine destroying ourselves without your help.” Then, she took a deep breath and another. She thought: They are trying to panic us. People aren’t going to starve or even die of thirst right away. Let’s think. 

Almost too late, she saw a huge burly man hurl himself directly at her. She dodged out of the way lightly slapping his back as he passed by her. He jammed his head into the muddy wall behind her and fell to his knees unmoving. She stared and wondered: Had he broken his neck?

She hated being the center of attention, but people panicked and screamed all around her. Someone had to do something. She stuck her fingers in the sides of her mouth and let out an astonishingly loud whistle.

Original drawing by Pierce Morgan



“Listen up! We can all get out of here! We just need to work together! Stop trying to climb up by yourselves! You! You! Get over here! And you! Sally pointed to and called out the six strongest and biggest among them. Here. Interlock your arms…”

One of the biggest men objected. “What are you talking about? You’re not the boss! You heard the aliens! It’s every man for themselves! It’s a test of survival!”

There were murmurs of agreement in the crowd. Sally shook her head vigorously. “Listen! Yes, a test of survival! That’s not the same thing as ‘Every man for themselves.’ We can work together and get some people out. Once they’re out, they can get or make ropes and help the rest get out. Trying to climb out on your own won’t work. We have to work together.”

There were a few murmurs of assent. Sally picked out four more strong but lighter folks to form the second layer of the pyramid. 

Photo by Pia on Pexels.com

Sally sighed. The pyramid was shaky. It would have been a lot easier if most of the people hadn’t already gotten themselves slathered in mud. 

“OK. OK. Stay as steady as you can. Come on. I’m going to climb up and out. I will … “

Someone shouted in a loud voice: “How come you get to go out first! Let me go!” 

“Listen! We’ll all get out of here! I’m going first because I’m light. I’m one of the lightest people here but still agile.” 

The awkward pyramid fell twice. Each time, there was another argument about what to do. Some people went back to trying to race up the walls on their own. At last, when it was apparent that nothing else was even close to working, the third pyramid held. Sally carefully climbed up the lattice of bodies and was able to reach up beyond the rim. The ground beyond the rim was solid. Sally’s fingers grabbed the ground, some grass, some roots. She was able to swing one leg up over the rim. 

A long low trumpeting sound vibrated the ground around her. She looked up and saw that a rough amphitheater surrounded the rim of the mud pit. A few hundred of the squidish aliens stared through their giant triangle of eyes while making their weird murmurs. She looked back down into the pit.

Photo by Leonid Danilov on Pexels.com



“I got out! Good work! I’m going to go look for ropes or vines. There may be a few more who can climb out and help me! We’re going to get through this!” 

A few more teens were able to climb out as well, but the only tools they could find were some sharp rocks. It took most of the day to use the rocks to saw and chop through nearby grape vines, but by the end of the day they had done it. Soon everyone was out except for the man who had charged her. Apparently he had broken his neck. No-one could rouse him. He had no pulse. Apart from that, and a few minor sprains, the entire mud pit crew had escaped unharmed. 

The squid-like creatures hooted a higher pitched kind of trumpeting sound when the last of Sally’s pit-mates had been hauled up out of the pit. Then, the squids raised up their tentacles in parallel lines and seemed to ride on invisible rays into their hovering ship. When all the squid creatures had left the grandstand and re-entered their silvery ship, it began to spin, slowly at first and then faster and faster. It rose slowly and then, quite suddenly sped away in a flash of blue light and an incredibly loud bang.

Sally and her pit-mates had no idea where on earth they were. They were happy to be alive. They had no idea how close they had come to failing the test of survival or had that happened, just how quickly the alien squids would have destroyed all of humanity. 

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

————————-

The Isle of Right

Come together right now

The Only “Them” that counts is all of us

Stoned Soup

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Three Blind Mice

Guernica

Author Page on Amazon

Joseph’s Coat of Many Colors

08 Saturday Jan 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

beauty, diversity, flower, flowers, garden, life, nature, roses, walkabout

The Walkabout Diaries: Joseph’s Coat

Something wasn’t right. 

But what?

Rose had no idea. 

She sensed that she was surrounded by others — some very like her and many very unlike her. Yet — she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was not right. 

She felt — bound up. She wasn’t free to grow in the way she really wanted to. And now she was moving in a most peculiar way. Her ancestors had seldom moved in such a way as this except in times of great catastrophe such as an earthquake. Suddenly, she found herself completely disconnected from the nourishing earth. Beneath her was nothing but cold hard metal and a whirring vibration. 

Now the warming sun disappeared, not as a gentle sunset. No. This was a sudden and violent transition from warm noon sun to complete and utter darkness. She sensed that she was not alone in this sunless prison. All of her fellow prisoners were also in a panic. Again, she sensed the cold hard metal beneath her and a deeper rumble of whirring vibration.



Then, and completely without warning, the sunlight again began to beat upon her with its full force. 

Soon, she felt herself unbound. She struggled to understand. She tried to stretch her roots out, tentatively at first, as you might begin to wiggle your toes after waking from a deep coma. She felt an unslakable thirst, Then, she sensed moisture nearby and minerals. 

She still felt as though she were in a very strange place. Had she formed her thoughts into words, she might have thought: “I have no idea why they would place me here of all places.” If rose had been human, that would have bothered her a great deal. But among her many distant aunts, uncles, and cousins, those who spent their energy decrying their placement, few survived. Her strategy, like those of her successful ancestors, was rather to spend her energy being as beautiful and varied as possible. 

Her faith was strong. Had she had a verbal creed, it might have been something like this: 


“I believe in the bees and the breeze. 

I believe in my own heritage. 

Like all other living things on earth today, my ancestry is 4.5 billion years old. 

I believe in the power of my roots to seek out and find the nourishment I need; to keep in mind my goals of water and minerals. I push and push, and when I reach the impenetrable, I seek a way around. I dance the dance of life. I don’t avoid the strife. I relish it.”

In the next few days, visiting bees told her that there was plenty of sunshine around even though Rose herself was mainly in shade. That bee-speak was enough to give Rose all the hope she needed to grow tall and wide. She explored in every direction.

The bees that buzzed near Rose told her, in their own way, of the vibrant and varied colors of her many other neighbors. She found their descriptions exotic and evocative. From time to time, she attempted to emulate those neighbors. The buzzing bees would pause in their busyness on occasion to give her feedback on how well she matched the colors of her unseen neighbors. 

Over time, she sensed the vibrations of other beings besides the bees. Feathering beings and furry beings, some large and some small. Mainly, they were friendly beings who admired her artwork. But there were also those who cared little for her artwork and instead simply came to feast upon her. Rose’s body became sustenance for mites and snails and aphids. Sometimes, other creatures came to protect her. She liked that. Sometimes, they failed to protect her and the pain became unbearable. But bear it she did. 

Rose resolved to use the pain to make her creations more beautiful still. 

——————-

Author Page on Amazon

The Winning Weekend Warrior — Sports psychology: strategy, tactics, self-talk for all sports including golf, tennis, softball, etc.

Turing’s Nightmares — 23 Sci-Fi scenarios about the future of Artificial Intelligence 

Fit in Bits — how to put more fun, variety, and exercise into your daily activities to help keep you fit, particularly during a pandemic

Tales from an American Childhood — a recounting of what it was like to grow up in the 1950’s in the US Midwest.

Myths of the Veritas — explores leadership, ethics, and empathy. 

Happy Raven – Angry Golfer

07 Friday Jan 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

The Happy Raven and the Angry Golfer

{Translator’s Note: As a long-time observer and sometime discussion partner with the neighborhood ravens; as an amateur golfer; and as a professional psychologist — I thought it might be helpful to serve as a translator of dialogues. Our garden abuts a fairway, and the cart path is right outside our fence. As such, more than a few golf balls find their way into the garden. I myself have been known to miss an occasional fairway and hit the ball out of bounds. 

It’s “winter” in San Diego. While “winter” is often synonymous with “bad weather” in many parts of the country, that is not so for San Diego. Today was mild, dry, and largely sunny. Like many other “winter” days in San Diego, it’s actually a perfect day for playing golf. It was in this context that I overheard the following conversation between a Happy Raven and an Angry Golfer. The dialogue is shown in plain font and the translations appear in brackets.

“Caw. Caw. Caw.” [Good morning! Beautiful day! What’s up?]

“Oh, crap! Where’s my f#cking ball? God Damn it!” [I must have pulled it out of bounds again.]

“Caw. CAW! Caw.” [Good morning! Sometimes stuff happens! Enjoy the day!]

“I’ll just drop a ball near where it went out and hit from there.” [I cheat.] 

“Caw! CAW!! Caw! CAW!!” [You hit it OB. That’s not a lateral water hazard. You have to re-tee. You should be hitting three off the tee.]

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“I’ll just kick it out onto the fairway to speed up play.” [I cheat a lot. But when I do, I rationalize it as being in everyone’s interests.]

“CAW! CAW!! CAW!!! Caw.” [It’s not really golf if you’re cheating.]

“You up in the tree! Shut up! Shut up!” [You’re just a stupid bird. I’m a human! Shut up and let me concentrate on my next shot!]

“Caw. Caw. CAW! Caw.” [Good morning. Beautiful day. Embrace the day! Enjoy.]

Photo by Kindel Media on Pexels.com

“SHUT UP! Hush! Tricky to hit a three-wood that far, but a perfect shot would put me on the green. Elbow straight. Don’t cast from the top. Relax your hands. Keep your head down. Here we go. SH#T! You f#cking bird! You made me pull it over the fence again! I’ll have to go drop it again down there.” [I not only cheat; I cheat repeatedly and I like to blame others for my own mistakes.]

“Caw! Caw! Caw!” [Own up to your mistakes. Otherwise, how will you ever learn to fly right?]

“Mind your own damned business! You ruined my shots! I’m taking a Mulligan!” [I cheat and I blame others for my mistakes. But I don’t care. What I really enjoy is getting angry.]

“Caw. Caw. Caw.” [Good morning! Beautiful day! Enjoy!] 

{Translator’s Note: It’s a good thing humans were smart enough to name our species Homo sapiens. Otherwise, the rest of the animal kingdom would never know that we humans are the wisest ones on the planet.}

————————————-

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

The Walkabout Diaries: Bee Wise

Life Will Find a Way

Lest We Forget 

Racism is Absurd

Ah Wilderness

You Must Remember This

Stoned Soup

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