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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Category Archives: family

A Cat’s a Cat & That’s That.

07 Tuesday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in family, poetry, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 24 Comments

Tags

cats, gratitude, kitten, life, love, mindfulness, peace, pets, poem, poetry

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Sirius and Mister Jones watching TV with us.

Mister Mitchell is his name.
He would rather be in my lap
Than curled up beside the keyboard
Sneaking a paw out to help me,
Tapping out a random,
(Or, seemingly random),
// here and there.

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Jones checking out the new sound system.

But //? Who knows?
Perhaps he’s trying to find some website
Devoted to the feline.
After all,
They have a TV program now for cats.

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‘Mister Mitchell’ is not a name we chose;
Rather the name came with the cat.
He mostly seems a fur generating machine
Sidling up to the Thinkpad.

orange cat foot on laptop keyboard

Photo by Александар Цветановић on Pexels.com

Yet, he is not a machine
But a living breathing system
Turning fish and turkey into more Mister Mitchell
And every one of his trillions of cells:
A miracle of masterly mechanism,
Much like me,
Getting sick and getting well,
Much like me,
Sleeping, eating, wishing the endless rain would let up
And some sun would shine at last
Much like me.

farm land during sunset

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I’m not sure he has an opinion on the world situation,
Or of whether we’ll ever fire the Liar-In-Chief,
Or of what should be done with corporate crooks,
Or cares whether the Dow is up or down.

pile of gold round coins

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Mister Mitchell never helps me take out the recycling
Or do the dishes or the shopping;
In reality, Mister Mitchell is not much use —
And maybe that’s the point:

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The miracle of life is point enough without a use.
People are so forgetful,
Of the miracles all around,
Large and small.

woman raising her hands

Photo by Marlon Schmeiski on Pexels.com

Much like me.

 

people in concert

Photo by Sebastian Ervi on Pexels.com


Author Page on Amazon

Other Poems on this Blog:

Race, Place, Space, Face

Piano

A Suddenly Springing Something

Hauntings Across the Time Zone

Is a Dream? 

The Most Serious Work 

The Joy of Juggling

Wristwatch

Continental Breakfast

Maybe it Needs a New Starter

The Truth Train

Sunless Sunday of Faith

Camelot

Peace

The Impossible

Ambition

America

Don’t They Realize How Much Better Off They Are Now? 

The Bubble People

 

 

Donnie Plays Soldier Man

05 Sunday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

crime, criminal, ethics, fiction, liar, sociopath, soldiers, story

photo of men holding weapons

Photo by Rene Asmussen on Pexels.com

“Take me! Take me! I wanna play soldier man too!”

Junior sighed. “No, Donnie. It’s big boys and they — nobody likes it when I bring along my kid brother. It’s big boy play. Understand?”

Donnie screamed, “I am a big boy! I’m bigger than you!” In an attempt to illustrate the point, Donnie jumped as high as he could and managed to touch the shoulder of his older brother.

“Donnie, we’ll play another time. I’m just going to go play with the big boys for a while. We can play something when I get home.” 

Donnie screamed even louder, “I am a big boy! I’m bigger than you.” In an attempt to prove his point, he leapt onto the bed and bounced up and tapped his teeny fingers on the top of his brother’s head. 

“Look, Donnie, the answer’s no. Later.” Fred Junior began lacing his Keds. 

grayscale photography of person wearing sneakers

Photo by Wallace Chuck on Pexels.com

“MOMMY! MOMMY!” Donnie screamed. 

Mom, who was downstairs doing dishes, sighed, dried her hands and yelled up the stairs, “What’s all the commotion about?”

“Fred says I cannot go out and play! He won’t let me! It’s a free country, Mommy!” 

Mom shook her head and trundled up the stairs. “OK, look, I’ve got work to do. Junior, Donnie’s allowed to play outside too. Why don’t you just watch him for a little while so I can get my work done, okay?” 

Junior closed his eyes and hung his head, “Ma, he just — he always causes trouble when he plays with my friends. He’s just — a pain.” 

“He’s also your little brother. Now take him with you. And make sure he doesn’t get hurt.” She could see that Junior was about to protest, “No, no. I don’t want another word. Come back in time for dinner.” She turned and left the room. 

As soon as she was out of sight, Donnie yelled after her, “Thanks Mommy!” Then, he turned to his bigger brother, stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry. He snatched his sneakers out of his closet and began tying them. 

Junior sighed and shook his head. Maybe it would be safer to walk along the creek. The two of them could look for dragonflies. Junior liked dragonflies. But then, the memory of their last walk flooded his mind — Donnie had taken great delight in catching dragonflies in his butterfly net and then pulling the wings off. What the hell was wrong with that kid, he wondered.

brown skimmer perched on gray leaf

Photo by WindB Tiger on Pexels.com

Fine, he thought, I’ll let him play soldiers. Maybe I can convince him to stay put and follow orders. 

When they reached the vacant lot where the boys often played baseball, there was already a good-sized crowd. With — Fred counted quickly — 15 boys, they could’ve had a decent baseball game, but they hadn’t brought equipment for that. Each boy had a “sword” instead — a kind of pointed stick — not so thick as a club, but thicker than a whip. If you got hit by someone’s sword, it stung and sometimes left a bruise. Parents had occasionally seen this kind of battle and had warned the boys that “someone will get their eye poked out.” 

When the parents uttered that dire warning, the boys always stopped — until the parents were out of sight — and then resumed their games. They chose up teams after deciding that today, they would be Robin Hood’s band versus The Sheriff of Nottingham’s men. Donnie, being the smallest, was naturally the last to be chosen. Donnie was on Junior’s team — one of the Sheriff’s men. 

dry broken sticks

Photo by JACK REDGATE on Pexels.com

Mainly the boys enjoyed clacking their wooden “swords” against that of their opponent, making a nice “THWACK!” sound when two swords clashed. They didn’t really try to “hurt” each other but they occasionally stabbed someone (carefully) who would either fall down while groaning in agony or slash someone across the back or shoulder. Of course, the swords sometimes landed a little harder than intended. 

One of “Robin Hood’s Merry Men,” Joe, tended to be a bit rough. Almost none of the older boys liked Fred’s little brother. They considered him too much of a cry-baby. But, they all cut each other a break when it came to following parents’ orders. So, they tolerated Donnie once Junior had explained that his mom had ordered him to let Donnie play too. Joe kept faking to one side and then side-stepping Donnie’s thrust in order to whack Donnie on his butt. 

“STOP IT!” yelled Donnie. “Let me hit you! It isn’t fair! Make him stop, Fred!” Donnie gritted his teeth and promised himself that Joe would pay for this humiliation. 

Fred put a little of his attention on blocking the blows that were aimed at Donnie as well as defending himself. This was pretty effective. Joe only managed to get one more good hit on Donnie before a “truce” was called.

The boys could see a summer storm coming. One half of the sky was blue and the other side was a foreboding blackish gray. The boys lay down on the nearby baseball diamond to watch the storm. The game now was to see which boy was brave enough to keep laying there even after the rain started. Who would be first to jump up and run home? Who would be last? The boys began to taunt each other and scream that the storm was about to hit. Everyone was fascinated by the wall of air that was moving toward them. 

No-one noticed that Donnie still held his “sword” in his teeny hands and that he had snuck up behind Joe. Just then, the storm front hit one side of the baseball field and began screaming across it. The boys could hardly stay still. Suddenly, far too close for comfort, a huge lightning streak hit the metal backstop. Everyone yelled, including Joe who felt an excruciating pain in his eye. 

close up photography of eye

Photo by Josh Sorenson on Pexels.com

Donnie dropped his stick and began running home. He ran just as fast as his legs could carry him and ran up the front steps and flung open the door. He looked around wildly. Mommy was in the living room listening to the radio and ironing. He ran into the room screaming, “Mommy! Mommy! Freddie put somebody’s eye out! It was terrible! I told them not to play swords!” 

Mom turned and stared at Donnie. “What? What are you talking about?” 

Donnie pretended to sob uncontrollably, blurting out words senselessly. “I told them. I thought we were going to play baseball, but the boys were all poking sticks at each other. There were about fifty-jillion kids there. I’m not even sure Junior did it on purpose. Maybe it was accident. Oh, it was bloody! Will Joe see? Will he be blind? Don’t hurt Freddy, Mommy. He didn’t mean to do it. I’m sure he didn’t. I’m pretty sure. He was mad at Joe. But I don’t think he’d poke his eye out on purpose, do you?” 

“Slow down, Donnie. Who did what? Where’s your brother? He was supposed to watch you!” 

“I ran home to tell you. I think he must have run away from home. He must feel bad about poking out Joe’s eye, don’t you think, Mommy?” Donnie rocked his head in his teeny hands and snuck looks at his mom to make sure that she was swallowing this, hook, line, and sinker. She was! He mentally patted himself on his own back. God, I’m good! he thought to himself.

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“Mommy, Mommy, do you think Joe will be okay? Maybe his eye is just scratched, right Mommy?” 

Mom was sure Donnie was exaggerating but she could “see” that he was genuinely upset.

Joe wasn’t the only half-blind person in the neighborhood. “I’m sure Joe will be fine. Now, Donnie, I know you’re upset but sit down and tell me what happened. Slowly. Step by step.” 

Donnie almost began skipping happily to the nearby ottoman but caught himself in time. He made himself shudder and shuffle and he continued to hide his face so Mom wouldn’t see the huge grin. 

“I — I — I don’t know. It all happened so fast. They wanted to play soldier. With big sticks. Junior wanted me to play but I remembered that the grown-ups had said people could get their eyes poked out. So — I didn’t want to play. Fred told me I was chicken. So, I almost joined them, then it began to rain. Hard. I think that made the sticks slippery. And, then, Joe was bleeding and Fred said, ‘Serves you right!’ And I got scared and ran home and I wanted — maybe you should call and ambulance.”

Mom shook her head. “Boys!” she muttered under her breath. Crap. How could she keep this from Fred Senior who would likely beat his son half to death. The phone rang. I can’t answer that. I have to think. She didn’t know that a lot of research had gone into designing the ringing drone of a phone so annoying that people generally felt compelled to answer it. 

She strode over, patting Donnie on the shoulder as she did so. 

selective focus photography of black rotary phone

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“Hello?” she said tentatively. 

Donnie could hear a woman screaming on the other end. He smiled so broadly, he had to bury his face in his hands so Mommy wouldn’t see. 

And she didn’t see. Of course, she didn’t. Joe, it turned out, was only partially blinded in one eye. He never was able to play baseball very well after that. 

For many years, on a boring rainy afternoon, Donnie would entertain himself by watching two raindrops race down the window pane. He would call one of them, “Fred gets beaten up by Daddy” and the other one “Joe can’t play baseball” and he would try to decide which one he liked better. It was really a tough choice. 

But his favorite raindrop was probably the one he called, “No-one believes Junior when he tells the truth, but Mommy and Daddy believe me no matter what.” 

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Author Page on Amazon. 

Citizen Soldiers: Part one. 

Citizen Soldiers: Part two. 

Citizen Soldiers: Part three.

Imagine all the People…

05 Sunday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 81 Comments

Tags

America, collaboration, cooperation, COVID-19, leadership, life, pandemic, plague, poem, poetry, survival, teamwork

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Beyond the cloud, 

The sun still shines, 

It isn’t loud. 

It never whines. 

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Beyond the cold, 

The summer comes. 

When spring is old, 

The drummer drums.

brown wooden percussion instruments

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The rhythm’s wrong. 

The tune is halt –

Ing, he says: “I’m strong. 

It’s not my fault!”

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When virus kills,

Says: “No-one knew.

All our illness; all our ills:

The blame belongs on all of you.”

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Putin’s plan for planet earth: 

“Kill it dead ‘cause I must die.

I don’t like a spring rebirth. 

It’s hard on lethal spies

gray industrial machine during golden hour

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Like me — who don’t really care. 

Once I’m dead; no longer me,

It’s not really fair!

No-one should be allowed to be!”

close up photography of burning woods

Photo by Tim Erben on Pexels.com

Trump is fully on board, 

He thinks you should be too! 

“A suicide pact’s the proper chord. 

If I have to die — so should you!”

person holding string lights photo

Photo by David Cassolato on Pexels.com

Putin has plans for you and me. 

He still thinks like KGB.

But we don’t have to play his heartless game.

He doesn’t even know your own true name.

photo of man and woman having fun with their child

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

Live and right your country’s wrong.

You can sing a different song.

Dance away to a different tune. 

Eschew the hate & picayune.

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Dance instead to the stars above!

Dance instead in honor of love!

Handless holding each to each, 

A nation strong’s within our reach. 

woman raising her hands

Photo by Marlon Schmeiski on Pexels.com

Let nation’s rainbow colors show!

We will win and we will grow! 

A smile beneath a mask will show!

Vlad and ilk won’t ever know —

trees beside road

Photo by Mike Krejci on Pexels.com

That reaching down to raise another 

Makes us taller, Sister, Brother. 

This is how a forest stands! 

This, the key to freedom’s lands. 

earth space universe globe

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Our globe is round and for a reason, 

It’s love, it’s love that conquers treason. 

Take my touchless hand! Stand tall!

All for one. And one for all! 

silhouette people on beach at sunset

Photo by Dana Tentis on Pexels.com

The wind is strong but we are stronger, 

COVID lives long, but we live longer. 

Take my touchless hand! And stand as one!

One for all. And all is won! 

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———————————————-

 Author Page on Amazon  

 

Donnie Plays Doctor Man!

03 Friday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, politics, psychology, story

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

childhood, Conman, crime, criminal, evil, family, fiction, sociopath, story

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{Since this is written from a “God’s eye view” it might be obvious to you that it’s fiction. But in case it isn’t, this is fiction and any resemblance to actual characters is purely coincidental. Anyway, these stories take place on the third planet around a small, ordinary star at the edge of the Milky Way Galaxy}.

hotrod die cast model on board

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

Donnie was bored, and had been ever since school let out and there were no little kids to bully. Junior refused to play Monopoly with him any more. What a cruddy older brother, thought Donnie. Just because I was smart enough to hide lots of $500 bills in my pants before the game started. He’s just jealous because he didn’t think of it first! 

Donnie liked pouting. Not so much as bullying though! Bullying was fun! 

Except that time when little Billy had punched him in the nose. He hadn’t been expecting — NO NO NO! Donnie screamed in his head: IT NEVER HAPPENED! IT NEVER HAPPENED!. 

But still Donnie wanted to get back at Billy. He would probably have to wait for school to re-open though. What do do now? What to do? Maryanne and Junior were playing with their own friends. Mommy was re-organizing the attic. Hmmm, thought Donnie. 

He very carefully tip-toed into his sister’s room. He looked around. What to do? If I had some ants, I could put them in the drawer to scare her, but spiders would be better. What about a snake? Too much trouble. Wait! I know! I know! A grasshopper! I’ll go get a grasshopper! 

nature animal insect grasshopper

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Donnie grew excited when he thought about his sister opening a drawer and peeing her pants when a grasshopper jumped out at her. Speaking of peeing her pants, Donnie could see her sister’s clothes hamper in her closet. The door squeaked, he knew, but he slid it open a bit further. He found some used underwear. This gave him another great idea. I am such a genius thought Donnie. I might — no, I am the smartest person ever. 

Luckily, there was a box of Kleenex on Maryanne’s desk. She won’t notice one missing tissue. He carefully took out a tissue and turned back toward the closet. Better use two, he thought. Don’t want to get her cooties! Maybe three is even better. 

He used the tissues to carefully pick up his sister’s white panties, hand-stitched with a little heart. Next, he stuck his head out in the hall. No sign of his siblings. He could hear mom puttering around upstairs. Good. He snuck into his brother’s room and put the panties in his brother’s desk in the upper right side drawer. He closed the drawer and thought. Hmm. How can I get mommy to look in there? I know! 

He rushed into his own room and took out the Silver Dollar he had kept there. It was the first dollar he had ever earned. He earned it by beating up one of the little kids who was showing it off to his friends. Of course, the story he had told his family was that he had “won it” by being really smart at playing cards. They had all seen it. They all knew it was one of his prized possessions because it was so shiny. He put it in the drawer right on top of his sister’s panties. He chuckled to himself a little as he closed the drawer. He snuck a look outside and listened carefully. No-one coming. 

He went back to his own room and took out a book on American History. Somebody somebody something some time something. Somebody else. It was a long book and it said nothing about him. But for some reason, his parents thought he should do extra reading in the summer. 

pile of books

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

How stupid! Why did books have so many words anyways? He carefully put the book on he bedside table so he could easily grab it if he needed it. Then, he went back to daydreaming. Sure enough, a few minutes later, he heard mommy descending from the attic. He grabbed the book and opened it to a random page. 

As his mom walked by, Donnie pretended not to notice she was there. Her voice rang out from the hall, “Oh, good, Donnie, I see you’re reading that history book. Who are you reading about now?” 

“What? Oh, hi, mom.” He glanced at the page, looking for something with capital letters. “Oh, I’m reading about Purchase!” 

“Purchase? Who’s Purchase? I don’t remember him. What did he do?”

“He — uh — he did lots of amazing stuff. Just wonderful things. So many things! You can’t believe all the things he did. It’s a shame — you know, nobody gives him enough credit. A lot of people don’t even know his name. Or, they forgot. Or, maybe certain people want to forget.”

“Well, Donnie, I’m glad to see you reading, but it’s supposed to rain later so you should get some sunshine now. The doctor says it helps protect against polio.” 

Donnie was annoyed. He could still get a grasshopper to annoy sis, he supposed. It seemed like a very lame prank compared with the panties. “Okay, Mommy. Great idea.” 

Once downstairs, he sauntered over to the weedy edge of the lawn. Almost immediately he saw a grasshopper. “This day is meant for me!” And as he said “me”, he slapped his cupped hands together trapping the grasshopper. He looked at it. Ugly, he thought. Look at those skinny legs. Stupid sideways mouth. It was different from him so he hated it. He hated almost everyone who wasn’t just like him. 

Anyway, it would terrify his sister and that was the point. But it was so ugly! I’ll bet it could still hop even if I took away its front leg. Or legs. I wonder if it will scream. Checking to ensure that he was still alone, he muttered, “Hey, little stupid ugly bug. I’m your doctor! Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. You just need a little operation.” He chuckled.

close up photo of grasshopper

Photo by cmonphotography on Pexels.com

He listened carefully every time he twisted off a leg to see whether the grasshopper would scream. He couldn’t hear anything, but it seemed clear that the grasshopper hated it, so at least there was that. Every time he twisted a leg off, the grasshopper tried more vigorously to wriggle or fly away. When he got done with the forelegs, he began to wonder whether it could hop with only one rear leg. So he twisted that off as well. But then, he thought. Now, it’s ruined. It won’t hop any more and it won’t scare her and how is that fun? It’s useless. He glanced around. No-one was near so he muttered allowed, “Hey, ugly little useless bug. How’s it feel to be so tiny and weak? Look at me, you bug. I’m going to twist your ugly little head off now and there’s nothing you can do about it. How does that make you feel? I’m your doctor, and believe me, it’s for your own good. You’re too ugly to survive.”

Donnie was so excited that he almost forgot to squash everything into the dirt. Hide the evidence and lie about it. It had become something of a mantra — so much so that he was not even aware he was saying it to himself. He considered getting another grasshopper but he saw himself doing pretty much the same thing to it. He decided he’d have to wait on the grasshopper prank till after he was bored pulling them apart. But there was still plenty of fun in store for the rest of the day, he reassured himself.

Mom called all the kids in for lunch, and they sat down to a delicious meal of baloney with mayo on Wonder Bread. Like many, all that baloney made them thirsty and so they drank lots of Kool-Aid. 

After the first pangs of hunger were gone, Donnie said, “Hey Junior! How about a game Monopoly? 

Junior said, “No! You cheat! You steal money —“ 

Mom said, “Play with your little brother, Junior.” 

Donny said, “ME steal! Where’s my Silver Dollar? Huh? Where’s my Silver Dollar?” 

Mom said, “Did you lose your Silver Dollar, Donnie?”

Donny began, “I didn’t lose it — well, I don’t know. Maybe. But I think Junior has it. He was threatening to steal it yesterday — and the day before — and the day before that. So. My guess is he did it.” 

Junior protested, “I never threatened to take your stupid silver dollar!”

Donny yelled, “Well, I say you did! You stole it and you hid it … where did you say you’d hide it? I forget. No, no. I know, you said, I’ll lock it in my desk! That’s what you said.”

Mommy looked quizzically at Junior. “Is that true?” 

Junior ground his teeth, “No! Why would I steal his stupid silver dollar? And why would I tell him where I was going to hide it? Is that hiding anything? And, by the way, I don’t lock my desk. There isn’t even a key. I don’t think there is, anyway.” 

Donny began to pretend to cry, “Mommy, I really like the Silver Dollar. You know. It’s the first one I ever earned. Can’t you please get it back from him?” Here, Donny pointed one of his teeny fingers toward his brother. 

Mommy stood up and sighed. “All right. Let’s get this straightened out right now. Come with me.” She looked back for a moment to make sure they were following. All of them followed her to Junior’s room. 

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Mom walked over to Junior’s desk and frowned. If it were her desk, she would put important things in the upper right drawer. She opened it up and her head jerked back. She had been simply humoring Donnie. She never expected that Junior had really stolen the Silver Dollar. She turned back to her kids. “It’s here. I can’t believe you did this, Junior. Stay in your room till your dad gets home.”

Junior’s mouth hung open. “WHAT!? No. I didn’t steal it. I don’t even — “

“ENOUGH! You’re just making it worse on yourself! Not another word!” She turned, and began walking to the door, her fist clenched beside her. 

Donny said, in a carefully modulated gentle voice, “Mommy? Can I have my Silver Dollar?” 

“Oh, sorry. Sure honey. I got so upset I forgot.” She walked back to the still open drawer and put her fingers down around the plastic that encased the shiny Silver Dollar. She picked up that shiny Silver Dollar … along with a pair of her daughter’s panties.

Mom had no idea that she screamed aloud. She slowly sunk to her knees and began to sob. She barely heard the screaming of Maryanne and Junior behind her. She barely felt the soft, tiny hand. Donnie was patting her gently. 

He seemed to her wise beyond his years; she felt sure that he was consoling her for the bad luck of having mothered a truly evil child. 

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—————————————-

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

Donnie Plays Bull-dazzle Man!

01 Wednesday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, politics, psychology, story

≈ 25 Comments

Tags

allegory, America, childhood, criminal, Democracy, fiction, games, satire, sociopath, story, USA

orange excavator on brown hill

Photo by Anamul Rezwan on Pexels.com

Donnie looked outside and saw a bulldozer moving a large pile of dirt. 

“Mommy! Mommy! I want one! Get me one!” 

Donnie’s mommy sighed. The noon radio programs weren’t even on yet and this was the fourth impossible request Donnie had already made today. 

“I told you yesterday, Donnie, you can’t play in the dirt. You’ll get your hands dirty.” 

“But I want a big orange thingy! What is that thingy?” He pointed his teeny fingers at the bulldozer.

“That’s called a bulldozer, Donnie. And only big people can have one.”

“Daddy said I could have one! He said I could have a bull-dazzle! He said I could have two bull-dazzles!” 

bulldozer engine equipment heavy

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“I’ve no time for your nonsense, Donnie. You can’t have a — they’re called “bulldozers” — and you can’t have one till you’re a lot older. Look at that man. See? He’s much older than you. And, I still have laundry to fold.” 

Donnie said, “Yes, mommy.” But secretly, he was thinking about various ways to get revenge on stupid mommy. 

It was a sunny spring day, but not really warm. Snow still sprinkled the yard, so Donnie grabbed one of his sister’s jackets. That will annoy her, he thought and smiled. Outside, he couldn’t see much to do. Junior and Maryanne were up in the treehouse playing cards. They had tried teaching him a couple times, but they kept making up rules that didn’t make him win every time which was stupid. So, he threw all the cards on the ground. They hadn’t invited him a third time. 

brown wooden tree house on snow covered ground

Photo by Street Donkey on Pexels.com

He walked over to where the clothes were hanging. A gentle breeze billowed the shirts and sheets. Junior and Maryanne didn’t even notice him. It seemed they never did. 

He tugged at one of the sheets. Nothing happened. He grabbed with both hands and yanked down on one corner. He threw his legs out just like he did when he had a temper tantrum. His teeny hands slipped off and he fell on his butt. 

He ground his teeth, and walked over to a nightshirt he could reach. This time, when he pulled one of the clothespins snapped off. He got the other one off too! Success! He looked up at the treehouse, but his siblings were still ignoring him. Good, he thought. He tried several more items of laundry and managed to get another nightshirt and even one of the sheets off. Time to tattle. 

white textile

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He walked back into the living room where mommy was already relaxing and listening to Abbot and Costello with her eyes closed. He wondered whether she had noticed him go out. He went to the dining room window and stared out. From there, he could see the treehouse, but his siblings were hidden by the plywood paneling. Perfect, he thought. When a commercial came on, Donnie said casually, “Mommy. Is Junior supposed to be showing his thingy to Maryanne?” 

“WHAT!?” She sprang up from her chair and came to the window. She could see the treehouse but no children. “Where are they?”

“They’re right up in the treehouse, mommy. I think they are hiding so Freddy can show his thingie.” 

Mommy went to the back door and flung it open hard enough to loosen one of the screws that held the hinge. The door flapped against the siding and sprang back violently, scratching her hand. She screamed, “JUNIOR! MARYANNE! Get in here this instant!” 

She walked out onto the back stoop and began skipping down the stairs. That’s when she noticed some of her laundry dragging on the dirty ground. 

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“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU KIDS DO TO MY LAUNDRY! GET DOWN HERE!! NOW!!” 

The puzzled faces of two kids peeked out of the shadowed treehouse. 

Maryanne spoke first, “How come, mom? We’re playing…”

“I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU’RE PLAYING! Get down here! Now” 

She went over and snatched up one of the nightshirts and tried to brush the dirt from it. Her brushing only ground the dirt in more deeply. Crap, she thought, I’ll have to wash this again. 

“What the hell is wrong with you two!? I worked all morning on this laundry!” 

In the corner of his eye, Fred Junior could see the smiling grinning face of his younger brother staring out at the scene from the dining room window. 

“LOOK AT ME when I’m talking to you! Why did you pull my laundry down! Never mind! Get inside! Both of you. I need to talk with you privately, Mister. No. Go to your rooms. I’ll have Fred talk to you when he gets home. That new belt of his will talk to you!” 

When she had redone the laundry and stopped cursing under her breath, Donnie thought she had cooled down enough. His enemies were still confined to their rooms, Donny said, “You know what, Mommy. You’re right. I’m too young to have a real bull-dazzler. But maybe Santa will bring me a pretend one for Christmas?” 

“What? Oh, sure. Sure. Maybe.” Her mind was swirling. Should she tell her husband about the … well, she hadn’t actually seen it. But the laundry was for sure. Junior would get a beating for that. Would he really have shown … surely, he’s too young for that. Fred would go crazy though. Maybe best not to say anything. She’d just watch Junior a lot more carefully from now on, watching for signs. 

Donny stared out the window. He felt pretty proud of himself. Someday, he thought to himself, I will have a whole bunch of bull-dazzlers working for me. What fun! I like bull-dazzlers!

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———————————————

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

The Most Serious Work

27 Friday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, creativity, family, poetry, politics, psychology

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

children, creativity, exploration, innovation, invention, kids, play, poem, poetry, work

{This poem from 2005 recounts a happier day — one I hope to live to see played out again}.

action activity balls day

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Home from a long and longish day,

I head toward Ketel One; toward sleep.

At long last, a long last turn,

My Saab into my private driveway.

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Four kids, not especially cute,

But acutely aware stand in my space.

Await my decision and stare

With a grin and a grimace and glare. 

photo of boy in black and red collared shirt

Photo by Mike Sangma on Pexels.com

I stare at the oldest, the one;

See chagrin and smile, mixed on his face.

His eyes say: “Please, Mister, Please,

Let us keep our kickball game going.”

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I ken this play is more sacred than work.

I ken this work is their sacred play.

And, when all is said and all is done,

It is all more important than my workaday work.

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I smile; reverse; park farther away, 

Hoping my earthly work-gotten goods

Will be safe and if not — if morning brings 

Missing my bag and golf clubs all gone —

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It is in the end, a small price to pay. 

With no play of kids, we all would be:

Huddled in caves to the very last day

Dreamless all of all that might have been.

Do you truly see and truly ken?

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Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Introduction to a Pattern Language for Teamwork Collaboration 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

The Joy of Juggling

25 Wednesday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, creativity, family, health, poetry, sports, Uncategorized

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

COVID-19, exercise, games, juggle, juggling, poem, poetry

man playing with snowballs

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{I originally wrote this some time ago, inspired by watching my son juggle. But since most people are now home alone, I thought inspiring you to learn to juggle might be worthwhile. Of course, we “juggle” many things, in sickness and in health. Luckily, our ancestors have had 4.5 billion years of evolutionary experience to help us out.}.

Cube the Sphere;
Inertia’s stayed!
Vanquish fear;
Gravity’s played!

Hands are quick;
Handsome hash.
Sliding slick —
Tricky flash!

Band of motion,
Strong as steel
And roaring ocean,
Softly feel!

Dance the doing;
Do the dance;
Rhythm gluing
Form from chance!

Have and hold;
Paint the air.
Flex and fold
With careless care!

Steadfast rhythm,
Steady rhyme —
Arch the anthem
Through sweet time!

Cinch a shower;
Capture liberty;
Flow a flower;
Freeze eternity!

I’ve a notion
You’re a king of —
Magic motion
And lyric love!

man juggling basketballs near storefront

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A Suddenly Springing Something

22 Saturday Feb 2020

Posted by petersironwood in creativity, family, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 32 Comments

Tags

cats, kittens, life, love, poem, poetry

adorable animal baby cat

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

I thought it was an apropos time to remind people of what really matters: life, love, truth, curiosity. This poem was from 2004. The cats bookending the poem are cousins to Jones and Sirius and taken at the approximate age when this poem was written.

A Sudden-
ly

Spring –
ing

Some –
thing!

Two Courageous
Ridiculous
Sputtering
Kitteny
Little
Furry
Balls of Hellfire!

Two Demanding
Loving
Roving
Fighting
Biting
Leaping
Back-bending
Over-arching
Maddeningly
Swaying
Pouncing
Little Furry Balls of
Hellfire!

Jones and Sirius:
Two Snooping
Into every
Teeny crevice
Nosing out
Empty cans
Empty wrappers
For every scrap
Of cheese whiff
Or oil drip
In the cracks of tin foil
Growling
Little Furry Ball
Of Hellfire!

A tag-team, dynamic duo;
One cave-black and one marmalade;
Skittering over my keyboard
Chasing the cursor on my screen
Grabbing at my sox, my belt,
Chasing my tying lace-tips
Scrabbling up my shins
Snapping at my pencil and my pen
Jackknifing dive without a when
Little Furry Balls of Hellfire!

Purring, sleeping, curled and cuddled
Into the crook of my arm
Warmth feeling warmth
I laugh inside, I smile inside
At my little furry furies
Who remind my mind
Of Gandhi and Goodness.

Ultimately, Love,
Love is Strong
And will outlast
The longest Wrong.

cute short fur black kitten with blue eyes

Photo by Lad Fury on Pexels.com

Here below are the real Jones and Sirius, but grown up. Jones, left, loved everyone and everything. He stayed curious & affectionate till the day he died. Sirius proved to be a very smart cat, but would brook no non-sense. He was the most difficult cat any of our vets ever had to deal with. Yet, he was affectionate with us and with Jones.

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Many Shiny Things

13 Thursday Feb 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, family, management, politics, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

leadership, legends, myths, peace, stories, tales, truth, war, weapons

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The days continued to grow longer. The herbs and dyes had been collected and prepared. Masks had been constructed for everyone in the tribe old enough to talk and walk. Many Paths, after consulting with everyone, had decided that all of the Veritas, and not just the young adults would be initiated into the ways of the warrior. Although kids had sometimes imitated the actions of their older brothers and sisters and engaged in mock combat, now the Veritas faced an enemy who stole children. If such children were snatched, it was important that they be able to fight, in order to delay capture, and to maim or injure the attackers. They must also be able to lie in wait patiently and be able to strike after capture; to see when the opportunity arose; and then to strike in such a way that they had little chance of being blamed. 

Jaccim had confirmed that the Z-Lotz greatly preferred to steal children. Kids could be trained early to be docile slaves. Occasionally, attractive full-grown women would be stolen as well but they tended to be less docile and therefore less desirable to the Z-Lotz. Many Paths had already performed the molting ritual on Tu-Swift and he had worked with Sooz and Cat Eyes to teach the youngsters of the tribe to fight. This training had been mostly about perception and reaction. Now, the training would turn more serious and young children were about to be taught about weapons, hand combat, and about poisons and imagination. 

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Many Paths wanted the children to be initiated and wear make up and masks so that when and if the Veritas found themselves once more at peace, they could remove these masks and make up and that removal of the outward trappings of war would hopefully help also remove the killing mindset that she meant to inculcate into everyone in the tribe. 

A great feast of wild boar, honeyed grain-cakes, roasted nuts, and boiled cattail had been laid out in the late afternoon. After the feast, the Veritas came to Many Paths one by one, oldest to youngest and stood before her. She handed each one a mask and anointed each with two dark marks of charcoal on their cheeks. The masks resembled various animals and were worn on the back of the head or, more rarely, on the side of the head. They were not meant to disguise the person’s face. Instead, the masks were intended to confuse the enemy about the orientation of the Veritas warrior so that killing blows would tend to arise from unsuspected places. 

The Veritas came to her in order from oldest to youngest. Though Many Paths followed tradition in this, she could see the wisdom of that tradition. The youngest would have seen many models of how to behave from the elders and then the adults and then their older brothers and sisters. She felt and displayed a fittingly somber mood for the business at hand weighed heavily upon her. And though she intoned the ritual words with feeling, at the same time, half of her mind began to mull on the situation that required turning the people to killing. She heartily wished that the world had not turned so ugly and warlike. Yet, those wishes had no impact on reality. Many Paths did promise herself that she would continue to remind people of the lessons learned from The Battle of the Three Paths. 

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In that battle, NUT-PI had arranged three armies to fight against the Veritas. Two of those armies had instead become friends. Peace proved to be a very strong weapon. Many Paths would come to caution the Veritas not to become so enamored of weapons that they overlooked the possible paths to peace. Though she believed this, Many Paths also recognized that the alliances between the Cupiditas and the Nomads of the South and between the Cupiditas and the Fierce and Formidable Warriors of the North were both tenuous and temporary. They did not have a preponderance of true common interests. This had made rational dialogue possible. The “loyalty” of these tribes to NUT-PI was nothing more than a temporary convenience, fairly easily overcome by showing them the lies of NUT-PI and a path to a more permanent self-interest. Also, no blood had yet been spilled. Once blood had been spilled on both sides, talk of peace could easily be shouted out by the drums of war that banged in the heart of every warrior amplified by sorrow, fear, and anger. Many Paths reminded herself that she needed to have a frank talk with Lion Slayer about whether any from among the Nomads of the South would choose to fight with the Veritas. 

She decided to wait a few more days for such a conversation and to include his mate, Hudah Salah, as well. When they had first arrived to spend a year with the Veritas, she had seemed unwilling to say much and agreed with her husband on every point. Something had changed however. Many Paths thought there were three reasons. First, she had become much more familiar with the Veritas language. Second, she had many actual friends now among the Veritas. When she arrived, she only knew her husband, Fleet of Foot and Eagle Eyes. Now, she knew everyone in the tribe and everyone knew her. Third, the great fire had separated her for a time from her husband and she had to survive without him, without knowing whether he was alive or dead. Many Paths judged that his deepened their love but also grew her independence. Many Paths also thought that Lion Slayer would be more likely to imagine everyone among the Nomads of the South would feel however he felt. Hudah Salah, would be more in tune with the heart of the entire tribe. She would not unthinkingly imagine that all of them would be as eager or reluctant to join in a lethal fight as she herself was. 

people in a culture event

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The “coming to war” ritual ended with a long, energetic dance. This served to burn off some of the nervous energy that naturally arose from everyone in the tribe preparing for war. It also served to remind each person among the Veritas that they were part of a larger whole. Everyone participated including Many Paths and She Who Saves Many Lives. Though the latter was not so quick as she had once been, she moved with a grace and beauty that caused many in the tribe to smile. Long energetic dances also served as a training for long marches or fierce battles. Everyone took note of everyone else so they came to expect the tempo and style of everyone else in the tribe. This, Many Paths realized, could be quite helpful in coordinated group action. Everyone could see, for example, that Shadow Walker’s ankle was completely healed while Tu-Swift had still not recovered his former speed. A lot of information was exchanged about individuals at the same time that each individual felt more integrated into the whole. It occurred to Many Paths that some such a dance should be repeated with whomever joined in the Veritas endeavor, whether the Veritas who lived beyond the Twin Mountains or the Nomads of the South. The dance also tended to physically exhaust everyone and, as a steady wind bends the long grass, it would bend everyone toward much needed sleep rather than useless worry. 

The next day began bright and clear. She met early with Tu-Swift, Eagle Eyes, Cat Eyes, Sooz, and Shadow Walker. She began by describing her experiment with reflections that had caused a twig to burst into flames. Using the Rings of Empathy and many pieces of mica, she arranged the reflections so that they all focused on a small dried twig. Again, it seemed as though nothing was happening when suddenly the twig burst into flames. Salah Hudah had been weaving nearby, not participating in the conversation. But when she saw the twig burst into flames, she exclaimed something aloud in her native tongue. She walked over to the group and spoke in Veritas nearly as well as those who were born Veritas might. 

“These things,” she gestured around at the rings and mica, “are all shiny. Very shiny. We have in our land some shiny things as well. There is a shiny black stone which can be polished so much that you can see yourself as if looking in a clear, calm, lake. We call it ‘OB-ESS-DIAN.” And, there is another thing on the edge of the deep desert lands where no-one goes. It is also shiny. Very shiny. We polish it. We shape it. But it is evil. We call it GLAZ. Those who touch it get burned. We only discovered a few winters ago. We thought to make jewelry or … a kind of pond to look at yourself. I think it could be useful weapon this way too. But dangerous. It burns the hands as though you were too long in the sun. But it is not hot.”  

close up photography of burning woods

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Many Paths thanked Salah Hudah and contemplated once again how much better it was to have made friends with the Nomads of the South rather than fighting them. She vowed to try to find such a way even with the People Who Steal Children. But such people killed with no honor. With Killing Sticks. How could peace come about? It was a puzzle: an important one, but seemingly unsolvable. 

Tu-Swift brought out his sword and moved it about. “This is very shiny too. As is Shadow Walker’s. I think…here’s let’s try making both of them shine onto a twig.” Shadow Walker worked with Tu-Swift and they reflected the sunbeams from their sword onto another dry twig. It did not burst into flames. They waited. At last, Cat Eyes stretched forth her hand and gingerly touched the twig.

“It’s warmer than just the sun would do, but not warm enough to burst into flame. But something else might work very well. In the village of the Z-Lotz, many of the richest families have such a portable pond looker as Salah Hudah described. But no-one I heard of got burned from it. So, perhaps it is made of something different. I don’t know.” 

“Thank you, Cat Eyes. How many of these portable lookers are there in the whole of the  Z-Lotz village?” 

Cat Eyes sighed. “I was there as a slave. So, I was unable to go wherever I liked. There are many people. Sometimes, I visited other houses. All of them had such things. But I seldom went to small houses. I would say, these many. But I really don’t know.” Cat Eyes held up both hands ten times; each time, all fingers were splayed out. “One hundred.” 

Many Paths nodded. “One hundred. Yet, so few as ten pieces of mica, and seven shiny stones can make a dry piece of wood burst into flame. Imagine what one hundred shiny things might do if all the many paths of light come together at one time and place.” 

Shadow Walker said, “That, I think, would be very hot indeed. However, we don’t own those possible weapons. I don’t see how we can get them. But what of the shiny things of the Nomads of the South? How many of those are there, Salah?” 

“Of the black OB-ESS-DIAN, there are many. Ten times ten. Of the clear ones… there may be one or two, but to my knowledge, once people realized they caused burns, no-one wanted them. People gave them back to the deep desert.”

The group thought about that for a time. Presently, Tu-Swift said, “I don’t understand. Why don’t they just use a long handle or many layers of cloth to protect their hands? Surely, you tried this, Salah?” 

“Tu-Swift, you speak true. People did try this. We sometimes make even stones by hardening mud in fire. They become quite hard. But when they are first made by such hot fire, the stones themselves are too hot to touch. However, we take them out of the oven with large mittens made of many layers. People’s hands do not get burned. But there is something different about GLAZ. Many layers of cloth do not prevent burns though the GLAZ is not itself hot! It seems magic but evil. That’s why we returned it to the deep desert where no-one goes.”  

Cat Eyes began to speak. “Fire ants feel like burning when they bite you. But they are not themselves hot. Their tiny side teeth pierce your skin. Perhaps such ants are made of the same stuff as the GLAZ at the edge of the desert.”

close up photo of ant

Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

Salah Hudah nodded. “Perhaps. We know also of these fire ants. They sting. They feel hot. But people recover. The burns of GLAZ do not get better. More moons, more pain. They are something from a world of evil. I think the people, my people,…maybe they lend you or trade you for OB-ESS-DIAN. But all this to set a fire? Isn’t it easier to use fire arrows?” 

Shadow Walker spoke next. “We should not forget what happened to the ROI. They used fire arrows against us twice. The first time, they surprised us. It helped them steal Tu-Swift. But the second time, they tried to destroy us, and they succeeded in destroying their own village and many of their people. According to Jaccim, the ROI were led by a cruel lying leader, and then, so far as we can tell, he was killed himself. I don’t much like fire arrows. But it’s better to use them than to become enslaved.” 

Tu-swift added thoughtfully, “Perhaps we can get the Z-Lotz themselves to destroy their leader. He seems very cruel.” 

Cat Eyes scrunched her face up and chewed her lips. “Perhaps. The people I stayed with, the richest among the Z-Lotz privately scoffed at NUT-PI — just as they did about their beliefs — but, because they are rich, they like having NUT-PI as a leader, if you can call him that. No doubt, there are man people in the village of the Z-Lotz who would like to have NUT-PI gone, but I’m not sure they are prosperous enough to have — I think they are called ‘looking glasses.’ Does that make sense? I think only the rich people like them.”

Many Paths nodded. “I’m not sure. If it is as you say, then the rich would have to have very good reason to use this weapon of many looking glasses against NUT-PI. But there could be other ways to bring many weapons to bear through many paths. For instance, arrows, even if not fire arrows, could be fired from many directions at once. Rocks could be thrown from many directions. Small amounts of many poisons might be given. And, maybe we could use mica and jewels to make many reflections to heat up … to heat up a Killing Stick until it catches fire. Or, perhaps, we could even use the killing GLAZ. If NUT-PI thought it was very rare, and very precious, he might desire much of it. If he surrounds himself with such GLAZ, he might get quite sick and not know why.” 

Eagle Eyes had been fairly silent and now began to draw a map of sorts in the dirt. “All of these weapons we are discussing converge from many paths on to one place; for example, NUT-PI. But if we were to kill the Z-Lotz leader, wouldn’t they simply pick a new leader?”

Many Paths said, “It might take them some time. As I best understand it, if one of the Cupiditas kills the leader, then that person becomes the new leader. I don’t know about the Z-Lotz though. If they do the same, it might be confusing if many people at once killed the old leader. Who would get to be the new leader?” 

Cat Eyes said, “I am not sure, but I think the Z-Lotz might do something similar. It might be confusing for them if many people together killed their leader. He is a very loud screamer, but I don’t think he’s very brave. I’m not sure why I think that. Anyway, he’s not very athletic. He looks nothing like Shadow Walker or Trunk of Tree, for instance.” She smiled at Tu-Swift. “Honestly, Tu-Swift, in a fair fight, I think you could take him. But I don’t think a fair fight is of any interest to him.” 

Tu-Swift blushed. “I would love to do that if he’s behind the stealing of children.” 

toddler with red adidas sweat shirt

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Many Paths spoke again. “We have many ideas. Which path proves most fruitful though will remain a mystery until we find out more. I think that the construction of a good weapon that will be effective depends on knowing more. We need to find out more. How are their walls constructed? Can we tunnel under them to sneak in? Can we dig under them to cause collapse? Are the walls too high to fire arrows over? Rocks? Should we attack with many? Or, should we sneak in a few? Can we steal enough of these looking glasses to make a weapon? Can we steal their killing sticks? More swords? Can we sabotage their bows and arrows as Tu-Swift did to the ROI? And, how can we use our horses? Will they join us in this fight?” 

Shadow Walker took a deep breath, “Many, I think I should go visit these Z-Lotz. Maybe I could trade with them and get some Killing Sticks in this way. We have many fine and beautiful baskets. And, Salah Hudah, do you think these shiny things that cause burns can be recovered or — ?”

Salah Hudah shook her head violently. “I don’t think you should touch them. I don’t think you’ll find them — at least not easily. Our people just wanted to get rid of them. They are covered up now with shifting of many sands. But they burn without warning. And worse. One woman who especially liked these. She was very beautiful. She had many suitors who brought her such as treasures. She paid much. She became something else. Her body began to grow like mushrooms. No longer beautiful. And, she was sick in every way. And died. That is what triggered everyone to throw them out.” 

“I should go with you,” volunteered Eagle Eyes. I can see danger before danger sees us. And I have been there before. “What of you, Cat Eyes? You know this place better than anyone else? Will you come too?” 

Cat Eyes nodded. “I will go. I like this place much better! Much better! But perhaps it would be well for me to go first to my people. Some may recognize me. I may recognize them. I can be…I can be like a pair of logs over the brook and allow others to cross. Perhaps the Veritas over the Twin Mountains will have other weapons or other knowledge. Then, we can decide what to do about the Z-Lotz. It is also possible they might leave us alone?” 

“I hope that,” said Many Paths. “Why must people steal children? But I don’t think they will leave us alone. I do not think they will leave the Nomads of the South alone either. Nor, the Fierce and Formidable Warriors of the North. Nor anyone who simply wants to live in peace. If I thought otherwise, we would not have all sworn to the way of the warrior. But that does not mean we must attack at once. More knowledge would be good. Let us first try to reach the Veritas beyond the Twin Peaks. Jaccim knows how to find a path there, so he thinks. 

mountain covered with snow

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Pexels.com

“Meanwhile, we will grow stronger and faster and learn the skills of killing in case we need such skills. We will continue to train even the smallest among us so that if any such are captured, they will be weapons; unsuspected weapons like Cat Eyes.” 

Now, Eagle Eyes spoke, “You are wise, Many Paths. I have a thought though about yet another weapon.” 

“We have trained a few from among the Wolf Pups. And, we have trained few from among the Eagles. What if … you know that I can draw a likeness of any of you and that you will know who that likeness is. Eagles have eyes even better than ours. I am wondering whether it is not possible … perhaps if I can see the Z-Lotz leader, I can teach my eagles, and more eagles besides, to attack this hateful man and pluck his eyes out. Could it be possible? I don’t know. And for Wolves the same. Except they do not see as well as do we ourselves. But each person smells different. If someone can steal some of his clothing, perhaps such pups could be trained to attack and kill something that smells of him.”

white and yellow bird shallow focus photography

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Many Paths smiled at her friend. For the first time since she found out about the Killing Sticks, she felt confident that there was a way to prevail against such a weapon and that they would find it. And use it. “Those are excellent ideas, Eagle Eyes.” 

Everyone in the group nodded. 

Many Paths spoke again, and her voice sounded clear and confident, “I promise you, we will not rest until we find a lasting and believable peace with these Z-Lotz. Or, we will destroy their leader. If that doesn’t stop them from stealing children, we will destroy the next leader. And the next. At last, everyone shall also be destroyed and all of their Killing Sticks — until they stop stealing children.” 

brown bird flying near mountain

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———————————————-

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

 

    

Corn on the Cob

06 Monday May 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, family, management, psychology, Uncategorized, Veritas

≈ 39 Comments

Tags

altrusim, cats, fascism, gratitude, politics, science, selfishness, truth

{This is not part of the “Myths of the Veritas” series. But writing about these ancient, if mythical, people has caused me to reflect on how much we owe today to the millennia of humans who preceded us.}

Corn on the Cob.

boiled corn

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I made corn on the cob tonight for dinner. I cooked it in the micro-wave the perfect amount  of time and put just the right amount of butter and seasoning. I loved it. And, I have loved corn on the cob ever since I can remember. 

Now, I am guessing that most of you saw no problem with my first statement. Indeed, this is how most people speak about “making dinner” and generally the way I think about it as well. 

But think for another moment. Did I really make the dinner? I might have grown the corn in my garden (in this case, I did not), but I certainly didn’t build the microwave from scratch! And, I did not milk the cow nor churn the butter. And similarly, the seasonings were not something I went out and found. 

Corn? Corn was first domesticated in Mexico about 10,000 years ago. It did not look or taste like it does today. Consider: the first corn was not something that these early Mexicans discovered in a seed catalog or happened across on an afternoon stroll through the supermarket. 

agriculture arable barley close up

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

There were people among these tribes who learned from people who learned from people who learned…from many generations how to grow food, how to choose the very best from among those foods and then not eat them but instead use them to seed the next generations. 

I am quite sure that most of you have worked hard in your careers. Maybe your career lasted 50 years, like mine. A half century is not an inconsiderable time. But the corn that we eat today is the result of the labor of many people: ancient Mexicans; early settlers to the American continent; scientists from across the globe. The overall effort it took to create the corn that I cooked today is undoubtedly thousands of times greater than the effort I spent preparing it. 

Not to mention the microwave! How did that come about? How many scientists and engineers over how many years? Of course, they could not even have begun to work on such a thing without other scientists and mathematicians from around the world advancing basic physics, equations, zero, numbers, counting — going back again — thousands of years! 

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Statue of Archimedes who brought value to many, and who was killed by a Roman soldier.

A similar timeline exists for salt, pepper, and butter. Have you ever actually seen a cow? They’re big! They’re strong! Who knows how many ancient peoples died in the process of trying to domesticate cows. 

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And, let us not forget the leisure that comes from living in a house and not fighting off Saber-Tooth tigers while I’m trying to cook. (Although our youngest kitten Luna, did persistently try to lick the butter and nibble the tuna salad. She’s still young and has much to learn.)

Everything in the way of goods and services and security that we enjoy in a so-called “civilized” society is something we might think is something we “deserve” because, after all, we worked hard all our lives. But let’s not forget that if you were born in the stone age, you could work hard all your life and not get anything like the luxuries we have today. Those products and services are the result of countless numbers of other people who tried to leave the earth better for their fellow humans than the way they found it.  

The next time a thought crosses your mind that you ought to be able to keep every cent of the income that “you” earned, hopefully you will chew awhile on the fact that everything you enjoy today is the result of other living beings doing things for themselves and doing things for future generations. Some of them were your direct ancestors but the vast majority were not. They were people of all colors, countries and religious persuasions. 

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And, every time you look at your computer screen, or watch a movie, or put on a pair of shoes, or use your indoor plumbing, or sleep in a vermin free house, or listen to a song, or pet your dog without it biting off your hand — all these things we take for granted were vast gifts from earlier and current generations. 

Yes, you should we rewarded for your hard work, but let’s not delude ourselves. The fraction of all that we have that we could have achieved on our own is miniscule. 


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