The Wings of an Eagle

Thought for the day: We are eagles of one nest... the nest is in our soul. [Led Zeppelin]

[image courtesy of unsplash]

Eagles are majestic creatures. The kings and queens of the skies, you might say. With their immense wingspans, they have the ability to soar high, and their high-flying maneuvers... from the mighty flaps of their wings,... to the graceful glides on the air... to the sudden wing-back swoops to the ground... are all magnificent things to behold.

We, too, have the ability to soar high, but like reluctant eagles, we sometimes give up or lose our desire to fly. I've told the following story before, which is loosely based on a James Agreey story, The Parable of the Eagle, but in support of the post I want to write today, it begs to be repeated:

[image courtesy of Morguefile]

While traipsing through the woods one day, a farmer happened upon a lone eaglet perched on a fallen log. He scooped up the young bird, carried it home, and put it in the barnyard with his chickens. Before long, the young eagle was walking and clucking like a chicken and pecking at the chicken feed on the ground.

When the farmer's friend, a Native American named Joseph, stopped by the farm one day, he was appalled to find the majestic eagle in the barnyard scratching in the dirt like a common chicken. With a laugh, the farmer said the bird had been raised like a chicken and never taught to fly, so he was now more chicken than eagle. Joseph insisted the bird still had the heart of an eagle, and he could... and should... be taught to fly, so the farmer agreed to let his friend try.

Joseph picked up the eagle, and said, "You're meant to be the king of the sky. Stretch forth your wings and fly!"

But the timid eagle looked at his chicken friends pecking corn from the ground and jumped down to join them.

The next day, Joseph tried again. This time, he took the eagle up to the roof, and again, he said,"You're an eagle, the king of the skies. Stretch forth your wings and fly!"

And once again, the frightened bird returned to the safety of the chicken yard.

The third day, Joseph carried the bird to a nearby mountaintop, held it high above him, and said, "You are an eagle, the king of the skies. Spread forth your wings, and fly!"

Hesitant at first, the bird looked back toward the farm, back toward the only life he knew. Then he trembled, stretched his mighty wings, and with a triumphant cry, soared into the sky.

It's possible the eagle sometimes misses the chickens; he may even visit the barnyard once in a while for old time's sake. But as far as anyone knows, he's still living life as an eagle, the king of the skies... just as all eagles were meant to do.
                                                                         *****

It's easier to hang around in the barnyard, because the prospect of stretching our wings can be very frightening, but we should never let someone else define our capabilities. Why let someone else's doubts stop you from trying? By the same token, there are a lot of things happening in the world today that might make you want to hide in the barnyard... or stay in bed with the covers pulled over your head. It seems like every day, there is something else in the news that's discouraging and disheartening. Nothing but one dark storm after another...
                                                      Are you hiding from those storms?

[image courtesy of unsplash]

[image courtesy of unsplash]

One of the many interesting things about eagles: they don't hide from storms. Nope, they don't fly straight into them, either. They're much smarter than that.

They fly above them. Up above the storm... above the clouds... to find clear blue skies and wind currents that can carry them effortlessly through the air.

All birds find shelter during a rain, but the eagle avoids rain by flying above the clouds. Problems are common, but attitude makes the difference. [Abdul Kalam]

An eagle uses the negative energy of of a storm to fly even higher [Eric Thomas]

Flap the wings of inner strength to fly above the clouds of a storm. Cry not if left alone. Like an eagle, you are strong. [Vandana Saini]

I get it. I'll confess to feeling occasional angst over the state of the world today, but we must give ourselves permission to soar above those feelings. Wallowing in discouraged sadness... in the dirt of the barnyard... won't help anyone or change anything. We may not be able to change the entire world, but we can certainly do our best to make a difference right where we are. We can't single-handedly stop all hateful behavior in the world... but we can certainly devote ourselves to being kind in our everyday lives. A simple act of kindness may be just the boost another person needs to soar above the clouds.

[image courtesy of unsplash]

I've often defined myself as a pathological optimist, but that doesn't mean it's always easy.

There is an eagle in me that wants to soar, and there is a hippopotamus in me that wants to wallow in the mud. [Carl Sandburg]

It has to be a conscious decision. I have to fight  my inner hippo... and occasionally have a diet soda with my cheeseburger.

You can't soar like an eagle when you hang around with turkeys. [author unknown]

When the storms of life gather darkly ahead,
I think of those wonderful words I once read.
And I say to myself as threatening clouds hover,
Don't fold up your wings and run for cover. 
But like the eagle, spread wide your wings
And soar far above the troubles life brings.
For the eagle knows that the higher he flies,
The more tranquil and brighter become the skies.
And there is nothing in life God ever asks us to bear
That we can't soar above on the wings of prayer.
And in looking back over the storm you passed through,
You'll find you gained strength and new courage, too,
For in facing life's storms with an eagle's wings,
You can fly far above earth's small petty things. 

[Helen Steiner Rice]

Attitude is a choice. Happiness is a choice. Optimism is a choice. Kindness is a choice. Giving is a choice. Respect is a choice. Whatever choice you make makes you. Choose wisely. [Roy T. Bennett]

If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude. [Maya Angelou]

                            Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Skeletal Beauty

Thought for the day:  I prefer fall and winter, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape--- the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn't show. [Andrew Wyeth]

[morguefile]

A few years ago, I used that same thought for the day, and followed it with a post about winter, in which I said, "While I do appreciate the imagery of Wyeth's words, I don't think winter will ever be my favorite time of year. Yeah, sure, the landscape's bone structure does possess a certain stark beauty, I suppose. I'll give him that. Then again, some people probably consider a skeleton to be a thing of beauty, too. As for me?  I've always preferred a bit of meat on my bones.

When I look at the barren trees, stripped naked, and stretching their lonely branches against a leaden sky, I long to see them covered with leaves again. I miss the bazillion birds who flitted on every branch of every tree in our yard last summer, and I miss their cacophonous symphonies.

Yup, I guess I'm more inclined to second Robert Byrne's sentiments, who so eloquently opined, Winter is nature's way of saying, "Up yours."

*****

Whattaya know? I've kinda changed my mind since then. Lately, I've been deeply touched and uplifted by the beauty of the barren trees around me. Yeah, beauty. I mean it... if the whole world were an art gallery, they're like Mother Nature's sculptural designs. Without leaves, their forms are so much more evocative against the sky.

What a severe yet master artist old Winter is. No longer the canvas and the pigments, but the marble and the chisel.  [John Burroughs]

[morguefile]

Just look at the massive gnarled branches of this old tree. It reminds me of a marvelous many-armed monster sprung from the pages of a Stephen King book.

In all things of nature, there is something of the marvelous. [Aristotle]

I recently took a leisurely stroll through town to admire the majestic trees and beautiful homes. Isn't this one a beauty?

Trees adapt to their environment in amazing ways, don't they? Even when most of their branches are amputated to accommodate telephone and power lines, what's left of their misshapen bodies somehow manages to keep on growing. When struck by lightning or felled by a chain saw, new growth miraculously springs from the remaining stump. Even when erosion exposes most of their roots,  they defy gravity, and stubbornly cling to life on deteriorating hillsides, cliff tops, and beside rivers. Each year, autumn strips them of their leaves, and winter's harsh winds and weather assail them, but they continue to stand tall. They withstand the ravages of time, weather, and man... and burst into joyful bloom all over again in the spring.

Of winter's lifeless world, each tree
Now seems a perfect part;
Yet each one holds summer's secret
Deep down within its heart.  [Charles G. Stater]

Heck, if you think about it, trees are... heroes. They persevere, serving as visual symbols of strength and hope. And, hey! Not only do they LOOK good, but they're also very helpful...

[seniorark]

Like if you get lost in the woods, they're only too happy to point you in the right direction. ☺

[seniorark]

I understand trees can also be extremely helpful if you can't quite remember what number follows three...

(You'd be surprised how many perfect numbers and letters you can find in the branches of a tree.)



Okay, I know some of you still don't see beauty in the dreary shades of Febru-weary, and you're more than ready to see the world decked out in her colorful spring finery again. Wanta know how to make it get here faster?

To shorten winter, borrow some money due in spring. [W.J. Vogel] 

Relax. It'll be spring before ya know it, even if you don't borrow any money.  The early buds on the trees... and the flowers... say so!

Like the daffodils. They're in full bloom all over the place here. Here's one I spotted while walking through town. Others are pushing through the soil nearby, and I expect this brave warrior (the point man) will be joined by the rest of his forces within the next couple of days. In the meantime, this one defiant daffodil is providing a single splash of sunshine in the otherwise drab landscape, kinda like a sweet kiss on the cheek from spring.

[seniorark]

And soon, all of nature... including the now-bare trees...  will be dancing the ballet that is spring.

Every winter,

When the great sun has turned his face away,

And earth goes down into a vale of grief,

And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables,

Leaving her wedding-garland to decay--

Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses.

[Charles Kingsley]

[morguefile]

Rejoice. Even in the midst of winter, there is still plenty of beauty... and hope... to be found.

The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful flower of all. [Walt Disney Productions]

Have a wonderful weekend, y'all.

P.S. Want a little something to perk up your winter? How about a FREE book? Not long ago, I told y'all about T.B. Markinson's latest book, Claudia Must Die, and quite a few of you expressed interest in reading it. Now, for the next few days, (the 20th to the 23rd) that same book's e-version will be available for FREE through Amazon. In the U.S. you can get it here, and in the UK, snag it here

Huh? You can't remember what the book's about? Okay, fair enough. Here's the blurb:

Claudia doesn’t feel like herself anymore—she feels like prey. Her husband’s hired goons have stalked her all the way to Boston and will only stop their pursuit once she is dead.

Divorce is not an option. Instead, she has stolen a bunch of her man’s money to disappear into another life.

In order for Claudia to live, someone else must die. A lookalike college student becomes the target capable of freeing her from an awful marriage.

The plan goes horribly awry. Instead of murdering Claudia’s double, the assassins shoot the woman’s lover who is the cousin of a powerful Irish mobster. Claudia becomes hunted by all involved. Can she survive? Should she? 

****

Sound good...? It IS. (And pssssst... it's free!)

                               Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Brighten the Corner Where You Are

Thought for the day:  I prefer fall and winter, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape--- the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn't show. [Andrew Wyeth]

While I do appreciate the imagery of Wyeth's words, I don't think winter will ever be my favorite time of year. Yeah, sure, the landscape's bone structure does possess a certain stark beauty, I suppose. I'll give him that. Then again, some people probably consider a skeleton to be a thing of beauty, too. As for me?  I've always preferred a bit of meat on my bones.

When I look at the barren trees, stripped naked, and stretching their lonely branches against a leaden sky, I long to see them covered with leaves again. I miss the bazillion birds who flitted on every branch of every tree in our yard last summer, and I miss their cacophonous symphonies.

Yup, I guess I'm more inclined to second Robert Byrne's sentiments, who so eloquently opined, Winter is nature's way of saying, "Up yours."


There used to be a columnist for the Atlanta newspaper who called the first two months of the year Janu-weary and Febru-ugly, and that was a pretty darned good description of how most of us around here feel about winter. Our area is ultra rich in trees and greenery most of the year, but right about now, almost everything is brown. Or gray. How it makes me miss COLOR! You know? The kind of color that makes the heart sing.

A walk in the woods is so much different this time of year than it was six months ago, isn't it? The tangle of growth that impeded your progress then is just an impotent hollow mesh of dead branches now, and no deterrent at all. Now, a layer of dead leaves crunches softly underfoot, and with each step, the faint scent of rot awakens and rises from the ground ... whispering a promise of growth yet to come. There's a different sound in the woods, and a different feeling.  A sense of isolation. Invigoration.

Then there's the runny nose, too, and maybe rosy cheeks. I do love those rosy cheeks ...

Okay, so I'll admit it. It ain't all bad.

Especially here. We haven't had any real cold weather yet. And usually don't see much of it, anyway. We've had a couple early morning frosts, but the temperatures are still climbing into the sixties most days. The poor misguided forsythia bushes are peppered with blossoms, but that isn't unusual. Forsythia always seems to be confused about when it should and shouldn't bloom.

                                     But I saw something a couple weeks ago that astounded me.

BAZINGA!!!!

On January 10, I spotted a single daffodil blooming in our back yard. A daffodil! In January! What a glorious, glorious ... and unexpected ... sight. Others are also pushing through the soil, and I expect this first brave warrior (the point man) will be joined by the rest of his forces within the next couple of days. This is much too soon for him to show up, but there he was. This one defiant daffodil, providing a single splash of sunshine in the otherwise drab landscape of our back yard.

A beacon of hope. 

Of joy.

Oh, crap. Might as well face it. (sigh) Of delusion. (Poor thing.)

Every winter,

When the great sun has turned his face away,

And earth goes down into a vale of grief,

And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables,

Leaving her wedding-garland to decay--

Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses.

[Charles Kingsley]

We have a lot of winter left to go, but spring's already graced me with an early kiss on the cheek. It may not be spring yet, but a single yellow daffodil ... standing tall ... blooming defiantly in the midst of winter ... reminds my heart that spring will always return. Know what? If that little guy could sing, I'll betcha his song would be Brighten the Corner Where You Are.


The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all. [Walt Disney Productions]

          Even in the midst of winter, there is still plenty of beauty... and hope ... to be found.

                               Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Enjoying the Trip Back Down

Thought for the day:  A good attitude is contagious, but for Heaven's sake, don't wait to catch it from somebody. Be a carrier.  

still smiling after all these years

Tell me please, dear friends, how can I possibly be over the hill when I don't remember ever making it to the top?


But I own a doll proclaiming it, so it must be true, right? Worse, I've already had that bloody doll for decades. Got it from one of my friends when I turned forty. To tell the truth, I didn't feel old then, and I don't feel particularly old now. So what if I'm at an age where the pain under a woman's breast may very well turn out to be a bum knee? Who cares if men my age have long since abandoned wild oats in favor of prunes and high fiber cereal, and consider Happy Hour to be a nice long nap?

Tell ya what. If I really AM over the hill, I plan on enjoying the trip back down. Squeeze as much good stuff out of it as I can. After all, like that famous dude said, I may not pass this way again.

 But you know, there's a lot of good things to say about getting older. Like we generally have the confidence to stand for more convictions, and the moxie to fall for less malarkey. We may still be competitive, but we also realize that being kind is much more important than being right. We've learned it isn't very smart to test the depth of the water with both feet, and we understand that the true art of conversation isn't just about saying the right thing at the right time. Sometimes, it means keeping our mouths shut when it's oh-so-tempting to deliver a verbal shot.

And hey, hey, hey! Looky here! Our Social Security checks are a little higher this year. 


Even though politicians are pontificating about cutting spending, about making changes to social security and medicare, we the people actually got a raise in Social Security benefits this year. See? Congress really DOES love us!  Forget all that nonsense about "death panels." There's absolutely NO TRUTH in the following clip, either. None at all.

Now, I'm not ready to take up sky diving or run off a cliff, but hey! I'm as adventurous as I've always been, doggone it. I believe I'll have me a bowl of full-fat strawberry ice cream for dessert tonight. Heck, I might even eat it FIRST. (What a rebel.)

                           Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Sometimes I wonder whether the world is being run by smart people who are putting us on or by imbeciles who really mean it.   Mark Twain

In One Year & Out the Other

Thought for the day:  Cheers to a new year and another chance to get it right.  Oprah Winfrey

JANUS: Roman god of beginnings, transitions, and endings

This is the time of year I usually get a little two-faced. Maybe you do, too. Like Janus, I find myself looking both backward and forward each time a new year begins. You, too?

There's a certain sadness in closing the book on another year. A sense of loss for the people who've passed from our lives, nostalgia for joyous events now over and done with, and perhaps even a touch of regret for decisions made and opportunities missed. But, you know what? It's a NEW YEAR, people! It's okay to think about the past year, or even about all our past years, but let's not forget to look forward, too. If we spend too much time staring at the rear view mirror, how can we possibly appreciate the wide open road in front of us, and all the beautiful sights along the way?  Sure, we're all a year older, but doggone it, we're STILL Born to Be Wild. (sorta)

Okay, so we're not as young and fresh-faced as we used to be. Big whoop. We all have a brand new, soft-as-a-baby's-butt year ahead of us, and the possibilities are endless. We're all been given a clean slate, and it's up to us to grab the chalk and start scribbling.

I suppose the notion of a clean slate explains the age-old tradition of starting each new year with a long list of resolutions, and a determination to get it right. As Mark Twain said, Now is the time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual.


Do you make resolutions? Not me. The only resolution I make is not to make any resolutions. I mean, why set myself up for failure? This would be me: Dear Lord, so far this year, I've done really well. I haven't overeaten, said anything stupid, forgotten anything important, skipped my daily exercise, or forgotten to floss. I'm very thankful for that, but in a few minutes, I have to actually get out of bed, and from then on, I'm probably gonna need a lot of help.


Oscar Wilde said, Good resolutions are simply checks that men draw on a bank where they have no account. And, well, golly, I sure don't want to do that, now, do I? Better to make plans or set goals, but for me? Never, never, never call it a resolution.

An optimist stays up until midnight to see the new year in; a pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves.  Bill Vaughn

Whether you consider yourself an optimist or pessimist, 2011 is kaput. Perhaps the champagne bottle is empty, and the candles extinguished, but there will be other bottles, and hope can always light the way, if you let it.

And, you know what? If you think about it, what lies behind us doesn't really matter all that much, and neither does what lies before us. When you get right down to it, the most important thing is what lies within us.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

In the new year, may your right hand be stretched out in friendship, but never in want.

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Let There Be Light

Thought for the day: Every day is as important as an anniversary, birthday, or holiday. To be cherished on any given day is more important to me than being lavished with gifts and good wishes simply because the calendar dictates it.  

hope in the ruins

Yes, I know yesterday was the tenth anniversary. Many of you blogged about your recollections of that awful day, what it still means to you, and I respect y'all for doing that. But I can't. I can't allow myself to dwell on the horrors of that day. I can't let myself feel that much bleakness again.

Yes, of course, I remember, and I grieve. Not to acknowledge the date at all would have been tantamount to ignoring the polka dotted elephant in the room. Yes, it's there. But I'm not gonna talk to him. Not today. Maybe not ever.

 I prefer to concentrate on the flowers growing in the midst of the rubble, not on the devastation that created it.  I'd rather talk about hope, the light that helps us make it through the darkness.

                So, let's pull our asses out of the doldrums and do just that.

Up and at 'em!

                                                        Song of Hope     by Thomas Hardy

                                                      O sweet To-morrow! - 

                                                      After to-day 

                                                      There will away 

                                                      This sense of sorrow. 

                                                      Then let us borrow 

                                                      Hope, for a gleaming 

                                                      Soon will be streaming, 

                                                      Dimmed by no gray - 

                                                      No gray! 

                                                     While the winds wing us 

                                                     Sighs from The Gone, 

                                                     Nearer to dawn 

                                                     Minute-beats bring us; 

                                                     When there will sing us 

                                                     Larks of a glory 

                                                     Waiting our story 

                                                     Further anon - 

                                                     Anon! 

                                                    Doff the black token, 

                                                    Don the red shoon, 

                                                    Right and retune 

                                                    Viol-strings broken; 

                                                    Null the words spoken 

                                                    In speeches of rueing, 

                                                    The night cloud is hueing, 

                                                    To-morrow shines soon - 

                                                    Shines soon! 

Hope  by Sri Chinmoy

Hope

Knows no fear.

Hope dares to blossom

Even inside the abysmal abyss.

Hope secretly feeds

And strengthens

Promise.

                                                      

     

                                                         "Hope" is the thing with feathers—

                                                          That perches in the soul—
                                                          And sings the tune without the words—
                                                          And never stops—at all—

                                                         And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
                                                         And sore must be the storm—
                                                         That could abash the little Bird
                                                         That kept so many warm—

                                                         I've heard it in the chillest land—
                                                        And on the strangest Sea—
                                                        Yet, never, in Extremity,
                                                        It asked a crumb—of Me.

                                                                                                   Emily Dickenson

Wanta feel good? Wanta cry for happy? Then check out this video. It shows an amazing reunion of two elephants. Jenny was the only elephant at the Dallas zoo for twenty years. Think she was lonely? When Jenny was a calf, and Shirley was in her twenties, the two spent a year together at a circus. They say elephants "never forget." You be the judge.

this picture, and bird pic, courtesy of perfectlytimesphotos.com

We've made it through some dark days, and we'll undoubtedly face some more in the future, but bottom line is there is ALWAYS hope.With hope, we will endure. After all, in the end, our happiness doesn't rely nearly so much on our position as it does on our disposition. Our attitude.

Consider a lawn overgrown with dandelions. We can look at it and say, "Oh, crap! Look at all those weeds!" OR we can choose to look at it through the eyes of a child, and say, "Oooh, look at all those wishes!"

Just pucker up and blow.

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Trust Yourself; You Know the Way

Thought for the day:  Going in the wrong direction beats sitting still on the tarmac.

Did you hear about the student pilot who got hopelessly lost on his first solo flight? When the air traffic controller asked for his last known position, the poor guy said, "When I was taxiing for take-off, sir."

Ever feel like that? Like you aren't sure where you are, how you got there, where you're supposed to be going, or how you're supposed to get there?

High school and college graduation speeches are always filled with optimism and confidence about conquering the future, aren't they? The world is our oyster. Only problem is, nobody provides us with a darned oyster knife. We each have to figure it out for ourselves.

When we graduate into adulthood, we have to stop taxiing, file our flight plans, and for better or worse, take to the skies. Few of us followed the flight plan we expected for our life, or landed exactly where we expected to be when we proudly walked across the stage to accept our diplomas. That doesn't mean we took the wrong path. Sometimes our internal compasses lead us in a different direction, and what do you know? It turns out to be exactly the one we were meant to take all along.

It's time for a little story.

Douglas Corrigan was one of the airplane mechanics who built Charles Lindbergh's Spirit of St. Louis, and after Lindbergh's successful flight cross the Atlantic in 1927, it became Corrigan's dream to follow suit. Being of Irish descent, he desperately wanted to fly non-stop to Dublin.

So, he got his pilot's license and bought Sunshine, a second-hand single-engine 1929 Curtiss Robin, and applied for permission to make the flight.

The FAA denied his flight plan. Said his plane was too old, and unfit. So, he worked on his plane some more, and filed another and another and another NY-to-Ireland flight plan. All denied.

But his plane WAS approved for transcontinental flight, so in 1938, Corrigan flew from California to New York. There, he filed a flight plan to return to California.

Because of heavy fog covering New York that fateful day, Corrigan was directed to fly east  . . . just until he rose above the fog . . . and then turn back toward the west.

Only he never did. He kept going east. Claimed his compass wasn't working properly, and he didn't even know where he was when he landed . . .  in (ahem) Dublin.

For this, he earned the nickname Wrong Way Corrigan. As it turned out, the FAA had a point about his airplane being a crate. Sunshine developed a gas leak on the California to New York flight, and when he was over the Atlantic, so much gasoline was leaking into the cockpit, Corrigan had to punch a hole in the floor. It took him 28 hours and 13 minutes to complete the flight to Ireland, and by the time he landed, he was a celebrated hero on both sides of the ocean.

Needless to say, the bureaucrats at the FAA were furious, but how could they throw the book at America's hero? Corrigan was slapped with a perfunctory 14-day license suspension, which was already completed by the time he arrived (by ship) back in the U.S.

And know what? New York City gave him a bigger parade than they'd given Lindbergh in 1927.

Until the day he died in 1995, Corrigan maintained that his navigational error was unintentional. I'll let you be the judge of that. But in that one flight, he broke the law, charmed the Irish, became an American hero, and earned an unforgettable nickname: Wrong Way Corrigan.



So, what's the moral of the story?

Others may try to dictate your flight plan through life, but you're the one in the pilot's seat. Only you can decide where you're going and how you're gonna get there. Trust your internal compass.

Remember where you came from, and which end goes up, and you'll never get lost.

                                  Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
                                                             

Gotta Get it Right the First Time

Thought for the day:  Make each day your masterpiece.

Did you ever hear of a turritopsis nutricula? (And if you did, I am REALLY impressed!) This creature is also known as the immortal jellyfish. Immortal, because as far as scientists know, this jellyfish lives . . .  forever. Once it matures and reproduces sexually, it reverts right back to its juvenile state, and starts the whole maturation process all over again. And there doesn't appear to be a limit as to how many times the process can be repeated, either. So it's an endless cycle. Cool, huh? Kinda like the movie Groundhog Day, only this critter keeps reliving its entire existence instead of a single day.

We people don't have that luxury. As far as we know, this isn't just a dress rehearsal. We don't get any do-overs, and don't get to experience things all over again for the first time. So we've gotta do the best we can with what we've got. Now. We can't keep putting things off until tomorrow, because we may not have a tomorrow. How many times have you heard someone say when something happens, then they're gonna do so-and-so? If we allow our lives to be so tied up in the uncertainties of when and then, we're giving our here and now the smelly end of the stick. So, I say, let's all toss that smelly stick and carpe diem our butts off today.

Each day comes bearing its own gifts. Untie the ribbons.   Ruth Ann Schabacker

So, would you like to go back to your juvenile days again? Go through the whole maturation stuff all over again? Some things might be fun to revisit, but as for me ... one trek through adolescence was more than enough. Being an old broad ain't half bad.

Before I go grab hold of my day with both hands, I'll leave you with a few more signs. Nah, not signs like woo-oo-oo kinda weirdo stuff. Signs . . . real signs. Something to make you smile.

(Thanks, Bill!)

And a fine, TOO?

                                                                               

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other. And, hey! Carpe that diem, y'all!

Argumentative Politicians and Classy Insults

Thought for the day:  The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense.  Tom Clancy

Not only am I the kind of person who sees the glass as half full, but when I notice yours in that condition, I generally try to fill it up for you.

Optimistic. Idealistic. Yup, I'll plead guilty to both. When I heard JFK speak, my idealistic cup runneth over. Then, I was young and idealistic. Now, I'm old(er) but still idealistic.

At least, I'm trying, dadgum it.

But today's politicians make it awfully hard.

With all the partisan bickering, posturing and grandstanding that goes on these days, politicians make it awfully hard to keep those rose-colored glasses in place. I mean, I WANT to believe they're all truly interested in what's best for our country. But when I expect them to put aside their differences and cooperate so they can get the job done, what I get is this:

I'm not gonna get all politic-y on you, but I did want to pass along something I read about in Thomas Friedman's newspaper column. It seems that many Americans are seeing the glass as half empty these days when it comes to the current political climate, and are trying to fill that glass back up by forming a new more center-of-the-road political party. Sounds like a serious movement, too. Something like 1.7 million people ... Republicans, Democrats and Independents ... have already registered. Plans are to have their presidential candidate on every state's ballot next year, and to have that candidate included in the mainstream debates, as well. (And yes, I know all about the "best-laid plans of mice and men.") According to the COO of Americans Elect, "The questions, the priorities, the nominations, and the rules will all come from the community, not from two entrenched parties."  Intrigued?  www.americanselect.org

In the meantime, our politicians should learn how to argue more creatively. Or to be more precise, they need to be a little more classy with their insults. Like, check out the class in the following:

• He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire.   Winston Churchill
• A modest little person, with much to be modest about.  Winston Churchill
• I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure.  Clarence Darrow
• He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary.  William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway)
• Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?  Ernest Hemingway
• Thank you for sending me a copy of your book; I'll waste no time reading it.  Moses Hadas
• He can compress the most words into the smallest idea of any man I know. Abraham Lincoln
• I've had a perfectly lovely evening. But this wasn't it.  Groucho Marx
• I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it.  Mark Twain
• He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends.  Oscar Wilde
• I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend ... if you have one.  George Bernard Shaw (to Winston Churchill)
• Cannot possibly attend the first night; will attend second ... if there is one.  Winston Churchill, in response
• I feel so miserable without you; it's almost like having you here.  Stephen Bishop
• He is a self-made man, and worships the creator.  John Bright
• I've just learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing trivial.  Irvin S. Cobb
• He is not only dull himself, he is the cause of dullness in others.  Samuel Johnson
• He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up.  Paul Keating
• He had delusions of adequacy.  Walter Kerr
• There's nothing wrong with you reincarnation won't cure.  Jack E. Leonard
• He has the attention span of a lightning bolt.  Robert Redford
• They never open their mouths without subtracting from the sum of human knowledge.  Thomas Brackett Reed
• He inherited some good instincts from his Quaker forebears, but by diligent work, he overcame them.  James Reston (about Richard Nixon)
• In order to avoid being called a flirt, she always yielded easily.  Count Charles Talleyrand
• He loves nature in spite of what it did to him.  Forrest Tucker
• Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address on it?  Mark Twain
• His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork.  Mae West
• Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go.  Oscar Wilde
• He uses statistics as a drunken man uses lamp-posts ... for support rather than illumination.  Andrew Lang
• He has Van Gogh's ear for music.  Billy Wilder

(Those insults are MUCH classier than I'm rubber and you're glue, aren't they?

OK, now I recognize that many people are content to admire an object without having the compulsion to take it apart to see what makes it work. Not everyone cares about the why of a situation. I, however, am one of those freaks who always wants to know the answers, and I've been graced with a wonderful husband who's a  real sport at putting things back together again when I screw them up. (Who, moi?) Anyway, it you don't give a good diddle about the reasons behind the connections between smells and memories, which I blogged about on last Wednesday's post, you can stop reading now. And I'll see y'all later.

If you DO give a good diddle, here goes a thumbnail explanation:

Information from the olfactory system goes to the limbic system, the primitive part of the brain, which includes areas that control emotion, memory, and behavior. It also goes to the cortex, which is the outer part of the brain that has to do with conscious thought, and to the taste sensory cortex, to create the sense of flavor.

So, the first time you smell a scent, your brain, stimulated at both the primitive and cognitive levels, links that smell to an event, person, thing, or moment. (Kinda like a filing system.) Then, when you encounter the smell again, your brain immediately calls up that link, which in turn, elicits the associated memory or mood. 

Not everybody likes the same smells, which makes sense, if you think about it. For example, the smell of roses may in one person be linked to a wonderful day walking through a garden, but in another, it may be linked to a funeral. I'd be very curious as to whether the brain is able to override its initial smell-memory link with a new one. Say, if the first encounter with roses were negative, would it be possible to reprogram the brain with a more positive connection at a later time? It would seem so, although I can't think of any personal experiences to back it up. Can you?

 From an evolutionary perspective, smell is arguably our most important sense, because the ability of our knuckle-dragging ancestors to identify poisons by smell was integral to their survival. Remnants of that evolutionary purpose may influence the modern day speed with which our brain links smells to memories, but the bottom line is, the initial association of a smell with an experience leaves a unique and lasting impression in the brain. U Smell -----> U nique connection.

When nothing else subsists from the past, after people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, bearing resiliently, on tiny and almost impalpable drops of their essence, the immense edifice of memory.   Marcel Proust

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.