Please Pick Your Proper Place in the Pecking Order

Thought for the day:  Can a writer spend so much time blogging ... he no longer has time to write?

Answer: I dunno about you, but I sure can. It's a vicious cycle: start a blog to promote your writing, and then spend so much time blogging, there's not much writing to support... (Gotta do better at striking a balance.)

DING, DING, DING! Rerun time! Some of you may remember this post from when it first ran in June of 2011, but it should be new to most of you. Sorry for being such a slacker today, but I hope you enjoy it, nonetheless.

Remember the False Start Friday bloghop sponsored by the loverly Suze? It was supposed to be playing its swan song the last Friday of this month, but the date has been changed, so now,  it's gonna be held a week earlier. And, um, it's also gonna be on a Thursday. So, technically, you could call it False Start Thursday if you'd like, but that doesn't sound nearly as good. It's gonna be held on Valentine's Day, and with an underlying theme of loooove. So, if you wanta sign up, pop on over to let Suze know. (That means I'll be posting on Thursday next week instead of Friday. Matter of fact, I think I'll shake things up and post on Tuesday and Thursday, and see how that goes.)

Check it out! I've got another cool bloghop to tell y'all about. What better way to celebrate Einstein's birthday than with a trip through a wormhole? Not the muddy kind with actual worms in it, but those nifty neat-o theoretical ones that allow you to whoosh through time and space. The idea? Write about where and when you'd choose to travel  if  you could go slip-sliding through one of those holes. Would you go back and change something in history? Maybe go forward to see if your team ever wins a Super Bowl? With my lousy sense of direction, I just hope I don't get lost. (Those darned wormhole entrances better be well marked!)  This hop is gonna be hosted by L.G. Smith, Laura Eno, and Stephen Tremp, and it promises to be a lotta fun. You can register to participate at any of their blogs. (Or by clicking on Einstein's face in the sidebar.)

Okeydoke, enough chatter. Here's my oldie but goodie, originally titled Open Up Them Wings, Baby... with a few minor changes. (DANG IT! Even when I'm trying to be a slacker, I can't stop myself from editing...)

*****

Thought for the day:  Just because you're sitting  in a garage doesn't mean you're an automobile.

The winter winds are blowing, so hot soup is on the menu, but how about a little food for thought to spread on your crackers? It's story time... a story loosely based on  James Agreey's The Parable of the Eagle.

While traipsing through the woods one day, a kind-hearted farmer found an injured eaglet, which he scooped from the ground, and carried back to his barnyard. There, the eagle gradually regained his strength, and was soon able to take his place with the other birds in the barnyard. In no time, he was walking and squawking like a chicken, and pecking chicken feed from the ground.

Months later, a naturalist stopped by the farm, and mortified by the young eagle's condition, demanded to know why the mighty king of birds was confined to a barnyard, scratching around in the dirt like a common chicken. The farmer claimed the bird was now, in fact, a chicken. He'd been raised like a chicken and never taught to fly, so he was  no longer an eagle. But (naturally) the naturalist insisted the bird still had the heart of an eagle, and could surely be taught to fly. And what's more, should be. The farmer finally agreed to let the naturalist try.

The naturalist picked up the eagle, tossed him into the air, said, "You're the king of the sky. Stretch forth your wings and fly!"

But the eagle looked at his chicken friends pecking corn from the ground, and immediately fluttered back down to join them.

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

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

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

The bird hesitated at first. He looked back toward the farm, back to 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 may sometimes miss his life among 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 as an eagle, the king of the skies. As he... and all eagles... should.
*****

How about you? Are you still hanging around in the barnyard because you're too frightened to stretch your wings? Never ever let someone else's definition of you and your capabilities, of what you should be doing with your life, prevent you from trying or from chasing your dream. Because, you too, are an eagle, you know, and you owe it to yourself to fly.

Schoolchildren aren't the only ones with untapped potential.

                                                       

Value yourself. The only people who appreciate a doormat are people with dirty shoes.

                Bottom line: What would you be doing if you weren't grounded by fear?

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

Exclusive: Cat Secrets Exposed!

Thought for the day:  Cats are excellent mathematicians. They quickly assess a situation, and calculate precisely where to sit to cause you the most aggravation.

Our cats as kittens: Dash on the left, and Dot on the right

It's been a while since I've written a post about stuff I've learned from our pets, so it's time to rectify that today. One of our cats is lying on top of the printer beside me, and the other is alternating between lying on the keyboard and standing in front of the monitor, swishing her tail in my face, so I think the little narcissists may want me to write about THEM. (They're always so helpful when I'm trying to write...)

A catless writer is almost inconceivable. It's a perverse taste, really, since it would be easier to write with a herd of buffalo in the room than even one cat; they make nests in the notes and bite the end of the pen and walk on the typewriter keys. [Barbara Holland]

They're both staring at me now. Yep, they definitely want me to write about them.

Cats are the ultimate narcissists. You can tell this because of all the time they spend on personal grooming. A dog's idea of personal grooming is to roll on a dead fish.  [James Gorman]

So, our girls are a lot bigger than they were when they first wormed their way into our hearts at the animal shelter a few years ago. And they've taught us quite a lot. (Or as they prefer to think of it... they've trained us well.)

Like... did you know cats aren't equipped with snooze buttons?

And no matter how big they are, they can still wriggle into the smallest places imaginable...  A cat determined not to be found can fold itself up like a pocket handkerchief if it wants to.  [Louis J. Camuti]

Dash, especially. She can curl up into the teeniest ball and scrunch into the smallest boxes and containers. Dot, on the other hand, prefers to sprawl and let it all hang out...

Dogs come when they're called; cats take a message and get back to you.  [Mary Bly]

A cat isn't fussy... just so long as you remember he likes his milk in the shallow rose-patterned saucer and his fish on the blue plate. From which he will take it, and eat off the floor.  [Arthur Bridges]

Now, don't get me wrong. Sure, cats can occasionally be a tad stand-offish. And, yeah, it's entirely possible that they consider us their staff. Or their furniture, or personal scratching posts or jungle gyms. But they're cuddle bunnies, too. When they want to be. When it's convenient for them. Like when you're trying to read the newspaper, or work at the computer, or sleep... I mean, who doesn't like to wake up with a cat licking her face? Cats have an infallible understanding of total concentration, and get between you and it.  [Arthur Bridges]

And they're verrrrry supportive of your writing endeavors. And helpful in oh-so-many ways...

Who else would do such a thorough beer search on your behalf... or help clean up those styrofoam peanuts?

But here's the thing. Dot and Dash are usually right there with us. (Whether we want them there or not.) When I'm on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor, Dash usually hitches a ride on my back. (I dunno... maybe she thinks she's helping?) If I'm using the laptop, Dot manages to squeeze her rather sizable girth between my body and the computer. (I've gotten quite good at typing around her...) If we're in the bed... they're in the bed. Usually on top of me. (I guess Smartacus moves around too much. Then again, it's darned near impossible to move around at all with two cats on top of you...) And since they've taken over our house, I haven't given anyone a present that didn't have cat hair stuck under the tape and chew marks on the ribbon. What can I say? They like to help.

But sometimes... sometimes, they... disappear. Sometimes, they retreat to the sunroom we fixed up. For US. (They DO let us use it from time to time...)

And they do like to claim a windowsill or the front door... to look outside. Rather wistfully at times. Like when other cats are out there... looking in. Or they see squirrels cavorting in the yard.

Still, when they would mysteriously disappear for an hour or so, I always thought they were in some secret hiding place around the house. You know, that special place they go to when they hear you spell v-e-t? When they wanted to hide, there was no way we were gonna find them, no matter how hard we looked. No matter how much we called them, or how hard we shook a bag of treats. If they wanted to hide, they weren't coming out until they were good and ready.

At least, that's what I thought.

 Now I've learned.

 Now I know the truth.

Our cats have been leading  (gasp!) secret lives! It's true! Dot drives the getaway car...

                                            And just LOOK what Dash has been up to...

                                                             Those little stinkers.

                                 
A tom cat hijacked a plane, stuck a pistol into the pilot's ribs, and demanded: 'Take me to the canaries.'  [Bob Monkhouse]

                  So what do you suppose YOUR cats are doing when you can't find THEM...?

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

[The images Smarticus and I didn't take came from seniorark and icanhascheezburger]

A Captured Moment

Thought for the day:  Racism isn't born, folks, it's taught. I have a two-year-old son. You know what he hates? Naps! End of list. [Denis Leary]

The Atlanta Journal ran a photograph last month, a photograph that was taken more than twenty years ago, but has been recently drawing renewed attention. A photograph I want YOU to see.

Before showing it to you, a little background information. The photographer, Todd Robertson, graduated from the University of Georgia School of Journalism in 1991, and in September of the following year, attended a Ku Klux Klan rally as a freelance photographer, in hopes of capturing some pictures for the Gainesville Times, a small local newspaper. Sixty-six KKK members showed up in Gainesville for that rally, and they were all outsiders. No locals. And there were approximately three times as many law enforcement officers on hand to keep the peace. Some notable civil rights leaders were also there, and the whole rally and peaceful counter-protest march even got some coverage on the Oprah Winfrey Show. 

                                                        Get the picture?

I think that hate is a feeling that can only exist where there is no understanding.  [Tennessee Williams]


                                                 Then, you're ready to SEE the picture.

                                 

The now-retired trooper, Allen Campbell, says he wasn't even thinking about race relations that day. To him, it was just another day on the job, and he was thinking more about the Labor Day cook-out he was missing. Then, this little fella approached to marvel at his reflection in the riot shield, and the photographer happened to be right there to capture the moment. To capture the expression on Campbell's face. And a moment is all he got... because the mother, seen at the right of the picture, quickly snatched the boy and brought him back to the stroller, where an even younger child sat, also dressed in mini-KKK garb.

Josh, the little boy in the picture, was only three years old at the time. Most people who see this picture want to know what became of him. But Campbell and Robertson, who abandoned photography shortly after taking this picture, don't know.

In light of this photograph's recent resurrection, the Gainesville Times recently interviewed Campbell and Robertson. You can see that short video here

Anybody remember the poem Children Learn What They Live [by Dorothy Law Nolte, 1972]

                        Here it is:

If children live with criticism, they learn to condemn.
If children live with hostility, they learn to fight.
If children live with fear, they learn to be apprehensive.
If children live with pity, they learn to feel sorry for themselves.
If children live with ridicule, they learn to feel shy.
If children live with jealousy, they learn to feel envy.
If children live with shame, they learn to feel guilty.
If children live with encouragement, they learn confidence.
If children live with tolerance, they learn patience.
If children live with praise, they learn appreciation.
If children live with acceptance, they learn to love.
If children live with approval, they learn to like themselves.
If children live with recognition, they learn it is good to have a goal.
If children live with sharing, they learn generosity.
If children live with honesty, they learn truthfulness.
If children live with fairness, they learn justice.
If children live with kindness and consideration, they learn respect.
If children live with security, they learn to have faith in themselves and in those about them.
If children live with friendliness, they learn the world is a nice place in which to live.
***


                           So, what happens when a child is taught to hate?

I will permit no man to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate him.  [Booker T. Washington]

Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love.  [St. Francis of Assisi]

Do you remember this song? It isn't a perfect match for this post, but it's insinuated itself into my mind, and insists that it's ... close enough.

So, what do YOU think of that old photograph? What do you see in it? In the expression on the trooper's face?

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

We must accept finite disappointment, but we must never lose infinite hope.  [Martin Luther King, Jr.]