Buttoned up

What would you rather be? A button or a zip? Don’t answer this question in haste. There are considerations to be made.

Buttons will fall off. Never to be found again.

Zips may be faster to do up than buttons. They also are notoriously unreliable. For more reasons than the first that may come to your mind. What comes to your mind depends on who you are.

Unless you are a dressmaker or a taylor you are unlikely to ever have stitched a zip. Yet even the most inept will have tried, at some point in their lives – say, post childhood and pre marriage and after your mother has died and before joining the Navy – to sew on a button. There is more to sewing on a button than meets the uninitiated eye. Take it from me. I know. I even learnt (age 10) how to make button HOLES. Button holes that have stood the test of time. Reinforced. Yes, two hours a week. Wednesday afternoons. If ever I have known evil in a woman it was that terrible teacher. She was huge with a matronly bosom to match and marked me down as “Ursula is too ambitious”. Talk about motivating your pupils. Luckily, in an emergency, I know how to hold my tongue. To this day I do have a particularly intricate  piece I made then – a thing of beauty – and when I happen upon it I do hold my finger up to her. No, not really. In those days fingers were for needle work – not to be held up.

Other than that buttons are – unlike zips – like rabbits. You will accumulate them. Whether you like it or not. Spares will come with every suit. And will be with you long after that piece of clothing has hit landfill, recycling or the charity shop. On top of which – health warning: this is getting confessional – I can’t help myself cutting buttons off garments before discarding the bit they were attached to. There is something eternal about buttons. Unlike zips. Which either work or they don’t.

U

Riding high

Just had revolutionary thought.

We are defined by those who like us. Most certainly we are defined by those WE like.

Ha, get your brain round that one whilst cleaning the bathroom and before writing your next novel. I am in bloody awe of myself. On the strength of that thought alone I am sure Nietzsche would have accepted me as his apprentice. Not because he’d agreed with my notion but because he’d have known that I would have saved that horse in Turin on his behalf.

U

Farcical

Looney just left me a comment which reminds me that if there were a title for Queen of Empty Promises I’d win at least a duchy. With a horse. I shall call it Rosinante in remembrance of Sancho Panza whose love of food and wine I share. Only to find myself building windmills which I promptly have to fight. Any of you may audition for the part of Dulcinea but don’t keep your hopes up.

So many ideas in the oven, broilers on the boil. It’s crazy. It’s also a sure fire way not to get anywhere. Or, oh so witty, get nowhere fast. Spare me. As my mentor, her of the chocolate, tartly remarked the other day: “It’s all very well, Ursula, but you have got to follow THROUGH.” I know. I know. I know. I couldn’t agree more. But then I do like the chase. It’s the man in me. And the perfectionist dormant, possibly long dead. There are people in my life, sniffy, because I have “let them down” not being my old perfect self. Well, sorry. You know: As life goes on there is more to tend to than bloody perfection. Go and scrub your own doorstep if you must. Don’t wax it though. You may slip.

So, yes, Looney. Einstein will be taken care of, eventually. Now his flesh having fallen off the bone he will have more room for manoeuvre (turning in his grave).

U

PS Stock phrase of my youth, encompassing any eventuality: “It’s all relative”

Note to self

I’ve got to watch it. It’s one thing to pride myself on never, yes really – never, using a spell checker. Why would I? Either I know how to spell or I don’t. And I can live with my mistakes and typos even if they are embarrassing at times. Am still traumatized from the time when the x on my keyboard gave out.  Currently the ‘i’ sticks. Maybe my subconscious telling me to be more ego something. Will come back to eggs in a minute.

So in an idle moment tonight I pondered on what using more than one language – on a daily basis – does to your mind. What is a catalysator to some is, naturally, a catalyst to another (English that is). Have you ever noticed that when addressing the very person you’d preferably not make a fool of yourself in front of is precisely the person you will? It’s a sideshoot of Sod’s law. Can also be observed when you quickly nip out to get, say, a pint of milk at seven in the morning only to bump into someone you’d hoped would never see you in curlers (and before any of you run away and unsubscribe because you do not wish to be associated with someone in curlers stop the hysteria now: I don’t use curlers, mainly because my hair is curly by nature.) Yes, so there I was congratulating Charles on his daughter’s imagination and, needless to say, giving away my lack of education by using the word “catalysator” instead of “catalyst”. Why this occurs to me ca 24 hrs after writing my comment I do not know. But then my brain seems to have a mind of its own.

Where were we? Eggs. I rarely quote other people. Being full of myself I am content to spout my own nonsense rather than quoting George Bernard Shaw or, worse, Oscar Wilde. However, believing in exceptions to rules and also easily amused I came across this, in The Little Book of Wrong Shui:

Eggsistentialism

Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Use an egg box like everyone else and stop being such a poser.

Sartre eat your heart out.

U

Throw me rope

Since I am not afraid to come across as an idiot (we all have to start somewhere and idiots do have their place in society) here is a question which has been burning a hole into my inquiring mind for some time. Yes, the barnacle (http://www.looneyfundamentalist.blogspot.com). I would love to contribute something mildly intelligent or at least interesting on Looney’s blog but I CAN’T. Rarely am I lost for words; never mind him swimming with crocodiles or people drifting into his church half an hour late, I am at sea.

Maybe the good man himself will throw some Plato at me to help me through my difficulty. Which I wouldn’t put past him since his comments on other people’s blogs tend to cut through the crap. This is truly head scratching time. Has been for months.

I just can’t rev up the speed to break through the sound barrier required to fly into his comment box. Which, of course, he might be very happy about.

U

Synchronicity or Coincidence?

With some difficulty I have been trying to get my head round Ramana’s beloved and often mentioned “synchronicity”.

Well, Ramana, I kid you not, and let me know if this qualifies as synchronicity or is just a coincidence. As the statistician says “coincidences are inevitable and often less remarkable than they may appear intuitively”  (Source Wiki). 

Two for the price of one: I cannot believe it. You know how rarely I use “quotes”. Earlier today I came across a brilliant quote by John F Kennedy and it is so brilliant that I thought I wouldn’t deprive my vast readership. Whilst waiting for my blog to open I meander over to see what LeVinTel has to say on today’s subject and what do I find? His post centering entirely on JFK, peppered with liberal quotes. JFK and QUOTES? Get it? Am besides myself with wonderment. And of all people Con and I? Do great minds think alike of what? No, they don’t but that’s a different subject. I myself would call it a conicidence. You  tell me. Pity that he himself is unlikely to read this and tell me what he thinks.

The morsel I wanted to throw you:

“All men can fly, but, sadly, only in one direction” JFK

The reason it amuses me so much: It roughly summons up why I am not getting anywhere since ususally torn in several directions.

U

Divine Intervention

My week started on a grand note: Being mildly ticked off by Conrad.

According to him there is “an art to disagree without being disagreeable”. I am sure there is. And, by implication, I should work on it. Why would I? There is more important art to work on. I am happy with the person I am. Let me remind you: Wisdom goes that HOW something is received is not just down to the SENDER, it is very much down to the RECIPIENT. So maybe you want to retune. Looney certainly is on the right wavelength, as was Magpie till he turned off the wireless.

Please don’t just skim that last paragraph. Read it. Think about it.

Divine intervention:  Last night I wrote a post some might think scathing  (it was, even I squeaked in my boots ).  It focussed on MAYOnnaise and stupidity (the two not connected) - the latter encountered ca 2231 hrs Sunday night. Was terribly pleased with myself to kick the semi comatose back into shape (not in real life – only on this blog) to find that I couldn’t send. I tried THREE times. After receiving good old Con’s remark this morning (his stock value on the Ursula index having fallen considerably – but don’t sell yet) I thanked my lucky stars. If that post had gone out I’d be dead now, as dead as one can find oneself in the virtuous world of the virtual.

You don’t know what you have missed. Might still post it – don’t egg me on, BHB.  With Looney’s spiritual guidance, see my PS below, I might return as one down from his barnacle. Or, more likely, Superwoman Brute 2. Looney’s stock rising. No bear.

Must get grip since my personal brand of humoUr not to be wasted on the uncomprehending.

Following in Jean’s questioning footsteps, and I believe she has created a most useful way for communicating, here is MY question: Has divine intervention ever played a role in your life?

U

PS Looney educating me in his reply – apropos of reincarnation – as to the ways of the world was as follows:  And his take is so divine have now included him (that’s you, Looney) in my inner circle of people dear to me – those who understand how the way of the world and its behind work: 

He wrote, and you, Conrad, will concede that Looney has overtaken you and stepped, effortlessly, into masterclass of the art you are still pursuing:

According to Plato in Timaeus, you really were a man in a previous life:

“He who lived well during his appointed time was to return and dwell in his native star, and there he would have a blessed and congenial existence. But if he failed in attaining this, at the second birth he would pass into a woman, and if, when in that state of being, he did not desist from evil, he would continually be changed into some brute who resembled him in the evil nature which he had acquired …”

In this dialog, even Socrates could not find anything to object to in this statement, so I am unqualified to refute it.”

It’s brilliant. No. Make that divine.

PPS (for the uneducated: ’PPS is a second post scriptum) Forget voices, forget everything. Give me a man who knows his Plato and – more importantly – how to quote him at the right time in the right context and I am a goner.

Dragging my feet

Sometime back in April (25th -  to be precise) over at Magpie’s blog  we discussed the swimming prowess and restistance of fleas to death by alocohol poisoning. Laboratory animals were mentioned, Magpie showing himself singularly unmoved by the plight of any.  A view which,  no doubt, he shares with many other teachers.

And this is one of the reasons why I love Bike Hike Babe, and I quote her comment:

“I caught a mouse by its foot in a mouse trap. I set him loose.”

At first the statement sounds simple and factual. It isn’t [simple]: Jean-Paul Sartre would have gladly limped to his grave if only he could have come up with something as profound. For the sake of my own thought process (and it won’t work otherwise – so please do not disillusion me, BHB) I assume that BHB (or, more likely, her husband) laid the trap - purposely setting out to fight the cheese robbers. However, like in a Hollywood movie, the mouse (played by Tom Hanks) then did NOT have its neck snapped, merely his foot clamped. Along comes the good fairy (that’s BHB during a full moon) and foils her household’s initial plan. Think about it. Aesop (him of the fables) couldn’t do better.

Somewhere under the wandering stars there will now be a homeless mouse with a bandage walking across an American prairie, supported by a crutch, tears in its eyes remembering that lovely smiling silver haired lady who gave it reprieve. Mice’s attention span being short let’s hope it won’t forget all about her when happening onto the next bit of cheese. That’s where Sartre comes into the equation.

U

Choppy waters

Sweethearts, do you remember this nursery song:

“Row, row, row your boat – gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily – Life is but a dream.”

U

Dead

The U in the much demanded (by some members of the consortium) humoUr has clearly got the better of me. Following last night’s little dig at Grannymar (in my defense – she isn’t actually that old yet) I can’t help myself noting - with considerable amusement -  some of  the comments to her offering yesterday:

Ramana says:
“For me, you have been the MOST alive person that I have known in my long and eventful life. Don’t ever change.”

I think only the brain dead need explaining what he is saying. And  WHO will attend GM’s funeral should she ever ‘change’?

Luckily, to restore my sanity, though I fear the subtlety of his comment might be lost on some of its readers, Nick observes:
“But am I really alive? Ah yes, I read Grannymar, therefore I am.”

As to TechUnsavy’s contribution (watch it, he/she is a new philosopher in the making):
“Life is about being alive. The point of life is the mere act of living.”  Try and tell that a spider whose skull you have just smashed in with the sole of the next shoe to hand.

U