A wee spot of brandy first thing in the morning puts a crisp focus on the entire day.
I thought, “Only two choices? Of the world’s ‘Great Religions’ my two choices are the plain vanilla denomination or hell.” Isn’t that some sort of rhetorical fallacy – only two choices? I’m sure there must be more.
I asked, “Why the simple white clapboard, non-denominational, nondescript church? What about one of the magnificent Gothic cathedrals? Perhaps I could visit a golden domed synagogue, or try an ancient Moorish mosque. Then again, I kind of liked the colorful Japanese Temples with the spinning prayer cylinders.”
She said, “Choose! Either this church where they are waiting for you or roast right here where demons will spend a thousand eternities devouring your soul.”
I said in my most assertive voice, “I much prefer my own church, ‘The Blessed Mother of the Sabbath Morning Sleep-In.’ By the way, you have a lovely voice”
She said, “Choose!”
I said, “How about we go uptown to the bar where they have 19 different craft brews on tap…I’ll buy. We can have a reasonable conversation and work this out in a more congenial setting.”
She said, “Choose!”
At that point, it occurred to me, “This little white church must have a back door.”
The brisk morning air sent a shiver through their limbs and set a small stand of old philosophers to speculating about the approaching season.
“It can’t be good.”
“It could be bad.”
“Good or bad, it will come.”
Writing socks? What a stupid idea. I have one pair of special socks – my Christmas socks. They’re about 20 years old and I’ve worn them about 20 times. I used to wear them thinking people would admire me for my wondrous Christmas spirit, my joie de vivre, my delightful sense of humor. In 20-plus years, nobody ever noticed my colorful socks. Turns out, Christmas socks, like writing socks, are a stupid idea. I’m going to get rid of them…maybe next spring.
For a short time I did have a writing hat – stubbornly held on to it, until it started to smell bad, and it never did help my writing. Another stupid idea.
I once had a boss who told me I was stubborn. Apparently she thought she had hired a “yes man.” I advocated for good ideas, usually my own, and held on to them until proven wrong, which even now rarely happens.
Stubborn? What does it really mean? I am not unreasonable, obstinate, inflexible or immovable, but when I’m right…I’m Right.
To label me stubborn is quite simply stubbornness in itself. Be reasonable for cryin’ out loud.
The nameless little chicken was roughly thrust headfirst, upside down, into a silvery funnel. When her head abruptly poked through the narrow end, she frantically thought, “Was my wish to get to the other side really a good enough reason?” But then, as all physical sensation escaped and her spirit began ascending into a beautiful, very bright light, she wondered with heightened excitement, “Well now, what’s on the other side of that road?”