Friday, January 29, 2016

The Richness Of Today



The Richness Of Today

If you love someone and trust them to love you, you will not be confused by the shadows of yesterday’s mistakes or the impossible expectations of tomorrow ... you will only know the joy of patiently unravelling the richness of today ... and that will be enough ...
 









 

Thursday, January 28, 2016

the coffee house ...



the coffee house ...

the coffee house fills to the brim
with bearded neo-revolutionaries
clicking the keys
of conspiracy
as they confuse
WiFi with inspiration
and send bleats
in 140 characters
or less into oblivion
hoping
at the very least
to have said something
to have hash-tagged
some truth
without realising
the whatever
of each of their thoughts
is really no thought
at all

and over in the corner
a klatch of pre-menopausal women
brandish flickering i-phones
and holding hideously named
paper cups of espresso
transformed into frothy
concoctions
that are sipped
over syrupy conversations
ending too often
in a most unfeminine
whoop or guffaw
burp or fart
and each is somehow reminiscent
of some lost Cinderella
waking the morning after
in yoga tights
that ripple and bunch
over three rolls of cellulite
where a once-pert ass
has long ago vanished

and in the midst of all this
something is brewing
someone begins to break down
as his eyes begin darting
this way and that
until at last
he bolts up from his chair
and stands on the
suspiciously tottery table
and begins to scream
something so obscene
that you'd expect
he would be unceremoniously
pulled from his wobbly
pulpit
and dispatched out
the nearest door
but here
in the millennial coffee shop
he goes unnoticed
by everyone
except for one elderly woman
wearing a tie-dyed scarf
who looks up at him
with a certain understanding
and applauds
with liver-spotted hands
 









 

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

The Doors Of Perception



The Doors Of Perception

I think, sometimes, that people see what they want to see. Or need to see. You can never tell.

I received an email the other day from a lady who wanted to know what I “really” looked like. She was smart enough to guess that a photograph doesn’t necessarily tell the entire story. I wrote her back and told her that I had a beer belly, false teeth, and little, if any, hair. I may have shattered her illusion of me. So it goes ...

And that got me thinking about what we see and how we see other people.

I suspect that we see people in a unique way. Our experiences in life tend to enhance or distort the reality of another person’s appearance. Tall people, short people, fat people, skinny people, bald people, hairy people, young people, old people, black people, white people . . . man, they all get stereotyped by our quirky little prejudices. Too many of us are attracted by a “type,” and worse, too many of us are repulsed by a “type.” Yes, most of us will say that appearance is secondary, and for some people that’s true. For others, well, they make an initial judgement based on that first impression, and it takes days, no, months, no, even years to change that perception, if it ever changes at all. It’s sad.

I was once asked if I would take out a lady whom I had never met. It was one of those classic blind dates that you so often hear about. I remember calling her on the phone to set something up, and she immediately began to describe herself to me. She said she was 5’3”, a bit stocky (but certainly not fat), had short brown hair and blue eyes. To be honest, I was a bit dumbfounded. I just wanted to know if she liked seafood. Still, to be polite, I offered her a visual of myself. I told her I was 5’ 10” and pretty average in every way except that, yes, I had less hair than I had when I was thirty. Then she said the coolest thing to me. She said, “Well, if you’re 5’10” and I’m just 5’3”, then I’m not going to see much of what’s up there anyway.” For me, she’d already rounded first base. She put one of those petty insecurities that I had about my own appearance to rest. We did go for seafood, and we remain great friends to this day.

In another instance, a friend of mine was dating a girl who many of our mutual friends thought was well beneath him on the visual scale. He has a bit of a Tom Cruise thing going on, and she looks more along the lines of Joan Rivers. One day, I was having coffee with him, and he asked me what I thought of his new girlfriend. My initial response was courteous.

“She’s fabulous,” I offered.

He pressed me further because he was well aware of what others were saying. So I simply told him this, “When you look at someone through the eyes of love, you see a beauty in her that no one else can see. It doesn’t matter what other people see. It only matters what you see.”

When he asked me to be his best man at their wedding, I was honoured to do so.

I’m not sure what beauty is. Since drifting into middle-age, I find I’m becoming more and more captivated by something far beyond someone’s physical appearance. These days, I find myself far more interested in someone’s emotions, wit, and wisdom. For me, it's essential that my partner have a brain and can communicate with me outside the bedroom. What makes someone beautiful in my eyes is more about how she feels, sees the world, embraces a passionate lifestyle, and of course, it helps if she can dance. Actually, she doesn’t even have to be able to dance literally, but she should embody a certain energy that I am attracted to.

The doors of perception aren’t really doors at all. Perception isn’t something that one opens and closes at will. You’ll see what you see because of who you are. It’s never really about the other person. It’s about you.
 









 

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

if only a heart could wear a scarf ...


if only a heart could wear a scarf ...

i see you have kept our love
in this wicker basket full of faded wool
the remnants of the knitting that you began in the fall
unravelled over the winter and then knit again in the spring

i suppose you worried that
my heart would grow cold over the passage of time
as if the pulse of my love had an end
like the final dead beat of a war drum

and i suppose you imagined that
if only a heart could wear a scarf
it would remain warm and vital through
even the most bitter freeze of emotion

but now i see you have no more time for knitting
when i most need a sweater to keep me warm
instead you wrap me in your arms
pull me close and with a final kiss tell me to go
 





 

Monday, January 25, 2016

And The Cheese Stands Alone


And The Cheese Stands Alone

I’m a grilled cheese sandwich.

No, I swear, I am.

I’m not even a really great grilled cheese sandwich.

Bread? Plain white bleached bread with no pumpernickel seeds or anything exotic on top . . . just plain, plain, plain. Very unexciting.

Butter? Oh well, on a good day, maybe. Some days, a whack of margarine. Most days, commando . . . nothing at all. Is that too much information?

No slice of cheddar, Swiss, Havarti, or anything like that. Just your basic, no-name cheese slice that comes in one of those impossible-to-open, cellophane envelopes. A little texture without taste. Want taste? Look for a ham. Lots of those around.

No sprig of parsley on top, no pickle on the side, no pool of ketchup to dip into, no diagonal slice to make me look pretty on a plate, hell, no plate ...

I’m simple, basic, not too bright, unadorned, but hey, it’s not easy being even a stupid grilled cheese sandwich most days. I take a lot of heat, you see, and some days, when people really grate me, I truly think I’m having a meltdown.

Some people say, “You’re cheesy ...” and they’re right, but people keep egging me on, and if you're not careful, I'll become an omelet.

Some people say, “You think you’re da BIG cheese ...!” What do they mean? Is this yet another attack on my celebrity? What celebrity? I’m just a grilled cheese sandwich ... I’m not Chuck E. Cheese after all.

Some people shout, “Say cheese ...” before they snap that selfie beside me. Say cheese? Geez, carve a happy face emoticon in me then. Better yet, stop the selfie epidemic. It's like folks need a constant reminder that they're still here ... you know in the here and now. Never have I seen so many people afraid that they might have disappeared.

Hey, just by the way, where did the expression, “Cheese it, the cops . . .” come from? I resent the implication that I’m some kind of criminal or guilty of crimes against humanity. I’m just a plain grilled cheese sandwich . . . not scary or dangerous at all.

Mac and cheese? My relationship with Mac is purely platonic. Honest! Sandwich . . . no noodles. Anyway, I’m not about to start messing with the LGBTQ.

Maybe I should be blogging at cheese.com where they have a database of 656 cheeses. That’s a lot more friends than I have here.

Any friends I do have tend to be just as cheesy as me. On a daily basis, I have to deal with Cheez Whiz — some slick and oily impersonator who comes in a tube of sorts — not to mention Cheese Corn, Cheese Sticks, String Cheese, Cheezies . . . it's enough to drive one crackers.

Naaa, I’m just a grilled cheese sandwich. Go ahead. Take a bite out of me. Everyone else does.
 









 








 
 


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