. Spinning .

Sometimes even good advertising goes bad.  Here (in New England) we have the Red Lobster restaurant chain.  Twice I fell for their mouth-watering television displays of heaping plates, particularly their 30-shrimp specials–piles of shrimp offered in several delicious sounding (and looking) ways.  Twice I was terribly disappointed.  But had I seen the new ads, I would never have gone the first time.

Red Lobster advertising makes the grave error of showing a fork or finger near the food, making it obvious that the shrimp are the size of sea monkeys.

A spider shares the morning shower, clinging to a drop of water on the wall.  But water multiplied becomes a force, and he is washed down to the floor of the tub.  He doesn’t move; I think he’s dead.  But then a flicker and I look back at him again.  Or rather, them.  For there are two now, totally identical.

In that single moment, afraid to blink it all away, I realize that I am seeing something that is not there.  Aware of how my eyes are focused, I am afraid to lose this vision of another space that I did not know existed.  But human eyes grow tired, and without the need to close them, my eyes each take their turn at seeing from their own perspective.  Without moving, the now-single spider dances back and force within that range of vision.

And I cannot get the two of them back again.

Beautiful day today.  A good day.  The cardinals have forgiven me for my sad neglect of them and have returned to the feeder within an hour of my filling it.  The outdoors calls to my heart but I respond to the practical side that decides indoors work must be finished first.  I iron, iron, and iron and may be done some time tomorrow early morning.  But it will feel so good to be caught up.

Ironing, listening for two, three minutes to motorcycles rumbling by our long winding rural road.  I look out the window, curious now, and count seventy-two more come by.  Sometimes I wish I’d kept and learned to ride the motorcycle I bought years ago.  Instead, I gave it up after riding twenty feet and flopping over in the driveway just like Laugh In’s Arte Johnson on his tricycle.

Maybe this was partly what Sunday Mass was for: to stop the whirling world outside the big doors and think.

A song keeps playing in my head, stuck on the same phrase like a needle skipping on the record–CDs and DVDs don’t do that.

You gotta know when to hold ’em
Know when to fold ’em
Know when to walk away
Know when to run

From The Gambler by Kenny Rogers of course.  One of my sisters used to get disgusted because my dad would quote from guests and host of the Merv Griffin show.  But I was always proud of him.  He’d read daily papers front to back, watch the news.  And he had a gentleness, a fairness without judgement of anyone.  Merv Griffin isn’t Plato, nor is Kenny Rogers, but things come back at us from a base that’s laid in time and wisdom learned. 

Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy is something I wish I’d read sooner in time.  But whenever, it leaves its mark upon my mind.  The important things of living are intangible, cannot be held nor seen and will never disintegrate unless to be forgotten–and even so, they are still there.  Just not recalled.

Peace and beauty, wisdom and good.  Unspoiled by human nature’s greed and self-importance.  That’s where my mind is headed this Sunday day. 

Tis a lovely spring day complete with chirping and color and sun.  Therefore, it is not as depressing to consider Socrates’ death as well as our own.

Even if we buy the soul living on beyond the body, many do not accept the matter of a Supreme Being.  Socrates did, and he gave some guesswork as to how the afterlife was plotted out.  But, if there is no Big Guy in charge, I’m wondering if it could possibly be something more akin to the television drama, Survivor.  There’s no doubt that how we consider death will affect our living. 

So, whether there be a single Force watching, or whether it is our peers on earth, how do we best play the game?  Obviously, material things aren’t important–I agree and accept this from both Socrates (Phaedo) and Boethius (Consolation of Philosophy)–but how and with whom we interact would matter muchly.  So, taking away the million-dollar prize, we still may compete and choose to win, but perhaps more for our own sense of satisfaction (also, btw, using the talents given us to the good).  But who do we take to the top two?  At some point, a jury is developing.  That’s when we need to start being super nice.  Who is kicked off the island (earth) towards the end will be those who shall judge you.  On Survivor, the guy you want to present against is the one everyone hates.  Then you’re a shoo-in.  But for Eternity?  That’s more than a million dollars’ worth of happiness.

And don’t laugh so hard at the idea of this; Socrates claimed that memory and thought is actually recall from a previous life.  Logically, this could be true.  Maybe our whole justice system and being judged by a jury of our peers is an example of what we’ve brought with us between lives.

So while we may need to be a bit more concerned with what happens after we’ve breathed our last, it is also obvious that since we don’t know for sure, it would be wisest to be kind to those with whom we walk the days of our lifetime spent here as well.

Some of you may remember a couple years back when I put the curse of all the Polish demons upon the head of the man who built my computer chair.  Backstory:  It is one of those pneumatic jobs and randomly drops a quarter inch at a time to my extreme annoyance.

Well, it has been a few years and I have crossed paths with many people in that time, mostly crossing pleasantly with a nod and smile.  However I have just found another that I cannot avoid sending to the fieryest, itchiest, single-drop of water per second life spent in the evermore.  It is the man who stuffed a shipping box (for frames) 8 x 8 x 56 full of 24 x 36 sheets of crumpled paper, and crumpled no more than two out of fifty sheets together. 

As a residence business, I need to not only recycle, but must separate, flatten, and fold all those sheets.

I am not in a happy, forgiving frame of mind.

Flap-flap, phoooooooo.  Flap-flap-flap, phoooooooo.  The crow  rides the currents.  Screech and trill of the bluejay recalls pulling in the clothesline.  Yellow dot swoops in flight to land upon the topmost branch of a big old maple that’s bursting forth with spring yellow growth–why didn’t he pick the red one, do you suppose?

Living things all have much in common to teach to and learn from each other.