Morning Meditation - A Bit of Ducky Humor!

 Morning Meditation. Step carefully the next several days, y’all! ✨

#HealingMorning #MorningMeditation #DuckLipsSelfies #PotentialRealityImbalance #SpaceTimeContinuumRift #StepCarefully #Humor

Morning Meditation - Mark Twain Humor!

 Morning Meditation. Some Mark Twain/Samuel Clemens humor to start your day! ✨

#HealingMorning #MorningMeditation #MarkTwain #SamuelClemens #SouthernBard #Humor

Morning Meditation - Humor Is Healing

 Morning Meditation™️. Humor is one of the most powerful, uplifting states of mind we can entertain! ✨

#HealingMorning  #MorningMeditation  #ThomasWHigginson  #Humor  #Uplift  #PowerfulStateOfMind

Morning Meditation - Distribution of Lightning

 Morning meditation™️. Not everything need be serious to carry value. If it makes you laugh & feel lighthearted, it is a healing moment! ✨

#HealingMorning™️  #MorningMeditation™️  #MarkTwain  #SamuelClemens  #HumorousBard

Observations by Luther the Gargoyle - Humor Me!

Observations by Luther the Gargoyle™️. Luther encourages the masses to work harder with their comedy attempts. ⚜️

#ObservationsByLutherTheGargoyle™️  #HealingMorning™️  #WorkThatWit  #MakeMeLaughIDareYou  #LutherTheGargoyle™️

In Both Directions

http://www.shareinweb.com/imgs/30663-beaming-download.jpg
*The word "delight" is my addition to the above photo.*

"Delight, being another form of love, tends to bless in both directions." - S. Dawn Sievers, 1/12/2014

I wrote the above quote in a thread on my Facebook wall.  The thread was my sharing of a lovely moment experienced the other day, and to give everyone full context, I will share it here:

Best moment of the day: driving home from errands, I stopped at a local Walgreen's to pick up a couple of things. Today's weather was springtime warm, so I had on a short sleeved t-shirt and comfy yoga pants. As I walked out of Walgreen's with my purchases, an elderly gentleman was walking in. He smiled at me, swept a courtly bow and said, "If I were some years younger, I would be sparking you, my dear. Any young lady who wears a Snoopy t-shirt with such panache deserves to be wooed, pursued and swooned." Then he winked at me and sailed into the store. I can't recall my heart being that delighted in ages! 

*Thank you, kind sir, whomever you are! You did, indeed, swoon me!* 

I have experienced this kind of delightful moment many times in my life, and each one remains steadfast in my memory.  Each moment always brings a smile, as did this most recent experience.

Life is so short for each of us. We're given a short span of a lifetime to learn, to grow and experience so much.  And we're asked to cram all of this into the same existence that is barraged by stress, confusion, fatigue, sensory overload coming at us from every direction.  Work, family, governing our personal health, taking care of our home, earning a yearly wage to bank away and provide for our needs....it is no small wonder that many of us go through life on auto-pilot.  I am of the opinion that every single day contains delightful moments such as the one I shared here, but so many of us are so deeply zoned out, our senses dulled by that sensory overload, that we fail to recognize them.

I don't know why I do notice them more than some.  I have always been this way, from my earliest, youngest years.  Unusual moments capture my focus....the tiny ones that vanish in a twinkling of an eye, unless you're looking for them.  And I admit that I tend to lose outward focus on the daily ticking by of everyday life, so captured am I by these delightful moments.   I don't become completely oblivious to the waking world, mind you, but I do get distracted momentarily.  In the best way possible.

That lovely gentleman who gifted me with his own sparkle recognized the power of a simple moment.  He was so full of brightness and happiness that he found a wee moment to share his sparkle with me.  I daresay that his life isn't perfect, or spotless, or without sadness, frustrations and challenges.  Yet he made time in his day to give a complete stranger a moment of delight.  

"How beautiful," is what my deepest heart declares.

I believe this is one of the reasons we sojourn to this Earth School, to embrace an experience where we are allowed to give voice and expression to Love.  We translate the energy of love into music, into architecture, into farming and gardening, into the pursuit of excellence of the physical body through athletics and sports, into the written word in books and poetry, into the visual through movies, dance, painting, sculpting, weaving and more.  We do these things in a human effort to express what is unspoken inside us, that core of brilliant, white hot pulsing of wordless Divine Presence.  

And sometimes, we express that wordless brilliance with a simple human interaction that produces delight. 

Then we share that simple human interaction, and the delight is experienced in an exponential manner, touching hearts, tipping lips to smile, and eyes to twinkle.  The courtly manners of that beautiful man came shining right out his heart to entwine with mine, gifting me with something that is difficult to put into words. I am attempting that here, yet feel I am falling short.  What I do know is that such courtly manners from an earlier era will always bring delight to me.  I see so little of this type of politesse these days, and when it is expressed in such a whimsical fashion, it simply must be remembered and shared so that it inspires others to act on an impulse moment to brighten the day of another.   

It is worth repeating....

Delight, being another form of love, tends to bless in both directions.

Fabric of reality

www.nationsonline.org/maps/USA/Tennessee_map.jpg

Y'all know all the support groups out there?  Millions of them exist.  There's one or many for every issue, every phobia, every dream that can be imagined.  The one that doesn't seem to be covered is a support group for direction challenged people.  I'm not altogether certain that such a support group should exist, mind you, but I'll get to that part a bit later on.

Anyone who knows me really well is at least peripherally (ha...direction joke!) aware that I have a poor sense of direction.  No, really.  I know, I know.  You're thinking, "Nah, she's just exaggerating.  I know she's intelligent.  I know she has her life together.  No way in the world is something as simple as navigating going to cause problems for her."

Well, thank you for those lovely accolades, but this time, you really should believe me.

You know who you are.  

You're the ones who listen when I admit this failing and then brush it aside, thinking it's a throwaway statement meant to inspire comic relief.  Shame, shame on you. While I agree that it can get comical, just you wait...one day, you'll have to deal with the reality of my poor brain's inability to orient and follow directions.  Or a map.  THAT can be downright dangerous, putting a map in my hands and expecting me to get from Point A to Point B. In the future when this happens with unbelievable amounts of weirdness and you're part of the experience, don't say I didn't try to warn you.  

And you might want to get comfortable for the rest of this, because this is going to take a bit of explaining.  Or maybe a lot of explaining.  Suffice to say, it's going to take a while!

I've shared in the past that I have a low grade level of dyslexia when it comes to numbers, and in my opinion, that must exist close to the same genetic marker for the inability to navigate well.  I have a friend who has insisted on calling me Magellan since we were teenagers, and he did not apply that nickname out of flattery.  He has been in the mix of my myriad misadventures more than once over the years.  He believes me now, but it took multiple episodes to convince him.  Hence the Magellan nickname.

So, yesterday, I was visiting a girlfriend's home for the first time.  She doesn't live far from me; she's just in an area of town that I don't frequent.  And she lives off of a main highway that is notoriously busy and has a high number of fatalities each year.  Yes, that part is very reassuring and inspiring, isn't it?!

I write the directions down.  They're fairly simple.  They require me to go through downtown Knoxville because there's still construction going on on our main bridge across the river.  That construction, by the way, is shaping up to last an absolute eternity.  Those of us who live here are beginning to grow accustomed to the visual of an empty span in the air where the main bridge is supposed to be.

Anyway, I go through downtown and suffer through traffic on Gay Street where one couple decided to stroll in a very leisurely fashion across the street at the stop light when the danged light was GREEN.  I know that there was no way on earth that the Walk / Don't Walk sign was telling them to Walk across the street during a green light, but hey, I guess they were rebels.  I slammed on my brakes to avoid plowing them over and neither of them were even bothered enough to glance over at my vehicle that could have flattened them.  Nope, they were consumed with their moseying pace, not a care in the world.  Okay.  I am not prone to road rage at all, but at that moment, oh my word, it was tempting to do something drastic!  I resisted, because there was an agenda to get through downtown and find my girlfriend's house. I'm rather proud that no one got splattered all over Gay Street that afternoon.  It was iffy there for a few minutes as to whether that would happen to a few people.  Read on, please, for the second example of one who deserved, nay, was just ASKING to be splattered.

About twenty feet further down the street, a woman suddenly comes from the right side of the street between two large trucks on a bicycle, looking UP the street away from oncoming traffic.  As heedless and oblivious as you please, she walks her bicycle out into my lane and stops.  Dead still.  Looking up the street rather than towards oncoming traffic.  Meaning ME in my car.  My MOVING car that weighs a lot and could kill said cyclist if I hadn't hit my brakes for the second time in the span of perhaps 10 seconds.  Again, I resisted the urge to commit vehicular homicide and politely tapped my horn to bring her out of her daydreaming haze.  She turned her head and blinked owlishly as though to indicate I was the one at fault, then she took her time turning and sloooowly walking her bicycle back off the street.

Now I'm annoyed.  I admit it.  Who wouldn't be?!  You would be. And you might be less gracious than I was and hit the gas pedal, rather than your brakes.  Which is why it's a good thing it was me driving, unless you factor in the direction challenged part that is coming up in this riveting story.  I continue down Gay Street and as I'm almost to the bridge where the street opens up into two lanes, I can't shift to the right lane that leads onto the bridge because someone has parked their pretty, shiny black car right there on the street.  Where there isn't a parking zone.  No parking meters.  Just hey, this looks like a good spot to park and impede all sorts of traffic!  I finally made it into the right lane, just barely, and got across the bridge. Great!  If there is any true justice in the world, though, the owner of that pretty, shiny black car will come back and find that his/her vehicle was towed.  That's not vindictive; I'm being caring and mindful of traffic safety.  It's my solemn and sacred duty as a Knoxville citizen, and I take that very seriously.

Now turn onto Chapman Highway and navigate that insanity. Clutching my handwritten directions, I zip down the highway, checking for landmarks on the list. I say "zip" because you have to keep up with the flow of traffic on Chapman to avoid dying.  Back to those handwritten directions.  Kroger's on the right....check.  Start counting street signs on the left after I see a Ken-Jo Market.  There's Ken-Jo...check.

At this point, let me backtrack to the phone call where my girlfriend and I are writing down these directions, because it's all sorts of fun!

Kim (my girlfriend):  "After you see the Ken-Jo Market at the light, start counting street signs on the left.  You'll turn at a big church after the third street sign on the left - Grace Dei - on the left onto Anderson...."

Me: "Okay, hold up whilst I write all of this down.  Street signs, three of them on the left.....which side of the road is that on?"

Yes, I really did ask that.  It doesn't matter that Kim used the word "left" THREE times...for whatever reason, it didn't compute to my brain. And yes, there was a marked silence on the other end of the phone from Kim.  Then it hit me what I had asked and I proceeded to fall out laughing.  I had tears, it was so hilarious!  What can I say?  I'm not good with directions even when all we're doing is discussing them. And yes, I really do know what side "left" is on. Just not when I'm writing down directions and talking on the phone simultaneously, apparently.

Back to driving down the insanity of Chapman Highway and counting three street signs on the left side of the highway.  Well, here's the thing.  We both forgot that I can't see worth flip.  And of course I didn't have my glasses on.  They're currently in the sweaty, crafty little hands of my resident House Elf and haven't been returned yet.  That's a whole other story, House Elf issues, but I digress.  If you follow my blog, you've read about my House Elf issues before (Mystical Roommates, 2/24/2010, Healing Morning blog).  They are ongoing. But back to this very important re-telling.

Because I am not wearing my glasses, and because it's a four-lane highway, it's kind of challenging to read those street signs until I am almost on top of them.  And you can't slow down on Chapman Highway, just so you know.  That is when bad things happen on that particular highway, like car accidents.  I count the signs, but can't really read the names.  This is where the fabulous invention of cell phones comes into play.  I call Kim.  Tell her where I am and that the big church has either poofed out of existence or I overshot it.

Turns out that no, I haven't driven that far yet. Or so she says.  I'm doubtful and I really think the church poofed momentarily.  Alternately, what possibly happened is that I skipped a line in the handwritten directions and got everything off kilter.  I do that quite often when I'm going somewhere for the first time.  I have no idea why, but it is a common thing that happens.  It's like my brain, or my eyes, or both get blindness with directions and things get all scrambled and wonky on the paper.

Cell phone to the rescue!  I now see the church on the left where it has miraculously poofed back into existence, and I turn into the parking lot because there's not a road like Kim indicated I should see.  Perfect.  This means I'll have to fight my way back across Chapman Highway with a left turn.  Wait, Kim says, I'm in the right place!  That's not a parking lot.  It sort of morphs into her road.  Kind of.  But there's no road sign.  Or lane.  It might be a lane since it's cutting off the main highway; I can't ever remember the rules for what constitutes a street, road or lane.  We'll call it a road.  I follow it and start the dreaded counting again, this time of houses. At least there's not maniacally speeding cars behind me, riding up my booty and blowing their horns in the most obnoxious manner possible.  I count and nope, her road seems to have poofed just like the church did earlier.  As you can see, there's a conspiracy at work here.  I've suspected it all my life, but now that I'm re-telling it and you're here with me, you can be my witness.  SOMEone is moving stuff around anytime I am driving someplace new!  Right?!  You agree with me, I can tell.  And I really appreciate that about you.

I turn around in someone's driveway, doing all of this with one hand because I forgot to put my cell phone on Speaker mode.  I drive back up the road where Kim insists I must have just passed her road without really seeing it.  She's not as savvy as you and I are about the conspiracy that is clearly taking place.  I go up a slight hill and see a big tree with lovely, fluttery limbs and equally hangy-down leaves that are obscuring....her road.  And the sign.  I don't care what you think right now - that road and that sign WERE NOT THERE when I first drove down that hill!  And WHO decided to put a tree right there, anyway?  Where its hangy-down leaves cause all manner of navigation issues.  It needs a haircut, obviously, that tree.  All those long limbs and hangy-down leaves obscuring the suddenly poofed back into existence road sign...well, that's just all kinds of wrong.  And part of the conspiracy. Because that's what...three poofs in less than five minutes?  That, my friends, is PROOF...it's EVIDENCE of a conspiracy.  Of the navigational kind.  Probably kissing cousins to Close Encounters of the Third Kind.  And I daresay both of them are in cahoots with my House Elf.  Same local union hall, I bet.

I turn into that road and Kim is saying she's watching for my car.  Bless her, she has played this game with me before.  She says she's waving and I squint my eyes, sans glasses, and sure enough, there she is.  Thankfully, the conspiracy action hasn't poofed her and her house.  I'm thinking the devious minds behind said conspiracy probably got tuckered out by poofing that big church out of existence and then back into existence, along with the road sign a few minutes ago.  You probably agree with me.  I love how sympatico we are today, don't you?

I arrived, I met her husband, we visited, we played with the puppies.  I was loaded down with a care package of yummy cucumbers, tomatoes and some red potatoes from their garden before I headed home.  And that part?  Heading home. Yeah, that.  It wasn't pretty.

We're in East Tennessee and it's high summer.  That means that we get these unexpected summer storms and I drove right into one.  It was raining so danged hard that visibility was perhaps five feet in front of my car at best.  I was driving maybe 15 mph, but couldn't pull over anywhere because I was still on Chapman Highway where lunacy rules all drivers. I got cut off yet again and had to take James White Parkway.  I realize that those of you who live around the world are clueless about these road/street/highway/interstate names, and I apologize for that.  James White Parkway is a loop that was built to facilitate routing traffic around, rather than through the heart of downtown Knoxville.  And that's great, if that's what your goal is.  Normally, I would say it is, because I'm not a fan of driving through downtown Knoxville. I'm all for routing around downtown and avoiding it, usually. My experiences with moseying jaywalkers and brainless cyclists would be your first clue as to why I don't like driving through downtown Knoxville.

By the way, before any cyclists take umbrage at the brainless comment, I doubt any of YOU would have committed such an act of walking with your bicycle slap out into oncoming traffic without checking for oncoming vehicles.  She isn't one of you, clearly, so you're not allowed to be insulted that I called her brainless.  Back to why going through downtown was necessary when I'm not a fan of that drive.  In this instance, it was the quickest way home.  If I hadn't gotten cut off and forced onto James White.  But I did, so, I snailed my way along the parkway in some of the heaviest rain I've experienced driving through, and that navigation thing reared its ugly head again.  I took the wrong access lane to get back onto the interstate and wound up heading about 20 miles away from Knoxville and the direction of home.  In the pouring rain.  Driving 15 mph.

You're envious, aren't you.  I can feel it.  You just wish you had been with me on this trip!  And so do I, because it would have changed the whole dynamic.  There's this unwritten, immutable Rule of the Universe that states if you're in the car alone and you take the wrong way, YOU. ARE. LOST.  If, however, someone else is in the car with you, then it's an adventure.  See the difference?  Yes, me too.  Alas, I was alone that day, in my car tooling along in the pouring cats and dogs storm at an impressive 15 mph clip.  But it gets better!  One of my clients is out in the area where I was accidentally headed; I visit their business monthly and that meant something spiffy.  I wasn't LOST!!!  I was just going on an extra-circuitous route to get home, albeit a really annoying, lengthy, raining fit to beat the band route.

I did make it home.  You knew that because I'm sitting here writing this recounting of my trip.  NOW do you believe me that I am not good with directions?!  If you don't, then I don't know what else to tell you. Well, actually, I do, because I have hundreds of these stories that would make my point beautifully.  I just think your eyes would start to glaze over after maybe the 50th re-telling.  It will be a lot easier and we'll all be a lot happier if all of you who are reading this, collectively, just accept that I don't have a great sense of direction.  Besides, it could be even more alarming.  My Mom is WAY worse than I am with directions.  No, I'm not kidding.  I TOLD you, it's a genetic thing.

So, what do you think about a support group for this?  I'm thinking it's probably not the best idea and I'll tell you why.  Support groups usually have regular meetings.  At physical LOCATIONS.  Which would require finding these locations.  Yes, you guessed it....more navigation sagas.  Which, in turn, would cause yet another in the long list of misadventures of the nature of this one that I've just shared with you.  I don't think y'all are ready for that, nor is the world at large.  Just imagine how much more poofing out of existence would occur.  Scary, right?! It's not something to be entertained lightly, such imaginings.  Because all y'all matter to me and I love that you visit and read my thoughts, I am going to spare you such a support group and by so doing, keep the fabric of reality intact.  It's my gift to you.

Grasshopper Thoughts, Vol. III March 2011

Photo courtesy of
Bing images

The grasshopper urge is upon me, and I am indulging it.  I was writing in my journal yesterday - it's an 8 x 10 hard bound artist's sketch book with unlined pages - and my pen ran out of ink.  I don't know about anyone else, but I'm picky about the pen I use.  I prefer black medium ball point pens.  Finding just the RIGHT black medium ball point pen is the challenge.

I've tried those gel pens and they skip on the page.  They're also invariably only available in fine point and I hate that.  Fine point on pens leaves too spidery a line of ink, and because I tend to use a lot of pressure, they can literally scratch a hole in the paper. Felt tip pens get pressure points on them and then you can only use them at that specific angle, so those don't make the list for me.  Some ball point pens get snotty noses.  You know what I'm talking about, right?!  They get globs of ink that collect and eventually smear across the page.  Drives me nuts, personally.  And of course, when my preferred pen ran out of ink, I didn't have any replacements in the house.  Off to the store I'll go tomorrow to see if I can find more, and this time, I'm getting several boxes to have on hand.  My writing demands it!

While we're on the subject of office supplies, who decided to change the formula of Crayons???  I don't know when it occurred, but sometime in the past 2-3 years, they've changed.  Maybe you haven't noticed, but I have nephews in elementary school, so crayons are a necessary item in my household for when they visit.  Crayola crayons smell different these days, and the consistency is different.  They're softer, kind of mushy when you color with them.  Not that this stops the world from turning in any dramatic fashion, but I noticed.  Yep, I'm a purist.  Certain formulae shouldn't be tampered with.  Ever.  Bring back the old Crayon formula, I say! 

I'd like for someone to invent newspapers that do not crinkle loudly when being read, please.  Yes, I know, the world is being taken over by those infernal electronic reader contraptions, and newspapers are dying a rapid death, soon to be extinct.  Whilst still here, though, couldn't someone come up with a treatment of the paper that makes it less rustly?  And there I go, contradicting my prior paragraph that certain formulae shouldn't be tampered with.  Well, this is my blog where I rule supreme, so I'm making an arbitrary ruling that newpaper formula CAN be tampered with.  Tamper away, anyone out there reading this!  And let me know when you've perfected it.  There are people in my life that really need to have that formula applied to their newspaper, because they're overly enthusiastic newspaper rustlers and it makes my teeth hurt.

There are moments when simple pleasures are pure perfection.  This month, for me, the simple pleasure is fresh strawberries the size of small plums.  I have no idea where these berries hail from, but they're HUGE, with just the right blend of sweetness and tartness.  Not a mushy berry to be found (don't get me started on mushy fruit - if you're curious, you can read an old post Unripened fruit, sparkles and twinkles, Healing Morning 2/4/2010) in the carton, and I am enjoying them immensely.  And while I'm on the subject of perfect fruit, it just KILLS me to watch a cooking show on TV and see them take beautiful fresh berries and puree them into a sauce, or slap sugar all over them.  More of my purist tendencies are cropping up - I really like fruit w/ no accoutrements.  Unless it's the dark chocolate with raspberries combo, and then I make another arbitrary ruling.  ;-)

There are more grasshopper thoughts hopping about in my brain, but these will suffice for now.  I don't want to overwhelm you with the bizarre directions my brain flits about all in one shot, after all!

Can I Get An Alien?

Spanky Marcel Percy Alien Jones
Photo courtesy of
http://www.pixelperfectdigital.com/

Foreword: Yep, with this post, a foreword is definitely necessary! Below is a series of three separate perspectives on the same experience. Mine (Dawn), and those of my two dear friends, Lisa and Irma Kaye. We all hope that you’ll all take time to read through all three sections, even though it does make for a lengthy post. The whole experience makes perfect sense if you do take the time to read each separate section, through to the end.

We can guarantee you’ll get a chuckle or two and perhaps a new fun word to toss out in conversation! We all three hope that you’ll take time to visit our respective blogs, and to that end, we have posted hyperlinks/links back to each of our blog pages. You’ll find the links at the end of each section, next to our byline. ~ Dawn, Lisa & Irma Kaye

Grasshopper Thoughts, Vol. II, February 2011

Photo courtesy of
Bing images

I haven't had Grasshopper Thoughts in ages.  Well, let me rephrase that. I have had them, quite often...to the tune of probably several hundred in any random day.  I just haven't written about them.

Earlier tonight, I was talking with a friend who was snacking on pretzels.  So the obvious questions followed.  Pretzel sticks, or the traditional rounded, woven kind?  Then the next question was inevitably, with dip or plain?  And is it me, or does anyone else think their fingers smell like celery after they've eaten pretzels???  Something about the lye they spray on the rising dough to give pretzels that crunchy, glossy outer shell after they bake leaves a celery fragrance on them.  No, I'm not kidding and I'm not imagining it.  Sniff your fingers the next time you eat pretzels and tell me what you think.  Celery.  I promise.

So, why can't someone come up with a happy medium between ladies knee high stockings and trouser socks?  Is that so hard to invent?  The textile factories exist for both, so the technology is already there.  There are days when knee highs, ugly things that they are, are too sheer, but that same day, trouser socks are too thick to wear with heels.  It makes our feet look like sausages crammed into our high heels, and that just ruins the whole purpose of buying cute shoes.  Ladies, I know you get me on this one.

Mustard seeds.  I just got a big bag of them from one of my favorite online companies.  Right now I have a jar of leftover pickle juice in the refrigerator, half filled with dried mustard seeds.  I stumbled on that idea a couple years ago when I had finished a jar of dill pickles and had the liquid left over; there were mustard seeds swimming around in the pickling liquid.  I use mustard seeds in potato salad, egg salad and a couple of other dishes, but it takes a while for them to rehydrate in the salads.  So, I dumped some into the leftover pickle juice in the jar and tried them a couple days later.  Et voila, instant pickled mustard seeds....and a foody addiction was born.  In about two days, I'll be enjoying them again.

I don't know about you, but someone has to have the answer to why almonds and mushrooms squeak when you bite down on them.  They're not sentient, or even breathing, after all.  Why do they squeak???  Another random food thought, I realize, but these thoughts do take up valuable pondering time in my day.  I just thought I'd pass along....and share....the torment with you.  I'm very generous that way.

You know, sometimes you have a really crummy day.  It starts out with just a bad moment and that's never good.  For me, that happened earlier this week and within an hour, instead of the bad compounding, I was literally inundated with Sunshine Moments.  They were dropping down upon me from every direction.  The bad moment faded into insignificance, blotted out by the cheerful, determined rays of the sun being gifted to me.  I am still feeling the effects of all that radiance, which is probably why I have all this energy late at night to Grasshopper!

Mocking bird salute

I've lived in a two story townhouse home for the past seven years and for the last five of those years, I have had a yearly visitor in the form of a Mocking Bird. For those of you who aren't familiar with this bird, here is what Wikipedia tells us:

Mockingbirds are a group of New World passerine birds from the Mimidae family. They are best known for the habit of some species mimicking the songs of other birds and the sounds of insects and amphibians, often loudly and in rapid succession. Wikipedia

Tennessee Mocking Bird
Mimus polyglottos
http://www.flickr.com/

It is an ironic sidenote that the mocking bird is the Tennessee State Bird genus Mimus polyglottos, which my home state adopted and made official on April 19, 1933. Why am I writing about mocking birds? Because these hardy little birds, if you have read the above Wiki information, are very LOUD and PERSISTENT in their yearly nesting and mating habits. These habits include finding the highest point available for them to perch and warble their little hearts out, pitching woo...loudly and persistently....to the night. And to hapless townhouse inhabitants attempting to grab a few precious hours of sleep.

I'm happy to share with you that not only do mocking birds imitate the songs of other birds, insects and amphibians, they imitate cats and dogs, machinery and musical instruments, and the occasional slamming door or rusty hinge. They trill through their repertoire with great and lusty enthusiasm, rarely pausing as they skillfully switch from bird song to cat meow to truck engine revving continuously. At times, it can be amusing listening to the sheer volume of calls they can produce. My bedroom happens to be the tallest peak of this row of townhouse units, so this is why I am the lucky recipient of the nightly serenade and mocking bird orchestra.

Again, you're probably wondering why I'm writing about this topic. For months now, I have been turning over in my mind the fact that humans and wildlife aren't that greatly different. I've written before about social masks that we all employ to get through our daily existence. In a similar manner to the mocking bird, we also adapt our speaking voice in tone, inflection, volume and emotion to communicate our thoughts and emotions to those around us. We wear different clothing, hairstyles and cosmetics to project various public images, to denote our current mood and again, to use as social camouflage and quite often, as a courtship tool.

http://www.musicalexpress.net/

The thing that always strikes me is how cheerful mocking birds are, every single night, in their pursuit of procreation. I am sure that to the mocking bird, this is not a cause for amusement. Indeed, their nightly concert is a life and death effort to continue their species. My human ears cannot help, however, finding charm in the widely varied trills, chirps, barks, cricket sounds (those are the exception to the finding charm part as they really drive me nuts) and engine noises. These small birds are quite aggressive in their display of auditory talents, finding no shame at all in adopting sounds from another species or object to further their goals. In some ways, I would liken it to a painter painting, using colors to express different emotions and messages, or a conductor standing in front of an orchestra with arms raised, wand at the ready to coax a stellar performance from all the musicians. Mocking birds simply do the same with their calls.

http://www.paintinghere.com/

Of course, when it is 3:30 am and I am still hearing incessant bird calls, cat screeches and hissing as well as various motorized noises in rapid succession, it isn't quite as charming or amusing anymore. There are many nights when I lie awake listening to the endless, noisy litany that I am suspicious my particular mocking bird is perched by my window with a calculating, crafty, borderline maniacal gleam in his beady little eyes, fully aware he is costing me a decent night of sleep.  I also wonder about the female counterpart to my serenading friend; is she sitting out there in the night, listening, brought to a feminine birdie swoon, thinking, "Oh my!  Now that is one sexy, masculine, attractive boat motor sound!  That must be the father of my future children!  I must fly to him now!"?  Even then, when these thoughts are chasing blearily through my tired mind, I do admit to a certain level of admiration for this little bird's plucky spirit.

We as human beings could take a leaf from their book as we navigate our own daily lives. Shine our emotions brightly and enthusiastically, be unafraid to show every facet and skill we possess in a lyrical manner, perhaps borrow someone else's form of expression momentarily, communicate with others with absolute enthusiasm...and most of all, find a high spot to proclaim our love widely and loudly to the masses. Wouldn't that be an interesting, entertaining courtship process?

There is no great or deep message here this time around. More a tangle of sleep deprived thoughts that have been assailing me for several months now during the nightly mocking bird salute. As annoying as my current feathered visitor can be each night, I still wind up missing the sounds as fall weather sets in. I feel a sort of kinship evolve in the months each mocking bird sets up housekeeping outside my bedroom window. From it has sprung a blog post that I'm not sure will capture readers' attention in quite the same way as other posts, but perhaps many of you will remember similar memories of your own with a mocking bird salute. And perhaps you will smile at the memories.

Who says?

Rules.  They're everywhere, have you noticed?  Do it this way.  Don't do it that way!  Insert Tab A into Slot B to create a neat little box. 

Suggestions seem to naturally follow rules.  Helpful comments from complete strangers, or even worse, from close friends, telling you, "This is what you need to do."

Who says?  That's my invariable response when I've had it up to the proverbial "here" with the rules and helpful suggestions.  Have you ever noticed, by the way, that those "helpful" suggestions quite often turn out to be ridiculously obvious methods that, hey, little old you thought of years ago? OR they're so absurdly not-helpful that you feel yourself on the verge of turning into the Tasmanian Devil and drilling a hole in the floor?

Meet my stubborn side - happy to know you.  If you're a close friend, you're quite aware of this side of my nature.  Okay, I will admit that there are certain moments where I'm a big fan of having everything fit into a nice, neat little box formed by Tab A and Slot B.  Those moments tend to be more of a personal nature for me, and fall into the category of feeling that I've educated myself thoroughly on a given subject.  That's when I adore neat little boxes because it gives me the sense that I have accomplished what I set out to do with my latest exciting venture.

I also admit to being a big planner in other areas, such as writing down on the calendar when I'll be meeting someone for lunch, or a business meeting.  A girlfriend has been known to good-naturedly point out that, "If I let you, you'll schedule dinner plans for us a good six months down the road, week by week!"  (Just so you know, she doesn't let me, but she's right, I would probably try.) Well, that's a different area of life we're discussing, and yes, I'm very enthusiastic about that particular type of thing. It's because I'm your closet-bound, overly responsible, dependable-as-the-rising-sun type of person. I suppose it could be argued that planning and rules are two separate categories. I wouldn't disagree. Beyond these described sets of circumstances, and particularly when it comes to my writing, I'm not a big fan of rules.

As a writer, I'm probably right out there on some subversive fringe when it comes to following writerly rules.  I do not....brace yourself, and picture me whispering the following....write from an outline.  I know, it's very scandalous.  If "they" knew, "they" would probably find a way to revoke my invisible membership and bar me from being able to claim writerly status.  Most certainly, they'd take my secret decoder ring.

Yes, that is the among the first set of rules for creative writing that we are taught in school, to write from an outline, and those rules grow longer in college writing courses.  Outlines, footnotes, bibliographies...rules, rules, rules.  I bowed down to those rules in school, but my writer's soul would shudder in distaste, dreaming of the day that I could be shed of those restrictions and burst free in a riotous splash of color, style and verve.  My heady swan dive off the high platform formed a beautiful, classic arc in mid-air and I plummeted straight into the deep pool of....technical writing.  There perished any chance of winning a writerly Olympic medal for color, style and verve.  I think that at the very least, I could have been a contender for that Gold medal.

You guessed it...tech writing is the Mecca of rules.  RIGID, unswerving, unbending...rules.    So, I soothed myself to a degree by flouting what rules I could.  The first and foremost of those is that I still stick to not using an outline.  It bugs the fool out of me and I see no good reason for an outline. You may feel differently and embrace outlines with great affection. If so, have at it, my friend!  My brain knows that I have a beginning, middle and logical ending to any written document.  Rather than outlines that waste my time, I prefer to take notes.  I guess this could be construed as a form of outline, as I do refer to those notes as I write. 

For me, the pure, heady pleasure of writing is that when I sit down to write anything, be it a formal technical document, a blog for myself, an article for a client, a journal entry, or a manuscript for a book idea, I only know the beginning and ending.  What I don't know, in exacting detail, until I write it is what happens to get from the beginning to the ending - that's why I write!  I'm on the same ride, the same fascinating journey, as my readers. 

Therefore, when I hear the helpful comments of, "You should do it this way."  Or, "You need to think about adopting this method."  Or, "I think that this works best and you should do it this way from now on." ....my instant reaction, at least mentally, is, "Who says?"  I'm being honest here!  I am not being so bold or churlish as to say that every snippet of advice offered to me is summarily rejected or ignored.  I certainly do not think I know everything about anything, and I am the first to admit that I learn new techniques about writing on a regular basis.  I'm being overly facetious, peppering here and there with tongue in cheek comments, I admit that freely.  I rarely give voice to this side of my writing nature, and tonight I just felt like doing it. There's a time and a place for the lighthearted approach to life....and blogging.

Here's my main point...what I DO know a lot about is myself.  I know my own writing style.  I know how my mind works in the creative process that is unique to me.  None of my clients need to know, nor would they care most likely, that I don't use an outline when I write their documents, manuals, etc.  All they care about is that the end product meets their criteria.  When advice is offered, I do what most people do - I listen, and if I find the content worthwhile, I'll incorporate it into my life.  If I find it to not be worth adopting, I discard it.  The sky doesn't fall if I don't embrace every suggestion that is helpfully offered to me about how I decide to structure my business day.

When it comes to creative writing, such as this blog or a manuscript, I embrace the open-ended style even more.  I usually have an inspiration that gives me my starting point, but I rarely know how the finished blog or manuscript will end.  In fact, when I started to write this very post, I had a completely different idea of where the content would go, and it was nothing like this finished version.  The beauty there is that I will be able to pull that original thought back out for a future blog.  I rarely sweat small details such as an article turning out differently from my original expectation.  Indeed, I'm usually delighted when that happens, because the unexpected result generally turns out to be superior to my original concept.

So, those pesky rules....who says that we have to listen to them?  With technical writing, yes, I do follow rules.  Certain writing methods do demand that you follow rules.  When it comes to creative writing, however, I say find what works best for you.  Embrace your unique style and create a routine, or lack thereof, that works best for you.  That would be the advice I would offer, if asked.  Then, those who listen to my advice have their own opportunity to smile kindly at me, while mentally rolling their eyes and sighing out their own, "Who says?"   And now that I'm thinking about it, I still think my swan dive off the high platform was a thing of beauty, because it was uniquely mine.

The magic of Samuel Clemens

I go through stages where I become engrossed in one or two authors or poets, and tend to use many of their quotes as points of inspiration for blogs, or just to throw out on my Facebook and Twitter posts to share with friends.  One of my lifelong favorite authors has always been Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens), he of Huck Finn, Tom Sawyer fame.  All American school children read at least one of his works at some point in their primary educational years.  I went steps further and began to learn more about Samuel Clemens, the man, and find that after a lifetime of learning about him, I continue to uncover new, interesting details. 

The most entertaining thing about Mr. Clemens and his alter ego, Mark Twain, is the sheer volume of witticisms that exist and are attributed to him.  His sense of humor leaned decidedly towards the dry, sarcastic, deprecating observations of life.  Whenever I feel in need of something to lighten my spirits, I almost always turn to my journals of quotes that I have written over a lifetime, and a large number of those recorded quotes are from Mark Twain.  He always makes me laugh, and many times makes it clear that regardless of the times in which he lived, his quotes could easily apply to this modern age.

“Don't part with your illusions. When they are gone you may still exist, but you have ceased to live.”

“Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest.”

“There is a good side and a bad side to most people, and in accordance with your own character and disposition you will bring out one of them and the other will remain a sealed book to you.”

"I'm glad I did it, partly because it was worth it, but mostly because I shall never have to do it again."

“Keep away from those who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you believe that you too can become great.”'

“Suppose you were an idiot and suppose you were a member of Congress. But I repeat myself.”

“It's spring fever.... You don't quite know what it is you DO want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!

Those are just a few of the quotes I have copied down over the years that Mr. Clemens shared with the world.  His point of view, sometimes lighthearted, other times harsh and condemning, always has the power to make me laugh, or to stop and ponder.  He lived a life that was full of excitement, travel, success, failure and many tragic moments - he lost three children and outlived his beloved wife.  He was known to have poor judgment in business investments and was always one step ahead of financial distaster throughout most of his adult life.  Fortunately for us, he was a prolific writer throughout his lifetime, toured the world on a highly publicized lecture tour and was often quoted.  We are the benefactors today of all of his efforts. (The Mark Twain House website)

I remain an appreciative audience of Mr. Clemens/Mark Twain simply because he has always provided me with small moments of genuine laughter.  I value those moments so much, and love to share them with others.  Life isn't always meant to focus on the somber, ponderous, grave topics - we have those aplenty.  Therefore, why not take little snippets of time to stop, be carefree and page through books of thoughts such as the ones above and a few more that I couldn't resist sharing...

“I thoroughly disapprove of duels. If a man should challenge me, I would take him kindly and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet place and kill him.”

“I was gratified to be able to answer promptly. I said, 'I don't know.'"

“We had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made or only just happened.”

“Yes, even I am dishonest. Not in many ways, but in some. Forty-one I think it is.”

“I have seen slower people than I am and more deliberate... and even quieter, and more listless, and lazier people than I am. But they were dead.”

“I like a good story well told. That is the reason I am sometimes forced to tell them myself.”

I am thoroughly charmed, teased into laughter on days that I might be feeling sluggish and run down, and quite often wind up belly laughing at some of this man's thoughts.  I think, had I been given the chance, that I might have enjoyed talking with him face to face.  His words remind me that life is meant to be enjoyed, that the oftentimes bizarre or even frustrating days that are handed to us also offer humor, if we care to look for it.  I will continue to be a fan and student of Mr. Clemens' works for the rest of my life, and no doubt, if you're connected to me on social media forums such as Facebook and Twitter, you'll see me posting quotes of Mark Twain fairly often. 

I simply felt like writing a blog that didn't have a deeply meaningful, socially constructive theme to it.  Rather, I wanted to concentrate on the simple act of embracing little things that make me smile.  Mark Twain's quotes fall into that category, and as such, I leave you with one final thought:

“The human race has one really effective weapon, and that is laughter.”