Words can be confusing as all get out.

Park it right here, and we’ll talk about it.  Okay…. there you go.  Right off the bat.  “Park”

You can load up the family  in the car and drive to a place to have a picnic.   You put the car in ‘park’.  Then you get out and walk into a ‘park’ to have the picnic.  What are we doing to our children with this confusion?  I ask.

Shampoo.

When I was a little kid, I asked my Mom what a Sham was.  She didn’t know. So I asked my brother Ed, (who by the way, has had impeccable taste in red high heels ever since he was three years old).  Of course he knew shams.  He relayed the definition to me.  Well.  This made no sense at all.  A decorative pillow case?

You see….. I knew what poo was.  I poo-ed in the pot every day.  So this stuff they were making me wash my head with was basically “excrement from a decorative pillow case.” This stuff called Sham-poo?  Very confusing to me as a child.   Shampoo… is just one of those words that I am still not so sure about.  (Who was the marketing genius behind that one?)

Then there is the matter of me and my carnivorous ways.  I could never be a vegetarian… let alone a vegan.  Nope.  No way.  As hypocritical as this feels to me sometimes, I love meat.  Mostly fish, and chicken these days.  Well… and pork.  Oh… and then there is beef.

Anyway…. most vegetarians have to incorporate Tofu into their diets.  Really?  Those same people say… “Oh I love Tofu.”  REALLLLLLY?  No matter how you try to hide it…. that tofu is still white spongy, grayish-white spongy, sponge-like sponge-isy-type food. And…. No.  It does NOT taste like chicken.

And yet… another reason I can’t get past it:
A vegetarian goes to the doctor, and asks…..
“Doc… I can’t stand it any more.  What is wrong with my feet?”
And the doctor says to the vegetarian….
“Well…. it looks like you have a bad case of toe foo.”

And there you have it.  More foo.  More poo.

Nature is full of other words that amaze me.  Like…

Which tree never feels good?  Sycamore.

And which flower loves both the theater and churches?   Rose.

My favorite political animal is not the elephant, not the donkey…. BUT it is…. the Beaver. And that is because it always gives a dam.

So many words… so much to consider.  It is all how you look at it really.  How about plaque?  How can something that grows grungy on your teeth… also be a treasured thing on your wall for a special accomplishment?

Or….. you can drive a stake through a vampire’s heart and kill it.  But try to do that same thing with a steak…. and you will get the living blood sucked out of you.

Okay, enough Tom-Foolery.

The point of the matter is… How you see things is dependent on where you are standing.  Your vantage point.  And with all the things to look at in this world… at any given moment…. we all have a different perspective on a whole lot of things.

For instance….  Today is the 20th of April.  It is Adolph Hitler’s Birthday.  Perhaps the most evil of men ever.  Today is also Harold Lloyd’s Birthday.  One of the funniest, and great comedic geniuses of all time.

The day takes a different slant depending on which bit of information we are considering.

And so life goes.

But trust me on the tofu.  No matter how you look at it…. it still tastes like sponge.

The crowd sprang to their feet and  cheered with joy.  The montgolfière balloon was making its ascent toward the clouds.

Jack and Joey looked at each other and smiled.  Their creation, their dream, their best of inventions, was indeed… flying with the birds.   The first ever hot air balloon.

A lifelong dream was coming true.

Joey bent down and picked up a small stone from the ground beneath him.   He placed it carefully in a small satchel in his pocket.  Joey would never forget this day.  Ever.

——-

I do this too.  Pick up a rock… when I am somewhere having a special day, or some event which is significant.  And then I keep that little stone.    It rocks.  And then I remember.

——-

“Wind to thy wings. Light to thy path. Dreams to thy heart.” – Unknown

——-

“Joseph-Michel Montgolfier (26 August 1740 – 26 June 1810) and Jacques-Étienne Montgolfier (6 January 1745 – 2 August 1799) were the inventors of the montgolfière-style hot air balloon, globe aérostatique. The brothers succeeded in launching the first manned ascent, carrying Étienne into the sky. Later, in December 1783, in recognition of their achievement, their father Pierre was elevated to the nobility and the hereditary appellation of de Montgolfier by King Louis XVI of France.”  (Wikipedia)

I think one of our main purposes as human beings…. is to become better people.  To do what is right, and what is good.  This may include…. having a bowl of Chocolate-Chip-Cookie-Dough-Icecream from time to time.

But seriously.  Most of us strive to be better people… to set higher standards for ourselves….  don’t we?

So, who determines this?  Who sets this “bar” that sets the standards for what is right and good?

Well.  Now that’s a tough one. It is a separate, distinct,and unique thing for every individual.   We all have different religions we practice.  All of us are from different parts of the world, with varying cultural influences.  Everyone marches to the beat of a different jukebox.  Rat-a-tat-tat…  and….. boom-chucka-lucka-lucka-boom.

But truly.  Deep down inside, I think every person (of competent mind) “knows” what is right, and what is wrong.

So back to the “being all that we can be” part.   The purpose of my life is to learn, grow, and be snappy-doodle-do.   In order to facilitate this growth, I must ask big questions of myself and of life.

Question.  Ask.  Seek. Search.

James Thurber once said, “It’s better to ask some of the questions than to know all the answers.”  Good words Jim.

So for me… asking big questions makes life a bit more interesting and intriguing.  Sometimes it can… potentially….. make my helmet ache.  Other times… it can be extremely uplifting.

Most days… I try look upon everyone and everything as a partial answer to a larger question. That keeps life spicy, I’ll tell you.  When I get happy, or angry, or giddy, or sad, or confused, or… whatever it is I am “getting”…. I try to see it all as a part of the process.   I keep working on treasuring every experience as a means of expanding my knowledge and understanding.

I think on most days…. I  have more questions than answers. I want to always keep asking questions.

I want to look for, and be receptive to, the answers to my questions….  in each and every one of  my daily experiences and endeavors.  The good ol’ Seek and Find Puzzle.

Here are some good answers to stuff… just because.

You know that  small “You Are Here” sticker that indicates your position on a map?  Well that thing has a name — it’s called an “ideo locator.”

Apropo really.  You are here.  I just ideo located you…..

Water itself does not conduct electricity, but the impurities found in water do.

Ahhh… the impurities in life always get us zapped… don’t they?

When Skee-Ball was first invented, the lane was 36 feet long. Not many people could roll the ball that far, so they shortened it to 14 feet.

A great example of living and learning.  This “sport” wasn’t very effective at first.  But a little modification… and MAN OH MAN…. Skee Ball is more fun than downhill skiing and hang gliding!

The Q in Q-tips stands for quality. They were originally called Baby Gays.

Okay…. then.   Quality Tips.  That’s sorta’ weird…..

Today was a pretty dang-good day for me.  Yet, I bumped into a couple of people who were having really bad days, as they sized things up.  I will never know why the road has to get rocky.  Perhaps ….. so we can observe a greater appreciation of times which are good.

With all that said…..

I feel extremely compelled to tell you this.

No day is as bad as when you lose your Woobie.  Now, in this case, it is clear that a small child, being slugged down the busy streets of Charleston, was weary, tired, and in need of a nap.  But Mom and Dad pressed on.   You see…. THIS was vacation.   The small child could barely walk another step….. let alone… find the strength and fortitude to maintain  his little grip on his Woobie.  His hand grew increasingly damp with sweat.  The Woobie got heavier by the minute. (Goodness… how many carrots was this thing eating?)

Finally, little Henry could no longer maintain is connection.  He  dropped his Woobie.  Immediately, he jerked down to pick him up…. but Dad jerked right  back on his wrist… not looking down to see the possible cause for resistance.  Henry began to protest… in garbled words… as the tears were beginning to burn the inside of his eyelids… and the crying-knot was mounting in his throat…

He screamed.  Dad lugged.  A full-fledged cry now, Mom glances down quickly, but to no avail.  She didn’t notice the missing Woob.

From this point forward, the day will continue to sour for this family of three.  The Woobie is now a full block away.  They will not discover the loss until they reach “Bubba Gump Shrimp” for lunch.  They will have absolutely no idea where to begin looking for Henry’s best friend in the world…. his Woobie.  Tonight, there will be no rest in the hotel room.  The Woob is gone…. but not forgotten.  Henry will never forget.

In 30 years, Henry will tell his therapist about this frightful day.  Yes, his therapist at Leavenworth Penitentiary.  Oh Henry.

But this is just one story of a lost Woobie.  Everyone has a different kind of Woobie. With a different outcome.

Some people in life can be quite remarkable when it comes to facing the loss of their Woobie….. their “thing” in this world that means the very most to them.  Or at least, a great, great deal.  Sometimes we lose more than one of these things. These Woobies.   It just depends on what time brings us.

I don’t know for certain WHY the Woobie Switch flips “off” and “on” as it does.  But it does.  Maybe the truth of the matter is…..  the Woobie was ready to move on to something else.   Perhaps something like a quiet place, on a shady street, with its back resting on a fence.  Maybe.  Things happen at their time.

“It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.”  ― John Steinbeck

Frank. You got anything?   What do you see up there?   

Give me a minute Kevin. I’m looking.  Yep.  Right at 12 o’clock.  Straight ahead.

What is it Frank?  Cat or Dog?

Hang on…. I’m trying to see.  Yep. Dog.  Boston Terrier.  I can’t believe that son of a beast crapped right on us.

Holy smokes Frank.  Does he at least look healthy?

Geez….  I can tell by the size of this load that he’s healthy.

Oh Gawd.  This is bad.  We smell like Cow Patch Kibbles-n-Bits.

How’s the rest of the bunch down there Kevin?

Crappy.  Not berry good at all.

Well, let’s all look  on the bright side of this.

….And what exactly would  THAT be Frank?

Uhhhhh…..  No one is going to eat us any time soon.   Or even step on us… for that matter.  And our kids are pre-fertilized for next season…. ???

You are real Fruit Loop Pal.  A real Fruit Loop.

“The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails.” – William Arthur Ward

I get a fair amount of feedback on my Projects, here on this thing called the internet.  I am grateful for all the positive comments folks write.  They mean a lot to me.

But dang it.  I am a wimp.  I get my little feelers hurt when the bad ones come in.  Oh.  And they do come in.

The most common are:  “This sucks.”  or “You suck.”  or “This is stupid.”  You know…. things  along those lines.  It really makes it feel worthwhile… all the hours I put in to it…

You see.  I started this project three years ago for myself.  To make me shoot an image every day.  But it has transformed into something totally different.  And it has transformed me, and my way of thinking about life.  It gives me cause each day to think about our existence, from a myriad of different angles.

But wouldn’t you know.  Those pesky remarks still stick in my craw.  Here is the latest… this one from a fairly anonymous person.

===============================

Project 188 Polly,

Meh.  Just a word of advice: Learn how to use commas, and stop abusing ellipses. It makes your article awkward and annoying to read.

Signed,
someonesneaky@gmail.com

===============================

Well friends.   I can not resist.   I have to write back on this one.

Dear Sneaky,

Thanks for the word of advice.  I make it a point not to abuse anything in life.  People.  Animals. The Earth. Alcohol.  And God Forbid.  The Ellipsis.  For clarity, Sneaky….

ellipsis |iˈlipsis|
noun ( pl. ellipses |-sēz| )  the omission from speech or writing of a word or words that are superfluous or able to be understood from contextual clues.
• a set of dots indicating such an omission.

And therein lies the problem Sneak.

I am so superfluous.  I speak in the nonessential and the redundant.  And when I do this in real life, I make long dramatic  pauses, and conjure up funny faces and gestures.  So the three dots have been tatooed to my forehead…. as a tribute to this part of my being. My nature.  My inner core.  Because a comma is not enough.

No Sneaky.  A comma will not do.

Most people are able to pause…. like normal people pause, in speech or thought.

But my little brain packs up and leaves for the week.  It goes other places.  It wonders which month most people were born in (August) … and how many people put the peanut butter on top, or the jelly  (jelly won; 2-to-1).  It wonders why gravity does what it does.  And what is the name of the person that has to clean the torch on the Statue of Liberty.  All of this as a result of someone asking me to “Pass the salt please.”

The fact of the matter is Sneaky…. a comma will not do in my case.  And if you knew me up close and personal, you would already know this.

But thanks for the word of advice.   If my neurons EVER start firing normally, I will try that whole comma thing.

“The right word may be effective, but no word was ever as effective as a rightly timed pause.” – Mark Twain

Don’t you ever wish that you could pull out the bag of ‘Fairy Dust’ and….

“Make Something So.”

I’ve been thinking about my boy Harley today… for some reason.  Harley died about six years ago.  I can’t believe it has been that long….

He was a Golden Retriever, you see.  I loved that good boy.  The only male dog I’ve ever had the pleasure of “owning as a part of my life” if you will.  Harley was as dumb as the day was long.  At least, that is what most people thought.  BUT…..He was kind beyond reason.  Never have I met such a gentle soul… human or animal.  His eyes were deep and dark… and he always…. always… wore a soft grin on his face.

Yep.  Sweet Harley.  I miss him so.

Back to the dumb part.  I don’t think he was slow… or thick…. or dull … I just think he was deep in dog thought.  And he had much bigger and more altruistic gestures on his mind.  So much more important … than finding his way home if he got stuck on the other side of a farm fence.

In fact, I thought Harley might have really been showing us the kinder and gentler way of life.  How I wanted to communicate with him…. and ask exactly what he was thinking.

There are quite a few books written on the subject of communication with animals.  I read a good deal of them.  I even tried some of the techniques.  And although, I would have liked to believe that I could “hear” a blip, ever now and again…. I’m not so sure it ever really happened.

But oh how I WISHED to make that connection.  I wanted to make it so.  That’s when I could have used that sparkly wand and fairy dust.  If even for a day… or an hour… I would have waved and sprinkled… and alas…

Harley and I would be talking about the vastness of infinity… and flow of energy in the universe. In my heart of hearts….  I just know it.

Or…. he might have simply told me why he always licked his butt… or why he flopped on his back in and rolled around in the grass.

It looks like I missed the line for the Fairy Dust Distribution when I was being processed to come into this world.

Seems I stood in the Free Diet Coke line too long.  Again.  Alas.

Yet, we have what we have… in this very moment, in this place in time.  And whether we realize it or not… THAT is so much better…  especially when we wave and sprinkle in the right here and now.

“When you love someone, all your saved-up wishes start coming out.”
– E. Bowen

“Nothing is so common-place as to wish to be remarkable.”
– W. Shakespeare

Art Gallery Openings can be pretty neat.  I like to go to them…. the haughty kind… where people get all dressed up. You can hear the jingle of ice in cocktail glasses.  There are lots of little trays on the arms of penguin-like waiters….trays with cubed cheeses, and puffy pastries. I like the cocktail weenie kinds.  It is precisely at these moments… when the cocktail weenies are served… that I pull out my Sock Monkey Hat and place it snugly on my head.  I walk around the room with a handful of those little treats… and offer folks… “Piggy in a Blankey?”  Or I will edge  up next to them…. and say… “I think they hung this one upside down.”  Or…. “He used WAY too much blue when he painted that lake.”

I do these things because I am impulsive.  Yes.  Impulsive.  Acting without forethought.  Impetuous.  Spontaneous.  Foolhardy.

Sometimes this is fun and good.  Other times… not so much.  I call those “lacking” times…”The Salt Water Taffy Syndrome.”

It happened when I was about 4 or 5 years old.  Our family took a day trip to Cedar Point Amusement Park.  It had been a long, long, adventure… and we were exiting the park at dusk.  I saw a white-wooden-ramshackle-stand which was peddling Salt Water Taffy.  At once, I was overcome with the absolute desire, craving, and desperation for this thing called Salt Water Taffy.

My parents so no.  My innermost core, all of my being, my whole persona was saying YES, YES, YES.  They still said no.  But didn’t they understand?  This was no longer a “want”… this had now transformed into a requirement… a NEED.

No.  Again.

No.  So I cried. I wailed.  I sobbed.  I threw a tantrum like I had never thrown before… and have never thrown since.  The Salt Water Taffy had now become a matter of life and death.  Still…. NO.

The outburst and the frenzy continued.  I would not have it.  My four year old body could not exist with out a box of Salt Water Taffy.  For the love of God…. please.   I was pounding on the pavement.  Rigid.  Screaming in tears.

Shame on my parents.  They bought me the taffy.

As I sat in the back seat of our station wagon, I unwrapped my first piece.  It smelled divine.  I plopped the taffy in my mouth and began to chew.

What the crap?  It said “Salt”…. I love salt.  This was as sweet as sweet could be.  I can remember spitting the candy back out.. and into to the wrapper.

Hence.  “The Salt Water Taffy Syndrome”

Sometimes we think we know what we need… or what we want… or what is best for us.  We have it in our heads that “this is how it is supposed to be”  OR…. “I really need this or that.”

Then, as time goes by… and we get past that parcel in our lives… we find out that we didn’t need it at all.  Or it wasn’t quite as important as we had once thought it was.  Perhaps it simply wasn’t the right time.

This is called hindsight.  And hindsight is 20/20 vision.

Sometimes impulse is good… like running down the middle of the street clucking like a chicken.  It makes the tourists crazy.

Yet at other times… impulse can get us in to real trouble.  And if not trouble, it can cause us to close our eyes and ears… ….. to the way the universe might really be speaking to us.

For whatever reason, that incident at Cedar Point has stuck with me… like taffy to a filling in one’s molar.  I think it is the first time that I was embarrassed by myself.  And the first time I realized that I may not always know what is best for me.

At those times in our lives… it may be most fortunate that we seek advice.  From people with hindsight.  To help us see clearly now.

And for the record… I really do like little cocktail weenies wrapped in pastry.  With mustard.  A whole lot more…… than I like Salt Water Taffy.

“There is nobody as enslaved as the fanatic, the person in whom one impulse, one value, has assumed ascendancy over all others.” – Unknown

“A word to the wise ain’t necessary, it’s the stupid ones who need the advice.” – Bill Cosby

People were constantly asking Jeffy Goodman to speak up.

The question he was asked…. time and again…   each and every day was:
“Jeffy.  What did you just say?”

You see.

He spoke softly.  But he carried a really big stick.

“In a gentle way, you can shake the world.” – Mahatma Gandhi

The following account is  not only based on actual events…. it truly IS a whole bunch of actual events…  so here it goes.

Every once in a while, a dog goes missing here in downtown Charleston.  Since there are a lot of rather “select” pure bred dogs in the area… the first assumption is that the dog was stolen.

About a month ago then, a dog in our neighborhood was reported as “lost”….  His name was Skip… a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel… who lived at the corner of Legare and Tradd Streets.  Posters went up.  Emails went out to the neighborhood group.  APB for Skipper.

Happy news.  About 4 days later, Skip was found…. several blocks away hiding in an alley way.  They had to drag him home…. kicking and screaming.  The reason for this is to follow.

So. Today.  I am out walking OUR three dogs.  We had had quite the eventful walk from the very get-go.   We were accosted by at mob of tourists… with no personal awareness…. other than the viewing the next “thing” on thier walking tour.  We had to get by the Corgi Brothers, and also past the Terrors of Twenty-One (that is…. the three barky-dogs next door).  Two beagles stopped us on King Street…. and we had a fly-by by two donkeys pulling a carriage. All this… in the first couple of blocks.

So I decide to regroup….  I say to my good dog companions …. “Girls.  Let’s redirect our walk over to Legare.  No one is ever down that way.”  It went pretty dang well I’ll tell you..  … at first.

We approach the corner of Tradd and Legare.  You know.  Where Skipper lives.  We round  the corner, and suddenly, in a hairy-flash-of-rocket-speed-and -fur…. we are ambushed.  Through the wrought iron fence leaps SuperFly…the Evil-Blimp-Kitty.

Yes, a cat jumps out… paws extended… mouth open…. popping and hissing mid-air.  She hits Frances first… right on the back.  She dug in and held on to Frances like a Bull Rider to a bull.  Max and Ollie are dumbfounded.  Frances jerks in amazement… and I imagine… pain.    Ollie begins to bark.

Bad move for you Ollie.  The cat then springs on to her.  But not on Ollie’s back… this demon cat goes for the face.  She pops Ollie a few times.. hard.  Ollie shrieks.

Now…. Maxie is loving all of this.  Ollie is getting the snot knocked out of her….  a Red-Letter Day for Maxine.  Oh… but the cat…. Betty Lou is what I am calling her by this point in the game … ….  goes for the little joyous dog, Maxine.  Same face attack.  Maxie yelps.  She yelps again.

I notice a big black motion blur to my right…. “Oh NOOOOO Frances…. don’t wrap around me….”  and BAM!  … … down I go… ankles wrapped tightly in dog leash.  The melee continues as Betty Lou aggressively assaults the canines.  No holds barred.  Betty Lou is relentless. And swift.

More yawlping and screaming.  I begin to join in with the screaming.   I am trying to crawl away and drag the dogs with me… but the cat will not retreat.

Now a young “Lance Armstrong” looking fellow pulls up on his racing bike.  He decides to help.  “Here Kitty.  Kitty-Babe… come here,” he submits.

I call out… “I am so sorry… we were just walking by your cat and she flew out of nowhere.”  He… now realizing the severity of the situation… begins to back up… and timidly says… it isn’t my cat.

“Great.” I say.  “Can you call 9-1-1?”  I am joking, of course…. but I think he is considering the call.

I try to pull the cat off Ollie…at this point.  The Savage-Beast-Cat has a firm grip.  “Betty Lou…. Go on!  Get away.”… I plead.    The cyclist now begins calling for Betty Lou… from the safety of his bike.

“Here Betty Lou.  Here Betty Lou.  Nice Kitty.”
“It isn’t really her name…”  I interject.

Finally, by some miracle… I get to my feet, and drag my dogs a few houses down.  “Thanks for you help… ” I call back.

Faintly… I hear the Biker-Good- Samaritan utter… “Please don’t leave me here….. …. …”

And we make our way around the next corner.

Now back to Skip.  It is my contention… and assertion….  that this poor dog is under constant fear and assault from his counterpart… Betty Lou.  This smart dog, packed his little King Charles Spaniel Suitcase… and got the heck out of dodge.  He found a nice little hiding spot in Liberty Alley… until someone spotted him.  He was drug back home… to the snare of snaggle-toothed Betty Lou.

In all my days… I have never… ever… encountered the likes of Betty Lou.  I think this cat was on crack.  Seriously.  Or maybe a catnip bender.  I don’t know.

But the bottom line is…

Only YOU can talk to YOUR cat about catnip abuse.  Don’t let this happen in your home.  A kitty brain is a terrible thing to waste.

Or in Betty Lou’s case…. just a terrible thing.  Period.

“A cat is a puzzle for which there is no solution.”  – Hazel Nicholson