“No idea, I told the lazy bastard if he stood still too long he was going to grow roots. I didn’t think he’d literally become part of the landscape though.”
“What?”
“You know, they say the faeries run through these gardens. They can be mischievous folk, maybe Bill rubbed one of them the wrong way and poof!”
“Stop it, this isn’t funny. He wouldn’t run off without his boots. Where did he go?”
“Sorry, I don’t know what else to tell you. I ran up to the house and he was gone when I got back. I have no clue why he left his boots or where he’s gone.”
Ok, so I wasn’t exactly being truthful. You see Bill was a douché and when my best friend headed into town to pick up some more gardening supplies the pig made a pass at me. I let him think there was a chance, flirted with him some and talked him into undressing. The moment he turned his back to set his boots on the stump… well let’s just say I finally found a use for that old pitchfork. He ain’t with the faery folk and I am certain he won’t be coming back. She is better off without him anyway. As for his boots, they are more useful as planters than they ever were on his feet.
Every week Fandango over at This, That and the Other posts a provocative question. This week’s is a doozy… “In your interpersonal relationships with acquaintances, friends, and family, are you able to separate political ideologies from the people who hold them? Why or why not?“ Cue my rambling answer below…
I’ve always been able to separate issues from those on the other side. That is probably why I am so good when it comes to disciplinary matters at work. None of it is ever personal. Just deal with the facts and move on. If the other party has hard feelings, there is nothing I can do about that. I just go about my business and do my best to treat them the same afterwards regardless of what may have transpired. There are plenty of people who get themselves emotionally invested and it eats them up inside. They generally burn themselves out or get run out of town at the end of a pitchfork. Either way, they do not fare well long term.
I admit I approach debating, political or otherwise, through a similar lens. Everyone has an opinion and I encourage them to bring it to the table. The best policy is to treat people with respect even when their ideological compass is pointing in a different direction than our own. Sometimes those views, extreme or absurd as they may seem, can shift perspective for everyone involved and lead others to think outside the box and find common ground leading to more moderate solutions. Even if it amounts to nothing at least I know who the imbeciles are.
There is one group that I do tend to distance myself from and they rarely make it to my inner circle. The exception is family – unfortunately, you are stuck with ’em! If they start I normally throw a couple of jabs in and walk away. So back to that group, I’m referring to those who refused to acknowledge facts when forming opinions. The brazen efforts they will go to refute proven science or obscure the facts to mould opinions that support their ideological fantasies suggest they aren’t likely to see reason. At some point, it doesn’t make sense to continue banging your head against the wall. I was saving the following graphic for a future T-Shirt Wisdom Tuesday but it seems appropriate right here and now.
Greg Glazebrook @ GMGCreative
For example, rabid anti-vaxxers and political anarchists who insist on comparing democratically elected political leaders to Hitler or Stalin. I’m the first to admit that I am not a fan of the current prime minister here in Canada but not every decision of his government has some hidden agenda or has been bad for the country. The government is not trying to overthrow democracy and appoint him the Supreme Ruler of the Northern Realms. Truly, I can only think of one instance where that may have been the case on this continent. Does January 6th ring a bell? The funny thing is the idiots who believe the previous scenario are the same clowns driving around with Trump stickers pasted on their back windows and bumpers.
Okay, so maybe I’m less tolerant of idiocy than I thought. lol
Eloise missed him. He had always been there for his little Angel. He dried her eyes when she had skinned her knee or bumped her head. He’d soothed her broken heart when she caught a glimpse of her best friend Jeannie and her first boyfriend kissing by the lockers in tenth grade. He buoyed her confidence when Harvard rejected her application, telling everyone she was too good for them anyway. He reminded her that plenty of other schools would be knocking down the doors to have her attend. He was right, she was more an MIT girl anyway.
She could believe it had been five years since he’d passed on. He’d been riddled with cancer, and she couldn’t bear to be there for him like he’d done for her so many times. It hurt too much to see him suffering and she feared living in a world without him.
The last six months had been the shittiest she could recall. The Chinese firm that had bought out her employer immediately fired the senior management team and 500 others. Employment Insurance didn’t cover the rent and it was overdue. It was only a matter of time before the landlord came to collect/evict.
Worst of all there was a heaviness in her heart. She couldn’t shake it off. It consumed the very blood pumping through her veins, turning it into a gloomy gray sludge. It weighed her legs down and zapped any reserved energy she may have had, leaving her helplessly paralyzed.
She thought she heard his voice in the hallway outside her apartment, so she immediately ran to the door. Several of the neighbour’s kids stopped playing hall-ball and looked at her. She stared through them to the window at the far end hoping to glimpse him. Of course, he wasn’t waiting there. She was about to turn and go back inside when a little boy tugged at her hand.
“Miss, are you sad?” he asked.
Overwhelmed, the tears began to roll down her cheeks as she nodded at him.
“Would you like a hug?”
Her eyes scan the corridor finally fixing on those of the little boy’s Mom. She smiles back in approval so Eloise kneels down to face the child at his level.
“I’d love a hug,” she replies through her tears and forced smile.
In an instant, this tiny yet surprisingly strong creature wraps his little arms around her and whispers in her ear, “Don’t worry Angel, everything is going to be alright.” After a short pause he continues, “That’s what my Daddy says when I’m sad.”
“Mine too,” she said, holding him for a moment longer but wishing it could be forever.
Sillinger slipped in through the back door. Clearly, there had been an advertisement, likely on social media or across the dark web, disclosing his whereabouts. The leak was born in the weaknesses of those in the know. The seeds of discontent sown and already lingering amongst his own rank and file. Only a handful of people knew his movements yet the streets out front were lined with tens of thousands of people.
The briefcase he carried held everything and nothing. The solution to the one burning question that humankind had yearned to solve for millennia. In a single stroke, the course of human history would change forever.
That is why the throngs had gathered. Some ready to embrace the unknown blindly, some looking to exploit it for personal gain, and some are just plain naive and curious. Still others, the disruptors as they were referred, were paralyzed by the impending apocalypse they believed was being brought down upon them. No matter the reasons it reinforced the belief that the world was not ready. The upheaval could prove disastrous, sending the world into a tizzy if the truth was revealed prematurely.
Some secrets are best left in the hands of the few revolutionaries who understand the gravity they hold. Curated and nurtured while a campaign of information and reform is allowed to seep into the collective conscious. Designed to diffuse the acrimony towards the establishment sudden revelation can illicit.
It could take decades, maybe centuries for society to catch up to the science. Until then Sillinger’s task was monumental. He would need to dispel all truths and myths about what it was the foundation held in its custody.
He was unlikely to see the fruition of his labours, other than in small doses amongst his peers. The transformative nature of the content of the briefcase would remain as much a mystery to him as those standing in the street below.
I learned something new today. When writing a post using the word sinister from Fandango’s One Word Challenge I came across a piece of information that I was not aware of. It came as a surprise to learn the Latin origin of the word sinister means “on the left side.” In English, the word and its derivatives have taken on negative connotations. This would seem to mirror the belief for hundreds of years that lefties were associated with the devil’s hand, demonic possession, or evil. Even more interesting is the fact that dexter, the Latin word meaning “on the right side” and its derivatives have come to be largely seen as positive words in the English language.
The fact that lefties were looked down upon is not surprising information. We’ve all heard stories of lefties being forced to use their right hand. In the late 1980s, my lefty sister had broken her left arm and her grade school teacher attempted to force her to use her right. My mother, who worked as a volunteer in the school office, was aware that righties were always given consideration in similar circumstances and ensured the principal rectified the situation.
It was the etymology of the word that I found interesting and thought I’d share. Here is the excerpt from Merriam-Webster that caught my eye…
Lilith remained obscured in the shadows. Studying the creature for a tell, anything to gain advantage. Watching as doomed suitors offer wealth and sacrifice in exchange for favour. Each left retreating, begging for mercy in the flashes before receiving a final, brutal verdict.
She expected something sinister in its fiery red eyes. Instead, she glimpsed something she understood, a loneliness shrouded behind the beast’s perpetually shifting facade.
Disarmed for a moment, it sensed her in the darkness. She wasn’t ready, but it was time…
“Hey lad, you look like a smart fella. You see that bridge?” the stranger asked. “When it was built it was a marvel of modern engineering. A bridge suspended from cables above. Unlike other types of bridges, it was designed to sway in the event of an earthquake. I reckon when the big one hits us it’ll be the only thing left standing.”
“Talk about full-blown tour guide, mister. Are you trying to sell me the thing, you sound like a salesman for Christ’s sake.”
“No, but while we are on the topic of sales, I do have some oceanfront property in Arizona. From my front porch, you can see the sea. If you buy that from me, I’ll throw the Golden Gate in for free!”
“Must be some property if you’re putting golden gates in? How much do you want for it.” The lad asked.
“Whatever you got…” the man said wearing a grin from ear to ear.
“Alright big man, where’s the fatnip?” Fluffy meowed, jonesing for a Christmas morning ride on the roomba.
Mr. Whiskers looked on from atop the curio, his tail flicking back and forth as he watched her frantically scramble from stocking to stocking looking for the meowie wowwie.
Unknown
This wibbleweednip-trippin’ was becoming a problematic stain on the family name plus she was getting too close to his c-nip stash, it was time for an intervention.
Marc eyed the empty spot, but parking enforcement circled like a vulture sensing his desperation, waiting to swoop in and take whatever remained the moment his broke-ass pulled in.
He’d spent his last two and a quarter to acquire the morning coffee needed to calm his anxiety and provide the jolt of courage he needed to survive a 10:00am job interview; none of which would matter in six minutes.
As he pulled around the block again he could feel his lips curl, as luck would have it the spot was still empty and the pesky meter maid was nowhere in sight.
His right side signals flashed as he pulled past the spot, slipped the stick to reverse and began working the vehicle into the vacant space.
He was forced to slam on the brakes as he watched a convoluted movie scene unfold in his rearview; another car barged into his spot, front-end first, no signals, and horn blaring into the morning air like a divine “fuck you” screaming at him from the heavens.
Marc stepped through the storefront door at 13 minutes past ten, his interrogator, the same monster in high heels who had jumped from the demon vehicle and flipped him the bird stood at the front counter tapping her clipboard in annoyance as she waited for him to arrive.
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