The Slovenly Family

There was a slovenly woman who had a slovenly husband, and they lived in a house that was also slovenly. They had a slovenly dog, upset that there was very little to mess up.

They had three slovenly friends who often dropped by. One spat, one drooled, and one regurgitated.

The family's slovenly dog would carry out his food and drop it in the mess. The slovenly wife saw it all and burped, worth her weight in garbage. The slovenly husband listened to her burp and also managed an emission.

The slovenly husband often thought, "Why are we living like this, so slovenly?" He said to his slovenly wife, "We could do better. We're careful enough to keep our popsicles cold in the fridge, the wrappers could go in the can, not on the floor." But that passed.

The three slovenly friends came over, one spitting and one drooling. All eyes were on the third, who had a sudden look of queasiness. It couldn't be long now, and ... there it is, a recent bite regurgitated. The slovenly dog was happy.

The slovenly wife felt the need to burp and scratch. Being so slovenly, she scratched so much that when she wasn't scratching, she was burping. She dismissed her slovenly husband's question with a shrug, tossing a popsicle wrapper to the floor, burping and scratching as well. Bugs were afraid to land on her.

Their TV was always on, also a slovenly mess. The slovenly dog chewed the remote, so it was stuck on one channel. All its colors were drained, so the flickering picture was forever green. Once a green cartoon was clear, causing one friend to spit with happiness, the second to drool with joy, and the third to lose his lunch.

One day, the slovenly house, having lost its will to remain, collapsed around them. The slovenly family and friends sat in the open air, burping, scratching, spitting, drooling, and regurgitating. The dog ran to the bush and peed. A powerful wind stirred and blew the house clean of popsicle wrappers.

And there the slovenly family sits, to this day, hoping against hope for whatever.

Truth and Tobacco Spit

To me, the picture says it all. It's the age-old story, as old as time itself -- Abel and Cain -- yet told again and again, ever new: Two brothers of the same flag who can't get along, try as they may.

These two guys share the same story. There's good and there's evil, one who lives for truth and one who lives for chewing tobacco. As far as I'm concerned, there's no competition; truth wins every time hands down, because I have literally never been a fan of chewing tobacco. And I had the chance!

The man I grew up with, other than my dad, my grandfather, was a dedicated follower of the unholy chewable weed. From the time I was a boy, I just assumed refrigerators came with a tall stack of small cans wrapped in brown paper, his brand being Copenhagen. I never really "discovered" it, since it was always there, part and parcel of life itself. And grandpas chewed it.

In my Grandpa's case, he seemed to have little bitsy teeth, perennially stained with the juice. Here, there, and everywhere, he was chewing, and spitting. Out fishing, working in the yard, and driving, that was his thing. Which never became my thing. This is one of the so-called "temptations" of life that I can honestly say I never felt, and so never acted on. Not even the tiniest smidgen. It's never entered my mouth. Meaning, you'd about have to agree, that I'm a person of truth, not tobacco spit.

That's a great feeling. I hadn't thought of it in quite those terms before. Being never tempted. Because, had I been tempted (and I've never yielded to every temptation I've had), seeing it as a solo venture, I'm sure I would've tried it. But chalk it up to me being a person of truth, at least in this one instance, and not tobacco spit. I'm proud of it and I'm not proud of it, know what I mean?

I do, however, think it's a good lesson on life, because there are those two options; that's indisputable. Truth or tobacco spit, what's it gonna be? You can be a person of truth and your brother can be a person of tobacco spit, obviously, and you're still brothers in every sense of the word, and under the same flag. As long as you don't let it drive you apart.

The illustration shows the terrible division that can come if the negatives of your relationship are allowed to fester. I think the story goes something like this: The brother of truth shared with his brother the dangers of tobacco chewing. Back in Grandpa's day we didn't realize there were consequences to our actions, but today we know, you can get in some serious trouble based simply on choices and the things you do. Tobacco chewing can cause mouth cancer, and who knows what else.

The brother of truth, as the saga goes, elicited a tentative promise from the other, who was to seal the deal by getting both professional help and options other than chewing tobacco. These would include gum, mints, and you know something else that's good to chew, although most people have never heard of it, these licorice sticks that are almost like wood. They make an interesting chew. I remember talking with a man in the early 2000s who chewed these, but then soon died of other causes. True story.

You've probably guessed the end. The evil brother never "found the time" to set up an appointment for professional help, vowing on their common flag that he had the strength to end the habit on his own. But what happens when the good brother comes home? He finds him with a plug the size of a cantaloupe! Going at it with everything he can muster! If he'd had jaws of steel and pistons in place of mandibles he couldn't have chewed it with more gusto!

They came to verbal blows, the one calling the other a damned fool, and the evil brother -- it's sickening to think of it -- willfully spitting close to a gallon of spit, like a reservoir, and coating his brother. Then, predictably, one went one way and the other went the other way. And that's it, they left behind their common flag.

I don't know if you're a tobacco spitter or a person of truth. You alone have to live with the consequences.

Does That Make Sense?

I hate to say it, but I'm addicted to the phrase, "Does that make sense?" Which is crazy, I know, since I usually have pretty good control. I don't smoke, drink, or sleep with people who eat crackers in bed; obviously I'm not just careful, I have high standards. Sometimes I do think I could be easily addicted to stuff, but it's also balanced out with an ability to go cold turkey. But this "Does that make sense?" phrase might be too much for even me. Does that make sense?

Of course it isn't new to me. I've heard it a number of times in the last few years, but those times it was in one ear and out the other. I didn't toy with it. And that's the key thing to getting addicted, for me, picking up something and toying with it. Like a new, fascinating toy. I allowed it to get the best of me, as it turned out simply through foolishly toying with it. Does that make sense?

It happened at a conference I attended, "Public Affairs." I was hoping for some cool gossip on people caught in affairs, but it turned out to be a dry as dust give-and-take on public policy, "The Role of Women in Society -- Keep Them on a Short Leash or Let Them Go?" A senator was there briefly, long enough to swoop in and make some pronouncements on the ignorance of women (I'm in a Republican district), then it was up to us to break into groups and come up with our findings. By and large, the Democrats, including me, insisted that we loved, respected, and valued women. While the Republicans thought we needed more restrictions on them, GPS tracking devices around their legs, etc.

Then there was this one bastard, who didn't know what he thought, pro or con. He was the lone voice trying to hew a middle path. He went into a big old convoluted speech, all off the cuff, where he went this direction, then that. Hard to follow. On the one hand, he respected women; his mother was a woman. On the other, he pointed out we've never had a woman president and none of the five star generals of the World War II era was a woman. Then he was back to being pro woman, then anti, finally ending with the reiterated fact that his mom was a woman, and most of his aunts. At the end of it, in a higher pitched voice, he asked, "Does that make sense?"

Here's what happened next. It was 10 minutes till the lunch break, at which point I dashed out the back door, never to return. Then I ran into a woman I know, very smart as most of them are, with no crackers on her breath, and I was telling her the whole thing, focusing in on the phrase "Does that make sense?" I started saying it in jest -- toying with it -- but ended up saying it the rest of the day, and I'm still saying it two weeks later! Beware what you ridicule, there might be some gene in you -- operating sort of like the phenomenon of projection -- that means you're drawn to it! Meaning you need that very crutch! Does that make sense?

And another thing. The phrase always does involve a step up in pitch, and delineates a clear end of a train of thought, so that might be why it's so addictive. We crave not just variety but finality. The higher pitch is like singing (1), and (2) it's a natural end to one subject, giving time to think what's next. With one other key quality, keeping others on your side. Because if they're not, they could always answer with a resounding "No!" The fact that they don't, while not being conclusive as to their agreement, gives you some assurance (perhaps false), that you might be right. Does that make sense?

Yes, of course I know it's annoying. But you can't tell me you don't do one single annoying thing yourself. At least I know what I'm doing, especially if I see someone rolling their eyes. I'm intuitive like that. They can tell me to stop if they want. They just haven't yet.

What's Holding You Back?

Our "Drive for Pride" is a drive that is pressing on, straight forward, full bore, no holds barred.

In other words, there's nothing holding us back. I know a couple days ago I was questioning the whole thing. Should I be "Driving for Pride" or should I just assume people can find their own true happiness on their own? I was a little discouraged. But as I've "driven" on, I've left behind those doubts. And that's the way to be.

Something in this very moment might be holding you back. But if you refuse to be held back, if you press on forward despite any blocking presence, you'll have a perspective later from which you can look back and rejoice. You can see it back yonder on the path. Maybe your footprints will be on it. I'll explain...

I like to kick the crap out of some of my blocking presences. Then when I'm up the path I can look back and say, "I did that!" The blocking presence is off to the side of the path, maybe bloated up from a severe kicking, maybe dying in the ditch. It's up to you how hard or mercilessly you feel like kicking it.

Like I said, a couple days ago, I had that discouragement. It led me to question the whole campaign. "Drive for Pride," I was thinking, "Bah!" But I put my head down and charged straight ahead, and, like I said, I confronted that blocking presence and administered to it some of my harshest and best aimed blows.

We have gone on from there, nothing holding me back. It's what I do. I know about blocks, and so I have something to recommend to others. They either punch your ticket or you punch theirs!

One of the troubles we have -- it's in self-esteem, it's an issue -- is that we accommodate those blocking presences. We make a place for them. We carve out a space in our lives and let them dwell there. It happens all the time. Sometimes we call them bad habits ... or in their worst instances, addictions.

I've had my share of bad habits. But when I come to my senses, it's like this [snapping my fingers.] That's where the kicking commences, figuratively speaking. And for me, cold turkey wins the day. It may be very very hard, like in quitting smoking, but if you don't do it, it won't happen. If you don't want it in your mouth, don't put it there.

Overcoming daily is the way to live. Anything that saps your strength, your mental powers, analyze it. Find what it is that's the source of trouble. If you're being beaten down, look at it in its various facets. Determine the trouble. Then resolve, Nothing is going to hold me back.

Make your "Drive for Pride" a drive that gets somewhere!

Surmounting Your Old Habits

I have a growing concern that my old habits are limiting me. That I have limited myself by allowing habits to take root and grow old. Now that they have I'm stuck in their oppressive groove, up against limitations of my own making.

I see the truth that there are people who can stride and strut, cowing other people into willing submission based on a number of factors. One, people are easily cowed in certain situations. Two, these people know the facts of habits limiting people and, with consciousness, rise above their own limitations and take advantage of other people's. Three, the more they do this the more it sets other people in their ways and the more they themselves are distinguished.

We all have ways of rising above this but it does mean being conscious of it and desiring to do something about it when the opportunity arises. So have you guessed where all this is leading? Probably, you seem smart.

That's right! I'm going to the big dance at the grange! No more wallflower me. I'm going to put it out there. I'm going to be Scrooge after his epiphany. And it didn't even take a ghost to talk me into it. But Scrooge didn't have a blob as big as his house infesting the place. I did and I was cramped. Then I came to the realization that the one cramping me, after the blob got done cramping me and left, was myself, still not excusing the blob. And just as Scroogie-boy owed a debt of thanks to his ghosts, I guess the obvious conclusion is that I owe a debt of grudging thanks to my blob enemy. I just hope he doesn't crawl back into my life to receive the thanks from my own two lips.

It's like the preacher said to the demon that one time, "You shall not return to my brother or to the light. And if you do return, you must bow down and serve the light." Something about that makes me uncomfortable. He tells the demon he shall not return. But then he makes allowances for What if he does? If the blob returns -- my version of the demon -- I will thank him with my lips, but behind my back will be a finely honed sacred sword, destined to dispatch him off to some other world where he can serve the light there, whatever light there may be.

The Grange dance awaits! To which you typically go stag. And hope you pick up someone's daughter, preferably a farmer's.