“Yeah, and it’s not as romantic when you use the hoover.”

Posted: October 7, 2023 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

The sentences we say…

Humans say the darndest things. In fact, I prefer not speak without guarantees that it’s the darndest thing being said in the room at that moment.

The above title is something my wife replied with to me.

Context aside (and I’m absolutely not going into the context – it’s too hilariously arousing), it was at least amongst the darndest of spoken word.

A year ago, I was washing the dishes at my kitchen sink, and my son rushed in with a grim look on his face to say “Daddy, two of The Beatles are DEAD.”

We’d been to Liverpool a fortnight earlier and the news most have only then sunk in about John and George.

I suppose The Beatles said the darndest things too.

So did Idi Amin.

Maybe the darndest things are just things people say, but perhaps only he darndest people say them.

Like children, Scouse rock stars, and Ugandan tyrants.

And my wife, as I interrupt the housework with contexts I shan’t go into.

Sometimes all you need is something to say.

Just try not to be repetitive.

Yours darndestly,

Sam

Mindful destruction and me (I’m a baseball bat kind of guy)

Posted: October 1, 2023 | Author: | Filed under: Matters that Matter | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I’m not an artist.

And I’m certainly not a creator (my kids and debris aside).

I’m a smasher, a breaker of things, a “that’s not supposed to be in there, Sam” kind of guy.

No, actually I’m a baseball bat kind of guy.

Baseball bats are the place to be, a way to dance and the means of rhythm that coincides with deep and hearty impact in the soul.

Here’s one of my former favourites (once named ‘Old Slugger’), which caught fire one enchanted evening:

It’s natural to enjoy a stick, a good stick, a stick that makes your walk home from work a good one.

And aiming approximately at the planet, swinging wildly (the only way to do it) and bracing yourself for your own impact, this is about enjoying a collision that reminds you of who you are.

I prefer apples.

Preferably slightly rotten (for the spread) but I’m prepared to again spend to have the freshest ingredients.

Baseball bats and apples.

Also bananas, pineapples and occasionally a roast chicken.

This is the relationship I have with fresh fruit and poultry.

Impacts so deep I feel like I’m part of their diet. An unnecessary 5-a-day.

I can’t fix this smashed plant pot in the shape of a classic VW campervan. I can’t superglue it in the right places, and I can’t marry up the many pieces to be flush.

I can smash it again though, and we can all enjoy the pieces (or I buy a new one, most likely).

I moved onto a chair today, two big wicker inherited buggers that took up more room than the total mass of my family combined.

With hammer and axe, as well as sinew and love, I tore them to pieces, and have just finished. There’s sweat, foul language and bits of wicker everywhere. My children were told to stay out of daddy’s deconstruction area.

I now have pieces of the wicker chair up on my wall. Does that count as what you’d want to consider creation?

I didn’t build the wall, but I did nail something I broke to it.

Really, I need to learn how to use superglue.

But I can’t deny in me the ‘back home’ sensation of laying a baseball bat into something. It’s the future, and I’d like to think I’m a part of that.

It’s not helpful, but it does, I believe, make us feel better.

So let’s strive for this measured mindful destruction in the long-term, and meanwhile, let’s pay attention to those who now how to superglue, build walls and fashion wicker chairs.

I suppose, someone needs to make the baseball bats, but till then there’s always sticks on the way home from your walk.

Thanks for reading.

Yours, swinging wildly at the planet,

Sam