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Poignant Pearls & Potbellied Pigs, January 2002
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sheldene chant
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Jan 29, 2002 10:26 PST
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POIGNANT PEARLS & POTBELLIED PIGS
Vol. 3 Issue 1 January, 2002
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CONTENTS
- Hello there . . .
- Inside Story
- Fashionably Foolish
- Share and Share Alike
- eNonyMouse
- Increase Your Self Esteem
- 'Football is Worth Sleeping For'
- Feeling Bored? Don't Tell Me About It...
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HELLO THERE . . .
…you with the stars in your eyes, a grasshopper brain and
thoughts without boundaries…
Just as well there are 31 days this month because at times
it has looked as if the January issue wouldn't be coming out
in January. Obviously going on holiday doesn't do me much
good because trying to get back into a regular routiine has
been a great strain.
From the point of view of seeing family and friends the three
weeks spent in Zimbabwe was wonderful. However observing
at close hand the havoc and misery caused by a deranged
despot was alarming, and a sharp reminder of how important
it is to retain some semblance of law and order. For the first
time I experienced a sense of relief when we crossed the border
back into South Africa - which was very sad.
In this issue Sally Breslin is in gambliing mood (Share and Share
Alike) and Melvin Durai gives football fans a few tips for dealing
with spouses who don't exactly worship the game.
I let my hair down (literally) in Fashionably Foolish, and as I
haven't had a real rant for ages I trust you'll excuse the waspish
comments in Feeling Bored? Then Don't Tell Me About It...
There's only 11 months to go until Christmas. I sincerely hope
your year has got off to a flyiing start.
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INSIDE STORY
(...or another glimpse into Griselda's tiny,
twisted mind - Ed.)
THEY'VE only been back a couple of weeks and already I'm
immersed in a welter of total irritation, desperation and
confusion. As a rule, after I have been associating with normal
people for a while, regressing to this extent takes a little bit
longer.
Sheldene returned from her holiday looking exactly like Miss
Piggy (we still watch The Muppets here). Unfortunately this
pleasing effect began to wear off in the last day or two (how I
wished it would be permanent). Apparently an abscess on her
tooth blew up just as they were leaving Zimbabwe so Keith had
the doubtful pleasure of doing all the driving, while his wife
concentrated on head banging and and overdosing on pain
killers.
By the time they arrived here the wildest pangs had subsided
but she had developed this rather startling snout - and you can
imagine how I suffered as a result of her ensuing bad temper.
However she still managed to make one of her executive
decisions - to sell the house and relocate to some remote
seaside village where they would enjoy all the same amenities,
without intrusive neighbours.
Of course I couldn't help wondering what was going to happen to
me. I needn't have worried because after a couple of abortive
house hunts they decided their present abode was so superior
they would remain here regardless - and heaven help anyone
within a 2 km radius.
However in Sheldene's case one thing always leads to another
and by the following morning she had decided that she 'would go
back to selling houses' . I have now learnt she has done this
once before, and has 'all' the necessary qualifications. In
addition I have also been informed that the huge sums of money
she will undoubtedly' earn will go towards improving the house
and will not result in any increase in my salary.
Which makes me think - nastily. Because I have also been told
that she will continue to produce this ezine, and Newbies, Nerds
& Nitwits, and keep up the website, and take the dogs for their
walks, and maintain her fading suntan, and take up patchwork....
I won't go on because I don't like the sound of any of it. This is all
going to put pressure on somebody - and that will probably be
me.
Amazingly she managed, within miinutes, to persuade an
unsuspecting real estate broker to let her join his staff. (He was
carefully selected, let me add, because of his offices' proximity
to this address, so there is no doubt I will continue to be
perpetually harassed.)
I am sure this is the lull before a storm. Sheldene arranged a
few days 'grace' so she could make a start on the ezines. Keith
is burbling on about all the things he is going to achieve - which
includes finishing painting the kitchen cupboards he began a year
ago, painting all the guttering, replacing floorboards....I'm not
going on with that list either because there's a very good chance
I may be expected to lend a hand there also.
Of course every dark cloud has a silver lining and at least I won't
see quite so much of Sheldene...providing she sticks to the new
venture for more than five minutes. Pretending to be a pleasant
and reasonable person is bound to stretch all her resources to
the limit!
(I'll give her dark clouds - Ed.)
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FASHIONABLY FOOLISH
FASHION can make a fool of anyone, until you're old enough
to know better. In my case the most ridiculous moments always
involved trendy attachments, which is why I'm now wary of any
beauty aids which are not strictly home-grown
Eons ago, upon my arrival in swinging London, it took me about
two seconds to realise that the black, woollen coat purchased,
with difficulty, in sunny South Africa made me look like Caesar's
grandmother. All the English dolly birds were sporting coats
with glamorous fur collars, and the department stores were
stocked with tempting examples of this with-it attire, As I couldn't
afford to immediately lash out on a new coat the situation was
desperate.
Until I spied the fur collars, sold separately at Selfridges.
Most of these were out of my reach - except for a delicious,
fluffy, white thing which I pounced on, paid for and sewed onto
the black overcoat in a matter of minutes.
What bliss. No longer a Roman matriarch, I felt and looked like
Zsa Zsa Gabor, so 'Hello London'.
Properly dressed I was able to explore and enjoy that exciting
city, with visits to West End musicals high on my prioriity list -
especially if someone else was buying the tickets.
Inevitably I was eventually caught in the rain while dashing with
my escourt from the theatre to the tube station. We had hardly
collapsed into our seats on the train when the rude creature
asked loudly, 'What on earth is that smell?'
Which was quite enough to set the whole packed carriage
sniffing, and I must admit it was appalling. Shades of wet dog,
but worse, and as we steamed and dried the reek intensified.
Naturally I joined in the grimacing and muttering but began to
suspect the source of the odour was hovering above my now
bedraggled Zsa Zsa collar. So it wasn't fake Siberian fox afer all
- simply common and garden teased sheep. If it's all the same
to you I'll say no more about that dreadful evening.
Shortly afterwards, to take my mind off that fiasco, I decided to
invest in false eyelashes. The effect was fantastic, even when
the corners became unstuck. In fact I couldn't imagine how I
had dared to appear in public without them.
Unfortunately hospitality has to be returned so my flatmate and I
invited a few people for dinner. As a rule the extent of our
cooking was sketchy to non-existent but we settled on a roast,
with all the trimmings. To be on the safe side we dressed
ourselves carefully, with attachments, before we began
cooking.
Everything went smoothly and I volunteered to serve the
roasted lamb - never expecting the scorching blast which sent
me reeling across the room when I opened the oven. Not that it
mattered because the food was great, even if my face felt a bit
funny.
I became aware, however, that I was on the receiving end of
some strangely speculative glances so at the first opportunity
slipped away to sneak a look in a mirror.
Well! What are friends for if they can't tell you your fluttering
eyes are draped with what appears to be the residue of frazzled
spiders?
Fortunately I had a spare pair of eyelashes, but never really
trusted them after that. But not to worry because hair pieces
were just around the fashionable corner and although it took
time to find one the right shade this was, without doubt, the
most precious attachment of all.
Upswept hairstyles were suddenly transforming scruffy chicks
into elegant women. Of course many of us required the
addition of that volumising 'postiche' in order to avoid the
startled rabbit look. However once these were in place there
were few bad hair days so this fad has remained on the fringes
for years - but not without some unfortunate consequences.
The first hiccup occurred when my husband and I were strolling
through an English village and my skilfully arranged hairpiece
became hooked onto an overhanging rosebush. I struggled to
release myself only to become well and truly entangled, so
Keith had to help...
Just in time to be caught clutching a hank of reddish hair by a
woman riding sedately past on a bicycle...
Perhaps we did look rather odd falling about in a rosebush...and
perhaps she really believed he was tearing my hair out...but to
turn tail and pedal off furiously was over reacting, surely?
Anyway that little incident failed to put me off and the
strawberry-blonde pony tail travelled back to Africa with us.
After a decade or two we acquired a granddaughter who
refused to go to sleep, ever, unless someone, with hair she
could play with, lay beside her. Which became tedious, to put it
mildly.
Unselfishly, I produced my treasured hairpiece and the dear
little girl fell asleep happily while holding it in her tiny fist.
It was supposed to be a temporary loan but four years later
Chantelle was still nodding off with the aid of the hairpiece.
Even worse, she carried it around all day long. What had once
been an object of pride and beauty was now a fuzzy, filthy little
mop, and the whole family hated the sight of it.
With Chantelle's schooldays rapidly approaching my daughter
and I tried every subterfuge we could think of to separate the
child from the furry horror - but always gave in because we
couldn't stand the resulting roars.
Then, one memorable hot afternoon, we dropped into an ice
cream parlour, with the mop, and got lucky. In her haste to get
both hands into a chocolate sundae, Chantelle inadvertently
cast IT on the floor.
Chattering wildly we ate, flung down the money, threw the
unsuspecting brat into the pushchair, and fled. When Chantelle
discovered she had mislaid the hair we swore we had no idea
where - and life returned to normal after about five days.
We often wondered about the person who found IT sulking
under the table, and hoped they quickly recovered from the
shock.
I have never found another hair attachment that matched
properly and have had to accept bad hair days and/or the
scared rabbit look ever since.
Of course I'm still searching...
Copyright 2002 Sheldene Chant
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SHARE AND SHARE ALIKE....
by Sally Breslin
MY husband and I celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary
recently. Originally, we had planned to celebrate it in style in
Las Vegas, but my dog suddenly decided to become the canine
version of Olympic gold-medalist Nadia Comaneci, and ended up
blowing out both of her knees…to the tune of about $1,000 per
knee for repairs.
Which left us with just enough vacation money to travel as far as
Hooksett.
'We can still go to a casino on our anniversary,' my husband
said, trying to sound enthusiastic. 'We can go down to the
Mohegan Sun in Connecticut. It's just as nice as any of the
casinos in Las Vegas.'
It sounded like a pretty good idea to me, even though I knew I
would lose every cent I brought with me within five minutes. And
the thought of the two-and-a-half-hour drive down there on the
world's most boring highway didn't thrill me that much, either.
Still, it was our anniversary, and I wasn't about to spend it sitting
at home.
Romantic soul that I am, I invited my mother to come along with
us. 'Are you sure?' she asked. 'I mean, it's your anniversary.
Don't the two of you want to be alone?'
'Nah,' I said. 'Besides that, you can help keep me awake during
the ride down.'
Fortunately, we had nice weather for traveling on the Big Day.
'I overheard a guy in the post office who said he got frisked and
had his car searched when he went to the casino,' I told my
husband and mother as we headed down Route 93.
'Yeah, and I also heard that they strip-search you before letting
you in,' my husband added, winking at me to let me know he
was just pulling my mother's leg.
There was silence from the back seat, then my mother finally
said with concern in her voice, 'Strip search? See, that's why I've
always told you to make sure to wear your good underwear! I just
hope you wore it today!'
When we pulled up to the entrance of the casino, we were
greeted by a young man who was dressed in an outfit that looked
like a cross between Daniel Boone's and Indiana Jones'. 'May I
search the trunk of your car?' he asked.
My husband handed the key to him, then said under his breath, 'I
have so many boxes, tool chests and bags back there, this could
take all night.'
The employee opened the trunk, then immediately slammed it
shut. 'You're all set,' he said with a smile. We could have been
smuggling hand grenades and machine guns for all he knew.
We entered the casino, and after walking the length of three or
four football fields, finally came to the smoke-free slot-machine
room. If there were 10 people in the entire room, I would have
been surprised. We had our choice of just about any machine.
Not that it made any difference. Within 45 minutes, my husband
and I each had lost about $50. My mother, however (a.k.a. 'Lucky
Fingers'), had won 200 quarters and was having a grand old
time…until she walked over to us to complain.
'I just put a $20 bill into that machine,' she said, pointing behind
her, 'and it gave me only half the credits it's supposed to!'
'That's because it's a 50-cent machine, not a 25-cent one,' I
said.
'Oh,' she said. 'Well, I'm not about to play a 50-cent machine.
You lose your money too fast that way. I'm going to go cash out
my $20 and put it into a quarter machine!' But instead of hitting
the 'cash-out' button, she accidentally hit the 'spin' button…and
won 100 half-dollars. My husband groaned and rolled his eyes.
'If you want me, I'll be over at the poker machines,' he said, and
disappeared. I later found him wolfing down cheeseburgers at a
snack bar. 'What are you doing way over here by yourself?' I
asked him.
'This is the only place where I actually can get something in
return for my money,' he muttered.
I played another slot machine and lost my money so fast, it
practically left skid marks. I really didn't want to spend any more,
so I just sat there for a few minutes, wishing that my Fairy
Godmother suddenly would appear and drop a sack of money at
my feet.
For some reason, as I sat there, I remembered a documentary I
had seen on TV about how every move you make in a casino is
being watched on closed-circuit TV. According to the
documentary, the cameras can even zoom in on something as
small as a freckle.
It's funny, but the minute I remembered that, I began to feel
uncomfortable, as if spies were looking down at me and counting
my dandruff flakes. I gazed up at the ceiling where all the
cameras supposedly are hidden, and narrowed my eyes at
them. Then I glanced around, trying to see where other cameras
might be hidden. I didn't realize it, but I must have looked like
someone who was about to pull something sneaky.
All I can say is that the TV documentary was right. It took only a
minute before two security people appeared out of nowhere and
stood right next to me. They tried to look nonchalant, but seeing
that I was the only person in the whole row, it didn't take a genius
to figure out they were keeping an eye on me, just in case I
decided to slip a slug into the slot machine or hoist a machine
onto my back and run off with it.
My mother was ahead by $400, and my husband and I pretty
much had lost our shirts (and other assorted pieces of clothing),
when we decided it was about time to leave. While my mother
lugged three cups overflowing with coins to the cash-out window,
I stuffed a few more quarters into a slot machine.
Three sevens with flames shooting out of them popped up.
Lights flashed, and the machine started to play, 'We're in the
Money,' over and over again. 'What did I do?' I asked the man
who had slipped into the seat next to mine.
He leaned over, looked at my machine and said in a tone that
had all the enthusiasm of a coroner's, 'You just won 1,000
quarters. You have to wait for an employee to come over and pay
you.'
I was so excited, I jumped up and ran off to find my husband and
mother… and foolishly abandoned my winning machine in the
process. It's a good thing the casino was nearly empty that night,
and the guy who was at the next machine was honest, or I'd
have been out $250.
Fifteen minutes later, an employee approached, fiddled around
with my machine, and then told me to hold out my hand. She
piled it with crisp $10 bills. I smiled all the way home. And I was
still smiling the rest of week…even when I came down with the
flu.
Seeing that I had won the money on our anniversary, I decided to
share half of it with my husband. At first, he didn't want to take it,
saying I should keep the money because I had won it.
'Oh, just take it and have fun with it,' I told him. 'Marriage is all
about sharing.'
Which is why I also ended up giving him my 'flu.
© Copyright 2001 Sally Breslin
___________________________________
Sally Breslin is an NH Press Association award-winning
columnist who has written for newspapers, magazines, books
and the Internet in New Hampshire and beyond. Her column
appears on NH.com every Tuesday. She can be reached by e-
mail at silly-@att.net.
öÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖö
eNonyMouse...
(..with a few tips on how to speak about
men and women, and remain politically
ciorrect)
1). She is not a babe or a chick - She is a BREASTED
AMERICAN.
2). She is not a screamer or moaner - She is VOCALLY
APPRECIATIVE.
3). She is not easy - She is HORIZONTALLY ACCESSIBLE.
4). She is not dumb - She is a DETOUR OFF THE
INFORMATION SUPERHIGHWAY.
5). She is not an airhead - She is REALITY IMPAIRED.
6). She does not get drunk or tipsy - She gets CHEMICALLY
INCONVENIENCED.
7). She does not have breast implants - She is MEDICALLY
ENHANCED.
8). She does not nag you - She becomes VERBALLY
REPETITIVE.
* * *
1). He does not have a beer gut - He has developed a
LIQUID GRAIN STORAGE FACILITY.
2). He is not a bad dancer - He is OVERLY CAUCASIAN.
3). He does not get lost all the time - He INVESTIGATES
ALTERNATIVE DESTINATIONS.
4). He is not balding - He is in FOLLICLE REGRESSION.
5). He is not a cradle snatcher - He prefers GENERATIONALLY
DIFFERENT RELATIONSHIPS
6). He does not get falling-down drunk - He becomes
ACCIDENTALLY HORIZONTAL.
7). He does not act like a total ass - He develops a case of
RECTAL-CRANIAL INVERSION.
8). He is not a male chauvenist pig - He has SWINE
EMPATHY.
9). He is not afraid of commitment - He is MONOGAMOUSLY
CHALLENGED
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INCREASE YOUR SELF ESTEEM
A Tip from Jan Tincher
DO you want to increase your self-esteem? Here are five
great ways!
1. Greet others with a smile
2. Always show real appreciation for a gift or complement
3. Talk positively
4. Increase your level of creativity
5. View a failure as the conclusion of one performance, and
get on to the next. Realize this is NOT the end of your life
as you see it now. There is hope ahead.
Self-esteem can be defined as two-way street to happiness.
When you're happy, you make others happy. When
you make others happy, you feel better. When your brain
knows you're happy, it shoots your self-esteem way up.
Try focusing on these five items for a week. After
seven days, feel how good it feels to do this.
Won't it be great to feel like this for the rest of your life?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Neuro-Linguistic Programming? Click here to find out how!
Http://www.TameYourBrain.com/subscribe.htm
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'FOOTBALL IS WORTH SLEEPING FOR'
says Melvin Durai
IT'S Monday night and my wife is lying beside me on our
couch, watching television. At about 9:50, I glance in her
direction and am pleased to see her snoozing. By 'pleased,'
I mean 'delighted', 'ecstatic', and 'jumping for joy'.
You see, when she falls asleep, it feels like I've staged a
coup d'état. All of a sudden, I'm in total control of the
TV. I'm the president of programming, the chief of channel
selection, the ruler of the remote.
On this night, the coup is nothing short of momentous --
worthy of a celebratory dance around the coffee table -- for
it means I can watch Monday Night Football. I can spend a
few hours rooting for the New York Jets, just as I've spent
the previous few hours rooting for sleepiness to set in.
I try to watch the game calmly and quietly, making no sudden
movements that might awaken my wife and cause her to quash
the coup.
I pray that Dennis Miller, the comedian-turned-commentator,
won't say something so funny that I burst into laughter,
bringing my football watching to a premature end.
I don't want to hear this from the TV: 'It's first and goal
at the nine yard line. One second left in the game.
Testaverde throws into the end zone and ... (click) ... Next
on C-SPAN, celebrated author Salman Rushdie will discuss
his new book 'Fury' and why his protagonist, like his
ex-wife, is furious.'
As you've probably guessed, my wife and I don't agree on the
merits of watching football. I find it tremendously
enjoyable; she has more fun scrubbing the bathtub. If only I
could get her to do it on Monday nights.
Her interests are far more sublime than football:
literature, theater, movies, yoga, chess. I've tried to
convince her that football is a lot like chess, but she
won't buy it. She doesn't realize that the typical football
fan has the foresight of a chess grandmaster, capable of
deep thinking such as this: 'Each team has two timeouts
left. That's really important to consider, because it means
that there's enough time, in all probability, to buy four
more beers!'
I've tried to tell her that football isn't just about men
hitting each other -- it's also about men jumping on each
other. And the players really don't mind the violence.
That's why, after every game, many of them get together to
pray. 'Dear God, please help our injured teammates.'
I've tried to explain some of the redeeming aspects of pro
football. For example:
---It isn't a sexist sport. After all, one woman owns a
football team (the St. Louis Rams) and a number of other
women are cheerleaders.
---When the referees throw their flags, it's worth the price
of a ticket, for it's not every day you get to see men picking up
after themselves.
---Football players wear helmets, which means that, unlike
professional wrestlers, they value their brains.
It would be great if my wife shared my passion for football,
but I'm willing to settle for far less. I'm willing to settle for her
saying something like this: 'You watch your game, I'll read
Rushdie. Let's see who gets bored first.'
(It won't be me!)
We do have another TV in our bedroom, but I feel guilty
going there to watch football alone. It's important for me
to spend quality time with my wife. Even if she's asleep.
(c) Copyright 2001 Melvin Durai. All Rights Reserved
______________________________
Melvin Durai is an Indiana-based writer, humorist and
occasional stand-up comedian. A native of India, he
grew up in Zambia and moved to the U.S. in the early
1980s.Through the Internet, his column is read by
thousands of people in more than 70 countries.
For a free subscription to one of America's most
entertaining and thought-provoking columns, send a
blank message to mailto:durai-h-@mail-list.com
or go to http://www.melvindurai.com
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From My High Horse
FEELING BORED? THEN DON'T TELL
ME ABOUT IT...
FEELING bored? Please spare me the details unless you
really want to make my hackles rise...
Recently I co-entertained a couple of charming children. We
spent a long morning on the beach, doing exactly what they
chose, and returned to the house just as it began to rain.
After lunch I scuttled off to bed with a book, revelling at the
prospect of a few peaceful hours as the children were watching
videos.
In actual fact I hadn't turned three pages before the pounding of
little feet warned me of their imminent arrival. They were 'bored'
and what could they do next?
Straight off the cuff I could have made several suggestions, but
their mother was lurking near by.
Then, 'This can't be happening', I thought grimly when ten
minutes later we were bundling ourselves into the car and
heading for a shopping mall where some enterprising auntie had
set up craft lessons for bored children.
Surely everyone should be able to amuse themselves for an hour
or two or, when all else fails, switch their brains out of neutral
and think? After a little practise some people even get to like
doing that and actually resent being interrupted.
Many adults dread the thought of living alone and if forced to
often become depressed and self-pitying. On the other hand,
self-sufficient types learn to make the most of every 'lonely'
moment. They are too busy sorting out their thoughts and
arranging their lives to their own satisfaction to worry about a
lack of company.
Rather than constantly instructing their followers to love
themselves, I believe self-help gurus would do better to suggest
that people first learn to live with themselves and, if necessary,
by themselves.
So, next time your child or teenager tires of the many distractions
you have laid on for his or her amusement, don't exhaust
yourself trying to fill the gap. A little quiet time, for reflection, never
hurt anyone.
Of course being bored is not a modern phenomena.
Commenting during the 1800's the poet, Lord Byron, said,
'Society is now one polished horde - formed of two mighty tribes,
the Bores and the Bored.'
What's new?
Absolutely nothing, but we can still hope.
Copyright 2002 Sheldene Chant
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<br>
<x-tab> </x-tab><b>POIGNANT
PEARLS & POTBELLIED PIGS<br><br>
</b><x-tab> </x-tab>
Vol. 3 Issue 1 January, 2002<br><br>
:<br>
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<br>
<x-tab> </x-tab><x-tab> </x-tab>
<b>CONTENTS<br><br>
</b><x-tab> </x-tab>-
Hello there . . .<br><br>
- Inside Story<br><br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>-
Fashionably Foolish<br><br>
- Share and Share
Alike<br><br>
-
eNonyMouse<br><br>
- Increase Your Self
Esteem<br><br>
- 'Football is
Worth Sleeping For'<br><br>
- Feeling Bored?
Don't Tell Me About It...<br><br>
<br>
öÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖö<br><br>
<br>
<x-tab> </x-tab><x-tab> </x-tab>
<b>HELLO THERE . . .<br><br>
</b>…you with the stars in your eyes, a grasshopper brain and<br>
thoughts without boundaries…<br><br>
Just as well there are 31 days this month because at times<br>
it has looked as if the January issue wouldn't be coming out<br>
in January. Obviously going on holiday doesn't do me much<br>
good because trying to get back into a regular routiine has<br>
been a great strain.<br><br>
From the point of view of seeing family and friends the three<br>
weeks spent in Zimbabwe was wonderful. However observing<br>
at close hand the havoc and misery caused by a deranged<br>
despot was alarming, and a sharp reminder of how important<br>
it is to retain some semblance of law and order. For the first<br>
time I experienced a sense of relief when we crossed the border<br>
back into South Africa - which was very sad.<br><br>
In this issue Sally Breslin is in gambliing mood (Share and Share<br>
Alike) and Melvin Durai gives football fans a few tips for dealing<br>
with spouses who don't exactly worship the game.<br><br>
I let my hair down (literally) in Fashionably Foolish, and as I<br>
haven't had a real rant for ages I trust you'll excuse the waspish<br>
comments in Feeling Bored? Then Don't Tell Me About It...<br><br>
There's only 11 months to go until Christmas. I sincerely
hope<br>
your year has got off to a flyiing start.<br><br>
öÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖö<br><br>
NEWBIES, NERDS & NITWITS<br><br>
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<x-tab> </x-tab><x-tab> </x-tab>
<b>INSIDE STORY<br><br>
</b>
<i>(...or another glimpse into Griselda's tiny,<br>
twisted mind - Ed.)<br><br>
</i>THEY'VE only been back a couple of weeks and already I'm<br>
immersed in a welter of total irritation, desperation and<br>
confusion. As a rule, after I have been associating with
normal<br>
people for a while, regressing to this extent takes a little
bit<br>
longer.<br><br>
Sheldene returned from her holiday looking exactly like Miss<br>
Piggy (we still watch The Muppets here). Unfortunately this<br>
pleasing effect began to wear off in the last day or two (how
I<br>
wished it would be permanent). Apparently an abscess on her<br>
tooth blew up just as they were leaving Zimbabwe so Keith had<br>
the doubtful pleasure of doing all the driving, while his wife<br>
concentrated on head banging and and overdosing on pain<br>
killers.<br><br>
By the time they arrived here the wildest pangs had subsided<br>
but she had developed this rather startling snout - and you can<br>
imagine how I suffered as a result of her ensuing bad temper.<br>
However she still managed to make one of her executive<br>
decisions - to sell the house and relocate to some remote<br>
seaside village where they would enjoy all the same amenities,<br>
without intrusive neighbours.<br><br>
Of course I couldn't help wondering what was going to happen to<br>
me. I needn't have worried because after a couple of abortive<br>
house hunts they decided their present abode was so superior<br>
they would remain here regardless - and heaven help anyone<br>
within a 2 km radius.<br><br>
However in Sheldene's case one thing always leads to another<br>
and by the following morning she had decided that she 'would go<br>
back to selling houses' . I have now learnt she has done this<br>
once before, and has 'all' the necessary qualifications. In<br>
addition I have also been informed that the huge sums of money<br>
she will undoubtedly' earn will go towards improving the house<br>
and will not result in any increase in my salary.<br><br>
Which makes me think - nastily. Because I have also been told<br>
that she will continue to produce this ezine, and Newbies, Nerds<br>
& Nitwits, and keep up the website, and take the dogs for their<br>
walks, and maintain her fading suntan, and take up patchwork....<br>
I won't go on because I don't like the sound of any of it. This is
all<br>
going to put pressure on somebody - and that will probably be<br>
me.<br><br>
Amazingly she managed, within miinutes, to persuade an<br>
unsuspecting real estate broker to let her join his staff. (He
was<br>
carefully selected, let me add, because of his offices' proximity<br>
to this address, so there is no doubt I will continue to be<br>
perpetually harassed.)<br><br>
I am sure this is the lull before a storm. Sheldene arranged
a<br>
few days 'grace' so she could make a start on the ezines. Keith<br>
is burbling on about all the things he is going to achieve - which<br>
includes finishing painting the kitchen cupboards he began a year<br>
ago, painting all the guttering, replacing floorboards....I'm not<br>
going on with that list either because there's a very good
chance<br>
I may be expected to lend a hand there also.<br><br>
Of course every dark cloud has a silver lining and at least I won't<br>
see quite so much of Sheldene...providing she sticks to the new<br>
venture for more than five minutes. Pretending to be a
pleasant<br>
and reasonable person is bound to stretch all her resources to<br>
the limit!<br><br>
<i>(I'll give her dark clouds - Ed.)<br><br>
<br>
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<b> FASHIONABLY FOOLISH<br><br>
</b> FASHION can make a fool of anyone, until you're old enough<br>
to know better. In my case the most ridiculous moments always<br>
involved trendy attachments, which is why I'm now wary of any<br>
beauty aids which are not strictly home-grown<br><br>
Eons ago, upon my arrival in swinging London, it took me about<br>
two seconds to realise that the black, woollen coat purchased,<br>
with difficulty, in sunny South Africa made me look like Caesar's<br>
grandmother. All the English dolly birds were sporting coats<br>
with glamorous fur collars, and the department stores were<br>
stocked with tempting examples of this with-it attire, As I couldn't<br>
afford to immediately lash out on a new coat the situation was<br>
desperate.<br><br>
Until I spied the fur collars, sold separately at Selfridges.<br><br>
Most of these were out of my reach - except for a delicious,<br>
fluffy, white thing which I pounced on, paid for and sewed onto<br>
the black overcoat in a matter of minutes.<br><br>
What bliss. No longer a Roman matriarch, I felt and looked like<br>
Zsa Zsa Gabor, so 'Hello London'.<br><br>
Properly dressed I was able to explore and enjoy that exciting<br>
city, with visits to West End musicals high on my prioriity list -<br>
especially if someone else was buying the tickets.<br><br>
Inevitably I was eventually caught in the rain while dashing with<br>
my escourt from the theatre to the tube station. We had hardly<br>
collapsed into our seats on the train when the rude creature<br>
asked loudly, 'What on earth is that smell?'<br><br>
Which was quite enough to set the whole packed carriage<br>
sniffing, and I must admit it was appalling. Shades of wet dog,<br>
but worse, and as we steamed and dried the reek intensified.<br><br>
Naturally I joined in the grimacing and muttering but began to<br>
suspect the source of the odour was hovering above my now<br>
bedraggled Zsa Zsa collar. So it wasn't fake Siberian fox afer all<br>
- simply common and garden teased sheep. If it's all the same<br>
to you I'll say no more about that dreadful evening.<br><br>
Shortly afterwards, to take my mind off that fiasco, I decided to<br>
invest in false eyelashes. The effect was fantastic, even when<br>
the corners became unstuck. In fact I couldn't imagine how I<br>
had dared to appear in public without them.<br><br>
Unfortunately hospitality has to be returned so my flatmate and I<br>
invited a few people for dinner. As a rule the extent of our<br>
cooking was sketchy to non-existent but we settled on a roast,<br>
with all the trimmings. To be on the safe side we dressed<br>
ourselves carefully, with attachments, before we began<br>
cooking.<br><br>
Everything went smoothly and I volunteered to serve the<br>
roasted lamb - never expecting the scorching blast which sent<br>
me reeling across the room when I opened the oven. Not that it<br>
mattered because the food was great, even if my face felt a bit<br>
funny.<br><br>
I became aware, however, that I was on the receiving end of<br>
some strangely speculative glances so at the first opportunity<br>
slipped away to sneak a look in a mirror.<br><br>
Well! What are friends for if they can't tell you your fluttering<br>
eyes are draped with what appears to be the residue of frazzled<br>
spiders?<br><br>
Fortunately I had a spare pair of eyelashes, but never really<br>
trusted them after that. But not to worry because hair pieces<br>
were just around the fashionable corner and although it took<br>
time to find one the right shade this was, without doubt, the<br>
most precious attachment of all.<br><br>
Upswept hairstyles were suddenly transforming scruffy chicks<br>
into elegant women. Of course many of us required the<br>
addition of that volumising 'postiche' in order to avoid the<br>
startled rabbit look. However once these were in place there<br>
were few bad hair days so this fad has remained on the fringes<br>
for years - but not without some unfortunate consequences.<br><br>
The first hiccup occurred when my husband and I were strolling<br>
through an English village and my skilfully arranged hairpiece<br>
became hooked onto an overhanging rosebush. I struggled to<br>
release myself only to become well and truly entangled, so<br>
Keith had to help...<br><br>
Just in time to be caught clutching a hank of reddish hair by a<br>
woman riding sedately past on a bicycle...<br><br>
Perhaps we did look rather odd falling about in a rosebush...and<br>
perhaps she really believed he was tearing my hair out...but to<br>
turn tail and pedal off furiously was over reacting, surely?<br><br>
Anyway that little incident failed to put me off and the<br>
strawberry-blonde pony tail travelled back to Africa with us.<br><br>
After a decade or two we acquired a granddaughter who<br>
refused to go to sleep, ever, unless someone, with hair she<br>
could play with, lay beside her. Which became tedious, to put it<br>
mildly.<br><br>
Unselfishly, I produced my treasured hairpiece and the dear<br>
little girl fell asleep happily while holding it in her tiny fist.<br><br>
It was supposed to be a temporary loan but four years later<br>
Chantelle was still nodding off with the aid of the hairpiece.<br>
Even worse, she carried it around all day long. What had once<br>
been an object of pride and beauty was now a fuzzy, filthy little<br>
mop, and the whole family hated the sight of it.<br><br>
With Chantelle's schooldays rapidly approaching my daughter<br>
and I tried every subterfuge we could think of to separate the<br>
child from the furry horror - but always gave in because we<br>
couldn't stand the resulting roars.<br><br>
Then, one memorable hot afternoon, we dropped into an ice<br>
cream parlour, with the mop, and got lucky. In her haste to get<br>
both hands into a chocolate sundae, Chantelle inadvertently<br>
cast IT on the floor.<br><br>
Chattering wildly we ate, flung down the money, threw the<br>
unsuspecting brat into the pushchair, and fled. When Chantelle<br>
discovered she had mislaid the hair we swore we had no idea<br>
where - and life returned to normal after about five days.<br><br>
We often wondered about the person who found IT sulking<br>
under the table, and hoped they quickly recovered from the<br>
shock.<br><br>
I have never found another hair attachment that matched<br>
properly and have had to accept bad hair days and/or the<br>
scared rabbit look ever since.<br><br>
Of course I'm still searching...<br><br>
<b>Copyright 2002 Sheldene Chant<br><br>
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<b>SHARE AND SHARE ALIKE....<br><br>
by Sally Breslin<br><br>
</b>MY husband and I celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary<br>
recently. Originally, we had planned to celebrate it in style in<br>
Las Vegas, but my dog suddenly decided to become the canine<br>
version of Olympic gold-medalist Nadia Comaneci, and ended up<br>
blowing out both of her knees…to the tune of about $1,000 per<br>
knee for repairs.<br><br>
Which left us with just enough vacation money to travel as far as<br>
Hooksett.<br><br>
'We can still go to a casino on our anniversary,' my husband<br>
said, trying to sound enthusiastic. 'We can go down to the<br>
Mohegan Sun in Connecticut. It’s just as nice as any of the<br>
casinos in Las Vegas.'<br><br>
It sounded like a pretty good idea to me, even though I knew I<br>
would lose every cent I brought with me within five minutes. And<br>
the thought of the two-and-a-half-hour drive down there on the<br>
world’s most boring highway didn’t thrill me that much, either.<br>
Still, it was our anniversary, and I wasn’t about to spend it sitting<br>
at home.<br><br>
Romantic soul that I am, I invited my mother to come along with<br>
us. 'Are you sure?' she asked. 'I mean, it’s your anniversary.<br>
Don’t the two of you want to be alone?'<br><br>
'Nah,' I said. 'Besides that, you can help keep me awake during<br>
the ride down.'<br><br>
Fortunately, we had nice weather for traveling on the Big Day.<br><br>
'I overheard a guy in the post office who said he got frisked and<br>
had his car searched when he went to the casino,' I told my<br>
husband and mother as we headed down Route 93.<br><br>
'Yeah, and I also heard that they strip-search you before letting<br>
you in,' my husband added, winking at me to let me know he<br>
was just pulling my mother’s leg.<br><br>
There was silence from the back seat, then my mother finally<br>
said with concern in her voice, 'Strip search? See, that’s why I’ve<br>
always told you to make sure to wear your good underwear! I just<br>
hope you wore it today!'<br><br>
When we pulled up to the entrance of the casino, we were<br>
greeted by a young man who was dressed in an outfit that looked<br>
like a cross between Daniel Boone’s and Indiana Jones’. 'May I<br>
search the trunk of your car?' he asked.<br><br>
My husband handed the key to him, then said under his breath, 'I<br>
have so many boxes, tool chests and bags back there, this could<br>
take all night.'<br><br>
The employee opened the trunk, then immediately slammed it<br>
shut. 'You’re all set,' he said with a smile. We could have been<br>
smuggling hand grenades and machine guns for all he knew.<br><br>
We entered the casino, and after walking the length of three or<br>
four football fields, finally came to the smoke-free slot-machine<br>
room. If there were 10 people in the entire room, I would have<br>
been surprised. We had our choice of just about any machine.<br><br>
Not that it made any difference. Within 45 minutes, my husband<br>
and I each had lost about $50. My mother, however (a.k.a. 'Lucky<br>
Fingers'), had won 200 quarters and was having a grand old<br>
time…until she walked over to us to complain.<br><br>
'I just put a $20 bill into that machine,' she said, pointing behind<br>
her, 'and it gave me only half the credits it’s supposed to!'<br><br>
'That’s because it’s a 50-cent machine, not a 25-cent one,' I<br>
said.<br><br>
'Oh,' she said. 'Well, I’m not about to play a 50-cent machine.<br>
You lose your money too fast that way. I’m going to go cash out<br>
my $20 and put it into a quarter machine!' But instead of hitting<br>
the 'cash-out' button, she accidentally hit the 'spin' button…and<br>
won 100 half-dollars. My husband groaned and rolled his eyes.<br><br>
'If you want me, I’ll be over at the poker machines,' he said, and<br>
disappeared. I later found him wolfing down cheeseburgers at a<br>
snack bar. 'What are you doing way over here by yourself?' I<br>
asked him.<br><br>
'This is the only place where I actually can get something in<br>
return for my money,' he muttered.<br><br>
I played another slot machine and lost my money so fast, it<br>
practically left skid marks. I really didn’t want to spend any more,<br>
so I just sat there for a few minutes, wishing that my Fairy<br>
Godmother suddenly would appear and drop a sack of money at<br>
my feet.<br><br>
For some reason, as I sat there, I remembered a documentary I<br>
had seen on TV about how every move you make in a casino is<br>
being watched on closed-circuit TV. According to the<br>
documentary, the cameras can even zoom in on something as<br>
small as a freckle.<br><br>
It’s funny, but the minute I remembered that, I began to feel<br>
uncomfortable, as if spies were looking down at me and counting<br>
my dandruff flakes. I gazed up at the ceiling where all the<br>
cameras supposedly are hidden, and narrowed my eyes at<br>
them. Then I glanced around, trying to see where other cameras<br>
might be hidden. I didn’t realize it, but I must have looked like<br>
someone who was about to pull something sneaky.<br><br>
All I can say is that the TV documentary was right. It took only a<br>
minute before two security people appeared out of nowhere and<br>
stood right next to me. They tried to look nonchalant, but seeing<br>
that I was the only person in the whole row, it didn’t take a genius<br>
to figure out they were keeping an eye on me, just in case I<br>
decided to slip a slug into the slot machine or hoist a machine<br>
onto my back and run off with it.<br><br>
My mother was ahead by $400, and my husband and I pretty<br>
much had lost our shirts (and other assorted pieces of clothing),<br>
when we decided it was about time to leave. While my mother<br>
lugged three cups overflowing with coins to the cash-out window,<br>
I stuffed a few more quarters into a slot machine.<br><br>
Three sevens with flames shooting out of them popped up.<br>
Lights flashed, and the machine started to play, 'We’re in the<br>
Money,' over and over again. 'What did I do?' I asked the man<br>
who had slipped into the seat next to mine.<br><br>
He leaned over, looked at my machine and said in a tone that<br>
had all the enthusiasm of a coroner’s, 'You just won 1,000<br>
quarters. You have to wait for an employee to come over and pay<br>
you.'<br><br>
I was so excited, I jumped up and ran off to find my husband and<br>
mother… and foolishly abandoned my winning machine in the<br>
process. It’s a good thing the casino was nearly empty that night,<br>
and the guy who was at the next machine was honest, or I’d<br>
have been out $250.<br><br>
Fifteen minutes later, an employee approached, fiddled around<br>
with my machine, and then told me to hold out my hand. She<br>
piled it with crisp $10 bills. I smiled all the way home. And I was<br>
still smiling the rest of week…even when I came down with the<br>
flu.<br><br>
Seeing that I had won the money on our anniversary, I decided to<br>
share half of it with my husband. At first, he didn’t want to take it,<br>
saying I should keep the money because I had won it.<br><br>
'Oh, just take it and have fun with it,' I told him. 'Marriage is all<br>
about sharing.'<br><br>
Which is why I also ended up giving him my 'flu.<br><br>
<b>© Copyright 2001 Sally Breslin<br>
</b>___________________________________<br>
<i>Sally Breslin is an NH Press Association award-winning<br>
columnist who has written for newspapers, magazines, books<br>
and the Internet in New Hampshire and beyond. Her column<br>
appears on NH.com every Tuesday. She can be reached by e-<br>
mail at silly-@att.net.<br><br>
</i>öÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖö<br><br>
<b>eNonyMouse...<br><br>
</b> <i>(..with a few tips on how to speak about<br>
men and women, and remain politically<br>
ciorrect)<br><br>
</i> 1). She is not a babe or a chick - She is a BREASTED<br>
AMERICAN.<br><br>
2). She is not a screamer or moaner - She is VOCALLY<br>
APPRECIATIVE.<br><br>
3). She is not easy - She is HORIZONTALLY ACCESSIBLE.<br><br>
4). She is not dumb - She is a DETOUR OFF THE<br>
INFORMATION SUPERHIGHWAY.<br><br>
5). She is not an airhead - She is REALITY IMPAIRED.<br><br>
6). She does not get drunk or tipsy - She gets CHEMICALLY<br>
INCONVENIENCED.<br><br>
7). She does not have breast implants - She is MEDICALLY<br>
ENHANCED.<br><br>
8). She does not nag you - She becomes VERBALLY<br>
REPETITIVE.<br><br>
* * *<br><br>
1). He does not have a beer gut - He has developed a<br>
LIQUID GRAIN STORAGE FACILITY.<br><br>
2). He is not a bad dancer - He is OVERLY CAUCASIAN.<br><br>
3). He does not get lost all the time - He INVESTIGATES<br>
ALTERNATIVE DESTINATIONS.<br><br>
4). He is not balding - He is in FOLLICLE REGRESSION.<br><br>
5). He is not a cradle snatcher - He prefers GENERATIONALLY<br>
DIFFERENT RELATIONSHIPS<br><br>
6). He does not get falling-down drunk - He becomes<br>
ACCIDENTALLY HORIZONTAL.<br><br>
7). He does not act like a total ass - He develops a case of<br>
RECTAL-CRANIAL INVERSION.<br><br>
8). He is not a male chauvenist pig - He has SWINE<br>
EMPATHY.<br><br>
9). He is not afraid of commitment - He is MONOGAMOUSLY<br>
CHALLENGED<br><br>
<br>
öÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖö<br><br>
<b>INCREASE YOUR SELF ESTEEM<br><br>
A Tip from Jan Tincher<br><br>
</b>DO you want to increase your self-esteem? Here are five<br>
great ways!<br><br>
1. Greet others with a smile<br>
2. Always show real appreciation for a gift or complement<br>
3. Talk positively<br>
4. Increase your level of creativity<br>
5. View a failure as the conclusion of one performance, and<br>
get on to the next. Realize this is NOT the end of your life<br>
as you see it now. There is hope ahead.<br><br>
Self-esteem can be defined as two-way street to happiness.<br>
When you're happy, you make others happy. When<br>
you make others happy, you feel better. When your brain<br>
knows you're happy, it shoots your self-esteem way up.<br>
Try focusing on these five items for a week. After<br>
seven days, feel how good it feels to do this.<br><br>
Won't it be great to feel like this for the rest of your life?<br><br>
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br>
<i>Would you like a FREE phone session with Jan Tincher,<br>
a nationally recognized expert in Hypnotherapy and Master<br>
Neuro-Linguistic Programming? Click here to find out how!<br>
<a href="http://www.tameyourbrain.com/subscribe.htm" eudora="autourl">Http://www.TameYourBrain.com/subscribe.htm</a><br><br>
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<br>
<b>'FOOTBALL IS WORTH SLEEPING FOR'<br><br>
says Melvin Durai<br><br>
</b>IT'S Monday night and my wife is lying beside me on our<br>
couch, watching television. At about 9:50, I glance in her<br>
direction and am pleased to see her snoozing. By 'pleased,'<br>
I mean 'delighted', 'ecstatic', and 'jumping for joy'.<br><br>
You see, when she falls asleep, it feels like I've staged a<br>
coup d'état. All of a sudden, I'm in total control of the<br>
TV. I'm the president of programming, the chief of channel<br>
selection, the ruler of the remote.<br><br>
On this night, the coup is nothing short of momentous --<br>
worthy of a celebratory dance around the coffee table -- for<br>
it means I can watch Monday Night Football. I can spend a<br>
few hours rooting for the New York Jets, just as I've spent<br>
the previous few hours rooting for sleepiness to set in.<br><br>
I try to watch the game calmly and quietly, making no sudden<br>
movements that might awaken my wife and cause her to quash<br>
the coup.<br><br>
I pray that Dennis Miller, the comedian-turned-commentator,<br>
won't say something so funny that I burst into laughter,<br>
bringing my football watching to a premature end.<br><br>
I don't want to hear this from the TV: 'It's first and goal<br>
at the nine yard line. One second left in the game.<br>
Testaverde throws into the end zone and ... (click) ... Next<br>
on C-SPAN, celebrated author Salman Rushdie will discuss<br>
his new book 'Fury' and why his protagonist, like his<br>
ex-wife, is furious.'<br><br>
As you've probably guessed, my wife and I don't agree on the<br>
merits of watching football. I find it tremendously<br>
enjoyable; she has more fun scrubbing the bathtub. If only I<br>
could get her to do it on Monday nights.<br><br>
Her interests are far more sublime than football:<br>
literature, theater, movies, yoga, chess. I've tried to<br>
convince her that football is a lot like chess, but she<br>
won't buy it. She doesn't realize that the typical football<br>
fan has the foresight of a chess grandmaster, capable of<br>
deep thinking such as this: 'Each team has two timeouts<br>
left. That's really important to consider, because it means<br>
that there's enough time, in all probability, to buy four<br>
more beers!'<br><br>
I've tried to tell her that football isn't just about men<br>
hitting each other -- it's also about men jumping on each<br>
other. And the players really don't mind the violence.<br>
That's why, after every game, many of them get together to<br>
pray. 'Dear God, please help our injured teammates.'<br><br>
I've tried to explain some of the redeeming aspects of pro<br>
football. For example:<br><br>
---It isn't a sexist sport. After all, one woman owns a<br>
football team (the St. Louis Rams) and a number of other<br>
women are cheerleaders.<br><br>
---When the referees throw their flags, it's worth the price<br>
of a ticket, for it's not every day you get to see men picking up<br>
after themselves.<br><br>
---Football players wear helmets, which means that, unlike<br>
professional wrestlers, they value their brains.<br><br>
It would be great if my wife shared my passion for football,<br>
but I'm willing to settle for far less. I'm willing to settle for her<br>
saying something like this: 'You watch your game, I'll read<br>
Rushdie. Let's see who gets bored first.'<br>
(It won't be me!)<br><br>
We do have another TV in our bedroom, but I feel guilty<br>
going there to watch football alone. It's important for me<br>
to spend quality time with my wife. Even if she's asleep.<br><br>
<b>(c) Copyright 2001 Melvin Durai. All Rights Reserved<br>
</b>______________________________<br>
<i>Melvin Durai is an Indiana-based writer, humorist and<br>
occasional stand-up comedian. A native of India, he<br>
grew up in Zambia and moved to the U.S. in the early<br>
1980s.Through the Internet, his column is read by<br>
thousands of people in more than 70 countries.<br>
For a free subscription to one of America's most<br>
entertaining and thought-provoking columns, send a<br>
blank message to <a href="mailto:durai-h-@mail-list.com" eudora="autourl">mailto:durai-h-@mail-list.com</a><br>
or go to <a href="http://www.melvindurai.com/" eudora="autourl">http://www.melvindurai.com</a><br><br>
</i>öÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖö<br><br>
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simply sending a blank email to<br>
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<i>From My High Horse<br><br>
</i> <b>FEELING BORED? THEN DON'T TELL<br><br>
ME ABOUT IT...<br><br>
</b>FEELING bored? Please spare me the details unless you<br>
really want to make my hackles rise...<br><br>
Recently I co-entertained a couple of charming children. We<br>
spent a long morning on the beach, doing exactly what they<br>
chose, and returned to the house just as it began to rain.<br><br>
After lunch I scuttled off to bed with a book, revelling at the<br>
prospect of a few peaceful hours as the children were watching<br>
videos.<br><br>
In actual fact I hadn't turned three pages before the pounding of<br>
little feet warned me of their imminent arrival. They were 'bored'<br>
and what could they do next?<br><br>
Straight off the cuff I could have made several suggestions, but<br>
their mother was lurking near by.<br><br>
Then, 'This can't be happening', I thought grimly when ten<br>
minutes later we were bundling ourselves into the car and<br>
heading for a shopping mall where some enterprising auntie had<br>
set up craft lessons for bored children.<br><br>
Surely everyone should be able to amuse themselves for an hour<br>
or two or, when all else fails, switch their brains out of neutral<br>
and think? After a little practise some people even get to like<br>
doing that and actually resent being interrupted.<br><br>
Many adults dread the thought of living alone and if forced to<br>
often become depressed and self-pitying. On the other hand,<br>
self-sufficient types learn to make the most of every 'lonely'<br>
moment. They are too busy sorting out their thoughts and<br>
arranging their lives to their own satisfaction to worry about a<br>
lack of company.<br><br>
Rather than constantly instructing their followers to love<br>
themselves, I believe self-help gurus would do better to suggest<br>
that people first learn to live with themselves and, if necessary,<br>
by themselves.<br><br>
So, next time your child or teenager tires of the many distractions<br>
you have laid on for his or her amusement, don't exhaust<br>
yourself trying to fill the gap. A little quiet time, for reflection, never<br>
hurt anyone.<br><br>
Of course being bored is not a modern phenomena.<br>
Commenting during the 1800's the poet, Lord Byron, said,<br>
'Society is now one polished horde - formed of two mighty tribes,<br>
the Bores and the Bored.'<br><br>
What's new?<br><br>
Absolutely nothing, but we can still hope.<br><br>
<b>Copyright 2002 Sheldene Chant<br><br>
</b>Ööº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖö<br><br>
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<b>Copyright 2002 Poignant Pearls & Potbellied Pigs<br><br>
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