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Poignant Pearls & Potbellied Pigs, October 2002
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sheldene chant
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Oct 09, 2002 11:24 PDT
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POIGNANT PEARLS & POTBELLIED PIGS
Vol. 3 Issue 10 October, 2002
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CONTENTS
- Hello there . . .
- Inside Story
- It's Halloween Soon
- eNonyMouse - other weird things you might
not want to know
- More About Pookie - The Last Farewell?
- 'Get Ready For Some First-Rate First Aid'
- Hippo Rage
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HELLO THERE . . .
…you with the stars in your eyes, a grasshopper brain and
thoughts without boundaries…
As promised I'm putting this ezine to bed early - with help from
Melvin Durai (who has been taking a course in first aid) and David
Leonhardt (I'm sure you've heard of road rage but what about
Hippo Rage?)
It's Halloween Soon appeared in the October 2000 issue of 'Pearls & Pigs'
(forgive me for being boring). Griselda's Inside Story is also a 'repeat'
- and
what a battle I had to find something worth repeating. I've sent Griselda
off on some enforced leave, which seemed the wise thing to do bearing in
mind that I'm expecting all these visitors. Far from being helpful at times
like this her perpetual carping would have driven me off my head.
The first of my guests have arrived and the weather continues to be
absolutely awful. There's nothing quite like a beach cottage on a cold,
wet and windy day - but no doubt we'll all survive one way or another.
In the meantime I hope there's sunshine where you are (if I think kind
thoughts perhaps our clouds will clear)....
I'll see you next month.
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INSIDE STORY
by Griselda
WELCOME back to the Idiot Chronicles. I am sure there
is no need to tell you I am not the idiot.
She's been quiet lately - leaving me in peace to ponder a number
of things. Such as do people grow like the animals they live with,
or is it the other way around?
It must be, as Sheldene was here first, and it is frightening to consider
how many animals she has undoubtedly corrupted. The present
contingent are fine examples.
I cannot believe there are many dogs as wilful, self-centred and
domineering as these, and the three cats, although overshadowed
by the canines, have also developed 'endearing' little habits.
For a start there's the cat that now insists she is fed ON THE ROOF -
and you can imagine the fetching, carrying and climbing that involves.
I can't even say this cat is too nervous to descend to ground level as
she joins the others for sunbathing and other unstrenuous activities.
However at dinner time she scampers away and onto the roof.
Feeding the dogs also has its highlights. George Hamish Badger,
the Border collie, is convinced his half- sister, Hermione, should not
eat. Snacks are OK but she is definitely not entitled to a main meal.
As soon as the dishes appear he starts snarling and snapping then,
having failed to petrify his sibling, he flounces onto the sundeck and
under a table - which is where he chooses to eat his food. Sheldene
has to sit beside him while he gobbles it all up (that's a laugh when
it's raining), and if she goes out he will not taste a morsel until she
returns.
In fact all the dogs are absolutely impossible, and who does that
remind you of? Anyone who comes here on a regular basis must
surely agree I should be paid danger money.
Visitors perch on rickety stools, rather then sit in an easy chair
where the dogs would clamber all over them. And if ignored the
brutes use their well developed claws (their mistress also has
those) to scar you for life, while pretending to be friendly.
Finally, watch out when ready to depart. The two St Bernards
love travelling in cars and, given a choice, would certainly be
long-distance lorry drivers.
One unfortunate woman, who popped in on her way to an important
engagement, eventually left on foot when Hillary and Quentin refused
to get out of her vehicle. And this was not an isolated incident.
Carelessly open a car door and those great, lumbering beasts move
like lightning in order to get in first - and spread themselves across
the seats.
Quentin actually hijacked a stranger's BMW, which was parked nearby.
As soon as Sheldene noticed Quentin was missing I was roped in to
join the search. Brandishing his lead she erupted into the car park
situated behind us - and was stopped by a nervous male voice yelping
'Is this your dog?'
The park was full but we quickly honed in on a gleaming car with the
would-be occupants, a tall man and his young son, hovering beside
the open door. We could also see Quentin, straddling the front and
back seats.
Muttering some profanity Sheldene marched across (at times even
I am forced to admire her aplomb). Airily informing the victim that
'He often does this', she clipped the lead onto Quentin's useless
choke chain and hissed, 'Get out - or I'll pull your head off!'
The dog's only reaction was to scrabble onto the front seat
(upholstered in leather) and wedge himself under the steering
wheel. An undignified tug-of-war followed, during which I tried
to convince myself I was invisible.
Eventually Quentin gave in, allowing Sheldene to reassume her
false sense of superiority. 'There you are', she said kindly, and
the rightful owners leapt into their vehicle.
I waited for some sort of denunciation but to my horror heard
Sheldene being fervently thanked for removing her unruly,
trespassing dog. Under the circumstances only she could have
accepted these tributes so graciously.
I think I've told you before, when it comes to that woman
and what she gets away with, there's no justice!
(Of course Griselda has no pets - she's far too selfish -
and no self-respecting dog would agree to live with her
Ed.)
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IT"S HALLOWEEN SOON ...so Train Your Brain
to Entertain
ALTHOUGH pumpkins abound in many parts of Africa, Halloween
is not really a part of the southern scene. We have ghouls
aplenty but not confined to one particular day of the year and,
on the whole, most of the population tends to take their antics
rather seriously.
I have gleaned, from books mostly, that in America the last eve of
the old Celtic calendar is celebrated by dressing up the kids and
sending them out to forage for food (trick or treat, I think, you call
it) - while the adults stay at home in order to give handouts to
other visiting kids. Sounds like a lot of fun.
In Britain I believe they do a bit of prancing around in covens, and
so forth, Perhaps that's more like it but I still think I should tell you
what we do, on the rare occasions we remember Halloween far
enough in advance to do anything constructive about it.
At least six weeks beforehand (because there's an awful lot to do)
we decide to have a party. And the first decision taken, before
inviting anyone, is that the children will all go to bed while we,
the deserving adults, dress up - and we certainly won't be giving
candy away to anyone.
Having done this a couple of times it's easy to give you a quick
rundown. Next soak raisins, or any soft fruit, in a lovely mixture
of rum or brandy, and honey, in a closed container. Open it a
few times to taste - but not too much. On the night, you greet
your guests with a spoonful of this magic elixir (ram it between
their teeth, if necessary) and give a piece of fruit to the chosen
few. After the first sip you won't have any difficulty persuading
anyone to have a bit more..quite the opposite in fact.
Then you're away. All your guests are ticking nicely, the
enormous stew you have made will seem marvellous, ditto
for the punch, music, decorations etc etc etc.
The decor is actually very simple. Draw a picture of a witch
on her broomstick and cut out several silhouettes in black paper.
Put these up on the walls, turn out the lights, light a few candles,
and your guests will do everything else. You will be amazed at
their ability to reveal themselves as witches, wizards and
warlocks. Be prepared for a mass of swirling cloaks, pointy
hats and teeth, but do not despair because some witches are
extremely glamorous.
I will have to go into this Halloween thing in depth sometime,
because you must be getting bored and I've barely scratched
the surface ( and talking of scratching, dot a few cats about if
possible).
Still feeling shy and nervous? Perhaps the next
article will help you overcome this....
TRAIN YOUR BRAIN TO ENTERTAIN
Lavish food and luxurious surroundings are not necessarily
the key to being the host or hostess with the mostest.
In fact food, drink and venue have very little to do with it.
Success in the entertainment stakes is largely an intellectual
exercise.
Whatever the occasion - maybe a light luncheon, bright and
breezy brunch or an opportunity to be frightfully formal - the
final outcome is entirely dependent on your state of mind.
If you expect to be hassled, you will be. If you dread the
thought of what you have let yourself in for - watch out. You
need to get right back to basics and take another look at
exactly what entertainment involves..
I don't believe anyone decides to entertain because they wish
to suffer. Sometimes it is something one has to do - rather
than something one specifically chooses - but in any event it
will be a completely pointless exercise if you have no
intention of either being entertaining or being entertained..
If you require inspiration take a peek inside a thesaurus. You
will discover that, no matter how minor, you are sharing in a
celebration, an excuse for merriment and feasting, in
convivial company.
You will probably be surprised to see the number of words
devoted to this popular pastime, and none of them suggest you
are embarking on a test, skillfully designed to humiliate you
and see you fail.
So, get your head together before you do anything. This is
more vital than listing guests will ever be and, once you're
feeling relaxed and confident, organising the eats will be 'a
piece of cake'.
The 'party convener' (that's you) sets the tone because, if
the atmosphere is right, a happy conclusion is guaranteed.
It is essential that you welcome your guests individually, and
warmly. Let them know you are delighted to see them and that
you mean to look after them. People who have received special
treatment on arrival will be more likely to reach out and
react with other guests - and less likely to skulk in corners.
However in the early stages it is your job to root out lurkers
(if any) and introduce them to more jovial types. Banish
chairs so would-be wallflowers have nowhere to plant
themselves, and ensure everyone mixes and mingles until the
room is buzzing pleasantly.
Keep the snacks and drinks flowing - although they have now
become secondary to 'great' conversation - and this is when
you can begin to feel quietly triumphant. From now on the
event will gather momentum and it's time for you to really
start enjoying yourself. Wasn't it a marvelous idea to invite
all these fantastic people?
Once you have done this a couple of times you will begin to
develop a party persona and after that nothing will phase you.
As you grow more convinced of your abilities, and therefore
more confident, you will be more adventurous,
The key is to accept responsibility for your guests, and to
ensure no-one ever feels left out, or uncomfortable.
You too may be naturally shy and retiring but this is your
party - and you CANNOT cry if you want to.
Having invited these people into your home it is up to you to
set the scene, steer conversations, and make sure everyone
enjoys themselves. You have to be an incredible wimp if you
can't psyche yourself up to do this in your own surroundings.
And it's not as bad as it sounds because your friends and
acquaintances (unless you're in with a particularly weird
bunch) are conditioned to humor you while they are in your
lair.
So if the small talk flags, jump in and ad lib and don't worry
about sounding ridiculous. In this instance it is very unlikely
anyone will actually call you a fool.
Keep this up and in time your reputation as one of the original
party animals will be entrenched. This will make it ever easier
for you to do your own thing because now it will be expected
of you.
Although you will probably never be as relaxed and vivacious
on someone else's turf, your experiences will eventually allow
you to rescue more timid entertainers. Save the day with some
well-timed remarks when the proceedings falter, and they will be
grateful. Which will make you a much sought-after guest in future.
Constant honing of your skills is well worth the effort -because you
are developing a talent that becomes more rewarding as one grows
older.
Nobody is going to be sorry for Aunt Kate if she can outdo Auntie
Mame, any day, when arranging an extravaganza. .
Imagine what fun one can have with all those christenings,
weddings and other gala happenings - to say nothing of one's
own little bashes.
©2000 Sheldene Chant
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eNonyMouse
...... more weird things you may not know
A snail can sleep for three years.
No word in the English language rhymes with "MONTH."
Our eyes are always the same size from birth, but our nose and
ears never stop growing.
The electric chair was invented by a dentist.
All polar bears are left handed.
An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain.
TYPEWRITER is the longest word that can be made using
the letters only on one row of the keyboard.
'Go' is the shortest complete sentence in the English language.
If Barbie were life-size, her measurements would be 39-23-33. She
would stand seven feet, two inches tall.
A crocodile cannot stick its tongue out.
The cigarette lighter was invented before the match.
Americans on average eat 18 acres of pizza every day.
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*More about Pookie
THE LAST FAREWELL?
IN order to fully appreciate a new home, it is advisable to rough
it for a while in the most basic of farmhouses.
Our new house in Borrowdale had tiles in the bathrooms,
gleaming wooden floors, a modern, fitted kitchen, dreamy carpets,
plus space for Africa. Within a matter of hours we had thankfully
readapted to civilisation - and couldn't resist nipping to the shops
every five minutes to stock up on chocolate, Cokes and bread.
Pookie, the vervet monkey, was installed in his fenced hen-house,
and the rest of the wildlife had settled in. Naturally Pookie was more
often out of his 'cage' than in, but I continued to bask in a false sense
of security because now I had somewhere to 'put' him when all his
minders were absent.
He was now a fully grown, rampant male, with magnificent incisors -
if you are into agony and like that sort of thing.
Instead of miles of veld, we were now surrounded by law-abiding
people living on one-acre plots. The thought of Pookie deciding to
drop in on someone's smart patio party made my blood run cold.
Farm life and living in suburbia have little in common. A farm
produces a tight-knit community where everyone knows a great
deal about everyone else, even if it is only hearsay. Pookie could,
and did, annoy the farm-workers, but every man, woman and child
was forewarned. They knew who he was and any instinctive fear
was tempered by the fact that he had been around for years
without doing anyone a serious injury.
However, if he dropped in on our new neighbours, it was likely to
cause blind panic - and Pookie's reaction to that didn't bear
thinking about.
The children were spending more time on school activities, and
discovering the joys of having friends 'just down the road'. Pookie
was bored and stayed confined in the chicken run only as long as
it suited him. I became more apprehensive daily, while Freitwell
and Bubu spent a great deal of time checking up on the monkey's
whereabouts. Fortunately he chose to remain in the garden.
One day Adrian put a foot wrong (he accidentally stood on Pookie's
tail) and was bitten savagely. We knew then this was the beginning
of the end. Never before had he turned on his bosom buddy, and if he
was prepared to attack Adrian, there was no hope for anyone else.
Still a night 'sub' on the national daily I was at work until midnight and
expected everyone to get themselves off to school and work in the
mornings. My husband left at 4 a.m. to train horses and for days (pay
attention, this is a tip on how to stay married for years) we communicated
mainly by telephone.
Bubu had always stuttered painfully but on the morning he woke me to
say Pookie had vanished, I caught the gist of it in a flash.
Clad only in disreputable pyjamas and brandishing a tennis racquet, I
hustled the now speechless Bubu from the bedroom and charged forth,
shouting, 'I'm going to kill that monkey, now!'
Both Freitwell and Bubu knew I didn't kill insects (they had been forced to
carry hundreds of them out of the house), but they seemed to have no
difficulty accepting that something had snapped and I was about to murder
a monkey, single handed. And neither of them made any move to stop me.
I ran here and there, yelling and beating the bushes with my racquet.
Eventually, I had to face the horrible truth that Pookie was not on the
property.
Freitwell set off on a bicycle in order to catch up with Adrian who was on
his way to school. Bubu and I continued to search fruitlessly.
This went on for hours but at 11 a.m. Freitwell and Adrian captured
Pookie at Helensvale, a neighbouring suburb about five miles away.
What a relief and, even better, he didn't appear to have damaged
anyone.
However, while the search was on I hadn't been idle. Bulawayo
boasted a famous wild animal sanctuary known as Chipingali - and
I had telephoned them, pleading for help.
Every night a train leaves Harare, bound for Bulawayo, and the
Chipingali people had agreed to meet the train and collect Pookie
the following morning. I had arranged to borrow a suitable crate
from the SPCA and the long-suffering 'vet' was going to give Pookie
a tranquilliser before he started his journey.
I suppose we were a bit morbid during that last afternoon with
Pookie, but the floods of tears that would normally have been
associated with a departing pet were missing.
Instead we told ourselves how happy Pookie would be when he
met up with all the other monkeys. During my telephone call I
had learned that Chipingali was in the process of building up a
troupe of displaced monkeys. Once rehabilitated and able to fend
for themselves the troupe would be released on an island on Lake
Kariba.
In the meantime, Pookie was being sent off with a hefty donation -
and I had agreed to provide monthly 'pocket money' until he went
to Kariba. At that stage I would have agreed to anything.
Next day a 'phone call from Bulawayo confirmed Pookie's safe
arrival and we began to forget the bad memories, weaving only
the good ones into the Pookie legend we would tell our
grandchildren.
I became increasingly thankful as it dawned on me that, apart
from the pocket money I had heard the last of Pookie - and all
house bound monkeys.
I was wrong - of course.
© Copyright 2000 Sheldene Chant
*The six previous articles about Pookie can
be found in the April, May, June, July, August and
September issues at:
http://www.sheldenechant.com/latestpearls.html
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'GET READY FOR SOME FIRST-RATE FIRST AID'
says Melvin Durai
IF you happen to have a serious accident when I'm around,
don't panic. I just took a first-aid class. I know how to
handle life-threatening injuries. Even if you're bleeding
profusely, I'll try my best to save your life, as soon as
someone revives me.
Here's how I expect things to go: You bleed, I faint,
someone revives me, I save your life, the president gives me
a medal of honor, I offer him valuable advice on the
economy, he appoints me as ambassador to the Bahamas.
See how easy that would be? If you do your part, I promise
to do mine. I may even invite you to the islands.
Whatever happens, please don't think I took the first-aid
class for selfish reasons. After all, there's no guarantee
the president would give me a medal, especially since so
many people -- firefighters, paramedics, police officers --
are more deserving. Some of these everyday heroes have
saved dozens of lives, administering not just first aid, but also
second and third aid.
Truth is, I hope I never have to provide first aid. I hope I
never have to figure out if a man has suffered a stroke or
just finished checking his stocks.
But in case I do, I plan to be fully prepared -- ready to
swing into action. Yes, from now on, I'm not going
anywhere without my first-aid manual.
Don't worry. The manual is only a backup for my brain,
which, despite its size, has a limited capacity to store
anything unrelated to football. (I'm an expert on ankle
sprains, knee injuries and hamstring pulls, not to mention
swollen heads.)
In an emergency, I would immediately provide first aid to
the victim, then check the manual to make sure I did the
right thing. Hopefully, a heart-attack victim would not mind
having his head bandaged.
'Don't worry, sir,' I'd say. 'I'll remove the bandage before
the paramedics arrive. You'll soon be able to breathe
again.'
Before taking the three-hour class, I didn't know the first
thing about first aid. Now I at least know a few things,
including the difference between an allergic reaction to
pollen and an allergic reaction to politicians. The symptoms
are often similar -- nausea, confusion, dizziness -- but
only the latter produces persistent pain in the butt.
I learned that most victims do not need to be fed, though
diabetics can be given sugar, while people with strains,
contusions and sprains can be treated with RICE (Rest, Ice,
Compress, Elevate).
I learned that there are three types of bleeding -- and one
of them isn't 'bleeding heart.' There are also three types
of burns, the most famous of which is Edward.
I learned that a knocked-out tooth can be saved in a
container of milk and taken to a dentist. And whenever
possible, it also helps to take along the victim.
I learned that Good Samaritan laws protect me from being
sued, as long as I meet certain conditions. For example, I
must act in good faith (even if the victim has no faith in
me). I must accept no compensation (even if the victim is
Bill Gates). And once I begin treatment, I must not abandon
the victim (even if I need to get more rice).
Most importantly, I learned that a first-aid class is
well-worth the trouble. You never know whose life you
might save. And saving a life sure beats taking one.
(c) Copyright 2002 Melvin Durai. All Rights Reserved.
________________________
Melvin Durai is an Indiana-based writer, humorist and
occasional stand-up comedian. Born in India and raised
in Zambia, he has lived in the U.S. since 1982.
Through the Internet, his column is read by thousands of
people in more than 90 countries.
http://www.MelvinDurai.com
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HIPPO RAGE
(text of a mini-keynote speech by David Leonhardt, a.k.a.
The Happy Guy,which brought down the house in Gatineau,
Quebec, April 21, 2002)
HAS anybody here ever been stuck in traffic for a frustratingly
long time? Put up your hand if you have.
Oooh! Don't you just hate that? And some people don't mind
showing us how much they hate it. We call it road rage.
Has anybody ever waited in a ticket lineup or a checkout lineup
for a frustratingly long time? Let me see those hands.
Believe it or not, some people don't like that either. We call
it lineup rage.
Has anybody ever been stuck waiting in a doctor's office for a
frustratingly long time? Let me see those hands.
And then you see somebody suddenly jump up and tear his hair out
and scream, 'Let me out. I've been here three hours. Three
days. Three months!' Well, I really should apologize. I
didn't mean to scare your kids. I was just demonstrating
waiting room rage.
Let me tell you a story about the Lwungwa River Valley - that's
in Africa, you know. The dry season there gets very dry. My
throat is getting dry just thinking about it. The Lwangwa River
stops rushing. It slows to a trickle. Finally, it stops
flowing. And all that are left are pools of water, here and
there.
One by one, the animals head to higher ground. To forest cover.
To other water holes. Anywhere they can find food or drink.
Just like we will all do late. Did I say all the animals? Not
all. Not the hippos.
The hippos stay in their river at it slows to a stream. They
stay in the stream as it turns into pools. They stay in the
pools as they shrink into puddles. As the puddles shrink, the
hippos get more crowded. As the hippos get more crowded, they
get surly. Cranky. Grumpy. They gnash their teeth. They poke
at each other. They pick fights. It's river rage!
Has anyone ever come face to face with a raging hippopotamus?
Don't be shy. Go ahead, put up your hands. Sure, when we're
young - I'm sure you all remember this as I do - we're taught
that they're slow, cute, and cuddly. They might even be pink or
purple and do those dances in tutus like in Fantasia. But in
the real world they have teeth the size of your head. They can
run faster than anyone in this room. And they weight upwards of
5,000 pounds. I mean, they are BIG! If you're ever at a
cocktail party and a hippopotamus starts, you know, flirting
with you, whatever you do, do not let him sit on your lap.
Rage is all the rage these days. Road rage. Lineup rage.
Waiting-room rage. Even river rage. You may also have heard of
parking lot rage, elevator rage and airplane rage. What gives?
Is the world getting angrier or just more crowded?
Both. It's a fact that as our space and time grow increasingly
crowded, our stress levels rise.
When it comes to space, we are cramming more people into more
crowded cities, elevators, airplanes, stores. Our patience diminishes.
Our goodwill diminishes. Our tolerance diminishes. Has anyone
noticed they place the chairs at conferences - you noticed! -- so
close together that even skinny people get to know each other well.
My theory is that the hotels are trying to develop their own niche
rage market: conference seating rage.
Let's look at our schedules. What are we trying to do? We're
trying to see how many items we can squeeze onto our 'to do'
list, and how many activities we can cram into a day. And the
stress, where does it go? Right up there, exactly.
I want to share this one little thought with you. We are in the
process of moving, so we actually have two homes. Stress that
builds in my stacked concrete box apartment they call a condo, I
can't get rid of. It sticks. I can't shake it off. It won't go. It
sticks.
When I'm at my farm house just a few miles south of here,
surrounded by grass and trees, it's amazing how quickly I can just
excommunicate the stress. Can I say that? Excommunicate?
Why not?
OK. What have we learned today? Three lessons, so please take
note.
Number one, don't let your space get too crowded.
Number two, don't let your schedule get too crowded.
Number three, and this is the most important of all, don't ever,
ever let a hippopotamus sit on your lap.
(c) 2002 David Leonhardt
______________________________
David Leonhardt is The Happy Guy. He is a motivational speaker
and author of Climb Your Stairway to Heaven: the 9 habits of
maximum happiness. Visit him at http://www.TheHappyGuy.com
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<b>POIGNANT PEARLS & POTBELLIED PIGS<br><br>
</b>
Vol. 3 Issue 10 October, 2002<br>
:<br>
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<b>CONTENTS<br><br>
</b> - Hello
there . . .<br><br>
- Inside
Story<br><br>
- It's
Halloween Soon<br><br>
- eNonyMouse
- other weird things you might <br>
not want to know<br><br>
- More About
Pookie - The Last Farewell?<br>
<br>
- 'Get Ready
For Some First-Rate First Aid'<br>
<br>
-
Hippo Rage<br>
<br>
öÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöo<br><br>
<b>HELLO THERE . . .<br><br>
</b>…you with the stars in your eyes, a grasshopper brain and<br>
thoughts without boundaries…<br><br>
As promised I'm putting this ezine to bed early - with help from <br>
Melvin Durai (who has been taking a course in first aid) and David <br>
Leonhardt (I'm sure you've heard of road rage but what about <br>
Hippo Rage?)<br><br>
It's Halloween Soon appeared in the October 2000 issue of 'Pearls &
Pigs' <br>
(forgive me for being boring). Griselda's Inside Story is also a
'repeat' - and<br>
what a battle I had to find something worth repeating. I've
sent Griselda <br>
off on some enforced leave, which seemed the wise thing to do bearing in
<br>
mind that I'm expecting all these visitors. Far from being helpful
at times <br>
like this her perpetual carping would have driven me off my
head.<br><br>
The first of my guests have arrived and the weather continues to be
<br>
absolutely awful. There's nothing quite like a beach cottage on a
cold, <br>
wet and windy day - but no doubt we'll all survive one way or
another.<br><br>
In the meantime I hope there's sunshine where you are (if I think kind
<br>
thoughts perhaps our clouds will clear)....<br><br>
I'll see you next month. <br><br>
öÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöo<br><br>
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INSIDE STORY<br><br>
by Griselda<br><br>
WELCOME back to the Idiot Chronicles. I am sure there <br>
is no need to tell you I am not the idiot.<br><br>
She's been quiet lately - leaving me in peace to ponder a number <br>
of things. Such as do people grow like the animals they live with,
<br>
or is it the other way around?<br><br>
It must be, as Sheldene was here first, and it is frightening to consider
<br>
how many animals she has undoubtedly corrupted. The present <br>
contingent are fine examples.<br><br>
I cannot believe there are many dogs as wilful, self-centred and <br>
domineering as these, and the three cats, although overshadowed <br>
by the canines, have also developed 'endearing' little habits.<br><br>
For a start there's the cat that now insists she is fed ON THE ROOF -
<br>
and you can imagine the fetching, carrying and climbing that
involves. <br>
I can't even say this cat is too nervous to descend to ground level as
<br>
she joins the others for sunbathing and other unstrenuous activities.
<br>
However at dinner time she scampers away and onto the roof.<br><br>
Feeding the dogs also has its highlights. George Hamish Badger,
<br>
the Border collie, is convinced his half- sister, Hermione, should not
<br>
eat. Snacks are OK but she is definitely not entitled to a main
meal.<br><br>
As soon as the dishes appear he starts snarling and snapping then, <br>
having failed to petrify his sibling, he flounces onto the sundeck
and <br>
under a table - which is where he chooses to eat his food. Sheldene
<br>
has to sit beside him while he gobbles it all up (that's a laugh when
<br>
it's raining), and if she goes out he will not taste a morsel until she
<br>
returns.<br><br>
In fact all the dogs are absolutely impossible, and who does that <br>
remind you of? Anyone who comes here on a regular basis must <br>
surely agree I should be paid danger money.<br><br>
Visitors perch on rickety stools, rather then sit in an easy chair <br>
where the dogs would clamber all over them. And if ignored the <br>
brutes use their well developed claws (their mistress also has <br>
those) to scar you for life, while pretending to be friendly.<br><br>
Finally, watch out when ready to depart. The two St Bernards <br>
love travelling in cars and, given a choice, would certainly be <br>
long-distance lorry drivers.<br><br>
One unfortunate woman, who popped in on her way to an important <br>
engagement, eventually left on foot when Hillary and Quentin
refused <br>
to get out of her vehicle. And this was not an isolated incident. <br>
Carelessly open a car door and those great, lumbering beasts move <br>
like lightning in order to get in first - and spread themselves across
<br>
the seats.<br><br>
Quentin actually hijacked a stranger's BMW, which was parked
nearby.<br><br>
As soon as Sheldene noticed Quentin was missing I was roped in to
<br>
join the search. Brandishing his lead she erupted into the car park
<br>
situated behind us - and was stopped by a nervous male voice yelping
<br>
'Is this your dog?'<br><br>
The park was full but we quickly honed in on a gleaming car with the
<br>
would-be occupants, a tall man and his young son, hovering beside
<br>
the open door. We could also see Quentin, straddling the front and <br>
back seats.<br><br>
Muttering some profanity Sheldene marched across (at times even <br>
I am forced to admire her aplomb). Airily informing the victim that
<br>
'He often does this', she clipped the lead onto Quentin's useless <br>
choke chain and hissed, 'Get out - or I'll pull your head off!'<br><br>
The dog's only reaction was to scrabble onto the front seat <br>
(upholstered in leather) and wedge himself under the steering <br>
wheel. An undignified tug-of-war followed, during which I tried <br>
to convince myself I was invisible.<br><br>
Eventually Quentin gave in, allowing Sheldene to reassume her <br>
false sense of superiority. 'There you are', she said kindly,
and <br>
the rightful owners leapt into their vehicle.<br><br>
I waited for some sort of denunciation but to my horror heard <br>
Sheldene being fervently thanked for removing her unruly, <br>
trespassing dog. Under the circumstances only she could have <br>
accepted these tributes so graciously.<br><br>
I think I've told you before, when it comes to that woman<br>
and what she gets away with, there's no justice!<br><br>
(<i>Of course Griselda has no pets - she's far too selfish -<br>
and no self-respecting dog would agree to live with her<br>
Ed.)<br><br>
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<x-tab> </x-tab>
<br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>IT"S
HALLOWEEN SOON ...so Train Your Brain<br>
<br>
to Entertain<br><br>
ALTHOUGH pumpkins abound in many parts of Africa, Halloween<br>
is not really a part of the southern scene. We have ghouls<br>
aplenty but not confined to one particular day of the year and,<br>
on the whole, most of the population tends to take their antics<br>
rather seriously.<br><br>
I have gleaned, from books mostly, that in America the last eve of<br>
the old Celtic calendar is celebrated by dressing up the kids and<br>
sending them out to forage for food (trick or treat, I think, you
call<br>
it) - while the adults stay at home in order to give handouts to<br>
other visiting kids. Sounds like a lot of fun.<br><br>
In Britain I believe they do a bit of prancing around in covens,
and<br>
so forth, Perhaps that's more like it but I still think I should tell
you<br>
what we do, on the rare occasions we remember Halloween far<br>
enough in advance to do anything constructive about it.<br><br>
At least six weeks beforehand (because there's an awful lot to do)<br>
we decide to have a party. And the first decision taken,
before<br>
inviting anyone, is that the children will all go to bed while we,<br>
the deserving adults, dress up - and we certainly won't be giving<br>
candy away to anyone.<br><br>
Having done this a couple of times it's easy to give you a quick<br>
rundown. Next soak raisins, or any soft fruit, in a lovely mixture<br>
of rum or brandy, and honey, in a closed container. Open it a<br>
few times to taste - but not too much. On the night, you
greet<br>
your guests with a spoonful of this magic elixir (ram it between<br>
their teeth, if necessary) and give a piece of fruit to the chosen<br>
few. After the first sip you won't have any difficulty
persuading<br>
anyone to have a bit more..quite the opposite in fact.<br><br>
Then you're away. All your guests are ticking nicely, the<br>
enormous stew you have made will seem marvellous, ditto<br>
for the punch, music, decorations etc etc etc.<br><br>
The decor is actually very simple. Draw a picture of a witch<br>
on her broomstick and cut out several silhouettes in black paper.<br>
Put these up on the walls, turn out the lights, light a few
candles,<br>
and your guests will do everything else. You will be amazed
at<br>
their ability to reveal themselves as witches, wizards and<br>
warlocks. Be prepared for a mass of swirling cloaks, pointy<br>
hats and teeth, but do not despair because some witches are<br>
extremely glamorous.<br><br>
I will have to go into this Halloween thing in depth sometime,<br>
because you must be getting bored and I've barely scratched<br>
the surface ( and talking of scratching, dot a few cats about if<br>
possible).<br><br>
Still feeling shy and nervous? Perhaps the next<br>
article will help you overcome this....<br>
<x-tab> </x-tab><x-tab> </x-tab><x-tab> </x-tab><br>
<x-tab> </x-tab><x-tab> </x-tab><x-tab> </x-tab><br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>
TRAIN YOUR BRAIN TO ENTERTAIN<br><br>
Lavish food and luxurious surroundings are not necessarily <br>
the key to being the host or hostess with the mostest.<br><br>
In fact food, drink and venue have very little to do with it.<br>
Success in the entertainment stakes is largely an intellectual<br>
exercise.<br><br>
Whatever the occasion - maybe a light luncheon, bright and<br>
breezy brunch or an opportunity to be frightfully formal - the<br>
final outcome is entirely dependent on your state of mind.<br><br>
If you expect to be hassled, you will be. If you dread the<br>
thought of what you have let yourself in for - watch out. You<br>
need to get right back to basics and take another look at<br>
exactly what entertainment involves..<br><br>
I don't believe anyone decides to entertain because they wish<br>
to suffer. Sometimes it is something one has to do - rather<br>
than something one specifically chooses - but in any event it<br>
will be a completely pointless exercise if you have no<br>
intention of either being entertaining or being entertained..<br><br>
If you require inspiration take a peek inside a thesaurus. You<br>
will discover that, no matter how minor, you are sharing in a<br>
celebration, an excuse for merriment and feasting, in<br>
convivial company.<br><br>
You will probably be surprised to see the number of words<br>
devoted to this popular pastime, and none of them suggest you<br>
are embarking on a test, skillfully designed to humiliate you<br>
and see you fail.<br><br>
So, get your head together before you do anything. This is<br>
more vital than listing guests will ever be and, once you're<br>
feeling relaxed and confident, organising the eats will be 'a<br>
piece of cake'.<br><br>
The 'party convener' (that's you) sets the tone because, if<br>
the atmosphere is right, a happy conclusion is guaranteed.<br><br>
It is essential that you welcome your guests individually, and<br>
warmly. Let them know you are delighted to see them and that<br>
you mean to look after them. People who have received special<br>
treatment on arrival will be more likely to reach out and<br>
react with other guests - and less likely to skulk in corners.<br><br>
However in the early stages it is your job to root out lurkers<br>
(if any) and introduce them to more jovial types. Banish<br>
chairs so would-be wallflowers have nowhere to plant<br>
themselves, and ensure everyone mixes and mingles until the<br>
room is buzzing pleasantly.<br><br>
Keep the snacks and drinks flowing - although they have now<br>
become secondary to 'great' conversation - and this is when<br>
you can begin to feel quietly triumphant. From now on the<br>
event will gather momentum and it's time for you to really<br>
start enjoying yourself. Wasn't it a marvelous idea to invite<br>
all these fantastic people?<br><br>
Once you have done this a couple of times you will begin to<br>
develop a party persona and after that nothing will phase you.<br>
As you grow more convinced of your abilities, and therefore<br>
more confident, you will be more adventurous,<br><br>
The key is to accept responsibility for your guests, and to<br>
ensure no-one ever feels left out, or uncomfortable.<br><br>
You too may be naturally shy and retiring but this is your<br>
party - and you CANNOT cry if you want to.<br><br>
Having invited these people into your home it is up to you to<br>
set the scene, steer conversations, and make sure everyone<br>
enjoys themselves. You have to be an incredible wimp if you<br>
can't psyche yourself up to do this in your own surroundings.<br><br>
And it's not as bad as it sounds because your friends and<br>
acquaintances (unless you're in with a particularly weird<br>
bunch) are conditioned to humor you while they are in your<br>
lair.<br><br>
So if the small talk flags, jump in and ad lib and don't worry <br>
about sounding ridiculous. In this instance it is very unlikely <br>
anyone will actually call you a fool.<br><br>
Keep this up and in time your reputation as one of the original <br>
party animals will be entrenched. This will make it ever easier <br>
for you to do your own thing because now it will be expected <br>
of you.<br><br>
Although you will probably never be as relaxed and vivacious <br>
on someone else's turf, your experiences will eventually allow <br>
you to rescue more timid entertainers. Save the day with some <br>
well-timed remarks when the proceedings falter, and they will be <br>
grateful. Which will make you a much sought-after guest in
future.<br><br>
Constant honing of your skills is well worth the effort -because you
<br>
are developing a talent that becomes more rewarding as one grows <br>
older.<br><br>
Nobody is going to be sorry for Aunt Kate if she can outdo Auntie <br>
Mame, any day, when arranging an extravaganza. .<br><br>
Imagine what fun one can have with all those christenings, <br>
weddings and other gala happenings - to say nothing of one's <br>
own little bashes.<br><br>
<b>©2000 Sheldene Chant<br>
</b>
<br>
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<b>eNonyMouse<br><br>
</b>
<i>...... more weird things you may not know <br>
</i>
<br>
A snail can sleep for three years. <br><br>
No word in the English language rhymes with "MONTH." <br><br>
Our eyes are always the same size from birth, but our nose and <br>
ears never stop growing. <br><br>
The electric chair was invented by a dentist. <br><br>
All polar bears are left handed. <br>
<br>
An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain. <br><br>
TYPEWRITER is the longest word that can be made using <br>
the letters only on one row of the keyboard. <br><br>
'Go' is the shortest complete sentence in the English language.
<br><br>
If Barbie were life-size, her measurements would be 39-23-33. She <br>
would stand seven feet, two inches tall. <br><br>
A crocodile cannot stick its tongue out. <br><br>
The cigarette lighter was invented before the match. <br><br>
Americans on average eat 18 acres of pizza every day. <br><br>
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*More about Pookie<br><br>
THE LAST FAREWELL?<br><br>
IN order to fully appreciate a new home, it is advisable to rough<br>
it for a while in the most basic of farmhouses.<br><br>
Our new house in Borrowdale had tiles in the bathrooms,<br>
gleaming wooden floors, a modern, fitted kitchen, dreamy carpets,<br>
plus space for Africa. Within a matter of hours we had
thankfully<br>
readapted to civilisation - and couldn't resist nipping to the
shops<br>
every five minutes to stock up on chocolate, Cokes and bread.<br><br>
Pookie, the vervet monkey, was installed in his fenced hen-house,<br>
and the rest of the wildlife had settled in. Naturally Pookie was
more<br>
often out of his 'cage' than in, but I continued to bask in a false
sense <br>
of security because now I had somewhere to 'put' him when all his <br>
minders were absent.<br><br>
He was now a fully grown, rampant male, with magnificent incisors -<br>
if you are into agony and like that sort of thing.<br><br>
Instead of miles of veld, we were now surrounded by law-abiding<br>
people living on one-acre plots. The thought of Pookie deciding
to<br>
drop in on someone's smart patio party made my blood run cold.<br><br>
Farm life and living in suburbia have little in common. A farm
<br>
produces a tight-knit community where everyone knows a great <br>
deal about everyone else, even if it is only hearsay. Pookie could,
<br>
and did, annoy the farm-workers, but every man, woman and child <br>
was forewarned. They knew who he was and any instinctive fear
<br>
was tempered by the fact that he had been around for years <br>
without doing anyone a serious injury.<br><br>
However, if he dropped in on our new neighbours, it was
likely to <br>
cause blind panic - and Pookie's reaction to that didn't bear
<br>
thinking about.<br><br>
The children were spending more time on school activities, and <br>
discovering the joys of having friends 'just down the road'.
Pookie<br>
was bored and stayed confined in the chicken run only as long as <br>
it suited him. I became more apprehensive daily, while Freitwell <br>
and Bubu spent a great deal of time checking up on the monkey's<br>
whereabouts. Fortunately he chose to remain in the garden.<br><br>
One day Adrian put a foot wrong (he accidentally stood on Pookie's <br>
tail) and was bitten savagely. We knew then this was
the beginning <br>
of the end. Never before had he turned on his bosom buddy, and if
he <br>
was prepared to attack Adrian, there was no hope for anyone
else.<br><br>
Still a night 'sub' on the national daily I was at work until midnight
and <br>
expected everyone to get themselves off to school and work in the <br>
mornings. My husband left at 4 a.m. to train horses and for days
(pay <br>
attention, this is a tip on how to stay married for years) we
communicated<br>
mainly by telephone.<br><br>
Bubu had always stuttered painfully but on the morning he woke me to
<br>
say Pookie had vanished, I caught the gist of it in a flash.<br><br>
Clad only in disreputable pyjamas and brandishing a tennis racquet, I
<br>
hustled the now speechless Bubu from the bedroom and charged forth,
<br>
shouting, 'I'm going to kill that monkey, now!'<br><br>
Both Freitwell and Bubu knew I didn't kill insects (they had been forced
to <br>
carry hundreds of them out of the house), but they seemed to have no
<br>
difficulty accepting that something had snapped and I was about to murder
<br>
a monkey, single handed. And neither of them made any move to stop
me.<br><br>
I ran here and there, yelling and beating the bushes with my
racquet.<br>
Eventually, I had to face the horrible truth that Pookie was
not on the <br>
property.<br><br>
Freitwell set off on a bicycle in order to catch up with Adrian who was
on <br>
his way to school. Bubu and I continued to search
fruitlessly.<br><br>
This went on for hours but at 11 a.m. Freitwell and Adrian captured<br>
Pookie at Helensvale, a neighbouring suburb about five miles away.<br>
What a relief and, even better, he didn't appear to have
damaged<br>
anyone.<br><br>
However, while the search was on I hadn't been idle. Bulawayo
<br>
boasted a famous wild animal sanctuary known as Chipingali - and <br>
I had telephoned them, pleading for help.<br><br>
Every night a train leaves Harare, bound for Bulawayo, and the <br>
Chipingali people had agreed to meet the train and collect Pookie <br>
the following morning. I had arranged to borrow a suitable crate
<br>
from the SPCA and the long-suffering 'vet' was going to give Pookie
<br>
a tranquilliser before he started his journey.<br><br>
I suppose we were a bit morbid during that last afternoon
with <br>
Pookie, but the floods of tears that would normally have been
<br>
associated with a departing pet were missing.<br><br>
Instead we told ourselves how happy Pookie would be when he <br>
met up with all the other monkeys. During my telephone call I<br>
had learned that Chipingali was in the process of building up a
<br>
troupe of displaced monkeys. Once rehabilitated and able to fend
<br>
for themselves the troupe would be released on an island on Lake<br>
Kariba.<br><br>
In the meantime, Pookie was being sent off with a hefty donation - <br>
and I had agreed to provide monthly 'pocket money' until he went <br>
to Kariba. At that stage I would have agreed to anything.<br><br>
Next day a 'phone call from Bulawayo confirmed Pookie's safe <br>
arrival and we began to forget the bad memories, weaving only <br>
the good ones into the Pookie legend we would tell our <br>
grandchildren.<br><br>
I became increasingly thankful as it dawned on me that, apart <br>
from the pocket money I had heard the last of Pookie - and all <br>
house bound monkeys.<br><br>
I was wrong - of course.<br>
<b> <br>
© Copyright 2000 Sheldene Chant<br><br>
</b> <i> *The six previous articles about Pookie can<br>
be found in the April, May, June, July, August and<br>
September issues at:<br>
<a href="http://www.sheldenechant.com/latestpearls.html" eudora="autourl">http://www.sheldenechant.com/latestpearls.html</a><br><br>
</i>Ööº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöo<br><br>
<b>'GET READY FOR SOME FIRST-RATE FIRST AID'<br><br>
</b>
says Melvin Durai<br><br>
IF you happen to have a serious accident when I'm around,<br>
don't panic. I just took a first-aid class. I know how to<br>
handle life-threatening injuries. Even if you're bleeding<br>
profusely, I'll try my best to save your life, as soon as<br>
someone revives me.<br><br>
Here's how I expect things to go: You bleed, I faint,<br>
someone revives me, I save your life, the president gives me<br>
a medal of honor, I offer him valuable advice on the<br>
economy, he appoints me as ambassador to the Bahamas.<br><br>
See how easy that would be? If you do your part, I promise<br>
to do mine. I may even invite you to the islands.<br><br>
Whatever happens, please don't think I took the first-aid<br>
class for selfish reasons. After all, there's no guarantee<br>
the president would give me a medal, especially since so<br>
many people -- firefighters, paramedics, police officers --<br>
are more deserving. Some of these everyday heroes have <br>
saved dozens of lives, administering not just first aid, but also<br>
second and third aid.<br><br>
Truth is, I hope I never have to provide first aid. I hope I<br>
never have to figure out if a man has suffered a stroke or<br>
just finished checking his stocks.<br><br>
But in case I do, I plan to be fully prepared -- ready to<br>
swing into action. Yes, from now on, I'm not going<br>
anywhere without my first-aid manual.<br><br>
Don't worry. The manual is only a backup for my brain,<br>
which, despite its size, has a limited capacity to store<br>
anything unrelated to football. (I'm an expert on ankle<br>
sprains, knee injuries and hamstring pulls, not to mention<br>
swollen heads.)<br><br>
In an emergency, I would immediately provide first aid to<br>
the victim, then check the manual to make sure I did the<br>
right thing. Hopefully, a heart-attack victim would not mind<br>
having his head bandaged.<br><br>
'Don't worry, sir,' I'd say. 'I'll remove the bandage before<br>
the paramedics arrive. You'll soon be able to breathe<br>
again.'<br><br>
Before taking the three-hour class, I didn't know the first<br>
thing about first aid. Now I at least know a few things,<br>
including the difference between an allergic reaction to<br>
pollen and an allergic reaction to politicians. The symptoms<br>
are often similar -- nausea, confusion, dizziness -- but<br>
only the latter produces persistent pain in the butt.<br><br>
I learned that most victims do not need to be fed, though<br>
diabetics can be given sugar, while people with strains,<br>
contusions and sprains can be treated with RICE (Rest, Ice,<br>
Compress, Elevate).<br><br>
I learned that there are three types of bleeding -- and one<br>
of them isn't 'bleeding heart.' There are also three types<br>
of burns, the most famous of which is Edward.<br><br>
I learned that a knocked-out tooth can be saved in a<br>
container of milk and taken to a dentist. And whenever<br>
possible, it also helps to take along the victim.<br><br>
I learned that Good Samaritan laws protect me from being<br>
sued, as long as I meet certain conditions. For example, I<br>
must act in good faith (even if the victim has no faith in<br>
me). I must accept no compensation (even if the victim is<br>
Bill Gates). And once I begin treatment, I must not abandon<br>
the victim (even if I need to get more rice).<br><br>
Most importantly, I learned that a first-aid class is<br>
well-worth the trouble. You never know whose life you<br>
might save. And saving a life sure beats taking one.<br><br>
<b>(c) Copyright 2002 Melvin Durai. All Rights Reserved.<br>
</b>________________________<br>
<i>Melvin Durai is an Indiana-based writer, humorist and<br>
occasional stand-up comedian. Born in India and raised<br>
in Zambia, he has lived in the U.S. since 1982.<br>
Through the Internet, his column is read by thousands of<br>
people in more than 90 countries.<br>
<a href="http://www.melvindurai.com/" eudora="autourl">http://www.MelvinDurai.com</a><br>
</i> <br>
Ööº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöº*°*ºöÖööÖöo<br><br>
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<b>HIPPO RAGE<br><br>
</b> <i>(text of a mini-keynote speech by David Leonhardt,
a.k.a.<br>
The Happy Guy,which brought down the house in Gatineau,
<br>
Quebec, April 21, 2002)<br><br>
</i>HAS anybody here ever been stuck in traffic for a frustratingly
<br>
long time? Put up your hand if you have.<br><br>
Oooh! Don't you just hate that? And some people don't
mind <br>
showing us how much they hate it. We call it road rage.<br><br>
Has anybody ever waited in a ticket lineup or a checkout lineup <br>
for a frustratingly long time? Let me see those hands.<br><br>
Believe it or not, some people don't like that either. We call
<br>
it lineup rage.<br><br>
Has anybody ever been stuck waiting in a doctor's office for a <br>
frustratingly long time? Let me see those hands.<br><br>
And then you see somebody suddenly jump up and tear his hair out <br>
and scream, 'Let me out. I've been here three hours. Three
<br>
days. Three months!' Well, I really should apologize. I
<br>
didn't mean to scare your kids. I was just demonstrating <br>
waiting room rage. <br><br>
Let me tell you a story about the Lwungwa River Valley - that's <br>
in Africa, you know. The dry season there gets very dry. My
<br>
throat is getting dry just thinking about it. The Lwangwa River
<br>
stops rushing. It slows to a trickle. Finally, it stops
<br>
flowing. And all that are left are pools of water, here and <br>
there.<br><br>
One by one, the animals head to higher ground. To forest cover.
<br>
To other water holes. Anywhere they can find food or drink.
<br>
Just like we will all do late. Did I say all the animals? Not
<br>
all. Not the hippos.<br><br>
The hippos stay in their river at it slows to a stream. They <br>
stay in the stream as it turns into pools. They stay in the <br>
pools as they shrink into puddles. As the puddles shrink, the
<br>
hippos get more crowded. As the hippos get more crowded, they
<br>
get surly. Cranky. Grumpy. They gnash their
teeth. They poke <br>
at each other. They pick fights. It's river rage! <br><br>
Has anyone ever come face to face with a raging hippopotamus?
<br>
Don't be shy. Go ahead, put up your hands. Sure, when we're
<br>
young - I'm sure you all remember this as I do - we're taught <br>
that they're slow, cute, and cuddly. They might even be pink or
<br>
purple and do those dances in tutus like in Fantasia. But in <br>
the real world they have teeth the size of your head. They can
<br>
run faster than anyone in this room. And they weight upwards of
<br>
5,000 pounds. I mean, they are BIG! If you're ever at a
<br>
cocktail party and a hippopotamus starts, you know, flirting <br>
with you, whatever you do, do not let him sit on your lap.<br><br>
Rage is all the rage these days. Road rage. Lineup
rage. <br>
Waiting-room rage. Even river rage. You may also have heard
of <br>
parking lot rage, elevator rage and airplane rage. What gives?
<br>
Is the world getting angrier or just more crowded?<br><br>
Both. It's a fact that as our space and time grow increasingly
<br>
crowded, our stress levels rise. <br><br>
When it comes to space, we are cramming more people into more <br>
crowded cities, elevators, airplanes, stores. Our patience
diminishes. <br>
Our goodwill diminishes. Our tolerance diminishes. Has
anyone <br>
noticed they place the chairs at conferences - you noticed! -- so
<br>
close together that even skinny people get to know each other
well. <br>
My theory is that the hotels are trying to develop their own niche <br>
rage market: conference seating rage.<br><br>
Let's look at our schedules. What are we trying to do? We're
<br>
trying to see how many items we can squeeze onto our 'to do' <br>
list, and how many activities we can cram into a day. And the
<br>
stress, where does it go? Right up there, exactly.<br><br>
I want to share this one little thought with you. We are in the
<br>
process of moving, so we actually have two homes. Stress that
<br>
builds in my stacked concrete box apartment they call a condo, I <br>
can't get rid of. It sticks. I can't shake it off. It
won't go. It sticks. <br>
When I'm at my farm house just a few miles south of here, <br>
surrounded by grass and trees, it's amazing how quickly I can just <br>
excommunicate the stress. Can I say that?
Excommunicate? <br>
Why not?<br><br>
OK. What have we learned today? Three lessons, so please take
<br>
note. <br><br>
Number one, don't let your space get too crowded. <br><br>
Number two, don't let your schedule get too crowded.<br><br>
Number three, and this is the most important of all, don't ever, <br>
ever let a hippopotamus sit on your lap.<br><br>
<b>(c) 2002 David Leonhardt<br>
</b>______________________________<br>
<i>David Leonhardt is The Happy Guy. He is a motivational speaker
<br>
and author of Climb Your Stairway to Heaven: the 9 habits of <br>
maximum happiness. Visit him at
<a href="http://www.thehappyguy.com/" eudora="autourl">http://www.TheHappyGuy.com</a><br><br>
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<font face="MS Sans Serif, Geneva" size=2>SHELDENE CHANT is the editor of two ezines. Poignant Pearls & Potbellied Pigs, <br>
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