The Search for Happily Ever After

The Search for Happily Ever After 

We're always searchin' for somethin' we don't seem to have within our grasp, be it our car keys or everlastin' life or happily ever after. Well okay, ya can have yer car keys if ya know where ya put 'em, but for the other, it's just a pipe dream. People have been chasin' after the elixir o' life for hundreds o' years an' never found it. But they're still lookin'. Right now they're figurin' out how to do brain transplants. Can you imagine that? They're gonna take some o' them cryogenically frozen bodies they got stored in them fancy freezers, thaw 'em out an' stick new brains in 'em. Well I suppose all that's mechanically possible. The brain after all is just a very complicated magneto ya ought to be able to stick into an old chassis, an' even the chassis can be overhauled with new parts an' pieces. Good luck with that!

"Happily Ever After" however, involves the human spirit. So far, the only folks talkin' about "happily ever after" is them bible thumpers whose guarantee is directly proportionate to the amount o' money ya put into their coffers. But they usually get caught up in one scam or another, which puts a lie to their schemes. Scientists on the other hand don't ever even mention the human spirit. I don't know if they figure it's connected to or is part o' the brain, but they seem to have ignored it. Granted, science an' mechanics do a lot o' wonderful things, no question about it. But there's always a part missin' somewheres. Like the massive hoopla about the Big Bang theory - now they figured it out an' they think that's the end. But they still don't know who done it. So they're exactly at nowhere.

It's the same thing with the human spirit. The limitless and unstoppable force of it wills the body to come along and do it's bidding. And that ain't a brain function as far as I can tell. In fact, I'd be willin' to bet that the spirit ain't a human thing in the first place. I figure if you was able to find the who dunnit of the big bang theory, you'd also find the who dunnit of the human spirit, whatever or whoever you wanna call it. At least that's how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin'.

 

Reflection

Reflection

It's getting' on to that time o' year again. I imagine it's a ritual for many people at this time o' year to reflect on the year that's passed, on their accomplishments, their failures, mistakes and other experiences. It's a good thing too. That way it's possible to figure out where you've been an' what you done in order to have some idea of where you're goin' next. Then, by the time the New Year comes around, yer ready to go at it hammer an' tong again.

Well, that's the theory anyways. That's the way I used to do it all the time an' I never run outa steam until about Easter. These days though it's a little different. When ya can't remember what day o' the week it is or whether ya actually had yer breakfast, rememberin' what happened throughout the year becomes a little bit befuddlin'. Actually I got that aced too. I use my skills as a storyteller to fill in the details o' what I done last year until it seems reasonable an' go from there. Of course, that leaves the future world to yer imagination. There's no tellin' what plans you can make for the New Year ahead. Mind you, it's better to pull the reins in a little bit when you're plannin' for the future.

Our friend John in the "Over the Hill Gang" had bought a ticket to go skydivin' on his eightieth birthday a few years back. We was all excited an' some of us was even willin' to join him. Talk about yer over-optomistic forecast. In the meantime, John has had a coupla strokes, an' fell in the bathtub an' broke his hip. So when his eightieth birthday rolled around, he was in physiotherapy instead of in a perfectly good airplane an' learnin' how to maneuver that walker contraption instead of a parachute. So you can see how skydivin' would complicate things in his future. Holy crackers! He fell down in the bathtub an' broke his hip. What would happen if he fell outta a airplane an' landed on his keyster in a field somewheres? He'd be nothin' but splinters by the time the dust had settled. Can you imagine the field full o' bone splinters if we'd all a joined him? Not somethin' I'd like to think about.

The long an' the short of it is that we should probably curb our enthusiasm about the future with a bit o' realism, but what the heck, we never get to do it anyways so it don't really matter one way or another. At least that's how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Just Sayin'. 

Christmas

Christmas

It seems the Christmas spirit has been goin' on for a coupl'a months now if I think back on it. Not too long ago we was tryin' to decide whether to buy Halloween candy or Christmas candy. Christmas lights was startin' to twinkle on various balconies in our complex and people was squawkin' all over the social media to hold off until after Remembrance Day, or Thanksgivin' at least.

Well it ain't unusual in Manitoba to get out there in the cold to get the lights up even in October when the Saskatchewan dust is makin' it's annual migration across the prairie, followed closely by the falling leaves an' then the horizontal snow. The first nice day yer out there hangin' everythin' up an' getting' it over with before the weather gets downright miserable. Just ask my daughter who was hurryin' up one day to get the job done before it got dark. There she was, standin' up on an aluminum ladder with her string o' lights plugged in to make sure they worked before she stapled them to the facia. Well, you can just imagine her pickin' herself up off the ground after staplin' through a live electric wire. That's how those things go in Manitoba.

Of course with all this preparation, you gotta go to the store to get yer supplies. An' them people are quick as lightnin' to pick up on another reason to make a sale. First thing you know, there's lights up in the stores an' festive decorations an' Christmas music, an' soon everythin' else follows so as they don't miss a trick.

Of course, these days me an' the Missus like to wax nostalgic about the early years when ya hauled out a tree from the woods an' decorated it an' had real candles on it. Dad would read the Christmas story outa' the bible on Christmas Eve an' we'd blow out the candles before we burned the house down. The Missus had a little different experience in the old country, but generally it was in the same spirit.

The retail business unfortunately ruined it for her. Working Christmas Eve's an' Boxin' Days firmly entrenched the idea that Christmas stinks in her mind. I can't say I blame her. With all the months of caterwaulin' about the Christmas spirit, which ain't really the Christmas spirit, she has a point. It's only in the last ten years since she's retired that some of the joy of the grandchildren has recaptured her imagination. I guess it has to do with bein' put up there on the top shelf where you can look down, observe, an just enjoy, or at least that's how it seems to me form up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin'. 

Disaster and Devastation

Disaster and Devastation 

Man, them sucker punches are sure painful! Specially if you don't see 'em comin'. Well it ain't so much the sucker punch itself as the complete surprise at it's landin' on yer chin and then the pain o' hittin' the pavement. It seems to be a devastatin' disaster momentarily, until you pick yourself up an' figure out what the heck happened.

I'm speakin' figuratively o' course (cause I ain't never really been sucker punched). But I imagine the effect is exactly the same. It was four o'clock in the mornin' an' I had just written a short (practice) script for my You Tube movie to promote my acting career hobby. It was pretty good too, about me bein' held prisoner by a bunch o' hoodlums I'd come across beatin' up on a damsel in distress. Bullies they were. Of course I had to teach them a lesson, just like they do in the movies, with wise an' profound emotional language. Naturally, I had to emphasize my speech with throwin' a few things around. Well, for the practice run I'd got a few cardboard boxes to toss around so as not to do any damage in the apartment.

So, bein' excited about my new hobby, I launched into my speech, thunderin' obscenities at the top o' my lungs and kickin' at the cardboard boxes so they went flyin' helter-skelter across the room. Oh my, this felt great! I could already see my name up in lights. I don't think I ever told anybody off like that before! It seems I was lettin' go of eighty years o' pent up frustration! Not only is this a good hobby, but it's therapeutic too.

Suddenly, in the midst of my tirade, a dark shadow appears at my office door. "What in the H E Double hockey sticks do you think you're doin?" it says in a quiet icy whisper.

Holy crackers! It's the Missus! I'm so dumbfounded I'm momentarily speechless. One minute I'm raisin cane with a bunch o' hooligans an' the next I got to explain my actions to the Missus. "I - I'm practicing to make a movie." I stammer, feelin' totally deflated (or really sucker punched).

Well, I ain't goin' to go into it except to say I wish I'd recorded her speech to me. It would'a made a much better movie than the one I had written. I'm now convinced that the three hunnert people livin' in our apartment block don't need to hear a thriller movie at four o'clock in the mornin' (or any other time for that matter).

Well, them's the breaks. My Oscar dreams is quickly fadin' but as soon as I catch my breath I'll find somethin' quieter to do. At least that's how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin'.