Chart

Chart: (n) a sheet of information which is a diagram

My brain sometimes pauses, not yet convinced of the validity of any particular opinion. In other words, I could argue it either way.

In my personal life, I’m very organized. At least, I think I am. Yet there is a vanity to even stating such a mercurial thought as a fact. Am I
organized? Or just more organized than the person next to me?

Yet I do get around human travelers who insist on living a totally spontaneous life, and to some degree it works for them. They’re always looking for surprises, luck, miracles and good fortune to blow their way, but there is a certain charm to their presumption.

It begs the question: can organisms be organized?

The classic line of defining futility by comparing it to herding cats is true with almost every creature. No living, breathing animal on the face of the Earth likes to be told what to do. Yet each one, in some strange way, finds a plan of action that keeps them from being cold in the winter and too hot in the summer.

So what is the power of charting our lives to such a degree that there is little awareness of the element of chaos (which certainly will arrive)?

I think it may just be as simple as realizing that a line item which appears on our “Things to Do Today” list may very well still be there next week.

 

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Bonanza

Bonanza: (n) a sudden increase in wealth or good fortune

My parents would not allow me to watch the Beatles’ first appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show, but I was allowed to view episodes of Bonanza.Dictionary B

Now, many of you reading this article may not know what Bonanza was. It was a show about a father and three adult sons, the Cartwrights, who owned a huge ranch, the Ponderosa, in Nevada and their struggles in trying to maintain their opulence.

I loved the show when I was a kid, but when I started watching it as an adult, it was a little bit terrifying. Why? Because a lot of people got killed so all of the family who lived on the Ponderosa could be proven right.

It was just the mindset of the time.

In our country, once we had established that something was “an American thing,” it had to be justified. So we condoned:

  • A Cold War
  • Racial inequality
  • Killing Vietnamese
  • And even brutalizing in the press scrawny rock-and-roll singers from Britain

As I watched the reruns of Bonanza, I realized that I was required to root for Dad and the boys in every episode, no matter how faulted their motives might be.

Bonanza?

Yes, I guess so–if your name was Pa, Little Joe, Adam or Hoss.

 

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PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant

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Abracadabra

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abracadabra: (exclam.) a word said by magicians when performing a magic trick.

You see, it’s right there in the definition. Almost every time you see the word “magic,” it’s followed by “trick.”

It’s amazing that we spend most of our lives looking at our talent, our circumstances and our potentials, hoping to wave a magic wand over them and say “abracadabra.” Then for some reason, we’re disappointed and even angry when the rabbit doesn’t leap out of the hat.

Is there magic? Or is it all just a trick? Is magic the best way to manipulate people into doing what you want them to do–or worse–doing nothing?

I remember it a little differently. Does anybody else remember, “Abracadabra, please and thank you?” I’m thinking maybe I heard it on Captain Kangaroo. I like that.

So when “abracadabra” stalls,  you move on to “please.”

Yes, sometimes it’s a good idea to abandon magic in favor of manners. Truthfully, you can get a lot further being mannerly than you can by waving a wand in the air, demanding your will. I would not decry the validity of some forms of magic, but honestly, I’ve botten much more accomplished in my life by saying “please.”

If you happen to be so talented, gifted, powerful and wealthy that you don’t ever have to ask “please,” you will end up counting your money alone in a room on Christmas Eve, waiting to be spooked by three ghosts.

Magic is interesting, but manners are powerful.

Which leads to the final part of the phrase: thank you.

Yes, as wonderful as manners may be and as much as they may bring good fortune your way, nothing is more magical and supernatural than thank you. “Thank you” is permission for life to give you more, without fear of wasting it. If I were God, I would certainly be more generous to those who knew how to compose a thank-you note.

“Thank you” is the key that unlocks every crusty heart that has given up on humanity and has decided that life is futile. Even when it’s coerced out of a little kid slurping on an ice cream cone that was just given to him by a mother who is trying to teach the value of appreciation, it still is endearing and cute as he lifts up his little head, and through globs of gooey cream, mouths, “Thwank woo.”

It makes you want to give him another cone.

So you can pursue the magic of “abracadabra,” but it’s not nearly as good as the majesty of “please.” And as magnificent as the mannerly “please” may be, there is NOTHING as powerful as “thank you.”

Of course, you can cover all your bases, and say, “Abracadabra, please and thank you.”