Thursday, February 2, 2012

' Thoughts For January 31st,; A Title Too Long To Print '



 

 
 
 
 

‘ February; Computers...;A Final Clean-up Of The Tired Remains Of January's Indifference; And A Hint Of-Pre-Spring Love; Juvenile, But Effective, With Flowers Echoing A PromisedSpring; And The Inherent Sweetness Of Stuffed Toys, And All That '


01/31/12


My very, very dear, and constant friends, and ever-loyal readers,
A few, quick observations, before all traces of January are filed, and put up in already dusty boxes; as the weather-still cold in most climes-does show signs of renewal: our friend, the Crocus manages to bloom through still drifting snow, quite two months earlier, did the Lenten Rose.
For all who make some fulsome plans for Valentine's Day, they are aware that NOW the clock is ticking off the days before such celebrations as are called for; and, within the next ten days, it almost will be too late to order anything appropriate by mail.
I somehow recall some decades-now-ritual at school, wherein the construction paper envelopes that we affixed to the side of our desks; upon the teacher's ‘whistle blow', all raced around, to hand deliver little cards, or homemade substitutes, or, among the more affluent, those tiny bags of little, pastel hearts, which said such bromides as ‘ Please be mine'; or simply ‘Love'; or some such drivel. These mints, to me, always tasted more like chalk.
The night or two before this ‘diaspora' of assorted, little cards, was supervised by my mother, to ensure that every classmate got one, so no one would feel left out.
However, even in an elementary school classroom, there was a social rank and order, as, when we raced around to deliver our cards into each other's hastily-made envelope, I hardly need mention that the more popular children got the most cards, until their envelopes were filled to overflowing; and even at this early age, a pecking order had been unconsciously established,
While the foreign, odd, or alienated children got few to none; I was lucky to get one or two, and sometimes I got none, and was ashamed when the teacher had to intervene, so that no child's envelope was empty.
And this was the way it always went, from about second or third grade, until sixth; each year, I took my piteous envelope home, as my dearest mom and dad wanted to see it.
A hushed, and pained exhalation followed, when, in turning my envelope over, only two, or three cards fell out upon the dining table.
Second grade is not too early to know the hurt that came from that, especially when those with bulging envelopes had several duplicates from their cadre of well-wishers.
Of course, now at fifty-eight, I hardly care, except I had early learned that those who were attractive, and popular always won.
And so, the template was created early, one that would follow me down the years ‘till now.
It was they, who almost always got the better jobs, despite their skills. And although I did not seem to be a monster, nor an outcast, I know that I was clearly perceived as being one.
Whenever the teacher asked a question, and for a show of hands, I was rarely called upon...unless no one else knew the answer. I was actually looked at, and passed over, as if the teacher hoped that someone else would have the right answer.
And in recess, or-later-in gym, the ‘choosing-up of sides' often meant that NO one chose me, and that the ‘Captain' of the team gave out a disgusted sigh, and later, curse, when the instructor finally assigned me to a side.
It happened so often, you'd think that I would be used to it, and, in some oblique way I was; but, still...while early names were being chosen, I always had some small thrill of anticipation that I actually might be picked; I guess the baseball bat was not long-enough to measure by hand's breadth to ever get to me.
In those long-ago days, no one even knew of A.D.D., but all I know is that school bored me; I couldn't seem to concentrate on silliness, and found the sights outside the windows of more interest.
I hated every bit of school, and was-at last-so glad when-upon my graduation-that it was done. The ‘popular and pretty' could now go to hell.
I had my few friends...all losers, too.
What helped, was that I harbored some secret thought ( shared-perhaps-by some, more enlightened teachers ), to wit:
1) That I was clearly runaway more intelligent than they.
2) ( And this I gradually learned as Life took over ) that exterior ( only ) beauty did not, nor could not last; for if they did not radiate a beauty from within...a kinder soul,; a more forgiving heart, etc., that they, in time, would resemble no less than crumpled shells of plain ugliness.
3) And that popularity is a most inconstant thing; and while money and power do help, in general, without a sense of self-effacing humor, nor joy within, the same crowds who would carry you on their shoulders one day, might willingly trample you beneath their feet the next.
I probably spent a large portion of my adult, working life, in pitched battles with these bastards; you know them, even as adults: the supervisor's pet; the ones who slide effortlessly into promotions they neither deserved, nor earned.
And I survived in that atmosphere of trench warfare by being on time, keeping busy, ‘listening' for every bit of extra information I could glean, by insisting on excellent evaluations, and by going that old quote: ‘extra mile'.
For, while there really is no true egalitarianism in the classroom, there also in none in the adult, business world.
Please, please always remember that, and do not despair, for, in surviving, you have developed ( inside ), an arsenal of ways to cope, and to succeed.
It also never hurts to smile, and to be polite, giving authority the base respect that the position deserves, not necessarily the person who has it.
Now, my dearest friends, I must close for now, having gone on too long, as usual, and try to save this document to file, a new experiment for me.
As always, I wish for you a day or lessened, or of ‘no pain', heartache, or despair; I wish a quite afternoon for you, and-especially-a night of blissful rest, watched over, and attended to by hosts of sweet angels...just because you deserve it.

Please also know I love you dearly,

‘Zahc'/Charles

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