Bad puns of the day
Rehash-omon. This is the universally acknowledged stupidity of dragging up hurtsfrom the past, in order to freshen the pain, create more discord, and generally keep thingshopping in a dysfunctional relationship.
The Dalai Lama was once asked what he thought about self-hatred. He looked puzzled, and asked ” what is that?”. He simply didn’t know. (Hard to belive because he’s met so many people…but…)
But I’m sure that it’s our habit in the West: the litany of wounds. The people , I call them “grievance collectors” will drop a heap on your doorstep, to distract themselves from their own self-loathing. And um….share the Opposite of Love.
This habit was ingrained at our dinner table at home, and I must say, I’m still guilty of this…face it, if I take remember the most recent contact I’ve had with a dear friend, I’m ‘counting’. As in …”but who’s counting?” AND IF I TELL THE PERSON what day/year I last heard from them…as in, ‘gee, it’s been 8 years or more’…then I’m doing them no service, and certainly guaranteeing I might not EVER hear back from them. I have a brother that’s made this very clear. He tells me in years, months, days and minutes, which frightens me into wondering if his full time job is counting the days…that his Evil Sister has ‘ignored’ him.
Me. I’m counting. I’m remembering. And of course, feeling left out a lot of the time. Even though it’s plain that everyone has a busy life. And many of the efficient people are channeling their energy into a project. Which I clearly do not do…
I can hardly wait for Alzheimer’s to cure this!
Kombucha moment. Came to me when taking Charlie to Gestalt Haus, the most beloved ‘biker bar’ in Fairfax, run by an incredibly wonderful, gruff guy named Vise. As in ‘vise grip’. The place manages to remain alive, with a few sun-shelters and the regulars enjoying to-go beer in the breezy alley alongside the Haus.
When you run into a bunch of friends that you love, haven’t seen recently, and who have temporarily or permanently sworn off beer, it’s Kombucha moment. (Think ‘Kumbaya’which has been badly mistreated lately. Or longly. It’s a beautiful song, truly hopeful, sung back when oppressed black slaves asked for the angels to ‘come by here’.
I am gonna go for a run, and see if I can find Charlie out on this fine summer’s day. He leaves at 2 each day, for a two hour walk in the forest we live next door to.
Cheers, all. Please write. Remember. I’m counting.
PS. Big news. A woman named Erin just wrote out of the blue, and I got to connect with a 1980’s wombat!! In Australia!!! Life is great again!