Clutter

"I've enough of useless clutter
Kept in boxes, long forgotten,
Filling space that needs no filling
In the corners of my world!"

So I set my hand to purging
Set aside some time for culling -
Loosing things that need no keeping
From the corners of my world.

Like books on bookshelves - never read
Or never to be read again.
Lib'ries are for keeping these things,
Not the corners of my world.

Or magazines I've kept for years
For articles I once enjoyed -
Do I really need to keep them
In the corners of my world?

And then there are the gifts from friends
I had forgotten that I had.
Do I keep them for the givers,
Tucked in corners of my world?

Things I barely want and don't need
Save for mem'ries I'd forgotten,
Things I wouldn't miss if lost from
Little corners of my world.

In my past I courted clutter
Saved things for the mem'ries in them
All my past seems held in items
Kept in corners of my world.

Now I'm dreaming of a future
Free from boxes filled with clutter -
Open space and room for breathing
In the corners of my world.

Many things I thought I'd cherish
Now belong to other lifetimes
And it's time the me(s) I once was
Left the corners of my world.

So I purge and I de-clutter
Striving to be strong and steadfast
Sweeping old dreams and past futures
From the corners of my world.

Things I'd kept for lives I won't lead
Work I'd laid in place for nothing
Things I'd kept with hope and promise
Stowed in corners of my world.

And when they're gone, will I miss them?
Will I remember them at all?
Or were they just passing time there,
In the corners of my world?

And the things I choose to keep now
(Far, far too much, if truth be told) -
How long will they get to stay there,
In the corners of my world?

S.B.

Food for oil?

Someone pointed out something to me today that hadn't occurred to me before, but should really be rather obvious, when you think about it:

Making food the new oil is a bad idea.

Okay, say someone comes up with a wonderful plan for making fuel out of corn syrup. Huzzah, we have a renewable resource, right? Well, not so much. You see, while you can grow more corn in a year that you can "make" crude oil in a century, you've got a slight problem in that there's still a hell of a lot more oil in the world than corn syrup... and we use more oil than corn syrup could possibly supply.

So, what happens? Corn syrup becomes a valuable commodity. We intensively farm it to the detriment of other crops (including, ironically, corn) - but for biofuel purposes, not food. The price of corn increases until it becomes too expensive for the average house-hold to have on the table once or twice a week. Corn - long a staple part of many a diet - becomes something out of the reach of most people. At least, if you wanted to eat it.

All those wonderful, traditional foods using corn flour and the like become prohibitively expensive, and the average packet of corn chips becomes either a) a luxury item or b) something that doesn't actually include any corn.

Oh, and we probably decimate the world's corn supplies, leaving us with only a few strains of corn that have been genetically engineered to produce a higher yield of corn syrup (and probably a kind of corn syrup that makes a better fuel for cars, and would be bad for human consumption, as likely as not). Hence the comment above about intensively farming corn being to the detriment of corn crops.

Now, extrapolate that so that they also make biofuels out of sugar and grain. Would you rather run your machinery plant or eat bread? Sounds ridiculous and far fetched? Look around you. If there is one thing our species does not do well, it's ration.

If the grain and sugar is needed to keep the wheels of industry turning, no one is going to think twice about whether we have enough left over to make bread affordable for the average family.

Face it, biofuels are not the smartest idea we could come up with. Unfortunately, we seem to think it is, so we'll probably stuff quite a number of things up right royally before we come up with something else.

Would someone out there like to come up with a Plan B, please? Preferably before sugar becomes so expensive that they stop giving it to you free when you buy a cup of coffee...

He sails the fields on wooly sheep!

I just wanted to give a plug for one of my favourite comic strips at the moment:

Little Dee, by Christopher Baldwin.

It has a sort of inspired, charming lunacy about it that really speaks to me. It's kind of like Bear in the Big Blue House, only with psychopaths and lost children.

I mean, the guy wrote a Sea Shanty about a riding on sheep. And then comes up with this strip as a way to segue to the next story-line:


You have to admire that level of oddity.


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This is Odd

I've been thinking about the word "odd" lately. Not only because people insist on applying it to me, but also because I use it a fair bit myself.

I'll often see something and say "that's odd", or become aware of a piece of information and summarily declare that it is "odd".

Most of the time I use this word as a synonym for "weird", which it has come to be. But it does have another meaning. Something that is "odd" can be "singular", as in, "one-of-a-kind".

I was going through another one of my "literal language"* kicks the other day, when I went to call something "odd" on reflex. I stopped myself, wondering whether I could literally call it "odd", when it wasn't weird, just unusual. Then I realised it was "odd", because it was singular - an event that was unlikely to have happened before or happen again in the same manner.

I started feeling quite pleased with this revelation - that the word "odd" is a way of describing something unique, something which is unlikely to be duplicated or surrounded by other things just like it. We are all "odd" in our own little way, and it is something to be celebrated.

I've decided that I'm quite taken with the word "odd" and all it implies. Such a simple word - so elegant in it's construction, an with such an appealing array of meanings. Definitely kinder than "weird", and somehow more classy, I could quite happily be called "odd" any day of the week (and I probably am).

The word "weird" is a strange one. Technically, one of its definitions actually is "odd", as in "out of the ordinary course, strange, unusual; hence, odd, fantastic" (OED). However, it also applies to things "partaking of or suggestive of the supernatural; of a mysterious or unearthly character; unaccountably or uncomfortably strange; uncanny" (also OED). So it's kind of like "odd" only with a "we don't like your kind around here, stranger" sort of feel to it. It's been loosing that meaning over the years. Everything slides towards neutral.

"Weird" kind of half-equals "scary" (which I've been called more than thrice), while "odd" is closer to "eccentric" (which I've been called at least once). Both really mean "not like me, or what I would expect", when you think about it. Coming from that perspective, almost everyone and/or everything in the world is "weird" or "odd".

Welcome to my world, weirdos.

*Take the Literal Language Challenge: For as long as possible, you are not allowed to use any words you don't literally mean. For example, an inanimate object cannot be stupid unless it could also be intelligent. So the "stupid door" is not stupid at all, merely inconvenient. Also, anyone using the 'F' word as every second adjective might want to reconsider the implications...

Honest Joe's Used Church Yard

The problem with Pentecostal Christians (at least, one of the problems), is that we are all essentially used car salesmen. The whole "Great Commission" thing ("Therefore go and make disciples of all nations" Matt. 28:19) has been taken very seriously in the culture of the Pentecostal denominations, and it's sometimes to our detriment.

Not that I think we shouldn't be trying to "make disciples of all nations". If we honestly believe in what we believe in, then keeping it to ourselves would be the most selfish, thoughtless thing we could possibly do. Like a doctor who found a cure for cancer but decided not to do anything about it.

However, like most people who are trying to sell something, we have a tendency to gloss over the things that should probably be pointed out. Anything we think might not be perceived as 100% positive, we try to avoid. Or we try to re-cast it in a different light so that we find the silver-lining and sell that instead of the cloud.

The most useful thing someone selling you a used car could do is point out that the tyres are still okay at the moment, but will need to be replaced soon. Or that certain features aren't original, and might not be fully compatible with the make of the car. Of course, a salesman never mentions that - he tells you it's all completely perfect and hopes like hell you believe him.

I guess another analogy would be a politician who stays on message regardless of how many questions he/she is asked - even if the frank answers to those questions might be more accurate and relevant than the message that the writers have come up with.

The really annoying thing is that we do it all the time. Even amongst ourselves. We're absolutely convinced that, if we mention the balding tyres, we'll be discouraging people from buying the car, so we don't talk about it. If someone else does, we immediately leap to point out how many miles you'll still get out of them. Even if you've already bought the car, have no regrets about the purchase and no intention of parting with it, talking about those balding tyres is just not done.

You can recognise it personally, and make plans to fix the tyres or get rid of the spoiler which wasn't part of the original model and is showing signs of rust - as long as you do this in the privacy of your own privacy. Should you mention it to someone else, they might think you're not happy with the car, and that will damage your ability to sell used cars to other people.

It seems to be a compulsion. I do it myself. Even though I'm at a point in my life where I'm taking a hard look at what it is that I actually believe in and trying to strip away all of the things that have been added on and glossed over for generations so that I can happily recognise the difference between something worth fighting for and something that's just a nice story, I'm hesitant to talk about it with anyone. Instead, I either gloss over things,avoid mentioning them or point out the "many miles left" when someone else brings up one of the subjects that I've been thinking about.

It's starting to bother me a bit, actually. I've noticed I have a tendency to either shut-up or stay on-message even when I'd rather talk about what's been on my mind about certain subjects - if my thoughts don't fit the sales-pitch, I don't know what to do with them.

I don't feel as if I can talk to non-Christians about them because they might think I'm not happy with the car and they might use that as a reason not to buy one (which would, literally be a tragedy). Plus, the current climate in secular circles has me in defensive mode at the moment - the things I care very deeply about have been viciously attacked and slandered from several quarters, and I'll be damned if I offer anyone anything they might be able to use as ammunition.

At the same time, I don't feel as if I can talk to other Pentecostal Christians about them because I know exactly what they're going to say - the usual sales-pitch. I know the sales-pitch back-to-front and I don't need anyone to parrot it back to me. I need someone who'll engage me in a conversation - someone who'll talk about the balding tyres and the non-original spoiler without feeling as if the entire car is under threat.

It's no wonder we come across as close minded and somewhat deluded. The sad truth is that we sometimes mistake the packaging for the package, and that we often hold onto things that maybe we shouldn't hold onto. If we could just admit that - if we could get to the point where we could comfortably acknowledge that the tyres will need replacing and the rear-spoiler isn't one of the original accessories - maybe the things we hold onto will be a little more credible. Maybe the people are thinking about buying the car, but aren't sure if they can really trust us will have an easier time figuring out if we are on the level with them.

I think I've stretched this metaphor as far as I feel like stretching it for the moment.

Except that, I think it's about time I started talking about my used car in more open, less on-message kind of way. I'll probably do a bit of that here, in this blog. I am perfectly happy with my car, but I know it's had a few owners and has clocked up a lot of miles over the years. I know the tyres will need replacing soon. I know a lot of the previous owners have added accessories that aren't part of the original, might not fit the make and model perfectly and could probably be done away with quite happily. That said, I'd still happily recommend it to anyone. It's a good little car, and well worth having.

Okay, now I think I've stretched this metaphor as far as I feel like stretching it.

The Saga of the Enormous Chair Continues

Heh, life is a funny old thing. Now, you see, I could have sworn the chair I saw in the store wasn't as tall as the enormous chair that wound up in my living room. My mother, who saw the chair in the store during that time when we bought the "even more enormous chair", also thought the one in the store looked smaller.

Last weekend we bought the one in the store. It was because we wanted to find a second-hand chair that would have similar characteristics for use in my grandmother's room - the idea being that it was a sturdy chair which she might be able to get out of without using some sort of electrical device, thereby giving her more than two items of furniture in which to exist. We also thought it might give her something solid to lean on when she was trying to get out of bed. We haven't had the chance to test that yet, but I think we'll find out tonight. We couldn't find one anyway, so we went and bought the newish one in the shop.

Why second hand? I hear you ask me. Doesn't your grandmother deserve new things? Well, of course she deserves new things. She just doesn't like them. I've never met anyone who was harder to shop for. She'd rather stick with her old, broken chair or her ancient, lumpy mattress than get something new. We thought a second hand chair might slip under her objection radar and be accepted more readily. Besides, we're all mildly convinced she's going to die in one of these chairs, and there's a limit to how much money you want to spend on something you'll have second thoughts about using later.

Anyway, they're the same size. The chair I came home with originally is no more enormous than the chair I thought I was buying. I have no idea why I thought it was smaller in the shop. I still maintain the fact that the other items of furniture surrounding it were equally huge, thus distorting my perception.

Who needs furniture that big? Seriously? Being 178 cm tall and rather long of limb and broad of shoulder, I've always regarded myself as closer to giant than pixie (let's be kind and say Amazon, shall we?), but even I don't need furniture that big. Heck, I have a friend who makes me feel short, and even he doesn't need furniture that big.

Mind you, I do find it easier getting out of the ridiculously large chair than the lower armchairs. I don't feel I have as far to get up...