Peaches Behind a Void

Me, contemplating some luscious fruit on the kitchen counter: "Peaches. Peaches! Should I have a peach?"
Son: "Yes. Have a peach. As long as it isn't behind a void."

What he was referring to is, of course, this:

Life, the Universe, and Peaches Behind a Void. Ah, the power of poetry.

Picture This

I'm in the middle of a conversation with a new friend about pictures. It all began with a metaphor which cropped up in a discussion we had - a metaphor which I found somewhat startling, but which hadn't been meant to be taken as such, not in the way I saw it. He was just painting a word picture, but I saw the visual one. Now, I love metaphors. In fact, I talk in metaphors all the time; so much so that I sometimes fall afoul of academia, because my default mode is to explain something with something else - for example, it's like I can't make a general statement without saying at least once "for example" or "it's like". I understand the general through the specific.

But in this conversation, I also realized something else, namely the importance of images to the way I think. I'm a visual thinker as well as a verbal one. Yes, I have words running through my head all the time, but what goes with the words is pictures. This conversation with my friend is taking place via email, and when I write to him, I'm seeing him in my mind, sitting in the easy chair in front of the patio door at the house where we met. I'm talking to the mental image I formed of him.

On internet message boards, it really bothers me not to have a picture of the person I'm talking to; I will go out of my way to find some image to attach to them. So just be aware: those little avatars you use around the web, people like me will use that as their image of you in their heads. On one of the boards where I occasionally go to look for information on ebooks, there's a really irritating person who uses a penguin as their avatar. For all I know, in reality he is drop-dead handsome with a most charming smile, but to me, he's a penguin. An irritating penguin.

And there's the CBC radio host who has lately been doing pledge drives on one of my favourite TV stations. It really messes with my head, because she looks utterly different from the way I had pictured her when I only heard her on the radio. Seeing Shelagh Rogers' voice coming out of a body that doesn't fit my mental image of her is very disconcerting.

To top it off, this morning I was trying to post a comment on a blog, and I got one of those "Please prove you're not a robot" things. I mean, check it out! It used to be just skewed letters and numbers which you could actually read and type out. Now they're giving you pictures! And pictures of who-knows-what at that. What was I meant to do with this one? Type "dendsB ventilation-grate-in-plastered-wall"? That's what it looks like to me! I don't know where that robot gets off asking me to prove I'm not a robot. Talk of the pot calling the kettle black! (And to understand that particular metaphor, you'd have to know something about open-hearth cooking. At my house, the pots are stainless steel, and the kettle is white plastic, so the pot calling the kettle black would just be nonsensical slander.)

Life, the Universe, and Thinking in Pictures. It's all highly metaphorical.

Trees

It's a day for randomness. Here are some tidbits of thoughts running through my mind today.

I'm mourning the death of a magnificent maple tree by the side of the road in the middle of town. It fell to the march of progress, and died for the safety of our children. By which I mean to say that it got chopped down to make room for a widening of the road and the addition of a sidewalk, both of which are sorely needed, as this is the road along which a lot of kids walk from a large residential subdivision to the highschool. I just wish they could accomplish the upgrades without murdering those lovely trees (the maple was just one of many), but I guess they couldn't. And as much of a tree hugger as I am (yes, I wear Birkenstocks), I value children above trees. I suppose you gotta do what you gotta do.

On a more cheerful note - well, sort of - I've got another task to add to my rota of "Jobs That Really Suck". This morning, there was a maintenance person painting the metal gate that closes off the highschool parking lot. Painting it a fluorescent orange, to very clearly let people know that when the gate is closed, IT'S CLOSED. Now, painting gates, that's not a bad job. However, another noticeable thing about the highschool parking lot these last few days is that there are literally snowdrifts of cottonwood fluff blown up against the sidewalks, white piles of light feathery stuff inches deep. There were several of those fluffy cotton piles right beside that gate. And there was a breeze blowing. Get my drift? Wet orange paint + fluffy white cotton - hmmm... Maybe a tarred-and-feathered highschool gate could serve as a warning to delinquent students that if they don't shape up and follow the rules, that's what their fate will be.

When I was a kid, we had a cottonwood in the backyard. I remember gathering the fluff once to try and stuff a little pillow with; but it didn't stay fluffy long. It compacted into a little lump, which was rather disappointing. I wonder if cottonwood cotton is actually any good for using as fibre?

And to go with today's tree-hugging theme, our illustration is Steve hugging my Lucky Bamboo. Don't worry, Steve, that bamboo is in no danger of being chopped down. I'll be only too happy if it lives and doesn't succumb to my brown thumb.

Life, the Universe, and Randomness. Have you hugged a tree today?

Coffee Shop Poetry

So I was in the coffee shop this morning, waiting around for the opening of the bookstore that it shares the building with. And I committed a Random Act of Poetry. I blame it on April being Poetry Month. Here it is, for your edification, in its barely polished glory (identifying details have been obliterated to protect the nocent).

COFFEE SHOP POETRY

Paper sleeve

on paper cup
(where "paper" is a somewhat
metaphorical term).
Holding four dollars' worth
of hot milk, sugar and
Earl Grey.

Four.
Flippin.
Dollars.

Double it, and I could get
a gallon of milk, a whole
package of tea, and a kilo
of sugar.
But no paper cups,
and not a single
paper
sleeve.

17/4/2012

Life, the Universe, and Poetry. I'm sure there's a lesson in here somewhere.

Waffles

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. That's to say, I don't really have anything to say today. But being an inveterate driveller, I'm still going to say something anyway. That's known as waffling about nothing.

Which reminds me of a story a teacher of mine told once. He was from Franken, Franconia, which is the area around Nuremberg. In their dialect, so he said, "waffle" is a (not very flattering) synonym for "mouth", something like "kisser" in English. So there were these two ladies sitting in a café, eating ices, and they were ladies indeed. One of them was the wife of a government official, a Kommerzienrat (Councillor of Commerce, Alderman, something like that), which meant that her nose was planted firmly in the air. She was also a rather, shall we say, loquacious person. Now, eating ices in a café in Germany means that you get them served in an elegant bowl, with a spoon, and with a waffle stuck in the top, which you can use as the spoon substitute to scoop your ice cream with (stuck-out pinkie optional). Mrs Alderman had done just that, had picked up one scoop of ice cream on her waffle, but the latest gossip she had to impart to her friend was just too pressing for her to take the time to get the ice to her mouth. There she sat, waffle with ice cream poised in her hand, jabbering away, talk talk talk talk... The inevitable happened: the ice cream started to melt. Her companion tried to get in a word of warning, but could not get through the flow of words, until finally, in desperation, she blurted out: "Frau Kommerzienrat, your waffle is dripping!"

So there you have it; that's what happens when you have nothing to say but say it anyway.

I hope you're all having a great fifth day of Christmas, with perhaps the odd gold ring or two in evidence.

Life, the Universe, and Dripping Waffles. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!