Worse Off Than A Monk


Image result for Goizueta, Navarra, Spain

Photo: Mapio.net; Goizueta, Navarre

 

“I am not going!”

They cannot send him to that miserable hut where there’s no electricity, no running water, creepy crawlies, and no internet. Even monks have internet. He was going to be worse off than a monk!

His father sighed. “Aitona Antton needs help and Osaba Alesander is still recovering from his motorcycle accident.”

“So I need to lose a leg to get out of this?” Danel grumbled.

His father’s sharp inhale told him he’d gone too far.

He shrugged apology. He was in enough trouble. Ditching school, hanging out “with the wrong crowd.” It was exile or jail.

“He’s your great-grandfather,” his father sounded tired, and not just from spending nights at Uncle Alesander’s bedside. “You used to love visiting him.”

“Before Birramona died …” Danel stopped. The remote homestead was awfully quiet without his great-grandmother. How much more so for Aitona-handia?

He sighed. “At least I like goat-cheese.”

 

 

For What Pegman Saw

(Basque glossaryAitona: Grandfather;  Aitona-handia: Great grandfather;  Birramona: Great grandmother;  Osaba: Uncle)

 

Monkeying Around

Monks AdiRosenZvi

Photo: Adi Rozen-Zvi

 

When chores call

Not all heed

Timeless work,

Patience’s creed.

Restless fingers

Supersede

Newer vistas

To be keyed.

 

For Cee’s Odd Ball Challenge

 

Interconnected

phones Etsy

Photo: Etsy

 

“She has a symbiotic relationship with that phone,” the mother complained, eyebrows raised and head tipped in the direction of her daughter.

The pre-teen (on cue) rolled her eyes without lifting them from her opposing thumbs and the aforementioned item’s screen.

“See?!” the mom announced, vindicated.

“Whatever,” the girl sighed in the tone dedicated to oldsters who cannot possibly understand the nuances and necessities of modern life. She placed her phone face-down on the desk and turned her head to her mother. “Happy now?”

The mom nodded, half-mollified, half-mortified.

The lass-with-sass turned to me. “She keeps on me for that phone but she’s the one who’s always on the phone.”

“It’s work stuff,” the mother defended, reddening. Her own ‘lifeline’ already half-way out of her purse.

“Mine’s school stuff,” the girl countered. Her eyebrows rose in victory, a mirror image of her mother’s.

I smiled at their banter. It was a well-rehearsed dance, a sparring of connection more than true conflict.

“Funny thing …” I pulled out the work I had planned for our session that day: a passage and discussion about symbiosis, the close and often long-term interaction between two different species …

 

 

For The Daily Post

Exquisitely You

She wants to be just like her favorite celebrity.

She prances in front of the mirror, mimics facial expressions, pouts lips, struts, copies mannerism, makeup, tone, clothing style, way of speaking.

He wants to be just like his football idol.

He waddles his still small frame to mimic a quarterback. He frowns and he grunts. He copies mannerism, tone, clothing, way of speaking.

They want to be just like those who hold power.

They swagger. They pose. They pretend to be tough, put on apathetic faces. They copy mannerism, tone, clothing, way of speaking.

She forgets. He doesn’t know. Maybe they weren’t told.

Of the exquisite being they each are. Already.

Each unique.

Poised to be who they were meant to be.

One of a kind. On this earth. In this time.

Let us tell them, tell ourselves:

“Watch others for what is true, for what is right, what is kind,

Learn what you can,

But remember

You are.

You can be.

No one else can

Be

Exquisitely you.”

outside the box

You do you!

 

For The Daily Post