Well, hello, Miracles….it recently occurred to me that not every well-intentioned thing comes as easily as seeing the good in others. Consequently, those of you unfamiliar with my particular brand of….er….quirky flights of fancy, might find yourselves lost in translation…especially if you don’t have a pass-port(al) to the old school frames of reference associated with today’s stream-of-consciousness.
“How old-school?” you may be wondering….
Well, I’m so pleased that you’ve stuck around long enough to ask 🙂
Have you ever seen a televised sing-along that included a bouncing ball that boinged under each word you were meant to sing?
Or, how about the Saturday morning golden oldie, H.R. Pufnstuf?
Okay, okay, there’s no arguing that those references are unduly obscure, but, in the spirit of everything- old-is-“phew”- again, I’ve just thought of a highly-relatable saving grace….
And, in that spirit, today’s meanderings are brought to you by the letters F—as in Fleetwood Mack…
And, S—as in Soap Operas and Stevie/One-Hit Wonder(s)…
I figure that’s as much as you’ll need up front, because—as is life’s way—you get some things right away…and, others, come in time.
Oh, wait, one last spoiler alert!
Stevie’s ultra-awesome song (aren’t they all? J), “Superstition” got my thoughts ricocheting in the first place; so, keep this in mind as you follow the bouncing ball (of nerves) meant to guide you…
Stupor-sti-shun Ain’t the Way
Composed of poached lines from two complementary /complimentary genres, here comes a scrambled nursery-tale; and, its chicken-or-the-egg origins are hard to separate…especially in light of ongoing exchanges such as this…
“Oh, you first, flair-y tale…please, oh, pleas…or I shall resort to bending my knees!”
“Alas, my sing-song lovely rhyme, it is my fondest wish to grant your request—but to put myself ahead of you can never bring about a happily-ever-after….”
Any old how, although, momentarily charming, we haven’t the time for such flash in the (frying) pan digressions. For, given a wealth of imaginative avenues to explore—we, my darlings—have bigger caviar (fish(eggs)) to fry….
Now, where were we?
As is true of a great soufflé, optimism is irrepressible and can’t help but rise to the occasion. So, as you read what follows, try to try to keep an open mind, my friends. For, when it comes to my imaginative and positive re-frames, what looks–(Benjamin) Moore or less—like a dim view is simply a trick of the (me, myself, and) eye…
“Mirror on the eggshell wall,
slipped her yoke and had a great fall.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men,
Couldn’t piece Shell-ee together again.”
Consequently, man and beast had seven years of bad luck…
The King’s men were re-assigned to foot guard duty, where they stood watch over those whose dance partners had two left feet….and, the horses found themselves hitched to wagons that, at one time, had been hitched to stars…
Now, here’s where the crazy-making really comes home to roost!
We all know there is no shame in good honest work; so—strictly speaking—it wasn’t inclusion in the HR Scuff and Buff battalion that caused the soldiers’ down-slide.
Nor was it because the horses were used in service of a troupe of 1980’s one-hit-wonders who–in hopes of reinventing themselves–had (protectively) circled the (horse-drawn) wagons around their Dream Academy.
It was simply this….
Over the centuries, the kingdom’s residents had endured more than their unfair share of wicked witch prophecies; and they’d groan weary—tired of the unnerving uncertainties that had their stomachs spell-bound-up in naughty nots (as in, “The baby princess will grow to be kind and good—Not!).
Understandably, celebrants became increasingly vulnerable and desperate.
Which gave handsome (and ancient) stranger, Charlatan Headspin—who had (Ben) Hur(d) that they were the most gullible subjects for miles around—a sinister idea.
Under the guise of being trust-wordy, he sold them a (supposed) magic book that held all manner of stupor-sti-shuns….
And, these were, in truth, mindless imaginings whereby he had assigned arbitrary detriments to random happenstances…
And residents—whether royal or rabble—fell for it hook, line, and stinker!
Yes, having gone out of their way to avoid non-existent dangers, the loveable gullibles smugly congratulated themselves on besting the fates—and, bought into a false sense of insecurity that they could ill afford…given that it came at the cost of their dignity and reason.
And, if that weren’t bad enough, shake(spearee)en by life’s tragedies, they also became Fleetwood Wack and decided,
“Furthermore, we’ll keep our visions to ourselves…’lest the universal witches, ever conspiring to steal our joy, get wind of what we are up to and thwart our hopes and dreams.”
And, in keeping with the fact that the road of superstitions is paved with fool-hardy pretensions–when the kingdom-dwellers stifled their aspirations–they succeeded only in hiding their game-changing moves. This, in essence, resulted in in a proverbial shell game of recesses and shadows…whereby—even if not irretrievably mislaid—hopes and desires were no longer shared with those who would offer much-needed encouragement and assistance.
(Now, here’s a word to the wise…If, initial, old-school foreshadowing wasn’t enough to prepare you for the aforementioned Dream Academy (1980’s pop) pun, be warned—from here on out, illustrative frames-of-reference take a page from Wholly Mackerel: The Early Works. Thus, the ensuing word-play is as old school (of fish) as it gets…)
Years of mind games had taken a toll; and, a battle royal—dubbed Fry-te Knight—ignited a kingdom-wide brawl when one knight threw salt over his left shoulder for luck and, inadvertently, stung the eyes of his brother-in-arms.
The well-meaning knight, good at heart, but frustrated to find that his efforts had been counter-acted by misfortune, lost his patience when Sir Wines-A-Lot petulantly accused him of carelessness.
“Well, Wine-stein”, the good knight observed, “if you hadn’t consumed enough rummy grog to render you careless enough to walk under a ladder, you would not have been in the way of the flying salt; and neither of us would be facing calamity now!”
“Well, it was a choice between the ladder and having that black cat cross my path—and if you weren’t so intent on always trying to get a leg up (on that oversized steed of yours), you would not have been in a position to nearly blind me! And, why, Broom Hilda, haven’t you had your collection of voodoo cats spayed and neutered?!”
“Why, how dare you malign my beautiful kitties?!?….”
And on and on it went…people are only human after all.
However, heretofore known for their horse-sense, I must explain how the equine team fell victim to the madness:
Although wise by nature, these horses were also trusting and obedient…
So, when urged to, “Come on Eileen”, the lead horse did so; and drank from the water troughs she was directed to…and, the remaining horses followed suit.
Now, while there was controversy around who exactly led the horses astray, all were in agreement that, whether the ring-leader was Sir Danny Romalatti or Sir Michael Damien, the culprit was two-faced—and certainly aware of Sir Rock and Sir Hyde’s propensity for washing their hands and feet in each other’s dirty water….the very same water that filled the horse troughs in question!
(And, no one was more vocal about these accusations than Dexy and his band of midnight (rum) runners).
Anyway, the sad result was, the horses forgot that they could be lead to water, but not made to drink…
(And, if the kingdom’s black sheep hadn’t been driven away, they certainly would have reminded their friends of their gift for thinking outside the flox.)
Consequently, well-and-Truly muddied waters stirred up the stupor-stitious beliefs that convinced the horses that they had fallen victim to a gastrointestinal curse…
So, for seven years, they ran themselves nearly (but thankfully, not quite) ragged in a vain attempt to ward of the party-pooping trots they were in no danger of contracting in the first place.
But, all was not lost, for—as with all feel-good-fables—here comes a happy ending 🙂
Remember Shell-ee….the mirror who slipped from her yoke and had a great fall? Well, what was bad for most was good for her!
You see, another word for yoke is harness…
And harness lends itself to the phrase, harness of oppression…
So, in slipping the harness of oppression, Shell-ee fell to pieces; and was swept up and whisked away to the make-believe land of feigned glass where she was able to reconstruct the life she always wanted!
No more hanging around for the soul(less) purpose of reflecting another’s vain attempts to outshine others…after all, where is the fairness in that?
Instead, she became a mosaic, and reflected the glory of her kaleidoscopic magnificence…
And, that’s how, when the mirror cracked herself up, she had the last laugh 🙂
Note To Selves: It’s all in the way you look at things—so, stay strong, keep the faith, think for yourself, and surround yourself with like-minded people!
God bless you 🙂
P.S. Here’s a shout-out to fairytaleofasimplegirl….nothing simple about those who are so generous, supportive, and encouraging…and, hers is a wonderful blog to boot…I really hope you check it out! 🙂
P.P.S. While I am sooooooo grateful for any comments, if you can identify any puns related to 80’s one hit wonders, the soap opera reference, and/or Ben Hur(d)–feel free to let me know 🙂