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Posts Tagged ‘humor’

One Smart Christmas Cookie

Posted in Compositions, tagged , , , , , , , on December 22, 2025| 5 Comments »

I’ve been entrusted with a very special gift.  Papa asked me to take care of it for him. It’s a gift for my Nana.

We decorated their house today for Christmas.  Well; Nana and I decorated – Papa sat in his big easy chair and grumbled in his best hum drum Grinch like renditions.

Papa’s attitude doesn’t seem to bother Nana.  She’s got him figured out.  She absolutely has his number. She’s known the key to him for a very long time.  Let’s just say, she’s one smart Christmas cookie.

My Papa has a loud booming voice. His voice can be frightening if you don’t know him like we do.  Nana explained to us Grandchildren a long time ago that Papa was like the marshmallow man – hard and crusty on the outside and soft and mushy on the inside.  So, we aren’t fooled by Papa’s loud cranky act anymore.  Like Nana, we all know that he’s just a big old softie.

“I don’t know why you put yourself through this every year,” he harrumphed to Nana after grouchily ordering her to move out of the way of the television because she was blocking his viewing pleasure.

“I like the extra light and glitter from the tree,” Nana replied demurely.  “Not to mention the vibrant Christmas colors and ambience it brings during the darkness of winter,” she smiled.  “Feel the love,” Nana giggled as she threw and imaginary air kiss in his direction.  Papa shifted uncomfortably in his chair and pretended to be irritated by Nana’s gesture. Their drama made me laugh.  As grumpy as Papa acts, he is enamored with Nana!

To be honest, the small living room was a disaster.  Boxes of ornaments, ribbon and tinsel littered the coffee table, couch and floor.  My Grandparent’s two dogs were curled up on what seemed the only available space of carpet and their cat lay beneath their artificial tree in the corner. The tree at the moment was barren other than twinkling colorful lights.

It seemed like disorganized confusion to me but Nana knew what lay stored in every box.  I was excited to help decorate their tree.

“This is the box we’ll start with,” Nana grinned opening an old shoe box like it was a pirate trunk holding treasure.

Just then, the oven timer sounded.

My Nana is an expert at multi-tasking.  She was baking and doing laundry while decorating the house with me for Christmas.

“I’ll be right back,” she chirped cheerily as she floated over the sleeping dogs without disturbing so much as one hair on their backs then around the myriad of boxes littering her path to the kitchen with nimble agility that surprised me.  My eyes could have deceived me but for a second, I was sure she had wings! I blinked though and they disappeared. It could only have been my imagination.

The house smelled divine. (If there’s a heaven, I’m sure it smells like Nana’s house. No matter the time of year, there’s always an alluring, mouth watering scent in the air.)  During Christmas season, it smells sweet, spicy and mint chocolaty with undertones of smoky pine.  Earlier today, Nana had baked ginger snaps and shortbread cookies.  Now, she was pulling butter tarts out of the oven.  She’d confided in me earlier that she wasn’t fond of butter tarts because they are too sweet for her liking, but that they were a favorite of Papa’s so she made them for him as a special treat every Christmas.

Butter tarts have raisons.

 I don’t like raisons.

Speaking of raisons, you have to watch my Nana.  She is extremely kind with an excellent sense of humor but can be a devious trickster. Being a smart cookie, you never see Nana’s pranks coming!  Let me explain:

One time, when I was younger and visiting, Nana gave me some cookies for a snack. Before I tried one, I asked what type they were. She said they were dried grape cookies.  I do like grapes!  They’re delicious.  So, I tried a bite. The cookie was delectable. Part way through my second cookie, Nana asked if I knew what a dried grape was.  Being an innocent, I said, “No.”  You can’t imagine my horror when Nana, smiling from ear to ear, told me that a dried grape was the same as a raison!  Then, she had the audacity to say that is important to try ingredients in different ways because you might like it one way but not another, and at least now, I would know that I liked raison cookies!

Another time, she got me to taste straight cocoa before she mixed it into icing sugar for a cake she was frosting. It was disgusting, bitter and dry. When she tried to get me to taste the chocolate frosting, my eyes bulged and I shook my head.  Again, she grinned from ear to ear and actually started to laugh as she tried to convince me that this spoonful would taste good. I didn’t really trust her but I tried a taste.  The icing sugar had transformed the cocoa into something wonderful.  Still, I’m not sure I’ve forgiven her for the bitter cocoa tasting and, I don’t like raisons in butter tarts!  There are a few in our family who don’t, so Nana bakes a special batch for us without ‘dried grapes,’ thank goodness!

I can see from where I’m standing near the Christmas tree that Nana has the tarts out of the oven and has placed them on the cooling rack.  Now, she’s heading to the laundry room to put wet clothes in the dryer.  There is a door going outside from the laundry room and apparently the dogs think she is taking them for a walk. The living room has erupted into chaos as both dogs try to beat the other to the door first, trampling the cat who decided it should check out the new eats in the kitchen along with Papa.

Looks like Papa lost the trek to the kitchen. Their big lab just bumped him as he was about to stand-up knocking him off balance and pushing him back into his easy chair.  He’s perturbed and trying very hard not to cuss in front of me.

I can’t help it.  It’s comedy at its finest.  I burst out laughing.  “I’m sorry, Papa. It really looked funny.”

Papa really looked grouchy now.  He had his best Grinch face on.

Nana re-emerged from the laundry room completely unaware of the chaos.  She then arranged some cookies and tarts onto a plate for our taste testing pleasure.

When she came back into the living room, she placed the baked goodies on a coffee table near Papa.

“Careful, the tarts are still pretty warm,” she warned.  “I’d have put more of the shortbread cookies out but it seems someone couldn’t resist them.”

Papa finally smiled.  “You really do make the best shortbread cookies I’ve ever tasted,” he gushed without guilt.

“Yes,” she chided.  “I’ve found the key to your heart.  It’s your stomach! That’s the last of the shortbread cookies and it’s the second batch.  Now, I’m out of butter and can’t make more unless we get some groceries.”

“We’ll go later,” Papa motioned in my direction. “I have a bit of last minute shopping to do still.”

“That sounds great.  I’ll make a small list for you to pick-up and I’ll finish decorating while you’re gone,” Nana nodded in agreement, “but, I’d like to get the ornaments on the tree before you leave.”

Nana smiled as she pulled a little ornament out of the old shoe box.  “This has always been a favorite of mine. Your Dad made this when he was in Elementary school.” She held the little ornament gently.  It was a tiny woolen mouse with felt ears lying in a hazel nut shell. As she hung it on the tree I looked inside the box to see many of the little trinkets and ornaments made by us grandchildren as well.  Most of them I recognized as they decorated the tree yearly like the little felt snowman and penguin or the Plaster of Paris hand prints of each grandchild painted then hung with a ribbon.  A variety of angels, glittering balls, snowflakes and icicles lay inside the box along with bells.

“I like to put the bells close to the bottom of the tree,” Nana advised.  “The cat’s favorite spot is under the tree while its up and she plays with them. I like hearing her make the bells ring. Did you know that some people believe that when a bell rings, a new angel is born?  I think we can use as many of them as we can get.” Nana rang the little bell furiously.  “I believe there are multitudes of angels around at Christmas time. They help to open people’s hearts and spread love.  Can you feel them? I can!”

“Did you and Nana ever have real trees?” I asked Papa trying to involve him in the decorating process.

He and Nana exchanged knowing glances and started to laugh.

“Our Charlie Brown trees,” they said in unison.

“Yes, we did,” Papa shared.

“Every one of them had character,” Nana laughed.

“All of them had some type of defect or huge branchless holes! We never managed to get the perfect tree.” Papa stated mater-of-factly,   “But, your Nana managed to make them look pretty good!”

“The first year we got married,” Nana shared, “we didn’t have a lot of money so we had no tree stand. Instead, we had a bucket filled with rocks to stand it in but it kept falling over. Finally, I got some string wound it around the tree and tacked the string to the wall.  That tree had more than one bald spot which I filled with tinsel. It actually turned out to be quite beautiful.”

“Then there’s the year I ran over an evergreen tree at the end of our driveway with the semi-trailer,” Papa shook his head and rolled his eyes. “It was flattened on one side with no branches but your Nana being who she is took an ax and finished cutting it down. Then she drug it up the driveway to the house and decorated it for Christmas.”

“Well, I couldn’t see killing another tree when you’d already mowed one down!” Nana defended.  “Besides, that turned out to be the most magical tree we ever had.  I put the flattened side toward the wall.  You couldn’t really tell…”

“Yes you could!” Papa argued incredulous.

Nana’s eyes sparkled and she started to giggle.  “Do you remember the presents around that tree by the time Christmas came? And, we had so much company. It was such a memorable year. That was the most magical little tree we ever had.  Plus, I believe that’s the last real tree we had.  After that, we got an artificial one because out here on the prairie, trees are hard to grow so I’ve come to appreciate the ones that grow everywhere else.  It’s such a shame to cut them down.”

An unusual softness seemed to envelop Papa as we shared memories of their Charlie brown trees and past Christmas’ not to mention that he seemed to really be enjoying the baking within his easy reach.

I watched as he wolfed down another butter tart eyes alight with every bite of the sweet morsel.  Nana being the smart cookie she is knew full well what the key to Papa was.  His hum drum Grinch behavior had never fooled her for an instant.

Finally, Papa and I left Nana and made the 45 minute jaunt to town for groceries and a bit of last minute shopping.  They live on a farm away from the hectic towns and cities where the landscape is pristine with clean fallen snow. It’s extremely pretty and I enjoy the drive into town. It’s fun shopping with Papa.  He buys in bulk and you never really know what he’s going purchase – groceries aside.

We arrived in the nearest town glistening with snow, lights and festive Christmas decorations.  People milled along sidewalks and clustered here and there perusing store windows before entering.  Papa and I hit the grocery store and quickly amassed Nana’s shopping list then we headed for the mall.

Strained, rushed shoppers clamored along the hallway mindlessly bumping into one another.  We just drifted along with the flow until something caught Papa’s eye and he stopped.

“Let’s go in here,” he pointed.  The store was bright and adorned from ceiling to floor with Christmas glamour.  Papa went straight to the counter and spoke to the clerk who then retrieved the item Papa requested from a backroom in the store.   I was surprised at the speed of the purchase.  As well, it was the end of the shopping excursion.

“Did you know,” Papa asked on the way out of the mall, “that God put angels on earth without wings so that they could blend in and not be discovered?”

“No, I didn’t,” I answered confused.

“Your Nana’s an angel. Even after 40 years, she still has the key to my heart,” he whispered. “If you catch her in the light just right, you can see her wings.” He confided in awe.

When we got back to the truck, Papa handed me the gift. “I’m going to trust you to take care of this gift for me until Christmas. I commissioned it for your Nana months ago.  This will be our little secret.” He opened the gift box to reveal its contents. Lying inside on a soft bed of cotton was a small golden key embossed with wings shaped like a heart at its crown. Down the stem of the key words were engraved, “For my angel.”

I’ve been entrusted with a very special gift.  Papa asked me to take care of it for him. It’s a gift for my Nana but it’s an actual key to Papa’s heart.  This gift giving season is going to be epic.

As Papa bent over to start the ignition, the light touched his head just right. That’s when it happened – I saw his halo!

May you all have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

 

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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635 Days

Posted in Compositions, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on December 1, 2025| 12 Comments »

After 635 days, I’m not sure where to start. 

It’s probably best to start with an apology.

As the author of a blog, I had an obligation to advise you, about my unplanned absence.  Instead, I unintentionally ghosted you. It was inexcusable.  Can you find it in your hearts to forgive me for the length of my inexplicable sabbatical?

Can I even pen something you would care to read after that length of time?

I feel like an imposter sitting in front of this computer screen; once again the author with trembling fingertips hovering over the keyboard while anticipating the excitement of unleashing words.  I am having trouble settling in. Words didn’t abandon me. Instead, they were compiling day after day only waiting for the moment I would allow them to flow forward onto the page. It’s like an impromptu meeting which leads to an unsolicited script.  Where do I start?

I’ve often been told that I have a gift with words. To me, writing isn’t a gift.  It’s an actual calling.  There’s something inside me like a magnet that draws me to put words on a blank piece of paper. I literally cannot help myself.  Will this be a gifted piece of literature or an utter failure?

Could I actually be an imposter? At the moment, I definitely have imposter syndrome!

I’ve been missing in action for almost two years as a publishing author. Maybe I’ve lost the knack – another storyteller vanishing quietly into the ethos of history.  I hadn’t intended to be gone so long while pursuing other interests and for that, I owe you more than a deeply profound, heartfelt apology.

I owe you words, a vocabulary of them. 

Holy, 635 days! That’s nearly two years worth of compiled experiences and observations to share! Let’s see if I still have what it takes to tell a story.

Many of you who follow, ‘The Trefoil Muse,’ would like to know where I’ve been, how I am and why I literally disappeared into an unknown abyss without explanation – no words at all. It’s a very strange scenario for a writer.

I’m not sure I can explain it fully. Honestly, it’s a mystery. Even to me!

I didn’t just wander down a path less travelled. Rather, it was more of a migration toward something new and exciting.

The avenue I decided to pursue required me to spread my wings and fly in an advanced, innovative technological field. Needless to say, I am one of the first female pilots of Commercial RPAS (Remotely Piloted Aircraft Systems) in Canada.  I am very proud of this fact.  However, the field is new and ever-changing with a surprising amount of competition.  Dedication to ones flying skill is paramount not to mention the wherewithal it takes to stay on par with ongoing programming changes.  Technology advances at a maniacal speed. Flying a RPAS requires in depth knowledge with quick thinking, catlike prowess when focusing and huge ongoing learning curves at all times coupled with moments of extreme frustration. Despite all efforts to the contrary, let’s face it, we cannot control Mother Nature! While I excel in the technological field, it is overtly time consuming as it can take 24/7 commitment which leaves little time for other interests. Anyone now days can understand the ups and downs regarding technology, especially if you live and work in a rural area, so I won’t drone on about it.  The short story is that I burned out to the point of unplugging and not wanting to see a computerized anything.

There is nothing worse than dreading a job you once enjoyed. 

The other side of that is that if you enjoy what you are doing, it isn’t a job at all. 

My brain needed a rest. 

I needed to unplug from technology.

It turned into a very healthy choice.  It’s been awesome! The break allowed me to pursue other interests and hobbies.  I experimented with new mediums. I’ve learned that I really like to work with wood; whittling, relief carving, pyrography, weaving and painting.  There’s something about the smell of wood, not to mention the excitement I feel when watching my project come to fruition. It is only akin to the feeling I get when having written something extraordinary to share with you.

I have missed my blog.  I miss painting with words and weaving sentences into stories.  But, most of all, I miss you!

This is the six hundredth and thirty fifth day.

Can I still write something you would like to read? 

I look out the window and see a magical wonderland.

Will you forgive me fully if I write something beautiful now?

Snow is falling today. It’s the type of glittering snowfall that makes me feel nostalgia. White feathery flakes are drifting down from the heavens. They are thick, heavy flakes; laden with moisture.  It always makes me wonder if Angels are molting when feathery thick snowfall like this falls upon our barren dry land near the end of a mild autumn; it’s almost like it was heaven sent. Perhaps it is the answer to this prairie dwellers prayer.

We need moisture out here on the Alberta prairie, any moisture we got earlier this year dried up long ago then we entered back into drought like conditions.  Snow is a welcomed sight to my weary eyes. It gives me something to look at other than dirt, yellow grass and barren trees.  I am enjoying how the outside world looks covered in a downy quilt of white snow.

Surprisingly, a flock of Canadian geese just flew low over the house – dark, shadow like figures with undulating wings cascading through the milky atmospheric haze.  It appears that this particular flock of geese is having trouble navigating.  Instead of their typical V shape, they are a honking chaotic mass of disorganization flapping crazily along a now white colored landscape as if blinded by heavy falling snow.  Everything about this scenario seems unusual including the fact that these geese have not migrated south yet. They appear to be lost.  

My Canadian geese sightings have been scarce this year and the few gaggles that I have seen are similar to this sighting. The flocks seem confused – there is a lot of flapping and honking but, none are listening to the other while crowding each other so closely that they are blinded to what lies ahead. Everyone wants to be a leader but nobody actually wants to lead.  Proving that just because you want to lead doesn’t mean that you can or should – bad leaders are dangerous.  My hesitant guess with this flock is that they are lacking an appropriate leader which has caused chaos. Eventually, out of chaos comes clarity.  May a qualified or experienced leader appear at the helm soon to guide our feathered Canadians home in a successful migration. 

Unusual sightings and observations have meanings to a mystic or muse such as myself.  The symbolic quality of a bird such as goose equals storytelling, fertility and fidelity, symbol of eight and infinity.

So here I am as an author magically appearing on day 635, feeling nostalgic as I watch the snow fall while observing geese and painting with words to create another storytelling extravaganza with an infinite number of words – a vocabulary of them.

Will I be back or will I just disappear again? 

The symbol of Goose is 8.  I will commit to publishing at least eight new stories in the upcoming year. The symbol 8 also signifies infinity….  (There may be a plethora of words coming for you to enjoy.)

Thank-you all for your loyal support, past and present – even during my neglectful absence I noticed my stats were active.  I appreciate all of the visitors to my blog and hope you continue to enjoy my penmanship in the future!

Again, please forgive me for my lengthy absence!

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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Life

Posted in Short Stories, tagged , , , , , , , , , on February 20, 2024| 5 Comments »

Life is a little like threading a needle.

Sometimes, you just need to stab the eye of the beast before you can proceed – then you can make, mend or decorate with stitches to create a thing of beauty.

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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Heat Source

Posted in Short Stories, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on August 22, 2023| 23 Comments »

 

I don’t really have a lot to say this week. But, I believe that I’ve come up with a simply ingenious idea.

If we set a flame to all of the political gas lighting going on in the world, we’d have an alternative heat source.

Or, we could just snuff out all of the hot air and there would no longer be a climate emergency.

The current sources of heat are fire, sun, object friction and electricity.

Gas lighting would make a fifth and very valid heat source around the globe.  Why let it all go to waste!

 

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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White Rabbits

Posted in Short Stories, tagged , , , , , , , , on April 4, 2023| 13 Comments »

White rabbits, white rabbits; spring arrives; winter weather lifts; and there are white rabbits everywhere! 

Rabbits are prolific creatures. There are so many of them here that it is near impossible to count their numbers.

The rabbit symbolizes fertility, luck, creativity, compassion and intuition.  Rabbits are associated with springtime and new beginnings. They are happy reminders that life is full of possibilities. A rabbit’s foot is a lucky token and rabbits are considered symbols of fortune.

But with the appearance of all these rabbits, is it possible our home has undergone a takeover by Easter Bunny Central?

We have a profound conglomeration of long-eared, fluffy-white-tailed creatures hopping around our farmyard and nearby fields.

The majority of rabbits inhabiting the farm are jackrabbits but somewhere during the winter months a bush bunny family moved in as well.

Bush bunnies, otherwise known as mountain cottontail are the only true rabbit in Alberta.  Despite its name, it is not actually found in our mountains. It is restricted to the prairie regions of the province, where it can be found in areas with sufficient brushy cover. I suspect our newly arrived cottontails fled from a nearby coulee to take up residence in our hedges mid winter. 

I usually spot my little bush bunny or cottontail friends closer to the house not far from the hedges, whereas, their larger counterparts, the jackrabbits like kibitzing out in the open.

Jackrabbits, otherwise known as snowshoe hares, are larger than rabbits, have longer hind legs and longer ears.  An interesting fact to note is that rabbits or baby bunnies are born hairless and blind whereas baby hares, (called leverets) are born with fur, can see, and are mobile within an hour of birth.  As well, hares turn from brown in the summer to white in the winter; rabbits do not. 

Our prairie jackrabbits are well camouflaged during seasonal changes.  Right now, most of them are still wearing their white jackets and blend in with the white covered landscape.  Some have begun to shed their white fur and have a brown patchy appearance and are hard to see against the barren spring earth.   Jackrabbits will hide among and under rocks, outbuildings, hollow logs, and other covered spaces or even in plain sight. When faced with danger, rabbits tend to freeze and/or run for cover, while hares will usually try to run away and out maneuver their pursuer. 

The jackrabbits around here love to taunt my dogs.  They have even been known to run right through our legs during a daily walk to induce a game of tag.  Jackrabbits can run up to 55 km/h (34 mph) and can leap up to five meters (16 feet 5 inches)!  They are agile athletes who elude predators from following their scent through a series of large bounds, sometimes even moving at right angles to their previous direction. My poor good natured dogs don’t stand a chance.  They get out distanced and out maneuvered by the jackrabbits during every competition.  Still, they love the chase and it seems to be great exercise for both the rabbits and the dogs.

To be honest, I find the bush bunnies to be much cuter than the jackrabbits but the jackrabbits have afforded me plenty of comic relief over the years due to their antics with my dogs and their Easter exercise regimes. 

To be a successful Easter Bunny candidate, one must assume that a rabbit or hare needs to be white or well camouflaged, agile and fleet of foot to deliver all of those chocolaty candy eggs across the Alberta prairie.

The training sessions around here must have produced plenty of successful Easter Bunnies and gained popularity with the rabbit populous. Rabbits have great listening skills and word seems to have spread that our remote Easter Bunny Central location is top notch. It seems very fortuitous that more and more white rabbits keep appearing from out of nowhere. 

With all of these white rabbits hopping around, I’m beginning to feel like Alice in Wonderland.

Which makes me wonder; if I utter the words white rabbit three times will they all magically disappear like a puff of smoke to be hare today and gone tomorrow? Or have I myself fallen into a rabbit hole?

Happy Easter every bunny!

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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Ricochet

Posted in Short Stories, tagged , , , , , , on January 24, 2023| 16 Comments »

A piercing scream cut through the quiet night, ricocheted off concrete walls and echoed onto the city street.  A hollow thud then gasp of air followed.  It was the woman’s last breath.

A dark figure loomed over the body.

Bobby-Joe McKintock had just frightened his nosey, old neighbor to death; quite by accident, when in jest, he’d jumped out of the shadows.

A sinister laugh caromed through the night.  Bobby-Joe glanced around then disappeared into the darkness before the backlash of what he’d done hit him.

Quiet fell upon the city street.  The silence was deafening.

Sounds of sirens and gunshots ensued.

It was a ricochet that ended him.

As it turns out, the rebound effect is no joking matter!

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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Spicy

Posted in Short Stories, tagged , , , , , , , , , on January 10, 2023| 27 Comments »

Feeling cold and sluggish?

Perhaps you need a little more warmth in your life.

Indulge yourself.

Drink a cup of hot chocolate.

Chocolate not only warms your heart but your soul.

Dark chocolate keeps you healthy by adding antioxidants. 

Antioxidants lower blood pressure and increase circulation to your heart.

Not enough sweetness in your life?

Add some marshmallows.

Feeling dull or sluggish?

Spice up your life.

Be adventurous,

Add a cinnamon stick to your cup of hot chocolate for extra flavor.

If you are daring enough, you can get even more spicy.

Nothing warms your heart on a cold day like a cup of hot chocolate 

with a few drops of hot sauce.  

Sit back and relax.

You will feel the heat running through your body in no time.

Enjoy the burn.

No one really needs an excuse to indulge in chocolate!

Chocolate’s heart healthy.

Just warm your heart up a little if you’re cold.

Get spicy!

 

 

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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Brain Freeze

Posted in Short Stories, tagged , , , , , , , , on November 29, 2022| 14 Comments »

Baby, it’s cold outside!

It’s the end of November and it is -13 degrees Celsius (12.2 Fahrenheit). The wind has been blowing with gusts of 42 km (27 mph) and higher so it feels like -23C (-9.4 F).  It’s so frigid that I am unable to think.  Perhaps, I have frozen my brain…

How does a Canadian prevent brain freeze in the winter?

 

Word of the Day – Toque

              /tōk/

Canadian definition: 

A close-fitting knitted hat, often with a tassel or pom-pom on the crown.

People also ask

How do you use it in a sentence?

I will use it in a sentence so that you can both remember what it is and how to pronounce it.

“It’s so cold outside, that I toque a wool cap and put it on my head.”

And, that my friend’s is also how a Canadian prevents brain freeze in the winter!

Stay warm!      

 

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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Murder Mission

Posted in Short Stories, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on September 20, 2022| 9 Comments »

The mission is murder. 

The buzz word is fly!

In the name of fair play, I did warn them.  I said, “If you don’t leave this premises, you will die! This is not your home. You are not allowed to gather here!”

But, they cannot help themselves. 

It seems they have invited swarms more. The house is a buzz of activity.  I am not as hospitable as they have assumed.  They have over-stayed their welcome and have gotten on my last nerve.

They are pests. Pests that like to do the backstroke in my morning coffee or drown in it. They bug me, these uninvited guests. They steal the very food from my plate – pests. Their flying buddies like to swan dive into my hair or fly up my nose. They don’t understand the word, ‘No!’ It amuses these pests to touch my body with their creepy little insect feelers. They won’t stop.  It gives them a buzz then they get high! They just won’t stop irritating me, even going as far as landing on my hands as I type this!

Enough! 

The mission is now murder!

Fly swatter in hand, I am in full stealth mode.  My trusty cat is assisting me in stalking the many-eyed prey! It seems that they have pestered her beyond her limits as well.  She alerts me to their presence with her surreptitious cat call.

The flies think they will out smart me by camouflaging themselves on dark furniture or hiding in plain sight.  I suppose they assume they can out maneuver me since they have thousands of watchful eyes observing my every move.

 “Wrong!”

The swat team and I have taken down a number of assailants.  Their bodies are piling up!  Some of the fly survivors are conducting forensics on the dead or perhaps they are cannibals foraging on their own kind. 

They get the smack down.  At times, it’s a smorgasbord; multiple bodies with one swat or a two for one deal – a regular kill pattern for this experienced swat team.

It’s war. We have no mercy, the pests were forewarned!

Finally, after an hour of stalking and murdering flies, it has gone deathly quiet.  The pests that are left have gone underground or into cracks or crevices. They are difficult to find. 

But, I am smarter than a fly. I will patiently outwit them.

I only need to wait until the time is right before I raid their fly encampments.  For now though, the swat team has further business to take care of.  Death is cumbersome and we must dispose of the multitude of fly corpses before their living relatives feel the sting of the upcoming raid. There will be more bodies. The remains will be disposed of.  This is not a game. This is war; I must take time to plan the next siege on these pests before the next swarm appears.  These pests have eyes everywhere.  I dare not rest, the swat team and I need to plan and perhaps rally more troops.

In the meantime, if any of you have had the intention of visiting in the form of an insect or let’s say; a fly on the wall; beware – my buzz word this season is, ‘Fly,’ and I’m on a murder mission.

All other company is welcome! Please feel free to bring your own swatter! Be prepared to raid flying pests when necessity warrants.

 

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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Push-Me-Pull-You Effect

Posted in Compositions, tagged , , , , , , , , , on February 15, 2022| 11 Comments »

Push-Me-Pull-You Effect? 

“What is the Push-Me-Pull-You effect?” you ask. 

In simple terms, it is an interest of a person, party or idea undone by indecisiveness and fear of commitment by the other person, party or idea.

The Push-Me-Pull-You effect perfectly explains why it is such a lengthy process to rid ourselves of the bloated, constipated, far-reaching mandates and restrictions we are subjected to in Canada.

Let’s see in simple terms how the Push-Me-Pull-You effect explains our current dilemma in politics today as it works in a Democracy such as Canada because, in my opinion it explains the tactics used by all elected parties.

The Push-Me-Pull-You effect isn’t something new but it has greatly inhibited us especially in the past few years under a minority Government.  Neither; is the Push-Me-Pull-You effect a tactic that just started recently.  As far as I’m concerned, the Push-Me-Pull-You effect has been a never ending cycle in every political arena practiced by bureaucrats since its dawning day – the cycle being that of ‘deflecting blame,’ rather than that of ‘taking responsibility.’  The premise seems to be that the political party who is able to deflect blame more successfully onto the opposition gets to stay in power of the Ivory Throne. In Canada, the Ivory throne is on Parliament Hill.

However, the never ending Push-Me-Pull-You tactics involved in the political arena which has led to a bad habit of Members of Parliament quickly succumbing to a strategic game of, ‘Blame and Finger Point,’ played between the Federal, Provincial, and municipal governments has caused nothing more than constipated thinking from those same elected Members who then look down on the working class people from their parliamentary Ivory Towers.  Their privileged lifestyle has put them out of touch with real people on the ground.

The real people on the ground are the working class.  And, they are the type of people that not only walks their talk but take action.  They don’t have to take a poll to know what to do or go to work.  They know what needs to be done, and they do it.  They know how to work.

 Meanwhile, in the Ivory Tower on parliament hill, another backdoor meeting took place because regardless of speeches on transparency, our elected Liberal officials don’t know what to do without a plan.  And, this elected Liberal party rallied against the plan, made by the opposition party, the Conservatives; whom, on February 14, 2022; actually planned on voting on a plan, to make a plan to end the over-reaching pandemic mandates of the elected Liberal party with the help of other Liberals and other opposition parties.

It’s actually quite sad that the opposition parties had to poll people before they could present a plan, to vote on a plan, to make a plan.  If they vote to agree to make a plan; then they will vote on a date to debate on the plans, to make a plan. It takes a gross amount time, to talk of the talk, to just plan, to make a plan. It’s time consuming to plan, to make a plan. Neither party wants to offend the other party on the plan, to even talk about the plan or draft up the plan because they need each other’s votes to pass the plan on making the plans, plan. Then they need to canvass the popularity of the plan to make the plans on the plan. That’s before they can even take any action on the plan.  But, that’s democracy – isn’t it! Democracy is a big old popularity contest on plans to make plans. And, the polls dictate which popular plans will be planned because the tax payers pay for the planning of the plans, plan so should be factored into to planning of the plan.

I’m wondering how many of those Ivory Tower occupants actually went and spoke face to face to any of the people who fund their pay checks before they made a plan to poll the people on the plan, to make a plan and then attempt to pass the plan. 

The majority of Canadians know how to make a plan, execute it and then work to accomplish the fulfillment of the plan because, they know how to work together in order to succeed unlike their Ivory Tower observers – the Push-Me-Pull-You’s who love the popularity of the polls on their plans to make and plan plans but never plan on actually executing the plans – that would take a time management plan which would probably take more than 2 to 4 years to plan!

So, you can see, what type of effect of the Push-Me-Pull-You has on parliament hill, and why there is a bunch of moaning, bloated, irritated tantrum throwing, red faced Members of Parliament – their burdened, constipated mindsets must make a plan before any movement can pass.  And, when their planned plans to make plans can’t pass, movement is stagnated and more constipated planning ensues.

 The majority of Canadians are very observant and open-minded like myself.  We like our freedom and are choosing to no longer be impeded by the Push-Me-Pull-You’s.

Push-Me-Pull-You’s are slow-moving and have restricted or inhibited thought patterns.  Their bloated, constipated mandates and restrictions need to be excreted into archives of history.

 Enough with the planning already!

Can someone please deliver the Push-Me-Pull-You’s some diuretics so we can get some free flowing movement on Parliament Hill?

End the Constipation!

End the Emergency Act!

Canada is the true, north, strong and free!

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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