Second come back.....!

Some time ago, after a long spell of inactivity here, I decided to refresh my connections with all other cyber friends. As an excuse, I must admit that I was terribly busy reading a course in law. It was only an afterthought following a long career in education. But that is over now. Looking from an advantageous high rise a multitude of topics are exposed to one and all for discussion, which, though from an authoritative source, still subject to discretion and different opinions of other interested persons. One can also refer to hundreds of other topics elsewhere in my platform.

First for a small qustion mark to tempt your interest. When the identification of this picture is discovered please email to paxolynx@gmail.com Thanks. Meet later. Next topic will be Innocence abroad !A true story from childhood.

Mario, a charcter not easy to forget.

A few weeks ago I met Mario. We were queuing up to be served through the services
of the local state health service. Mario absorbed my complete attention. I usually spend the waiting time reading, firstly because reading, besides golf, is one other of my favourtie pastimes,and secondly waiting time seems to be shortened that way.
I must admit at the outset that he had a very colourful character, a balanced DNA (!) and some uniqueness
in talking and posturing. Never before had I realised that a semi-illiterate senile could present such a wonderful impact on his listeners.
He was short and portly, almost verging on obesity. He spoke in clear articulated
native language, which was peppered at times by some low-grade objectionable phraseology,
which after all, gave more colour to his savoir-faire.
He was closely attached to his old fashioned bone pipe, at which he puffed in continuity,
and in the process wasted at least a full box of matches. Apparently his tobacco lacked
combustable elements. Looks like lighting and re-lighting made pipe-smoking a more dramatic affair.
His tobacco had a sweet soft aroma, which reminded me of my habit a few decades ago.
The half-dozen other patients queuing up with him made it abundantly clear
that his presence with them was not welcome even though they were all queuing outdoors,
where smoking is still allowed. But smokers to-day have lost not only their in-door smoking rights,
but smoking is probited in most other places !
Back to Mario.

My unfair underestimation was soon corrected. He insisted that he read many books in his leisure time.
I wondered how much free time he had. “Plenty,” he confirmed, “especially during the years I spent at the local mental institution.”

He started off with Shakespeare. He gave a list of tragedies, comedies and other plays by the bard,
sprinkling with quotations to make his tirade more emphatic.
Even Madame Butterfly was penned by the dramatist, he argued. My corrective remarks were not enough
to make him change his mind. Probably he was mixing the Fly in the Butter with Othello,
the former being a musical opera written by Giacomo Puccini
and the latter both a Shakespearean tragedy and musical opera by Gioacchino Rossini.
A rather forgiveable inaccuracy given the peculiar circumstances. What Mario affirmed was
to be taken as gospel truth, and no questions allowed.
Full-stop: end of argument.
Then world known artists took the stage. He mentioned Van Gogh, Picasso, Moore, and a few more.
But at the end of the list came the greatest of them all, who were Leonardo da Vinci and Michaelangelo,
whom he insisted were the mainstays of all the new and the old schools. All the mentioned VIP’s,
as he referred to them, were placed on a fairly accurate time-line.
The first light of day, on early autumn mornings, was always belated, which was quite noticeable by all
who stood and patiently waited for the entrance doors to be opened. The belated early morning light
was an inspiration to launch Mario on a discussion on Galileo and Copernicus,
their feats and disappointments. He described the seasonal position of Earth in relation to the Sun,
with reasonable accuracy. The days’ duration and the seasons were directly dependent on this.
In the process he often lifted the cap he was wearing to scratch the white skin on his head,
which contrasted very sharply with the tan on the rest of his head. But it was a fitting gesture,
which gave his natural acting, a flair of credibility.
Other areas were explored: sports, physics, medicine, general scientific topics, all in a breathless,
more often than not, soliloquy. The opening of the entrance doors, contrasting with the closing of the stage curtain, put an abrupt end to the conversation. It was time for Mario to have his blood tested for atrial fibrillation.
On his way out Mario was reading the report of his test. It read:

The patient’s life is gentle, and the elements
So mix’d in him that Nature might stand up
And say “This is a man!.”

With apologies to Mark Anthony and the bard.

My favourite ghost.

Many moons away, my family moved, lock, stock and barrel, to a new house in the same town.

It was new simply because we lived there for the very first time. It was, in fact, an old hardstone maisonette, much resembling an old forsaken stronghold. I had just turned to my teenage years at the time.

One of the bees in my bonnet had always been that of becoming a respectable fireworks craftsman. This was something easier said than done because all the odds were against me, namely, being too young, my experience in the art was next to nothing and my chemical knowledge in its very infancy.

But still I managed to mix with the much older craftsmen of the community, who, though practically illiterate in the 3R's, were successful pyrotechnicians, who made their fellow countrymen stare with awe and marvel at the display of colourful catherine wheels and fancy patterns on festa day.

Three elements enriched my experience at the time. They were my favourite ghost, my first attempts at making fireworks and my studies in Latin.

Our new house was a three storey building, but only the ground floor was of any use because to reach the upper storeys ,one had to climb a very narrow spiral staircase. It was indeed very narrow, so much so that carrying objects larger than a chair or a small table was next to impossible. At the time mechanical machines and lifts were still on the drawing board of engineers.

By a stroke of luck I convinced my parents to let me have the spaces above to use as my study and sleeping quarters. "Thank goodness ! We, at least can manage to take you out of the way and have more space for the rest of the children !" poor mother innocently explained. The far from it all rooms gave me all the chances to do whatever I felt like without any interference.

These same upper rooms were reputed to be haunted. Every night a clergyman, was believed to appear and disappear at will. I learnt this the moment we took residence. Luckily the spectre only roamed the upper rooms. To put mother's mind at rest I solemnly declared that I befriended the ghost so much that we practically chatted during every night. But it was his deep knowledge of Latin that helped very much in my study of the language. So much so that the monthly tests showed a marked improvement. The situation was very suitable and convenient because staying away from the rest, besides my Latin, I also worked hard at the first attempts of my fireworks.

With nobody ever noticing anything unusual, I had field days mixing gunpowder and other chemicals to make fireworks. This, of course, was highly dangerous, but touch wood, there were never any accidents which could have given me away and face mother's music. She was a strict disciplinarian, making the practice of discipline a very different matter from what it is to-day. Exhibiting my firework pieces to my peer group, I gained some notoriety.

And that was when my favourite ghost disappeared once and for all, and when my Latin marks stopped improving. A neighbour who spied on me without my noticing learnt about my goings and told mother what was taking place. From then on my study and sleeping quarters soon became highly supervised quarters. I shall always remember the scene that accompanied my transfer to a secure ground floor allocation.















 

Mysteriously Beautiful......

MYSTERIOUSLY BEAUTIFUL.

A multitude stars that graze along the Milky Way,

Cannot say thanks as many as I may.

For now that the novelty is bare,

Far more the craze becomes so fair.

Ten thousand thanks should be declared,

A welcomed future is there to be cared.

Never before so much zest and pomp,

Did the two found solace and great romp.

The little Venus hilly country spot,

Hiding away the meeting lot.

That hides away between the apex shot,

In an eager and slippery slope.

But when all seemed peaceful and calm,

On the plain a thunder bolt did come.

No wonder the tempest upset the coloured scene,

That seemed so far so joyful and serene.

No reason, no why or what,

As a babe knows not in her tiny cot.

But beggars is said they cannot be the choosers,

Is boldly written for age-old losers.

For even when the tiny bird sought shelter,

She was gladly taken in for an intimate dweller.

Unsatiable thirst and passion,

Both manifest in excellent dual fashion.

The young alert and ready for more,

The partner never to fail as ever before.

Though not as far as one would wish to feel,

But no regrets ever nourished, expressed, denied or weal.

Handsome Venus in all its glory,

Is closely matched by a warm and fleshy story.

The fable narrates the button nose,

That fits in a picture of beauty rose.

And when the sharp attractive eyes,

Look purposely so close to unfold the tangled ties.

A warm mouth houses a quiet but fiery tingling tongue,

That knows to limit the bounds of whatever had sung.

Unfurled, jet black long shiny hair,

Depicts an inviting picture so close to share.

Rotis: this is my story !

My story.......!

I was born second in a family constellation of thirteen, just three years before the declaration of World War number Two.

Though a very prolific brood, both the first born and a string of five others passed away either at birth or a little later. They were hardly given enough time to witness the first lights of day. The incidence of infant mortality among the giant European turtles, as well as with humans, was indeed very high. I was very close to joining the early departures because at the worst time of WW2 I was down with typhoid, but was lucky enough to survive both the war and the typhoid.

Living in water might have been an asset. Actually even humans start their lifespan in water, but get rid of it at the end of the gestation period, but with us, both land and water are for keeps. They offer a more welcome and versatile environment. Truly only a few make it to the water after hatching on sand. I was one of the few. But life was very difficult during the infancy and turtlehood years. Because of the war, food was terribly scarce and famine was the normal order of the day.

Other facilities were just as scarce. There was never enough to eat. Back on land it was understood that the food reserves for the populations, as well to our other species the tortoise, were at their lowest ebb. When a convoy managed to sail clear of hostile fire, celebrations were held to mark the event. But for us, things were different. When in the neighbourhood of sunken ships, both naval and merchant, both those of the allies as well as those of the foes, the jettisoned contents of the vessels offered an abundance of food. The Mediterranean, where our colony was established, offered an inviting setting for these occurrences.

During the early days I attended the famous European Pond College for the Gifted. Being a bookworm, this may not be an adequate description, but I was surely a very clever turtle. My name was actually Toisy, from the Troyzee family, but everybody called me by my nickname Rotis, probably because when I adopted a rotary swimming style I was still in my infancy. I never missed any lectures and have taken my studies very seriously . That is why I topped the lists of merit on most occasions, and took a career in education, which I practised for the next fifty years and over.

The normal lifespan of our species is well over a hundred years, which, however, is very short compared to that of Methuselah.

I was very lucky to make the correct choice of career in education, because I can safely say that I was a ranker starting from the very lowest post and ending up at a very important one at the end of it. Heading the same institution to which I belonged during youth was a success story. The number of members of staff was pretty large. But hardly I remember that I ever clashed with any member of staff. Perhaps, I was very lucky not to have met the toughest operators in the set-up. Attending to the needs of the young ones, besides being a social service of the higher order, is also very rewarding. Truly at times it was also a disappointing affair, and the thrill of success and the agony of defeat were sometimes too impressive to forget. Never shall I forget the new entrants to College at a tender age. I used to spend hours on end waiting for the new and prospective attendees, and it was a pleasure for me to meet them for the first time when they clumsily headed for the water.

The job of mother turtle ended with the tears shed at settling the brood on a sandy beach well camouflaged under the hot sand. It was my job to see them through all levels of their education from nursery to College to University. Little is known about the vast expanse of huge air bubbles anchored on the sea-bed which form oxygenated domes, where a variety of activities takes place on a day to day basis. If nothing else, they offer the stage for us to perform our amphibian vocation. For example, one it is possible to find courts for tennis, badminton and squash, a unique golf course with beautifully cultivated fairways, all with expertly cut weeds and algae, and cycling corridors for the enthusiast to keep him away from reckless driving by drunks or hallucinated drivers.

Needless to say, there are only a few differences between the equipment used by us and that used by others. But the end result is more or less the same: enjoyment and relaxation, except, of course, when the fatigue is carried out under competitive stress.

Being a very public spirited turtle I decided to go into the trade union set-up for the local teaching profession. It was quite a neck to neck voting race but I was lucky to win a seat on the executive council, whose main objective was to improve the way of living for all teaching turtles. It was only a commitment that lasted a few years, during which I learnt quite a lot about relationships both vis-à-vis the union’s membership, as well as relationships with ruling political parties administering State affairs. Another phase, similar to the one just described, was my participation in local government, which locally only started in 1993.This was my direct attempt at participating in party politics. But it is pertinent to note that forms of local government were in place much before that date. For details about this part of my story, visit another corner of this website by following this link and navigate to the item Local Government in the menu at the portal.

Unfortunately, the adopted regime, which followed most other undersea colonies and which was not necessarily the best for our environment, was based on allegiance to party politics. Since I was brought up with hard-working principles, and with eagerness to join the vast majorities of working classes, besides paternal influence, my choice was quite a follow-up. I took up a seat and have been on the Council for a good number of years, three years of which was Mayor for the locality of Turtleland . As to family background I followed what most other beings do, that is getting a wife. For nearly fifty years Mother Turtle Junior and myself, had the fortune of having two strapping male offspring, now, each with a family unit of their own. The pleasure of meeting grand-turtles is undoubtedly a very pleasant experience, and one that is a permanent satisfaction. The concluding part of my story will have to be taken in hand in the future, because as we say within the Large Turtle Kingdom inhabiting the Blue Mediterranean: “The tail end is colourful but is late to arrive!”

(end of part one.....)

A come back.

After a long absence, coming back to the scene is ..............

Being Weighed.

How much should one weigh ?

Depends.

If one is weighed for knowledge, a little learning is a dangerous thing ;

If weighed for wealth, the richness in good deeds matters most;

If weighed for kindness there is never an excess;

If weighed for body mass, brain weight is the winner;

Weigh your words when judging people;

Weigh one plan against or in favour of others to arrive at the destination without fuss and strain;

When weighing anchor at the end, sail happily through life without regrets;

Never let your decisions to weigh heavily against others;

Lest not the judgment be: "you have been weighed and found wanting."


You may keep weighing my site by going back to:

http://www.culturedomain.com