Half baked

My generation. I am not a millennial, and I am not generation X. Us late 70’s and early 80’s babies did not grow up with social media keeping tabs on everything we did. We played Oregon Trails, and watched Mary die of dysentery. We climbed trees. We took candy from kind neighbors. We rode our bikes. We yelled over the tall trees to our other friends to come out to play. We threw down our bikes where we pleased. We played time machine in the closet. We paid a nickel for a lollipop at the corner market. We would go swimming, play telephone, and dress up. Do dance routines, croon overs to pop stars played at level 13 on the boombox, and swoon over Johnny Depp’s Cry Baby poster in the corner.

Our parents were products of growing up in the 50’s and 60’s and partly 70’s for some. They lived through a lot of change, the Vietnam War, voices of liberation, breaking freedom, and the ever emerging music scene surrounding rock n roll. Their parents lived through the Great Depression, and World War II. The evolution of rock n roll, blues, country kept spinning into some of the best music our little world has ever seen in my humble opinion. Mom and Dad would run off to an AC/DC concert. Grandma would sing along to the Supremes, and teach me the hand signs to the music. What about Great Grandma? Did anyone ever notice those older older generations didn’t act the same as the rest? They were more reserved. They acted “old”. Maybe it is because they were kind of old?

What is it to act old or older anyways?

Q-tips as my Grandfather called them. You know…that couple who walks about with white hair and white trainers. Those are Q-tips. My grandfather who I like to think is pretty cool told me that little definition.  Were the Q-tips acting “old”? Maybe? It is hard to say without talking to one from the Q-tip tribe. My grandfather still acts young…actually no… he acts like himself! This is probably the most important thing to do, right? When you look in the mirror, what do you see? Do you see the wrinkles, and the whole life you have led? All of the stress, and challenging lessons you have endured? Do you see the happiness, joy, and love you have experienced? Do you think about all of that at just a glance? Chances are you do not reminisce every time you look at your face in the mirror. Do you see the twenty something? The thirty something? The forty something? So on, and so forth? Or do you just see, “YOU”.

I met a man recently who was close to 90 years old. He looked like he was in his 60’s. I asked him what his trick was. He said that he supposed he didn’t “act his age”. He asked me, “What is it to act your age anyways?”, and I said I didn’t really know?  He said he remembered his parents, and how they were cranky, depressed, and serious all the time. Is that old? Is that acting your age? When an adult is acting like a child, and we say act your age what do we really even mean? I guess to act more responsible. He went on to say he just does what he wants, and what he feels like. He doesn’t really think about his age. He just does what makes him happy. Maybe that is why he looked so young. He didn’t act old and serious like his parents who both later died of cancer.

I talked to another woman today about aging. What is it to age, and act our age. Are we actually ever done developing? When is a person done learning everything they can? The truth is that no one is ever done developing. We are all half baked. We are never really done learning things in this world. You can fight against learning new lessons. You can think your mind is done developing, and wait around to die. But what quality does that give to your life? I have seen first hand the people who we think are toast, burnt ends, overcooked so to speak, and they still are the last to accept impending death. Again, the mind is ever evolving, and ever developing. Some of us accept death, and some do not. It happens to everyone though. All we can do is try to enjoy this ride whether is be incredibly messy, or with the grace of a butterfly balancing on a blade of grass. If we did what we wanted all along would it make dying easier? Who knows! But it honestly couldn’t hurt in most circumstances.

So we all do the best we can. We are the Fool card in the tarot deck with the innocence of children. We are lucky that we are from previous generations that want to be themselves, listen to the music they want, wear the clothes they want, and be the people who they want to be. THIS is what makes people appear younger than they really are as we age. We have fought for these freedoms in the past which had lead us to this very spot. Todays grandparents can be hippies, rockers, artists, eclectics, and whatever they damn well please. That is something that is pretty fucking great to me. Also how about freedom of speech! (wink, wink). It is great that our previous generations have set us up to live our best lives. Just remember, we all are a work in progress, and we are all just half baked. So… keep on cooking good looking. You got this thing called life. Don’t waste it. It’s your own recipe.

Bon Appetit!

-K. K. Powell

Two spiders and a honey bee

Yesterday I was sitting on my porch, and the sun was low in the sky. I noticed a honey bee flying low, and he slowly landed right into a spider’s web. Two spiders rushed in for the attack. I felt so bad for him watching him struggle, that I reached for a piece of bamboo to fish him out. The larger spider would not give up the fight. The honey bee caught in his web still was spinning round and round. I could hear him buzzing and buzzing in distress. I took my water, and doused both. They fell through the cracks of the deck into a deep dark dungeon to both likely meet their deaths. I felt really bad. Initially I was scared, and tried to help. Maybe sometimes you just have to let nature take its course?

Then today the same scenario hits again…but goes a little further. Serendipity, and/or a reason to sit here and ponder the meaning of life!?

Today I was listening to the Sword and Scale Podcast number 90. The Spider and the Fly. Here is the poem below…

The Spider and The Fly: A Fable

by Mary Howitt


“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly;
“‘Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many pretty things to show when you are there.”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “To ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”

“I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the spider to the fly.
“There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in.”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “for I’ve often heard it said,
They NEVER, NEVER WAKE again, who sleep upon YOUR bed.”

Said the cunning spider to the fly, “Dear friend, what shall I do,
To prove the warm affection I’ve always felt for you?
I have within my pantry good store of all that’s nice;
I’m sure you’re very welcome; will you please to take a slice?
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “kind sir, that cannot be;
I’ve heard what’s in your pantry, and I do not wish to see.”

“Sweet creature!” said the spider, “you’re witty and you’re wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf,
If you’ll step in one moment dear, you shall behold yourself.”
I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you’re pleased to say,
And bidding you good-morning NOW, I’ll call ANOTHER day.”

The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly fly would soon be back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
“Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing:
Your robes are green and purple; there’s a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead.”

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little fly,
Hearing his wily flattering words, came slowly flitting by.
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her crested head – POOR FOOLISH THING! At last,
Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlor; but she ne’er came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed;
Unto an evil counselor close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

Which makes me wonder… did the fly or honey bee want to meet his untimely death.  Did he want something the spider could give him? Was it the same for the honey bee?Was he like…screw this queen. I am OVER IT! I just really fuck up his whole idea??? Granted in the podcast they are speaking of a journalist (Claudia Rowe) searching her own soul via serial interviews with a serial killer (Kendall Francois) …BUT she and he are representative of the spider and the fly as she says.  They both had something to offer each other. The murderer got his company, and the journalist got her story. She actually could see where one can get really fucked up, and see how murdering or hurting people is thought to be “okay”. I met a man who counseled Charles Manson. He said that if Manson hadn’t had been a product of the juvenile detention system from a young age, and been surrounded by the perfect storm in the desert shortly thereafter that he likely wouldn’t have formed a mass murdering cult. Could be true? Mental illness could also play a large factor. Well it does in fact. But religion and occultism also played a part in this. Whole other can of worms. I digress.

Point is… maybe between yesterdays event, and the podcast today I learned something new.

Learning when to meddle can be a fine line. Sometimes you can makes things a lot worse, and sometimes you can come out golden with a full belly, rich with happiness. But when you think you are saving someone, are you really saving them?

That is the question…

-K.K. Powell