Humour – Page 3 – Nourish-n-Cherish

Bring in the Horses!

“We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art, and very often in our art, the art of words.”

Ursula K. Le Guin

What will we fill our heads with?

This is an oft remembered quote for me. Every time I see patterns of behavior that I hope will be changed for humanity’s arc, I think of this. Sometimes, in order for things to change, it has to reach levels of intolerable.

Maybe that is where the attention industry will reach, and it this feeling of overwhelm that will herald in a new system of reward.

We had our hands full with survival in humanity’s infancy,
we filled our heads with myths and legends of heroism, superhuman strength, superhuman abilities.

We evolved and figured out ways of relatively sustainable food sources,
we filled our heads with epics, art, and music.

We figured out mass production,
we filled our heads with science fiction and fantasy seeking out other planets, other environments.

We figured out how to amass our thoughts and search/retrieve with ease,
we filled our heads with social media.

We are figuring out meta-cognition,
what will we fill our heads with then?

Some days it isn’t the woodpecker who brings on the musing. It is the memory of a gas station.

The gas-station quandary

I had stopped the other day at a gas station (for gas – the clarification is necessary. These days we can stop at gas stations for milk, chips, entertainment and so much more) . Now, I don’t know about you, but I usually like to see the steady increase in the gas the tank is taking in. 12.00, 12.11, 12.12, 12.13, 12.14, 12.14, 12.15, 12.16.

A smile on my face when I see our car gulp in the gas like it’s a thirsty horse after a long run. The silly comparison makes me cringe a little, yes, but then I had seen a few horses trot in their pasture once just before stopping to fill gas, and often when the mind wanders at a gas station, I think of these chestnut beauties throwing their manes back and feeling the breeze.

But the other day, my attention was pulled towards a screen perched over the meter showing me advertisements on what they think should occupy my attention for the three minutes I was there. Combined with all the flashing billboards, and the moving screens, and the flashing games mobile phones are full off, I felt off-kilter.

How did we get here?

When did attention become such an important commodity that we sacrifice almost everything at its altar? Peace, quiet, steady study, calm, concerted effort – everything giving way to drama, loudness, frenzied movement, and quick reward systems.

What can be done so that the opposite is rewarded again? For it is clear we are driven by reward.

Can there be a small quiet reward to our brain when we quieten a loud intrusive distraction?

Bring in the horses

I smiled at that. “Monkey brain!”, I chided myself. Though I have to admit, I am not sure what the attention span of monkeys are. I hope monkey mothers are not yelling at their children as we speak – “Human-brain! Distracted all the time. Swing. Leap. Onward and forward!”

I forced myself to bring in the mental image of the horses I had seen all those years ago before getting to a gas station, and they came. Reluctantly at first. CNN was asking me to get affronted about something, and thoughts of monkeys and horses could not pull me away easily. But they finally did. They cantered into the mind’s eye, like William Wordsworth swaying daffodils, and the brain quietened down. The green pastures the horses trotted in bursting with flowers, and I felt a calm. By the time I pulled out of the gas station, I had needed help from a menagerie to pluck my attention.

What would it take to become focused on something so beautiful and deep, that nothing matters?

How many of you are flibberty-gibbets? What would the social order be to reward that and what would be incentive enough to disrupt our current trend?

Anticipation, Joy and a Surprise!

Is it raining yet?

I could barely sit still. Excited. Like a puppy waiting for a run around the park. Every few minutes, I found myself peeking out at the skies, and wondering whether the predictions were true. You see? We had been promised rain. The skies however did not seem to realize that our weather apps had predicted a 95% chance of rain. I genuinely do not know how they do this, but many times if it is a 30% chance of rain, the clouds may bother rolling in to salute the weather gods, but don’t want to go through the trouble of pulling on their grey robes, and just flit away.

This time they did not even bother rolling in. 95% chance of rain. It has to come – dance, spring, skip to the window. Nothing yet.
Sunny skies. D,s,s. Nothing.
A little breeze. Nothing.

When people tell you to keep your child-like outlook in life, I don’t think they realize how much disappointment goes with that. “We’ll go for a walk!”
When?

“Ice-cream?”
“Later. Once I’m done with work.”
“Done? Still? Not yet?”

It really requires enormous amounts of resilience. I salute you children – I really do. So, I peered out, sipped tea, and peered out some more. Nothing. So, I decided that the best thing to do was to be apathetic. Act like I didn’t care. Because I don’t. I mean, if it rains, I am sure, I’ll come to know.

Just as I thought the meteorologists really had messed it up this time, the rains started. I didn’t notice the dramatic shifting of the skies. The thunderous clouds rolling in. Like an efficient theatrical crew, the whole thing happened in minutes.

Then, the show started.

Oh! Was it good? It was amazing! I sat on my patio dancing away from the lashing rains, enjoying the sound of the water pouring down – beating against the broad leafed plants, and dripping down the pine needles. I watched the roses get drenched – rose petals with fat water droplets on them have to be one of my favorite things.

The son was equally thrilled to go to school that day. The biggest highlight was that his cross country runs would not be cancelled for something as trivial as rain, and he wanted to run in the pouring rain. I tried to make noises a responsible mother ought to make, but found myself excited for him. How can one not be excited about running in the rain with your friends?

I set off for a walk with an umbrella in hand, listening to the soothing sounds of the pouring rain, and getting a thorough drenching from all sides except the top where the umbrella tried its best. A friend of mine stopped her car to chide me, but refrained because I looked ‘far too happy to be scolded‘.

Plop! Plop! Plop! Surprise!

Later that evening, the son and I had both dried off and looked very pleased with ourselves with our little rainy day adventures. That was when I noticed. The roof in our house. The same one that leaked and had been repaired last year (but was never quite stress tested afterward) was not fixed. The pouring rains meant we had a puddle on the floor, and I found a little of my soaring spirit subsided somewhat.

But so what?

The first real rains of the season were well worth it! The sunset the day after was even better. So there! Happy rainy season fellow beings. May the Earth make a pluviophile of us all!

From Precious to Abundant: The Shift in Photography

“I may have just filled your phone with a bunch of useless pictures!” said the son.

I nodded. Par for the course. Not like in our childhood, when you had to think through getting a picture developed in a store and wondering whether a picture is worth the wait, is it? You just delete them, or worse archive them, never to be seen again. Somewhere. Sigh.

He was still thumbing through his pictures with a commentary on the side. Apparently, on several artistic ones of M&Ms on a plate 👀, when he stopped and said.

“Oh well – now I don’t feel so bad!”

I looked up. What was he on about?

Komerebi – The dappled sunlight shining through the trees

“There are a whole bunch of pictures of … yep…. Pretty much all of them of trees! Goodness!”

I laughed. Then, feeling a little embarrassed, I confessed. “You know? On my walk the other day, I had this urge, nope…scratch that … It felt very important that I must try to see the differences in the way sunlight filtered through the old oak trees, the weeping willows, and the pining pines.”

“Oh Amma! You are a kook! How long did you do this?”

“I don’t know. Not very long, but I kept clicking knowing fully well that I may not exactly go back and see them again.”

Many to Solitary

Oh! How technology has spoiled us? I don’t think there is a single photograph in our childhood albums of light filtering through the leaves. If there was a leaf you liked, you picked it up, and crowded as many people as you could around the leaf to get in that picture! The poor leaf squished and forgotten, and all of us looking mildly surprised at being included in a picture of a leaf that isn’t even visible. We did the same thing when we met up decades later at our school reunions. We crowded in front of the lawns, jacaranda trees, clock tower, and the bougainvillea plants, no clue why the background was so important, and the background completely forgotten with all the noises and laughter with folks in the foreground. It was marvelous.

I peered into the phone, and saw he had started looking at selfies taken a while ago by his sister. A teenage phase I’d like to call them – but these were all solitary hearts beating alone. Only context made it known that there was a crowd of loved ones around her that day as she took pictures of her nose from a 30 degree angle, and of her reading a book from the 130 degree angle. Obtuse. (I meant the angle.)

Precious to Abundant

Was that the trend of technology and advancements though? This move from crowded/community to alone/aloof lifestyles? Precious to Abundant.

Hmm…I peered out into the rays of the setting sun, and shelved philosophy for another day. “Maybe we should get a picture of the sun’s rays through the filter on the M&Ms,” I said, and we cackled. It was time for another picture – combining our objects of interest this time.

Creation Myths: Nature’s Narrative

The Power of Belief

The world was swirling in activity, news, festivities, events. The world felt turbulent, swift, and equal parts joyous and worrisome.

The Navarathri festival meant that all versions of the festival were being celebrated – there were Durga pujos, Garba and Dandia dance events, golu, bommala koluvu. All in all, it was a week wrapped in the surreal – creation myths, war legends, female power. Most old cultures have versions of these – and if it takes festivities to remember the good old good-vs-evil arcs, and the figurines of goddesses to remind us of the righteous power women hold within themselves, so be it.

In some ways, it was a welcome distraction from the doom-and-gloom of news cycles. It was as if we could build a dichotomy of spirit within us.

Serene Solitude

Come Sunday evening I craved for some solitude, and nature too, to round out the craving for peace. So, off I went with my bicycle, into the cycling trail nearby. It was tough going – all that festive food sloshing inside of me. Made me feel heavier and more sluggish than usual. But the trail is magic – it seems to lead, with each pedal stroke, to a place of peace.

It was nearing dusk, and the birds had started their journeys home. I stopped every now and then to take pictures of beautiful sights that took my fancy. Deer and goats grazing, a hare (I couldn’t get a picture) running so quickly it startled me, pelicans lifting their incredible frames into the air with grace and ease (They did not eat puliodare over the week-end, but even so), kestrels soaring, squirrels daring themselves to see if they can make it across the bike path (I swear these little rascals wait till the last minute to scuttle across – a thrilling game for them for sure, but enough to scare rice-sodden slower-than-normal reflexes bike riders), the small birds (finches, blackbirds, wrens – all making a racket as they prepared for downtime). It had been a particularly hot week too, and I could see the relief of the cooling temperatures in my fellow beings.

The AT-CG Creation Dance

It was as I stopped to gulp some cool water – deep and slow, that I noticed the deer gazing at me. I have written about the gaze of a deer before. I shall write again. All the poets and writers when they write about unending universes in eyes, this is what they mean. It is possible to gaze deep into those big, round eyes. The goats eyes have a different quality to them – their pupils being rectangular appeals to the human mind differently altogether from a round, large pupil shape. Could that be social conditioning too?

It made me think about our genetic makeup, evolution, and all the creation myths. I could understand why every ancient culture and civilization had creation myths. I wonder whether whales have their version of creation myths in their repertoire. If they do, I’d love to hear it.

I stood there warmed by the deer’s gaze, the bird sound, and the gentle breeze around me. How was it possible that all these marvelous creatures I had seen today were variants of adenine, thymine, cytosine, and guanine?

We need a nice simple beautiful creation story with AT-CG that can round out the beautiful repertoire we have the world over. A goddess seated on a lotus from the AT-CG DNA, a multi-headed god whose genetic composition had mutated differently and went on to use that mutation to create a whole planet of marvelous creatures.

Full of beautiful images of nature, man-made images of golu decor, and a head refreshed, I pedaled back to the house. The pink skies were turning purple and grey, and it would soon turn dark. Another phenomenon that gave rise to so many legends till we understood Earth, and our miniscule place in the Universe.

I heaved a grateful sigh, breathing in the fresh air, and taking a gulp of fresh water before heading inside.

An Enchanted Adventure: A Journey Through Children’s Books

Mystique & Intrigue for an Adventurer & Explorer

“I am going to indulge myself in something that I haven’t had the chance to do in some time!” I said – throwing it over my shoulder casually in a manner intended to intrigue and mystify.

“Going to the library? Good job ma!” said the son, and I moaned. Mystique and I. My foot.

I guarded the time I had between a drop-off and pick-up session like it was precious (because it was) and headed towards the library. I fended off requests for the grocery store, deftly ducked under an amazon return order request, and dodged an enticing offer to search for missing documents in the house.

When finally I walked into the cool library that hot summer evening, I felt something like an adventurer. An explorer who found their way to treasured lands. It was beautiful.

The display stacks groaned with new children’s titles, the popular books section assured me that the authors displayed there had been continuing to do their good work of broadening children’s minds.

I cannot adequately state how marvelous it all is.

The hot evening outside meant I picked up books with illustrations with cooler themes in illustration. Sleepy dreamers, cozy woodland creatures, forests in fall, the gleam of windows in the night, the beautiful shapes of the stars in the night sky. The here-and-now of long summer days has us all yearning for these themes, I suppose.

As I gazed down at an illustration in the book, Every Color of Light – by Hiroshi Osada, I closed my eyes for a moment thinking of the evening we went in search of the stars. Specifically, Delta-Cep in the Cepheus constellation.

Delta Cep in the Cepheus Constellation

The son was bemused at how enthusiastically we wanted to help in this particular homework assignment. He, of course, in the innocence of youth cannot understand our childish enthusiasm for learning new things, finding out about new things. “Did you know that if we scale our universe, if the solar system is a football field in California, the nearest star, Alpha Centauri, is in the East Coast of America?”

“Really?”

See? Amused at the awe shining like Alpha Centauri on our faces.

Anyway, he said it was difficult to find Delta Cep in the summer skies because of the light pollution in city areas. It isn’t the brightest star system. The husband asked his talented photographer friends for the best places to go, and off we went. For half an hour, we forgot about all the travails that seemed to be whipping our daily worlds. Maybe Delta-Cep had a better time of it. A place where peace and harmony prevailed. A star-system in which the greatest turmoils were mild-summer-breezes that rippled through their atmospheres.

That is the power of story-telling isn’t it? The ability to transport us to realms other, feelings exalted, and wholesome?

Farmhouse Menagerie

I picked up the book on cozy woodland creatures, Woodland Dreams – by Karen Jameson pictures by Marc Boutavant

What whimsical names would you give our fellow creatures? Karen’s names were fascinating: Fox (Swift Legs) , Fish (Shiny Scales), Deer (Tiny Hooves), Woodpecker (Strong Beak)

Come Home – Swift Legs

Furry Schemer

Red-tailed Dreamer

Karen Jameson, Picture by Marc Boutavant

The lyrical poems she gives for each creature was enough to bring a smile.

It got me thinking: What would you name some of your fellow creatures? I have always loved listening to the names people give their pets. The daughter had quite the list, and I must say, some of them made me sit up and listen. The menagerie she had in mind for her horses, dogs and cats, reminded me of the little girl whose stories as a girl all involved moving to the countryside, and a horse in the stables revealing themselves to be a unicorn only to her. There is a sweetness to thinking like that. A simple yearning.

The feeling of a children’s book

And so it went, a little reverie of my own every time I picked up a book. It was the rare book that disappointed. Most children’s books had a sweet emotion it evoked – warmth, beauty, companionship, safety, love, growth.

It only seemed right that I finished my stash for the evening with the book, Grow Grateful – – By Sage Foster-Lasser and Jon Lasser, PhD. Illustrated by Christopher Lyles

“So, how was it?” said the son as I picked him up.

“It was amazing! I wish you could’ve come!” He beamed. “Yes, next time. Tell me which ones did you like the best?”

I told him about all the ones I had read, and we chatted about them all the way home. He listened, an indulgent look on his face, and I felt a pang – he was growing and children’s books seemed childish to him just now as a newly minted teenager with a reputation to grow into. I hope he’ll come back to them one day like C S Lewis said to his niece for whom he had written The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe

“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.” C S Lewis

A Timely Prank

“We have all been a little low on sleep lately!”, I whine to the brother who is asking me why I sound like a cactus.

His brows raised in question. Well. May have. But I know his facial expressions well enough. When his foliage moves, it means he is conveying something.

“Well – your little nephew has gone and joined the Athletics Team, which means he opts for the 5:00 a.m. practices on some days. So, there I am moonwalking at that godly hour!” A loud laugh startles out of him at that, and it takes me a minute to realize the unwitting pun there.

“Literally da! I slept only by 1:30 after my nightly reading etc, and was up again at 5 and walking under the divine light of the stars!” I said.

Remember the prank?

“Huh! Life does come a full circle. Do you remember us doing the same thing to you once? Oh! Remember the prank?!”

I didn’t. Sleep deprived. Cactus-like symptoms. Also old.

The son, on the other hand is agog. “What is it Maama?”

“Well – your mother was always getting up early to go and train for athletics. Wouldn’t let any of us snooze in. 6 a.m out in the fields. Very annoying. So one time, we decided to prank her. Remember this was the time before smart phones. We relied on clocks – wall-clocks, alarm clocks and grandfather clocks for the time. So, we changed all the clocks. And woke her up at 2:00 a.m. “ He stops to chuckle at the memory. I am beginning to remember it now. The knuckle head.

“She got ready, wore her shorts and tee etc – not once glancing out of the window. It is only when she steps outside with her shoes that she realized that it isn’t dawn yet. No pinkening of the skies. No birds chirping. Nothing.”

The son looks far too pleased at this reminiscence. “That’s awesome Maama! That’s so cool! “

“Yep!” The smug Maama in question preens at this. A satisfied baritone to his voice as he says. “It was truly priceless. She was too tired to be angry, too sleepy to be anything, and she just fell asleep – just like that with all her athletic gear on. “

Careful!

I smiled at the memory. It was coming back to me. That was funny!

“Serious respect for all the work Maama- changing the clocks! Staying awake.” The awe in the son’s voice. Goodness!

“Careful! I might do the same to you one day!” I said in my most threatening voice, and they both laugh.

How easy it is to flit between decades? There is something comforting in the rhythm of life and circle-of-life and all of that isn’t there? The son skipped to school, satisfied with his morning story from maama, still chuckling at his yawning mama.

I need a nap.

The Old Man with a Dog

The Old Man With a Dog

“You know that old man with a dog? He spoke to me the other day, I was pleasantly surprised by what an interesting conversation it turned out to be.” said the husband, sounding impressed.

I nodded, adding, “I read an article that hit this problem on the head: It is the fact that we truly become invisible as we age.”

I hastened to explain as we leaped past the nightly sprinklers that had started up. The horologist’s gleaming success – timed sprinklers. Anyway. “Our achievements, our agility, or even our experiences fade to the background. You become that old man with a dog. He could have been a scientist in a space program, or a high-ranking official in some administrative service, a doctor, or a professor/teacher. But none of that matters – a true lesson in time and humility and all of that.”

The husband looked thoughful, and I waited.

“Yes – I always only had the time for a hello, and a how-are-you. Never really stopped to talk to him.”

aging

On the way from somewhere to something

I nodded. We all do the same. On the way from somewhere to something.

From there, our conversation went on to how we may, in our times, in our awesome ways, not fall into the same traps.

Except that we will.

We already do.

“Old age is always fifteen years older than I am.”

– Oliver Wendell Holmes

We may even be hastening and accelerating towards it just like we accelerated and hastened towards everything in life. It is why we feel the sting when we don’t understand the emoji-lingo anymore. It is why we feel bewildered, and scramble to understand when a new career path we’ve never heard of before, comes up for discussions by the younger ones in our lives.

Gerascophobia is real.

Aging brings with it frailty.

Failing health means a fall from the bed after an afternoon nap, or the unexpected reaction to a medication. Somehow, life manages to strip everything away from us. Degrees, achievements, resumes – everything whittles down to blood pressure and blood sugar readings.

“It’s paradoxical that the idea of living a long life appeals to everyone, but the idea of getting old doesn’t appeal to anyone.”

– Andy Rooney

So, how may we stay relevant?

A few people in my parent’s generation still retain the spark. They work towards spreading cheer, being loved and loving, and retaining their intellectual curiosity in ways that means they have defied age in a way. They are the ones who still bring a smile to our faces when we think of them. It seems like a simple thing to do, but it isn’t.

Maybe that is the change in life’s purpose. Learning to cultivate joy in the small moments, so we may remember to be happy when invisibility hits, when loneliness hits, or when health fails.

“There is a fountain of youth: it is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of people you love. When you learn to tap this source, you will truly have defeated age.” – Sophia Loren

Humans of New York kind of initiatives show us the stories behind everyone.

P.S: The article ( I truly wish I had saved the link, but I didn’t. So, if someone knows the article I am referring to, please let me know, and I shall link it here. ) was a well-written one that had me nodding in several places.

Malamojism: Cringe Emojis

Ms Malamoji

“ I love the range of emojis we have at our disposal!” I said beaming at the children, as I texted one of my friends for an evening walk, sipped a cup of tea and impressively ignored what they were watching on the television.

🌿🍀🍂🍃🌿🍀🍂🍃🌿🍀🍂🍃🌿🍀🍂🍃🌿🍀🍂🍃🌿🍀🍂🍃🌿🍀🍂🍃🌿🍀🍂🍃🌿🍀🍂🍃

The daughter peered into the phone, and had a closed off expression that reminded me of geese trying not to laugh.

“Mother! How long have you been using that emoji while inviting people for walks?” she asked. This time, it was unmistakable. The dam of laughter waiting to burst.

“I use it all the time. Such a pretty one it is for windy evening walks, no?” I said admiring the little emoji in question. Leaves being whipped up by the winds. 🍃

“Ummm…yeah! Luckily, you text other … ummm … Aunties with this I guess!” she said.

“Well! Why not? I put different emojis for different things!” I said, though I could feel the prickling sensation that meant I was going to have the carpet not gently removed but swiveled out from under my feet.

“Nothing! Just the emoji you just used – *pause for dramatic effect* – means – well, you know, come while we whirl and twirl, you know, up there?” she said, raising her eyebrows, holding in a laugh, and shaking with it, all at the same time. She was giving me what authors call ‘meaningful looks’. It was honestly impressive. They should have an emoji for that. I looked like a pile of leaves twirling in the wind myself – confused.

She waited for me to catch on, and when I didn’t, said, “Mother! That emoji means you want to get *high* – not with alcohol but marijuana!”

I gasped.

“NO! How could that be?! How come no one ever told me before then?! I love that emoji and use it all the time!”

“Like I said – your friends are all … goodies!” (delivery with laughter)

I felt like Ms Malamoji.

( Ms Malaprop – you have my sympathies. Malapropism is the use of a slightly similar sounding word with an entirely different meaning, usually having a comedic effect. It is attributed to Ms Malaprop – a character in a 18th century play who used this and made the audience laugh. (Ex: Miss Pringle often does this in Miss Read’s Fairacre series) )

Skibbidi Toilet

“Ugh! This is like that skibbidi toilet thing all over again!” I said to the son later as I recounted it.

“Ugh! Amma – Keep with the times. Skibidi toilet is so 2023! It’s honestly cringe if you say that now!”

Author commentary: Where are we writers to go if phrases become ‘cringe’ in a matter of months? Sigh.

Also, for my friends who don’t know what Skibbidi Toilet means: here it is. It is a web-series where humanoids have a war with singing human-headed toilets.

🙄 I know. (That is the rolling eyes emoji – I think)

It was all the rage among the simple minded laugh-sters in our midst – two years ago.

Mellow Joys: Strolls in the Moonlight

Mellow Joys

The week-end evening was pleasant after a hot week, I sat relishing the quiet: the especially large magnolia blossom on a tree, the clouds in their pinks, lilacs and greys before they embraced the inky blues of the night, and the gentle breeze through the leaves and waters nearby. It truly was idyllic.

The long summer days always make me yearn for the different colors of dusk and night. Our home is bright and filled with natural light which is a blessing, but it also means that late risers like Yours Truly do not get to the see the colors of dawn. The days start with light and then go on burning bright with every passing hour.

Last night, I had time on my hands. I watched the dusk turn to night. A slow stroll through the moonlit streets of our neighborhood made for a different rhythm. There was a mellow joy to it – not boisterous, but buoyant. Moonlight can be tender, but it also can throw everyday objects into harsh contrast.

Not just our homes but our heavens too

Maybe it was the lackadaisical nature of the stroll – one I rarely permitted myself to do. Brisk walks, phone calls while walking, chatting – they were all absent. I watched a cloud flit over a sinister looking tree, and looked on passively as an owl flew past and perched itself on the very tip of the tree-top. We stood there each surveying the other, and finally, of course, I lost. Can we ever win out against the stillness of predators?

I heard the sounds of animals scurrying outside – every sense accentuated by the lack of electric light. Even the olfactory senses seemed to be enjoying this – Some flowers that wafted their fragrance only into the night, and I stopped to sniff and smile every so often.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the owl swoop.

“Our village of Fairacre is no lovelier than many others. We have rats as well as roses in our back gardens…. But at times it is not only home to us but heaven too; and this was just such an occasion.”

― Miss Read, Over the Gate: A Novel

Asrais magical in the moonlight

Reluctantly, I headed back into the home, and insisted on switching off all the lights for the rest of the evening. Even when I watched a movie with the windows open, I kept sneaking glances at the moonlight pouring in through the slats in the window.

The evening reading fare was equally marvelous. A magical book with fantastic beasts, beautiful illustrations, and oh so much imagination! What a book, Stephen Krensky!

The Book of Mythical Beasts & Magical Creatures – By Stephen Krensky

On the different kinds of fairies, Stephen Krensky has this to say on the Asrai:

Asrai are rare creatures that live in the water and only come to the surface once every hundred years. Asrai grow only by the light of the moon, and if exposed to sunlight, dissolve into the water and are never seen again.

-Stephen Krensky on the Asrai Fairies

When I read about the magical Asrais, I felt it was time now to go to bed and continue the beauty of simply watching the moonlight through the windows. Maybe it had been an evening when an Asrai had come out to the bless the lands. Who knew?

Halcyon Days: Myths and Realities of Cloudy Moods

☁️The Colors of Cloudy Days 🌫️

Sometimes, I see how much of a spoiled brat I am. What I am about to say falls squarely in that category, and I shall say it anyway. The Californian summers seem to drag on. It feels especially so at the end of August. They are warm, bright, sunny, but not too hot.

📚The school’s summer vacations are over. But the summers aren’t.

🩴The summer clothing is supposed to be winding down, but I can never bear to look at anything other than some flowy cotton with any fondness.

🌷The summer flowers are still blooming on every shrub, plant, tree and pathway.

While I mostly enjoy this halcyon time of the year, I also wouldn’t mind a few days of summer rain. Or even some cloudy skies.

That was probably why I had not the heart to come in this particularly overcast morning. The clouds made an excellent background. The flowers that we see on our walks everyday were still there – but they looked more fresh, more vibrant. The angel’s trumpet flowers that we admire everyday looked more angelic than usual. The chamomiles looked more soothing – their purples against the sombre greys. As your eyes zoomed to the skies, the jacaranda tree’s flowers attracted your eyes to their purples too. Really these color combinations look marvelous against the grey.

Shouldn’t cloudy days be called halcyon days? I mused.

Are Halcyon Days Myths?

I came and idled with ‘halcyon days’ floating in and out of my consciousness. What I stumbled upon made it so.

Halcyon itself referred to a species of bird that nested in the oceans during the winter solstice and were supposed to charm the wind and the waves into a calm.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halcyon_(genus) the halcyon bird owes its naming to a Greek myth involving the wrath of the Greek Gods, Alcyone & Ceyx.

Somehow Alycone and Ceyx managed to anger the mighty Zeus (apparently, they lovingly called each other Zeus & Hera. Really! It must be exhausting to have such fragile egos and live on forever. An endless cycle of being offended, and recouping from it). So, Zeus , in his rage, cursed them separately turning them into birds – there are many versions of the myths of course. Some say Alcyone became a kingfisher with a mournful cry trying to find peace in the seas. The gods (the other ones) took pity on her and granted her a period of calm as she prepared her nest and gave birth to the young. So, these days during the winter solstice were called the Halycon Days. Alycone’s father, the god of the winds, gave her mild breezes, calm oceans and tried to bring her peace.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alcyone_and_Ceyx

What became of Ceyx? He either became a kingfisher too or a sea tern.

By Bernard DUPONT from FRANCE – Woodland Kingfisher (Halcyon senegalensis), CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=45557095

Of course, kingfishers do not live by the sea – so they could be referring to other birds, and over time came to be associated with these beautiful birds.

After a start to the day in which I was feeling less than inspired – the cloudy days, and the halcyon myths managed to transform it. I have always liked the phrase, ‘halcyon days’. But now? I love it.

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The Old Man With a Dog

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