Animals With Attitude and A Flute Playing Indian

Today is show and tell. I want to show a kind of art I admire. I call it Animals With Attitude. I am drawn to this sort of thing for reasons beyond me. I just like them. They are at once cute, funny, cool, and unique.



The crows, for instance, stand proudly and quietly yet emit an "if you don't like me kiss my ass" attitude. I admire that in their case. These crows came from Restoration Hardware. The tall one is aproximately 18" in height. Their size ads to their boldness and my appreciation. I would hate to see the scarecrow that would work on these guys.





The bunny is exerting himself. He is giving maximum effort. Just look at how spread out he is and his ears are appropriately bent back to assist him aerodynamically. This is one hare who will not lose a race to a tortoise.





Pelicans are the state bird of Louisiana. This one is fancy, probably on his way to a party. his head is cocked back exuding lots of pelican attitude. I am proud, I'm loud, let's get it on!





Seagulls are a favorite of mine. This one reminds me of the Florida beaches we frequent in the summer time. He looks happy to me and his wings are poised for a take off. If you listen hard you can hear his happy call as he hovers and floats on the warm summer air currents.





The reindeer is simple yet elegant. He comes out every year at this time to add a touch of class to our home. Right now he is posted by the ficas tree in my bar.





The kokopelli, mahu or humpback flute player is found carved on stones from South America to Canada. Koko means wood; pilau means hump.  His hump carried seeds and rainbows.  In his flute he carried music of warmth and love.  His large penis is a symbol of fertility and abundance. How could you not like this guy? Just looking at him makes me happy. More indigenous symbols are located here.





I think I have a fish somewhere I would have included, but Barbara probably moved it to make room for some Christmas decorations.





Drop me a comment and tell me about any art themes you admire or collect.



(You may click the photos for a larger version) TGIF!





Until the next time

John Strain

Manners

Yes ma'am, no ma'am, yes sir, no sir. When I moved south to Louisiana I heard these phrases a lot. Children are raised to say them. Boys are taught to look another man in the eye and shake their hand upon greeting them. When addressing an adult, a child does not call them by name like Sally or Robert. It is Miss Sally and Mr. Robert. It is expected in most circles of polite society. We call it having good manners.



I take it for granted, but when I have visitors from other parts of the country, they often comment about how polite the kids are here. My son and his friends all employ the above expectations. The visiting adults are nearly floored. They speak of less mannerly behavior from where they hale.



When considering manners we must take into account form and substance. Eddie Haskell in "Leave It To Beaver" had form without substance. He was polite to the adults, but he was always running some kind of con. Some people are opposite, having poor presentation, but good as gold in their intentions. Being "politically correct" to me is more about form than it is about substance. The debates in the media are usually more whining about someone's choice of verbiage than it is addressing the substance of the issue.



The media is influential. I grew up watching television. Thank God I watched Ward Cleaver and Andy Griffith. Today it is Homer Simpson and Ozzie Ozborne. Bad manners are pervasive in the media. News programs are more shouting matches and less debate. James Carville is a good example of form over substance. He has a rapid fire delivery and it is entertaining, but most of what he says is not true. The media is not very good at holding people to the truth. Instead, people prattle on telling one lie after another, unchecked.



Another mannerless area of the media is the "in your face" format of Jerry Springer. I suppose it has some degree of entertainment value. The constant yelling at each other and the dysfunctional scenarios are the opposite of manners.



I am not one to shift responsibility from an individual to television, video games, and comic books, but I do recognize these things in society have some impact especially on young developing minds. Garbage in garbage out.



I have been thinking about manners the past couple of days due to so called blog reviewers. I was struck by the total lack of manners by these folks. Criticism can be delivered constructively or it can be used to ridicule and to hurt.



I am a counselor and a lot of what I do is teach. If someone has a problem with their anger, I do not point my finger at them and say, "what a dumb ass, you can't control your anger." They already feel bad about it. I go out of my way to make them feel OK so they can begin to learn how to change. I suspect some of these reviewers are getting some sort of pleasure out of hurting people's feelings. This behavior is much more prevalent in grade school. The bully feeling bad about himself learns to feel better by putting others down.



Mature individuals can politely and effectively share criticism with others. This is where the substance part comes in. If I receive criticism from someone, I assign weight to it based on the substance or intentions of the critic. A coach may yell at me, but he wants me to improve. A teacher may push me, but she sees potential in me I may not see in myself. We find it easy to respect the teachers who have good intentions. If we disappoint them it usually motivates us to work harder.



The folks with poor intentions or who employ harsh, mean, hypercritical tactics are sadistic. You are the dog they are kicking because they cannot face their problems head on. Run from these people. It is not worth your time to attempt to reason with them they will only use that as an opportunity to kick you again.



When we pour out our heart in a blog and post it on the internet, anyone can read it. When we put up comment links, anyone can comment. Some however believe free speech is a license to use bad manners. Blog reviewers would better get my attention if their criticism was delivered with some encouragement. Sometimes blog reviewers are professional programmers or writers. They have spent a lot more time in school than I have learning how to design a web site. I would be an easy target. So if my code looks like a rookie wrote it - a rookie did. Play laugh track now.



I enjoy learning about other people in other parts of the world. It is our diversity and differences that draw me (the form). Then when I explore the differences (the substance), I find more and more similarities. The similarities are people who love life, choose encouragement over ridicule, seek friendship, optimistic, humorous, and guided by common sense forged from a life lived. They are people who have known pain and hardship, but have not become bitter and angry with life. Help instead of hurt, love instead of hate, laugh with instead of laugh at - all these things are characteristics of the folks in my list of "Blogs I Read."



You can please some of the people some of the time - be satisfied with that. Manners are a choice in both form and substance.



Until the next time

John Strain

Is There A Santa Claus?

"Mommy, Daddy, is there such thing as Santa Claus." Few questions leave parents mumbling and stumbling over words as this one. What do you say? You do not want to be the one to crush their dreams. I certainly do not relish having my face conjured up in someone's memory every time they remember the day they learned Santa was not real. On the other hand, we do not want our children laughed at by their peers for being a baby. I remember the day my mother told me. I was in the fourth grade, age ten, the sun was shining until she said those words. "You know that Santa Claus is not real don't you?" From the look on my face she did not have to wait for my response. I was crushed. I felt that sinking feeling in my stomach. I was sad at first, then I began to wonder what else was real. "Is Jesus real?" I asked. Honestly, I do not recall the conversation, but I do remember riding in the car when I was told. It hurt.



John was about the same age and still believed in Santa. During the summer he lost a tooth and put it under his pillow for the tooth fairy. In addition, he wrote her a note and taped it to his wall. It read, "Dear Tooth Fairy, May I have your autograph?" Barbara signed the note, "Mom." John, after seeing the note, asked Barbara why she signed it. "Because I am the tooth fairy she said." He was unsettled like his father was hearing the news. "Is there an Easter Bunny?" he asked. "No, the Easter Bunny is not real either." John continued, "What about Santa?" Barbara was mumbling and tripping over words by now. Somehow she got the point across to John there was no Santa either.



Thank God, I was working and did not have to deal with this little situation. John was upset and hurt. He cried and Barbara felt like a class A heel. He calmed down and they continued to talk. Barbara explained that although Santa was not one real person, he was more like a spirit or an attitude. This seemed to satisfy John and he went on to play with his friend Jennifer from across the street.



A little later that afternoon, John came in the house with Jennifer and another friend Roy. "Mom, they don't believe me that there is no Santa; tell them." Barbara had just started getting herself back together, now there were two more lives with dreams waiting to crash on the rocks of reality. She stuttered and stammered a bit, then said something to the affect, "you kids need to talk to your parents about Santa Claus." That got rid of them and I think Barbara hid out the rest of the day.



Tonight when I got home, I asked John and Barbara about that day. We had some good laughs telling the story.



The best thing written about the existence of Santa Claus appeared in a New York Sun editorial in 1897. Francis Church received a letter from a little girl named Virginia asking the question, "Is there a Santa Claus?"

Yes Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus

We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:



"Dear Editor--I am 8 years old.

"Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.

"Papa says, 'If you see it in The Sun, it's so.'

"Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?



Virginia O'Hanlon

115 West Ninety-fifth Street



Virginia, your little friends are wrong.  They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age.  They do not believe except they see.  They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds.  All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's are little.  In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.



Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.  He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy.  Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus!  It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias.  There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.  We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight.  The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.



Not believe in Santa Claus!  You might as well not believe in fairies!  You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove?  Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus.  The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see.  Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn?  Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there.  Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.



You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart.  Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond.  Is it all real?  Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.



No Santa Claus!  Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever.  A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.



(To find out more about Francis Church and what happened to Virginia follow this link.)

I still hang up a stocking and I still believe.



Until the next time

John Strain

Denial: Not Just A River In Egypt

Today someone attempted to renickname me from "blind mf" to "cockeyed bastard." This term of endearment was flung over the shoulder of a patient as he was leaving group. My crime? I did not agree with him. He was in "denial" and craving opiates badly. Funny, just the other day, this guy was a poster child for all things healthy. Now he is mad at the world and our staff in particular. He left treatment against medical advice to return to, what he denounced only a few short days ago. This patient is an extreme example of something we all do - denial.



Denial is a defense mechanism and sometimes helpful. A defense mechanism is something we do to protect ourselves from psychological pain. You may have done this or seen it when someone has experienced the loss of a loved one. You may refuse to believe the person is dead. This is a way to protect yourself from the full impact of the loss. If denial is taken to the extreme, however, it borders on delusion, which is a held belief in the face of uncontrovertible evidence. Substance abusers made denial famous. Here are some examples of denial: "I can quit anytime, I just don't want to." "Marijuana should be legal, besides, I know a cop who smokes weed." "I found some marijuana in my daughter's room, but it is not hers, she was holding it for a friend." "So my liver enzymes are up, those tests aren't accurate anyway."



It is pretty easy to spot denial in someone else while your own is not as obvious to you. Look at this picture of Baghdad Bob. Do you remember him? This guy was certainly in denial. There was a Saturday Night Live skit with William Shatner about the cancellation of Star Trek. Shatner, still in the character of Captain Kirk, kept commanding as though he were from Star Fleet Command, but the movers just kept disassembling the set.

. . . I repeat, there is no U.S. presence in Baghdad

I must admit, I was not sorry to see this patient leave. He did not appear to be on the verge of breaking through his denial. On the other hand, it does bother me. I hate to see someone miserable who can be helped. One of the tragedies of substance abuse is the cure is inside the individual. The same was true for Dorothy, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion. Call it a disease or not, the individual must do the work. The drug or alcohol is only a symptom of a spiritual problem. Removing the substance is not the cure, but the beginning.



When I was newer at this, I would agonize much more than I do now over the fate of each patient. I learned along the way to let go. Letting go does not mean giving up on them or hating them. It simply means to understand your own individual limits as a helper. The man who left may some day "get it" he may not. If he comes back we will give it another shot, but I cannot want it more than him or I am doing his work.



A good story about denial, bad choices, and love is found in the Book of Luke in the Bible. The prodigal son insulted his father by asking for his inheritance - another way of saying, "I wish you were dead." He insisted on leaving the home so he did. The father allowed him to leave though deeply saddened. The son squandered his money on loose living, eventually winding up eating out of a trough with pigs. The epitome of depravity to a Jew. About that time the Bible says the son "came to his senses" another way of saying "he broke through his denial." Well the boy was now humble and figured just being a servant at his father's house was better than his present life so he went back. The father saw him coming from afar - he must have been looking for him. Before the son could complete his well rehearsed speech of confession, the father kissed him and welcomed him back. He was not received as a servant but restored to full son ship. The son now "got it" and the father knew it. Something like that must happen to anyone who has an addiction if they are to be cured.



One of the hardest things in life is to agonize over a loved one's poor choices. Parents watch their children befriend the wrong people, drop out of school, squander money, marry too young, and live dangerously. Spouses watch their partner slowly kill themselves with drugs and alcohol. The mistakes are seen ahead of time and the person is warned, yet they make the poor decision. How hard must it have been for the father to watch his son leave home with the attitude he did. How happy he must have been on the return. I have always clung to the saying, "If you love something, set it free. If it returns to you, it is yours. If it does not, it never was."



One thing I am not in denial about is relationships enrich my life. I cherish the interaction with people and connections, feeling understood and understanding others.



Give those folks you see every day a longer look today. Let it sink into your soul how much you love them and find some way to let them know it.



Until the next time

John Strain

Grandpa's Knife

If you look in the dictionary under the word "character," you will probably see a picture of my grandpa. He is also listed under, tough, hard working, fisherman, good story teller, and one of a kind. I was lucky enough to know him and spend a few summers with him before he died somewhere around 1974. I was 17 and that was nearly 30 years ago, but I think of him often. Grandpa grew up on a Nebraska farm. He was one of several brothers and they all worked very hard. He lectured me often about being tough and working hard. To him, a man's dignity was in direct proportion to how hard he worked. He respected people who did their job well. He held little respect for a free loader or a slacker.



My grandfather did several things in his life. He was a farmer, plumber, and finally, a mechanic. At one time in my life I wanted to be a mechanic like him. I admired his knowledge and ability to fix anything that could be fixed by mortal man. He was a good teacher and I asked him questions all the time trying to soak up as much of his knowledge as I could.



A bit on the ornery side, my grandpa gave me my first taste of whiskey. He told off color jokes, and he did not suffer fools well. Those he liked he would do anything to help. I learned to ski behind his boat. I learned how to fish under his watchful eye. During our summer conversations, he explained to me the finer points of the work ethic.



He would entertain us for hours with his stories from his childhood, fishing at the lake with his gang of characters, working at the highway department, and his own brand of political commentary. Grandpa loved to laugh and he was always looking for a victim. His neighbor Bob was the perfect mark. Bob was a salesman and knew nothing about cars so he always brought his problems to grandpa. One time grandpa noticed Bob's left front wheel was missing the valve stem cap. He looked at it and started talking with a worried tone, "oh, would you look at that," grandpa said, "the alignment of this car is being completely thrown off." Bob never knew if grandpa was telling him the truth or pulling his leg. Being a laughing stock was Bob's payment since grandpa never charged him.



A knife was a necessity of life and grandpa always carried one. It was carried in his pocket always available to strip a wire, open a package, or to cut some fishing line. If he ever used the knife to cut any food like cheese for a snack outside, grandpa would say, "this knife is clean, I just used it to trim my toenails." It usually resulted in more cheese for him.



When grandpa died I asked if I could have his knife. It was given to me by my grandmother. It sits on a shelf in my house and I see it frequently. It is nice to have a piece of him I can put in my pocket. It goes well with his memory I hold in my heart.



Here's to you grandpa - rest in peace.



Until the next time

John Strain