B: The B You Accept Or The B You Reject? *

The Wishbone Alphabet – an experiment, of course, with attitude, life and the eponymous soup.

In this refreshing bit of didacticism, B represents the grade of life you have attained and A the grade of life you are assumed to aspire to. Algebra of the soul isn’t about being academically gifted. It’s about how you deal with the lack of sparkling perfection in your life.

Having an image of perfection can be inspiring. If it’s a model of guidance it remains something to encourage us whether we achieve it or not. For example, I doubt I could be a monk, but the Dalai Llama says things that help me make decent decisions about how to live. This model says, B is acceptable, and, most importantly of all, it’s your B, enjoy it.

If perfection is a model of judgement, it splits your world into succeed or fail. For example, is my bathroom clean?

I don’t take the judgement model too seriously, hence the state of my bathroom.

If I could wave a magic wand of achievement (let’s B honest) there would be some material improvements made, including a nicer place to have a bath.

Without the wand, in order to achieve material stuff, like the big house, shiny car, flashy wardrobe and gleaming lavatory, there was too much to sacrifice, like spending time with my children and being able to walk around these muddy fields, watching the apples grow. And the more I accept this, the more I feel like one of the privileged, balanced few.

*Never confuse this with ‘The BS You Regret, or the BS You Accept.’

Contact Pants Conundrum

There is weather today, I do note it: take a few moments to reckon the size of a cloud (big) and the frequency of rain (sporadic.) Centre of my interest though is a stack of magazines. Not the fashion kind. This is martial arts research. I'm not even sure what it is I'm looking for, but intuition calls loud. A range of old adverts skew some amusement. Contact pants, for example. Pants are not trousers where I come from. They are underwear. Professional contact pants: improved smirk value. But why would a person be likely to purchase a grappling hook and a lock pick set? For specialists and hobbyists only, the blurb assures. Guidance on the pheromone spray that attracts women against their better judgement? I doubt it works any more proficiently than the mysterious potion that defines your muscles while you sleep. But, then: I wonder is some sprayed on this paper? What was my intuition thinking, making this ghastly shout… Tea break time. There's a lot of words...

Back From The Future Blog Party

Another joint blog adventure- if you want to see who else said what the list of participants is here . The premise is this: 'You're up before dawn on a Saturday when the doorbell rings. You haven't brewed your coffee so you wonder if you imagined the sound. Plonking the half-filled carafe in the sink, you go to the front door and cautiously swing it open. No one there. As you cast your eyes to the ground, you see a parcel addressed to you ... from you. You scoop it up and haul it inside, sensing something legitimate despite the extreme oddness of the situation. Carefully, you pry it open. Inside is a shoebox -- sent from ten years in the future -- and it's filled with items you have sent yourself. What's in it?' Here's how I imagined it: Before dawn? Shadows outside, first forming. Sleep has gone, I don't know where. Coffee I can find. All the way from Machu Pichu, this fair-traded pack. Scissors are in the drawer, which ...

A Glitch Or Two

My Chromebook has been crumbling. It seems a little like dementia, this inability to upgrade its powers of communication, it makes me sad, even for an object. It's one of the reasons my posts here have been put aside, that and generally being tumbled by tiredness. I have saved up money for a replacement, also I have spent that money on trees and shrubs. I have two novels to sort out however, and this will be the reason I save up again. I don't stop writing, even if I don't tell anyone. In the meantime should you need a calm place to go, I have begun a substack account. Please do drop by. If the kettle crumbles we can make tea (or soup) on the firepit. Me on substack: Lisa Southard

Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

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