Oops - excuse me.

 

Pull up the line and discard the bait.  Wash the boat down and head home.  Another day passed while I sat and stared at the surface of the water.  None of the breeze snagged any of my thoughts.  They were all still with me as I tucked the boat in for the night.  So, am I to face a new tomorrow with yesterday’s thoughts still hanging around?  That doesn’t seem right.  A new day deserves new thinking. 

I wonder what the fish were thinking as they looked up through the water at me sitting there.  I doubt I’ll carry that thought into tomorrow.  I wonder what causes thinking, and can it be controlled?  A good example of this is this very post.  You see, not only do I not fish, I have never sat out in a boat and stared at the surface of the water.  So, what caused all of that to spring into my head? 

The more I think about it, probably 99% of Blogland here has been manufactured by yours truly.  Stray and random thoughts, left to wander around on these pages.  No leash, no invisible fence, nothing.  Then again, maybe it is my ability to picture myself out there in that boat, the sun heating my skin, the hard surface of the seat causing even more discomfort and we can’t forget the fishing line.  Always a potential of great things coming to the surface.  (Not necessarily this post) 

But all this outdoors stuff got me to thinking about those big sporting good stores.  The last one I was in had a large section dedicated to duck blinds.  A had no idea they were so opposed to curtains.  OK, I won’t carry that thought into tomorrow either.   I think I’ll take myself over to that chair and pretend I am an Etch-A-Sketch.  I’ll shake my head and erase all of these moronic thoughts.  They will slide down the back of my throat and most likely come out sounding like a poorly spelled belch.

 

 

 

 

ZC

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Misdirection of Guy Smiling

 

Out, just past the guard rails, live the ones who cast aspirations on their opponents, as opposed to providing their credentials and abilities to perform the job in question.  “If I can get you to look over there, then you won’t focus on me.”

 

As sad and unfortunate as this is, it has become the accepted norm of political campaigns.

 

 

 Attention, Scully - Mulder

 The truth isn't out there. 

No matter how much they change, they can't be anything else.

 

The thing about old windows is the ever-changing view.  Overlooking the city shows population growth, traffic clogs and a rise in volume with possible reflections of neon.  Seeing the countryside shows the slow-motion growth of nature.  Trees stretch upwards, vines hitchhike to unknown destinations, and weather patterns play with lighting and contrast.

The window frame may rot, decay and lose its grip. The glass can collect layers of crud or even break into shards, but the views continue.  No matter its age, it remains a window.  It is an interruption with life on both sides.  Both light and dreams pass through it.  It is a witness to time and a changer of feelings.

 

 

 ZC

The Finish Line Keeps Moving

 

No matter how much I practice or how hard I try, I doubt I’ll be able to outrun my destiny.   I have even bought high-quality shoes, with sure-grip technology but to no avail. 

I am slow in the turns and become winded beyond the third marker.  Do not put your money on me to win.  Showing up is my achievement.  I don’t even pose for photographs anymore.  My name is on the board only as a courtesy by management. 

As I see it, my destiny is perhaps a unique one, which may be the part preventing me from catching and passing it.  My friends who have passed on, still remain in my address book.  What I believe that says about me is that I am dragging one foot in the past.  I am reluctant to press on, feeling I may be doing them a disservice by advancing only myself.

I find it hard to judge my behavior against The Norm, for that definition remains elusive.

 

 

 

 

ZC

 

 

 

 

 

The Flight Plan

 

I’d guess that if a butterfly had to file a flight plan before takeoff, it may resemble an EKG printout, full of ups and downs, possibly giving some a cause for concern.

But then, why fly in a straight line when you can travel in poetry?  Not setting a destination but simply following a whim.

We have placed all kinds of barriers that prevent us from experiencing that kind of freedom.  Our language ties us to a specific land, our money keeps us in check along the way, passports and border crossings restrict us from any ups and downs.  We are expected to know ahead of time where we are going and when we’ll return. 

I have seen hundreds of butterflies at the same time but never bunched up in a tour group.  

And maybe this isn’t a fair comparison – us to butterflies.  They never take luggage, line up in a queue, or stare at their phone instead of looking up to see where they are.

 

OK, so forget I said anything.

 

 

 

 

 

ZC

 

 

Riviting

 

        Some years ago, we owned a house that had a swimming pool in the backyard.  Every now and then I would have to rescue various things from the water, like clumsy squirrels, our own dog and once in a while a frog or two.

        So, what surprised me this morning was finding a tiny frog swimming around inside the coffee pot reservoir.  Yes, you heard me correctly.  The coffee maker in our kitchen had a small frog inside the water tank that is attached to the side of the system.

        OK, so how did it get there?  How did it get into the house and then into the kitchen?  We fill the reservoir from the kitchen faucet.  Surely the frog didn’t travel through the entire water supply.  Across the neighborhood, using the water pipes, and pop out here.  That would have been one heck of an adventure.  Maybe even a Disney movie.

        Could be it was attracted by the scent of dark roast, or possibly hazelnut.  There is a certain attraction to the aroma of coffee, and who knows how sensitive a frog’s nose is?  But this guy would have to be Houdini to get past all of the barriers that exist between some froggy swamp and our coffee pot.

        I removed the plastic lid from the water tank and using a large soup spoon, I scooped the frog out of the water and just looked at it for a moment.  I wanted to ask if I was now going to get three wishes, but I restrained myself.  It just sat there on the spoon and looked back at me.  Not so much as a thank you.  Nothing.

        It is all together possible that it is my dead neighbor, reincarnated as a frog.  He always enjoyed coming over for coffee and talking about all the other neighbors.  He enjoyed gossiping as much as he did his morning coffee.  But if that is true, what do I do with him now?

        “I’m going to put you outside now, Frank.  It’s time to hop on home.”

 

 

 

 

 

ZC

 

 

 

 

 

 

Precarious at Best

 

The psychology of the greater good stands on a stack of rocks that doesn’t always have the larger one at the base.

  

***

The concise takeaway: the “greater good” is rarely built in neat, rational layers. It’s a cairn—an improvised stack of intentions, impulses, fears, hopes, and moral shortcuts—and sometimes the smallest stone ends up carrying the weight of the whole structure.

🪨 The cairn of human morality

Your metaphor is sharp, ZC. We like to imagine moral reasoning as a pyramid: the biggest, most stable principle at the bottom, supporting everything above it. But real human psychology doesn’t work that way.

Morality is more like a stack of uneven rocks, each placed by a different hand:

• Instinct — the quick, emotional stone we grab first
• Social pressure — a rock we add because everyone else did
• Fear of consequences — often heavier than the rock of compassion
• Personal narrative — the oddly shaped stone we insist belongs in the stack
• Actual ethics — the rock we claim is at the base, but often isn’t

The “greater good” is usually the stone placed last—balanced precariously on top—while the real foundation is something smaller, more fragile, and more human.

🌫 Why the biggest rock isn’t always at the bottom

Because people don’t build their moral stacks in order. They build them in emotionally convenient order.

Sometimes the base is:

• a childhood lesson
• a fear of being judged
• a desire to be seen as good
• a moment of empathy
• a moment of guilt
• a moment of exhaustion

The greater good becomes a story we tell ourselves, not the structural truth of the stack.

And yet—miraculously—the stack often stands.

🌱 The quiet truth beneath your metaphor

The greater good isn’t a single rock. It’s the balance of all the rocks. It’s the way the crooked ones lean on each other. It’s the way the tiny ones keep the larger ones from sliding. It’s the way intention and imperfection somehow create stability.

Human morality is not engineered. It’s assembled.

 

 

 

 

 ZC