Perfect!

OK, I'm not one to bash my opinions into someone else - if we think alike, great. If we don't, that's cool too. There's room for many points of view in my world. This doesn't mean I'll cave in and agree with you, nor do I expect you to agree with me. I'm actually quite comfortable in my own skin, and believing what I believe, and don't mind if you see things differently.

Which is why you don't see political bumper stickers on my cars, or signs in my yard. But the one here is very tempting! :)

No matter who you think should be the next President, you have to see the humor in this.

(Although if you don't, that's ok too, I think it's hysterically funny, which is all that really matters.)

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Windshield or Bug

A recent weekly newsletter from Paul at the Ripples Project reminds me that in life, there's going to be times when things don't always go as planned.

The first quote is "Sometimes, in life, you are the windshield, and sometimes you are the bug." (source unknown).

So true.

Then he shares a longer quote:

Be of good cheer.

Do not think of today's failures,

but of the success that may come tomorrow.

You have set yourselves a difficult task,

but you will succeed if you persevere;

and you will find joy in overcoming obstacles.

Remember, no effort that we make

to attain something beautifulis ever lost.

-Helen Keller

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Finally, Paul shares: "If you have smashed into something recently, or if something has smashed into you, just know that you are not alone! Everyone experiences WINDSHIELDS and BUGS occasionally, and right this moment there is someone out there who has survived the yuckiness you're facing, and there is almost certainly someone waiting to help you whether you need a pat on the back, some advice, or perhaps a few squirts of Windex! Peace, Paul"

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It's always nice to be reminded that we aren't alone, no matter what we're going through.

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How Odd

Sometimes people can be downright odd I think.

I was reading Constance's Blog and found a comment that was really quite rude to Constance by way of insulting her love and her Master, Mr C. I was trying to imagine a scenario where someone would think it OK to write a nasty remark about my own dear Sir. And most especially for that to happen here on my own blog.

I confess, I find that to be the most outrageous of bad behavior.

Bash whomever you want to bash if you must, but not on another person's blog, and especially not when it's about that person or someone they love.

I think I prefer the Kind Blog ideal.

It isn't because men like Mr C and my dear PirateDaddy can't stand up for themselves - of course they can. They surely do not need Constance or myself to defend them. That is not the point. And it is not because people like Constance and me think our Dominants are perfect. We're actually quite well aware of the faults of these men we love. And yet we love them anyway. Hmmm, almost like they love us in spite of our failings.

That is what makes a good relationship, one worth working at and holding onto and fighting for if need be. Love without blinders. Love that doesn't pretend everything is perfect; love willing to work on improving and growing and changing, acknowledging the need for being better. If we pretend everything is perfect just as is, the relationship is doomed for failure.

But that doesn't give someone outside the relationship the right to make rude comments about our partner. Just because you don't understand something doesn't mean you can put it down or be churlish. Either seek to learn and understand or else just let it go and move on.

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Barrington Bunny

One of my all-time favorite short stories, written by Martin Bell in his book "The Way Of The Wolf" is called "Barrington Bunny". This is not a story I can usually read without crying, even dating back to my teenage years when I first heard the story. Contained in the words of the story we learn about self-pity, the need for belonging, and the incredible gift of love for others, which must begin with love for ourselves. I hope you take as much with you as I did, and do - each time I read it.

Once upon a time in a large forest there lived a very furry bunny. He had one lop ear, a tiny black nose, and unusually shiny eyes. His name was Barrington.

Barrington was not really a very handsome bunny. He was brown and speckled and his ears didn't stand up right. But he could hop, and he was, as I have said, very furry.

In a way, winter is fun for bunnies. After all, it gives them an opportunity to hop in the snow and then turn around to see where they have hopped. So, in a way, winter was fun for Barrington.

But in another way winter made Barrington sad. For, you see, winter marked the time where all of the animal families got together in their cozy homes to celebrate Christmas. He could hop, and he was very furry. But as far as Barrington knew, he was the only bunny in the forest.

When Christmas Eve finally came, Barrington did not feel like going home all by himself. So he decided he would hop for awhile in the clearing at the center of the forest.

Hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. Barrington made tracks in the fresh snow.

Hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. Then he cocked his head and looked back at the wonderful designs he had made.

"Bunnies," he thought to himself, "can hop. And they are very warm, too, because of how furry they are."

(But Barrington didn't really know whether or not this was true of all bunnies, since he had never met another bunny.)

When it got too dark to see the tracks he was making, Barrington made up his mind to go home.

On his way, however, he passed a large oak tree. High in the branches there was a great deal of excited chattering going on. Barrington looked up. It was a squirrel family! What a marvelous time they seemed to be having.

"Hello, up there," called Barrington.

"Hello, down there," came the reply.

"Having a Christmas party?" asked Barrington.

"Oh, yes!" answered the squirrels. "It's Christmas Eve. Everybody is having a Christmas party!"

"May I come to your party?" said Barrington softly.

"Are you a squirrel?"

"No."

"What are you, then?"

"A bunny."

"A bunny?"

"Yes."

"Well, how can you come to the party if you're a bunny? Bunnies can't climb trees."

"That's true," said Barrington thoughtfully. "But I can hop and I'm very furry and warm."

"We're sorry," called the squirrels. "We don't know anything about hopping and being furry, but we do know that in order to come to our house you have to be able to climb trees."

"Oh, well," said Barrington. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," chattered the squirrels.

And the unfortunate bunny hopped off toward his tiny house.

It was beginning to snow when Barrington reached the river. Near the river bank was a wonderfully constructed house of sticks and mud. Inside there was singing. "It's the beavers," thought Barrington. "Maybe they will let me come to their party."

And so he knocked on the door.

"Who's out there?" called a voice.

"Barrington Bunny," he replied.

There was a long pause and then a shiny beaver head broke the water.

"Hello, Barrington," said the beaver.

"May I come to your Christmas party?" asked Barrington.

The beaver thought for awhile and then he said, "I suppose so. Do you know how to swim?"

"No," said Barrington, "but I can hop and I am very furry and warm."

"Sorry," said the beaver. "I don't know anything about hopping and being furry, but I do know that in order to come to our house you have to be able to swim."

"Oh, well," Barrington muttered, his eyes filling with tears. "I suppose that's true-Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," called the beaver. And he disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

Even as furry as he was, Barrington was starting to get cold. And the snow was falling so hard that his tiny, bunny eyes could scarcely see what was ahead of him.

He was almost home, however, when he heard the excited squeaking of field mice beneath the ground.

"It's a party," thought Barrington. And suddenly he blurted out through his tears, "Hello, field mice. This is Barrington Bunny. May I come to your party?"

But the wind was howling so loudly and Barrington was sobbing so much that no one heard him.

And when there was no response at all, Barrington just sat down in the snow and began to cry with all his might.

"Bunnies," he thought, aren't any good to anyone. What good is it to be furry and to be able to hop if you don't have any family on Christmas Eve?"

Barrington cried and cried. When he stopped crying he began to bite on his bunny's foot, but he did not move from where he was sitting in the snow.

Suddenly, Barrington was aware he was not alone. He looked up and strained his shiny eyes to see who was there.

To his surprise he saw a great silver wolf. The wolf was large and strong and his eyes flashed fire. He was the most beautiful animal Barrington had ever seen.
For a long time the silver wolf didn't say anything at all. He just stood there and looked at Barrington with those terrible eyes.

Then slowly and deliberately the wolf spoke. "Barrington," he asked in a gentle voice, "why are you sitting in the snow?"

"Because it's Christmas Eve," said Barrington, "and I don't have any family, and bunnies aren't any good to anyone."

"Bunnies are, too, good," said the wolf. "Bunnies can hop and they are very warm."

"What good is that?" Barrington sniffed.

"It is very good indeed," the wolf went on, "because it is a gift that bunnies are given, a free gift with no strings attached. And every gift that is given to anyone is given for a reason. Someday you will see why it is good to hop and to be warm and furry."

"But it's Christmas," moaned Barrington, "and I'm all alone. I don't have any family at all."

"Of course you do," replied the great silver wolf. "All of the animals in the forest are your family."

And then the wolf disappeared. He simply wasn't there. Barrington had only blinked his eyes, and when he looked-the wolf was gone.

"All of the animals in the forest are my family," thought Barrington. "It's good to be a bunny. Bunnies can hop. That's a gift." And then he said it again. "A gift. A free gift."

On into the night Barrington worked. First he found the best stick he could. (And that was difficult because of the snow.)

Then hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. To beaver's house. He left the stick just outside the door. With a note on it that read: "Here is a good stick for your house. It is a gift. A free gift. No strings attached. Signed, a member of your family."

"It is a good thing that I can hop, he thought, "because the snow is very deep."
Then Barrington dug and dug. Soon he had gathered together enough dead leaves and grass to make the squirrels' nest warmer. Hop. Hop. Hippity-hop.

He laid the grass and leaves just under the large oak tree and attached this message: "A gift. A free gift. From a member of your family."

It was late when Barrington finally started home. And what made things worse was that he knew a blizzard was beginning.

Hop. Hop. Hippity-hop.

Soon poor Barrington was lost. The wind howled furiously, and it was very, very cold. "It certainly is cold," he said out loud. "It's a good thing I'm so furry. But if I don't find my way home pretty soon I might freeze!"

Squeak. Squeak. . . .

And then he saw it-a baby field mouse lost in the snow. And the little mouse was crying.

"Hello, little mouse," Barrington called.

"Don't cry. I'll be right there." Hippity-hop, and Barrington was beside the tiny mouse.

"I'm lost," sobbed the little fellow. "I'll never find my way home, and I know I'm going to freeze."

"You won't freeze," said Barrington. "I'm a bunny and bunnies are very furry and warm. You stay right where you are and I'll cover you up."

Barrington lay on top of the little mouse and hugged him tight. The tiny fellow felt himself surrounded by warm fur. He cried for awhile but soon, snug and warm, he fell asleep.

Barrington had only two thoughts that long, cold night. First he thought, "It's good to be a bunny. Bunnies are very furry and warm." And then, when he felt the heart of the tiny mouse beating regularly, he thought, "All the animals in the forest are my family."

Next morning, the field mice found their little boy, asleep in the snow, warm and snug beneath the furry carcass of a dead bunny. Their relief and excitement was so great that they didn't even think to question where the bunny had come from.
And as for the beavers and the squirrels, they still wonder which member of their family left the little gift for them that Christmas Eve.

After the field mice had left, Barrington's frozen body simply lay in the snow. There was no sound except that of the howling wind. And no one anywhere in the forest noticed the great silver wolf who came to stand beside that brown, lop-eared carcass.

But the wolf did come.

And he stood there.

Without moving or saying a word.

All Christmas Day.

Until it was night.

And then he disappeared into the forest.

From The Way of the Wolf by Martin Bell, copyright 1970. Ballantine ISBN 0-345-30522-1.
All rights reserved. Used by permission.


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For PirateDaddy

Oops!

I'm so sorry!

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I didn't mean to park in your spot!

Please don't flog me? Well, I mean, unless you feel like it that is. ;)

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