Sifting Thoughts

            I recently had a discussion about honesty which resulted in the conclusion that saying the first thing that comes into your mind isn’t honest. This flies in the face of many common ideas, because what is honesty if saying the first thing to come to your mind isn’t the most honest thing to say?

            I periodically see a post show up on my social media claiming that a study found that people who swear more are more likely to be honest. The logical connection being made is clearly that people who swear are more likely to be spouting whatever is on their mind, and that’s honest. Isn’t it? Well, let’s take a closer look at that.

            When you stub your toe on something, what’s the first thing that comes to your mind? Unless you’re a remarkably logical person, most likely the first thing on your mind in that moment is to be mad at the inanimate object you just stubbed your toe on, and be very angry at it for being there. If you were to shout out your anger at the object (as I’m sure you might), scathing it with the fury of the first thing that came to your mind, are you expressing your real and honest opinion on that object?

            Technically, the answer is yes; in that very specific and precise moment, those horrible things you shout at that poor innocent inanimate object are precisely what you are thinking about it. But, that opinion is fleeting and won’t last. It fades with the pain, leaving you feeling a little silly for shouting abuse at something that doesn’t even have ears – and which you probably put there in the first place. Unless you’re a remarkably stubborn person, you’ll most likely even admit to yourself that an inanimate object can hold no responsibility for the pain you just experienced. And, just like that, your totally honest response to stubbing your toes crumbles into meaningless lies that you spewed out in a moment of emotion. Your actual, honest opinion on that inanimate object and the part it played in causing you pain is the one that comes after letting the pain die down and taking the time to think about it.

            Now, naturally, there isn’t that much trouble with shouting at inanimate objects – unless, of course, it’s fitted with some very sophisticated Artificial Intelligence – but consider if it had been an impressionable child you’d tripped on when you fell and hurt yourself. Why you left a child lying on the floor is beyond me, but that initial, ‘honest’ response of yours could do everlasting harm.

            Let’s take a look at prejudices. These are ideas that we’ve been trained into believing, sometimes since childhood (possibly by having them shouted at us after having been tripped over). We look at someone, and we instantly make certain decisions about them based on how they look, how they’re dressed, how they move – anything. As an enlightened person, you are aware of at least some of your prejudices and know them to be untrue (and, frankly, in some cases, ridiculous. I mean, seriously, just because it’s a spider, it doesn’t mean it’s out to murder you). Yet, there’s that trained piece of your brain that throws the prejudice to the forefront of your thoughts. If you voice that prejudice, because it’s what’s right on your mind, you won’t be being honest – because your honest opinion comes after all that hard work you’ve put in to quashing that horrible prejudice (spiders are people too, you know).

            So, speaking what is on your mind clearly isn’t inherently honest. I would call it impulsive, and only honest out of happenstance or if the person you’re conversing with asked about the first thing that came to your mind. Honesty is what you get after you’ve taken the time to form well-reasoned thoughts.

            That, in itself, is something of a revelation, isn’t it? True honesty doesn’t come from impulsively speaking what you happen to be thinking; in fact what you say can become more honest by sifting it through mental filters before speaking.

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Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

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If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Industrious Spider

            One day I was sitting in a chair, reading to Colleen, when this tiny spider drifted past in front of me, suspended from a web. It wasn’t close enough to bother me, so I went about my reading. Then it drifted past again. And again.

            At this point, I paused to pay a bit more attention to this spider, which was little more than a green dot. I discovered that it was, in fact, drifting around in circles, making use of the ceiling fan’s air currents. I don’t know if it was weaving a web or simply having fun – either way, it was quite amusing to see.

            Over the next couple days, I noticed a huge increase in spider webs around the house. At first I thought maybe I just hadn’t been paying attention to them before, but then I realized that many of them had to be new – because I’d recently vacuumed through those areas. A few more sightings of that tiny dot of a spider led us to the conclusion that it had been the one responsible.

            It was amazing to discover that this one itsy bitsy spider had webbed just about every desirable location (by spider standards) in the house in such a short span of time. There didn’t seem to be any other spiders around to help or compete, so it had to be this one.

            Even more interesting to me has been spotting the spider again recently and seeing that it hasn’t grown much. Which makes me wonder – is this industrious spider failing to catch food, even with all those webs? Or, perhaps, does it need all those webs because it needs the food to support its active lifestyle?

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

Also, make sure you check out my wife's blog and her website.


If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Squeakers the Black-Ops Mouse

            You may remember that some time ago, I told you about how spider assassins want me dead. Well, it seems they’ve upped their game. They hired Squeakers, the black-ops mouse.

            It all started at 5:00 am last Wednesday. I awoke to this scrabbling-scratching sound. Never one to jump to conclusions, I waited and listened carefully. The sound came again. It sounded exactly like the sound they use for unseen rodents in movies. The third time I heard the sound, I was convinced and I woke my wife to inform her we had something skittering around our bedroom.

            We turned on the light to search, but couldn’t find the intruder. We did, however, find confirmation that there was, indeed, a mouse in our bedroom. Squeakers had left a calling card in the middle of my bedside table, not a foot and a half from where my sleeping head had been a moment before.

            That was when I realized that Squeakers was no ordinary mouse. No. The sounds that came in the middle of the night, in our bedroom where we feel safe enough to sleep. The dropping, placed so perfectly to assure us that those sounds were real, not a figment of imagination or the result of branches brushing the house on a windy night. These were deliberate actions, intended to instil terror. Clearly, Squeakers had to be a black-ops mouse, skilled in the use of asymmetric warfare.

            Since the spider assassins have unsuccessfully sought my death for years, it was easy to guess that they were the ones who sent Squeakers. Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep the rest of the night. Squeakers was an expert. Every time I came close to drifting off to sleep, there came a sound of one sort or another. Colleen somehow managed to sleep through it – but then, she can sleep through anything, whereas I’ve been woken up by someone silently looking into my bedroom before.

            Well, the next night was a little worse. My mother-in-law (living in the other half of the house) told us she had mousetraps, but with it being so close to Christmas she hadn’t gotten around to setting it up. The sounds were less frequent this time, but I was too tense to get any sleep until the sky started to brighten with the coming of morning. Even with then, I doubt I got even two hours of fitful sleep.

            That day, the trap was set. It was the night before Christmas, and all through the house, every creature was stirring, including the mouse. From downstairs, I heard the mouse scurrying in the ceiling well before going to bed. Yet, when I did go to bed, I was so tired from the previous two nights (and secure in the knowledge that the only food available for the black-ops mouse was bait), I dropped right off to sleep. Until...

            SnapThump! A sound woke me up at 4:00am. The trap, perhaps? Indeed, when we shone a light down the hole in the floor (it was extremely obvious how the mouse was entering our room), it was clear that the trap had been set off. It didn’t look like Squeakers was in it, though. It seemed like the cunning black-ops mouse had gotten away.

            I managed a fitful half-sleep the rest of the night. In the morning, I declared that in spite of getting such poor sleep for the past three nights, I was sort of glad Squeakers had survived – and received a Christmas dinner, to boot. Of course, later, when the trap was actually checked, there was Squeakers – a mouse small enough to be missed.

            It’s nice to be able to sleep soundly through the night again, but I can’t help feeling sorry for Squeakers. We suspect that this talented black-ops mouse was quite young, separated from his/her family when they were chased out during recent renovations. Lost, alone and unable to find food, Squeakers wandered through the foreign upstairs of the house, seeking the means to survive. There, Squeakers fell under the influence of the spider assassins who, ultimately, led him/her to his/her demise.

            Here’s to you, Squeakers! The most talented black-ops mouse that ever there was. You may no longer be with us, but your memory shall live on – thanks to the internet.

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

Spider Assassins Want Me Dead

            The first spider that tried to kill me did so when I was around eight years old. I was about to leave the bathroom when I saw this large spider sitting on the doorframe. I quickly opened the door and found myself leaping back and screaming like a little girl (I can honestly say that it was the only time in my life when I’ve really screamed. I also dislike the term “scream like a little girl”, but it is really the only apt description). The diabolical spider had stung a thread across the door so that it would go flying straight at my unsuspecting face when the door was opened!

            Well, it didn’t get me and I recovered from the trauma. I was okay for about a week until I pulled a Kleenex out of a box and a different spider came out with it, lunging at me! It was at that point that I knew that the spiders had it in for me. The more I watched, the more I became convinced that my parents’ house had a division of specially trained, licensed to kill, secret agent spiders.

            I even considered writing a book about them. From the perspective of the spider agents, of course – a series of short stories about each spider’s attempt to kill a targeted human, all ending abruptly as the human’s protector (my mom) put an end to their attempts.

            I must say, though, that I have to admire the spiders for their skills. Why, this one spider was running along the top of a doorframe when, out of the blue, it fastened a web, dropped down into the doorway and let its weight and momentum carry it back up to the doorframe where it continued running as if nothing had happened.

            Incidentally, that ninja spider would have landed right on my head had I not noticed it and stopped walking through the door.

            What’s that? You’re a bit skeptical about all these spiders trying to kill me? Well, let me tell you... When I wasn’t living at my parents’ house, there were no spider problems. My wife and I even had a gigantic spider (we named it Peter) living outside our window and it never troubled us. Now that we’re back at my parents’ house, there have been a number of weak attempts – that is, weak compared to this really good one.

            This spider was very clever (past tense because my wife recently managed to dispatch it). It made its home between our mattress and the box-spring – the two piece box-spring. If we lifted the mattress to get it, it could just scurry down the crack and be lost before we could get at it.

            For months it lived there, coming out only at night to feed on me – or, perhaps to inject me with venom that would kill me once it reached a great enough concentration. I’m glad it was slain when it was, otherwise who knows what could have happened. I might have dropped dead at any moment and nev

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.

The One That Got Away

            This morning (Saturday, not Monday) I was witness to a highly entertaining event (at least to my sleep-deprived mind). A rather large earwig was climbing the wall in the corner of the bathroom when, for whatever reason, it fell to the floor. As it fell, it passed through the web of a spider living at floor level.

            At this point, I should tell you about the spider in this story. It was a tiny spider. Its body was smaller than half the earwig’s head.

            So, the earwig scuttled backwards away from the web and the tiny spider lurched forward, grabbing the strands of web attached to the earwig. I couldn't actually see the web, but I could tell what had happened because the earwig started sliding sideways across the floor.

            The struggle that ensued can only be described as an angler reeling in a fish. The earwig struggled and flopped around, the spider tugged. Sometimes one was winning, sometimes the other. Frankly, I was exceptionally impressed with how well the spider was doing, right up until the thread snapped and the earwig was free.

            After watching all this, only one thing jumped into my mind. I could just picture the spider telling all its friends about the one that got away. “It was THIIIIIIS big!” Thinking back on the proportions, it would be kind of like a fisherman trying to land a whale. Apparently even spiders can have big fish stories!

Click here to find the charity anthology containing a couple of my short stories.

If there's any subject you'd like to see me ramble on about, feel free to leave a comment asking me to do so.