Don't Put All Of Your Love Into One Basket

"I'm going now honey", he said.  "  Okay, enjoy your game", she said.

"I'm leaving now for my Bridge club dear".  "Bye Bye, have fun", he said

Sound familiar?  These oft duplicated exchanges are commonplace and certainly healthy ones.  But let them go too far, and they may signify unhealthy runaway life styles which are better avoided.

If you have ever started a project in the workshop or began reading something of great personal interest and suddenly realized several unaccounted for hours had  gone by, you  have  experienced the first warning sign of "guilty of putting all your love into one basket".

I had a close acquaintance who perfected a talent for producing wood decoys.  Much of his time was spent in his basement workshop and he constantly complained that he had little time for anything else.  This is a typical result when one is guilty of our subject violation.

There is a simple direction to follow if we are to avoid this  infraction. "Forced Diversification" is the answer.  I accentuate "forced" because of the difficulty in replacing one love fixation with another.  As difficult as it may be, however, the interests churned up by true diversification could bring to light other activities equally worthy of one's attention.

The broadening of focus may well serve to expand horizons not previously contemplated.  Of course, the prime objective of overcoming the results of our misdemeanor (implying, of course, that it is not a felony) is to avoid or minimize the exclusionary effect that our activities have had on our  close circle of family and friends.  It is important that we avoid aggravating the effect by merely stuffing more exclusionary interests into the same basket, thus negating the diversification affect.

Just as I thought I had the problem licked, I realized that I had infringed on an already perfected concept:

                "JACK  OF ALL TRADES, MASTER OF NONE"

The net result of this study is a move to adopt a new rule:
             
                "VARIETY IS THE SPICE OF LIFE"

Come to think of it, neither rule is really new, is it?  All routes lead to the dreaded accumulation of toys and exponential growth of the "TOO LONG TO DO LIST".


ps. The compilation of true facts in refutation of the felonious attack on our November, 1963 historic depiction (From the Archives May, 2013) blog is ongoing and I assure you that the prevaricator shall be subjected to his or her just deserts at the appropriate time, even to the obviously cheap brand he or she was nipping at the time of the crime. The wheels of justice move slowly, but with certainty.
 

To Do List Too Long

There was a day when the TO DO list merely delayed doing the things I really wanted  to do.  Now it "PREVENTS" doing the things I really want to do.  Which leads me to the conclusion that either the list is too long or I am not as fast as I once was.

Upon cursory review, the list appears to be the same length as before, with a few tasks added from acquisitions, so I decided to review the efficiency factor.  Could it be that old speedy is not so speedy anymore?  Have the good old sayings on tee shirts, such as "I'm not over the hill, I'm just gaining speed" or "What hill?  I don't remember any hill", been relegated to tee shirts only, rather than actual fact?  It is conceivable that we all may slow down after a while, but I think the real culprit is the "LIST".  The list has quietly expanded along with the earthly possessions responsible for its existence.

My initial realization is that the length of the list has expanded to a greater degree than originally thought.  The exponential factor has a  great effect upon the list, since, it appears, TO DO items propagate excessively in proportion to the number of toys accumulated over time.

I recall reading an old seafaring novel wherein the main character spent over a year preparing his worthy craft for venture.  It is conceivable that, had he acquired several worthy craft over the years, he may never had  been able to "cast off".  Therein lies the solution to my riddle.  Too many worthy craft, and perhaps I'm no longer as fast as the tee shirts profess.

I, of course being a died in the wool old naturalist, would find it excruciating to kick out the old family dog even if I had one, but I admit it may be both prudent and expedient to start preparing another "LIST".  I think I'll head out to the shed and contemplate a "KICK OUT THE OLD TOY LIST".

Revelation of Recent Attack Reported: details in www.cabin-muse.blogspot.com

Since the preceding entries are related to a four part sequentially entered series, I would suggest starting at Part One, entered 5/28/13.  This tale was resurrected from an older archive which may or may not have been originally recorded on the proverbial shovel with a piece of charcoal.

Is it a shocking contagion of catastrophic acts, or: merely copy cats, after recently disclosed IRS, NSA Edward Snowemall, or whatever, type irrational actions.

Whatever it turns out to be, it represents the first and only attempt by person or persons unknown to impugn the integrity and reputation for long honored, principled and virtuously unembellished prosing on the part of this publisher. 

In my treasured position as head muse, and reflecting the totally forthright and transparent method of musing by our government and our business community in general, I have chosen to reprint the obviously prevaricated and totally fictional folly as contained in a recently received communication.  Since the offender has chosen to remain anonymous, I choose not to reveal his identity to avoid embarrassing him when the true facts are confirmed as originally reported.

If necessary, I shall revert back into the coveted 1963 Archives in my determined battle to refute these totally inaccurate depictions, even to the extent of determining from which bottle the usurper was nipping.   

Fictional Letter Received

Log Cabin Muse -- Fact or Fiction

Date: November 24, 1963

Place: Cecil. WI -- Uncle Augie's Farm

Subject: The Annual Deer Hunting or The Real Story

As we prepared to enter Uncle Augie's back 80 in our quest for white-tail deer, we were advised by Johnny Sanborn's dad to keep a look out for Uncle Augie's pet bear.  The bear went by the name of Blackie, according to Mr. Sanborn. He, Blackie, was placed in Augie's care following Blackie's retirement from Ringing Brothers in 1961.  We were told that everyday at about 9:00 AM Blackie would make his way from his den to Augie's house to have breakfast with Augie and Augie's wife. 

Several hours after entering the woods, a shot was heard.  Following the shot, a terrifying scream was heard.  The scream was followed by the sound of breaking and crushing of branches.  These panic stricken sounds were  immediately followed by the appearance of the hunter in the red boots.  The same boots described in the Log Cabin Muse.  The hunter in question will remain nameless in this narrative for on that day I promised never to divulge his identity.  His face was ashen, and he was obviously emotionally upset.  He kept talking (actually screaming) about shooting an abominable snowman, or something similar; something big and casting a dark shadow.

After reassuring the red booted hunter that he was in no danger, his friends convinced him that it would be safe to return to the location where he allegedly encountered what may have been the abominable snowman.

It is difficult for this writer to continue for the sadness experienced upon finding not an abominable  snowman but poor old Blackie is still fresh in my mind.  Uncle Augie's tears are also still fresh in my mind.

I can't go on.  The Real Story is too sad.  We did carry old Blackie out of the swamp, and we hung his 50 pound carcass from a horizontal timber behind Mr. Sanborn's house. Old Blackie was hung next to the 160 pound 8 point buck I harvested on that infamous date in hunting history.

Note:  This commentary was not recorded in the log cabin muse comment section for as I previously indicated I did promise never to reveal the identity of the red booted hunter, or the true or Real Story of what occurred on November 24, 1963.

Have a nice day red booted hunter!

From the Archives Sunday November 24, 1963