Ode to a Useless Button

Aha! I have gotten your attention because you suppose I mean to elaborate on the subject of the human navel. This is incorrect. So, you say, what other button could possibly be useless?

Ladies and Gentlemen, I submit for your consideration the Snooze button.

For those of you unfamiliar with this particular button because you do not like sleep, allow me to elucidate: the Snooze button is a large button located on an alarm clock. (If you do not know what an alarm clock is you must really find out because everyone else uses one and I’m sure you can make it a subject of interesting conversation at your place of work even today. For example, “Don’t you just hate the sound of your alarm clock?” is a great discussion starter. Be prepared, however, for various imitations of various alarm clock noises, none of which will be familiar to you if this dissertation applies to yourself. You will either be vastly amused or vastly annoyed. You have officially been warned.) But back to my definition: the snooze button is a button one can push after one’s alarm has gone off to shut off the alarm for approximately nine minutes (why nine, we’re not sure; for whatever reason they didn’t want to do ten) at which point the incessant beeping returns, and you must get up, or thwack the button again. And again. And again. Ad nausaeum.

Yes, it already sounds useless, doesn’t it? But consider: for those of us who unlike you enjoy sleep the most at ungodly hours of the morning, it means nine more minutes of precious shuteye before the day begins. Or so we tell ourselves, for the sleep we get in those nine minutes would be by no means worth the trouble if we were our awake and thinking selves. Which of course we are not; why did you think we were hitting the button in the first place?!

I am a case in point. I sleep in a loft bed, some six feet off the floor. For me to get into bed requires my climbing on top of my desk and hoisting myself up from there. My alarm clock lies directly beneath my calves as I lay in bed, only about three feet down. Thus, it cannot be reached from where I lie and I am forced to get out of bed, climb down to the floor, and shut the fool thing off in the morning. One would think this would prevent me from going back to bed. Oh no! There have been mornings- and I will not say how many- when I have pushed the Snooze button twice or more times. Yes, this requires climbing up and down several times, but hey, it’s worth it, right?

Ah, Snooze button, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways: one- snore- two- snore- three...

(This petite essay I wrote on the weekend as the writer's bug bit me hard. It's one bug I'm quite fond of, but in this case it seems to have produced some utter fluff. In any case, I hope it made you smile, though I don't expect it has enough substance to be considered a meal. I apologize to those of you wanting more, and I shall try to do better next time. )

Fairy Kisses

Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together!
Soft is the grass, and let foot be like feather!
The river is silver, the shadows are fleeting;
Merry is May-time and merry our meeting.
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

On my way to church this morning I happened upon a fairy-boat. A brilliant yellow and orange tulip petal, to be precise. Letting my imagination wander with the soft warm breeze, I could see the tiny pixie sailing on a silver stream, leaning back to let the sun bathe her face, and dabbling tiny, perfect toes in the water.

Ford Prefect once thought “Wasn’t it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?” Well, yes, but why not fairies? Airy, light beings secretly weaving beauty in hidden places in the service of the King, preparing little treasures for the eyes of mortals that we may catch a tiny glimpse of the love of the Creator, feel His kisses upon our skin in the breeze. Why not indeed? Perhaps it is only the whimsy of the little girl’s heart that still beats within me, but I choose to believe in fairies.

Though the more rational half of me cries heresy and lack of common sense, my heart is lifted by my fanciful wanderings. Thus, I blew a kiss into the fairy-boat, and tossed it to the breeze, that whoever should chance to pick it up after me might be blessed as I was. So ladies and gentlemen, be aware! Should you happen upon a fairy-boat some morning, misty or shining, think of those who may have come before and receive the blessing freely given before passing on one of your own. Merry indeed is the meeting of two hearts, even sight unseen!

Work is fun- especially when you get creative!

So anyway, there I was, in a meeting with my boss. The man is maybe five eleven, with a clean-shaven face, a thick shock of hair with square sideburns, and a piercing gaze. I’m sitting there, trying to maintain eye contact with him for the moment, and lo and behold it comes to me. He looks like a pirate. So I try to visualize this, with the eyepatch and kerchief and whatnot, and then I realize it isn’t working. So I try British navy circa the same era. Bingo!

The grey hair grows to shoulder length, his face turns to the side, and he’s suddenly wearing a blue navy coat and that natty sort of necktie they had at the time, complete with the white tights, socks, and square toed shoes. He’s gazing off the port side of the ship, grinning, his arms folded behind his back, and his eagle eyes not bothered by the reflection of the sun on the water.

At this point it’s all I can do not to burst out laughing in the middle of my meeting! But I managed, somehow or other, and let me tell you, it got me through many a minute that followed!

This happens to me sometimes; it’s happened before with some of my profs. One of them I could visualize as he may have been as a small child, red faced, slightly pudgy, and giggling all the time; his mother calls him some diminuitive, like Timmy, or Tommy. Another looks like he belongs in a story about WWII, his intense expression suggesting a man of deep emotion, a captain in the army, a tragic hero.

I do not quite know what to conclude from this phenomenon, but it certainly is a lot of fun. Anyone else have a similar experience? Do tell! I’d love company!

Hullo!

Jillification means this: Jollification, as experienced by me, Jill Pole. And you Narnia fans, no, it's not my real name. That shall remain....anonymous. Da-da-dummmmmmmmm....Now, the question becomes, will I post here often? Hmm...good question. Only time will tell!