Observations of an Idiot

Observations of an Idiot

by Cinda Anderson
     
 
Ms. Anderson entertains the public with an eclectic collection of short stories. Themes vary from inspirational, to poignant, to provocative, and to the idiotic activities of mankind. Easy reading.

Overview

Ms. Anderson entertains the public with an eclectic collection of short stories. Themes vary from inspirational, to poignant, to provocative, and to the idiotic activities of mankind. Easy reading.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781412052016
Publisher:
Trafford Publishing
Publication date:
06/28/2005
Pages:
292
Product dimensions:
6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.66(d)

Read an Excerpt

OBSERVATIONS OF AN IDIOT


By Cinda Anderson

Trafford Publishing

Copyright © 2005 Cinda Anderson
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4120-5201-6



CHAPTER 1

OBSERVATIONS OF AN IDIOT


The following observations are brief peeks at the brain of an idiot, which is only a look at myself. Some observations are merely looks at well-known facts or sayings. These notes can be accepted or rejected by all as this is a free world with free thinkers, and some of my ideas are stinkers and do not smell like the delicious scent of roses. So that you will not become totally bored, I have included comments, remarks, and experiences of other idiots just as foolish as myself. With this disclaimer and warning, please inhale a great big breath and read on.

My first-hand experience tells me nobody – not even animals – enjoy going to see their doctors. My cat is especially sensitive and indignant when her veterinarian finds it necessary to even pet her. For twelve years now, he has valiantly tried to become her friend, and for these dozen years, he has gotten absolutely nowhere in making a breakthrough with my surly, snotty animal.

The other day we visited his office for a check-up. I arrived with full knowledge the vet had a mad kitty face drawn on her chart as his notation she was a "bad and mad kitty." He cajoled. She hissed. He offered treats. She bit his hand. I imagined from her viewpoint the meat on his hand looked more appetizing than the smell of the fish treat in his fingers.

He finally managed to cat-handle her into submission. However, from her menacing growls, we all knew she was not amused or delighted by this treatment. The examination was brief, but unfortunately the assistant let go of her and she hopped off from the table and immediately crouched with fur standing on edge into a cluttered corner in the floor.

We spoke to each other for a few minutes and ignored her crouched in an inconvenient corner emitting low, menacing snarls and snapping her tail. Then, I made my Big Mistake. I reached down to pick her up. She reacted unkindly and bit me hard with all the force her steely-trap jaws and razor-sharp teeth could muster.

In conclusion, the vet informed me my bite was serious enough to need medical attention. I cursed at her. I cursed at myself. I cursed at the expensive antibiotic I had to take for seven days and the throbbing pain I felt in my hand and arm.

I also had murderous visions in my heart as I looked at her peacefully preening herself now. I had images of stringing her up from the ceiling or barbecuing her over the grill. However, the worst part was that my hand hurt so badly I could hardly put my signature on a credit card bill. Not being able to sign my name without pain is indeed the most serious offense a cat can give its owner. She completely deprived me of one of life's few little pleasures because she effectively eliminated my ability to shout, "Charge It!".

This idiot says I can forgive almost anything life throws at me – a balky car, a stopped up drain, an unexpected gift to buy, and a vicious, haughty, self-centered cat – as long as I can charge it to my bills for next month, but the cat even deprived me of this little pleasure. So, my current thoughts about her are laced with returned angry, torturous, violent images so callous and horrid I refuse to act upon now until my hand recovers. However, I now have first-hand experience as to why some cats do not get to live their entire nine lives and become cat-gut or cat-stew instead.

It has been observed it takes less effort and fewer facial muscles to smile instead of frown. My own experiments have proven this statement as a reliable fact. It also means it takes less effort to be nice than to be mean. However, this idiot states to be wary of too frequent smiles and laughter because that lunacy may be a sign of a deeply troubled spirit trying to mask its pain. Styles come and go, but being nice to people is a style that stays in tune with the times, is easier for people to swallow and digest, and is remembered long after that smile is vanished and gone.

It has been noted as we age we have serious lapses of memory. Some have trouble with dates while others have trouble with names. This idiot says, "I must have been born old because I have purposely chosen to forget the less noble moments of both myself and others." Therefore, forgetfulness can and is done by some of us as a conscious effort and act of deliberate will, and does not just affect the aged population.

The young and old have a lot to teach each other. The slow have messages to give to the quick, and the smarter you are the more people think you are an idiot. With these few statements, I will not attempt to explain any further or else you will actually see how stupid I really am.

Before I go much further, I must confess I admire the wittiness of the human race and roll in stitches as well-known comedians tickle my funny bone. As I write this now, I can think of several current notables, but if I listed all these wonderful people in this category, you would fall asleep in the opening pages of this small book.

This idiot observes that when the world starts stomping on her head and the doctor cannot cure her she watches cartoons and comedies in order to make the perceived Big Old Grump Trouble slink away in frustrated anger until she is no longer sad. Therefore, please forgive me if I bore you with old news as this idiot is often asleep with The Sandman when her favorite people are on the air and remain way too busy during the day to catch up on tapes of her favorite personalities to know who said what, when, or where.

Now that I have apologized, here is one little thought: When a person curses or rails against God, this does not mean they are not loved children of God. It simply means they are in a struggle with God accepting them and their obvious stupidity. This idiot says, "Stop struggling. You are accepted by Him more quickly and readily than you are accepted by human beings. So, relax because He is always on your side."

Another well-known maxim is "You can't take it with you." This idiot probably repeats what other idiots have already expressed, "Why not? I appeared on this earth naked and I face God naked. So, I am going to take my nakedness with me and nothing you say or do will stop me."

"Actions speak louder than words." This idiot says, "Whoa. Wait a minute. Great nations were created with words. All of man's frailties and strengths are recorded in words. Without history's words, we could be doomed to repeat the same spectacular mistakes of war, genocide, pestilence, and famine. Finally, without God's redeeming and loving words, we would have a poorer world filled with no spirit and hope."

"Today's science fiction may turn into tomorrow's science facts, and those facts we know today may tomorrow be proved false." This idiot says, "How true. This world is in a constant state of change. Knowledge and ideas of even our most noted and respected minds has been proved today to be flawed in its logic. However, one constant for all those born with belief never sways and that is the concept of a Supreme Being who tries to create order to the ever-expanding universe out of the wild chaos into which the earth and humanity was born."

If you do not like what I say, how I speak, or what I wear, my retort comes from my own sister. At the wise old age of four and as I personally screamed during a tantrum one day, she said to a visitor with a solemn face, "Don't pay any attention to her. She's just jealous."

This concludes my idiotic notes of today, but wait until tomorrow because I am sure more stupid ideas will definitely be on the way.


WISHFUL THINKING

Joan came from modest circumstances. Her childhood years were so modest and insignificant that all other people who knew her were aware she was very poor.

However, the poor, shabby appearance of her clothes and her house were but just a little inconvenience in her own eyes. You see Joan developed a rich, intense fantasy with wild dreams her life would be better. In fact, she determined her life would unfold into a satisfactory conclusion of rich, adoring husband, huge mansion with servants, and adoring, extremely successful children who doted and admired her every witty word.

In youth, Joan had no idea as to how to achieve this dream. Because of this problem, she read stories. The library was her favorite place to visit and she hoped books with recorded, written dreams of others would show her the way. In some books, she became the individual about whom she read. She sympathized and cried with Cinderella and rejoiced and wept when the prince arrived. In other works, she became exposed to evil genies, wicked witches, and horrible hags who experienced complete defeat by others whose power was displayed with wishes, charms, and clever decisions. As she grew older, she read about great, historical figures who triumphed and overcame greater obstacles than her own.

From these books, she concluded if you wished hard enough the high, solid stones and big, bulging boulders that stood in your way would become so light and small a gentle puff of puckered lips would blow them away.

"All I have to do is wish," Joan said to her mirror while she admired her freckled, pixie face. As she wondered if she possessed the magical, mystical powers of a woodland fairy, her mind remarked, "A good wish wished in the right way will open all doors regardless of who I am now. My dreams will become reality. My hopes will be fact. My desire alone will provide me with exhilarating, joyful happiness, satisfaction, honors, and fame."

Years passed. Joan finished school and started to work. Although she appeared adult, she had never stopped wishing about a better life, a better happiness, and a better world.

In her first job, she was expected to do any errand that was necessary. If the coffee was gone, she made it. If stamps were needed, she got them. If the phone rang, she answered it. If envelopes needed an address, she wrote it down. Her tiny, insignificant title was that of a clerk, but others more knowledgeable called her a "go-for" as everyone else said to her, "Joan, go for this, or Joan go for that."

She did her best to maintain a cheerful disposition, and inwardly wished for more. More pay. More responsibility. More happiness. More recognition. More happiness.

On one particular day, Ray approached her. Joan smiled brightly at him, but Ray, who was a serious, somber man, did not notice. "Do we have fresh coffee?" he asked.

Joan remarked with a radiant face, "I just made a new pot. It's not only good, but it's deliciously hot." She hoped her remark would make him break into a smile, but it did not.

As Ray poured his drink into a mug, Joan said, "I wish the rain would go away." Ray did not respond. He just simply left.

Joan secretly admired Ray. He did not reveal much about himself, but through the gossip of others, she learned he lived the dream she wished . He had a nice home, a pleasant wife, and two intelligent, happy children. She only wished in his presence because she held a secret hope he would reveal the magical formula he used to achieve his remarkable, fortunate, and decent life.

The next day Ray came up to Joan and said, "Do you have a new box of staples?"

Joan beamed once again and handed him a box feeling like a magical fairy who granted his slightest wish. As Ray turned away, she said, "I wish I could eat out tonight," but Ray did not act as if he heard.

The following day, Joan handed Ray a brief memo she had written at his request. "Here is your memo," she remarked. "I wish the world was a happier place."

Ray did not respond to her comment. She started to leave but stopped when Ray spoke out loud. He said, "Joan, if you are not careful, you will wake up and discover you have wished your life away."

She started to reply that wishes were good, and if wished with a good, honest heart were almost always granted, but somber Ray had turned his back.

At first, she was angry with Ray. Her expressed wishes were only simple desires and wants. She had not said, "I wish to be instantly rich." She had not waved a wand in the air or rattled off a rhyming, mystical verse. She merely wished for something better and greater to happen to herself and others. These were but harmless remarks about unfulfilled dreams.

Then, she realized Ray was right. A wish was simply an expression of a yearning, and no one, except fictional characters, possessed the qualities necessary to immediately satisfy a need. Instead, it took solid, diligent work like Ray displayed with his example to make a desire appear into firm reality.

Joan stopped wasting her life by only wishing that day. If she yearned or desired in the future, she realized only committed work and effort would provide her with the answer and the means in which to attain all those cherished goals in her mind. Wishful thinking was a child's fantasy she enjoyed in youth, but now as mature adult, too many wishes wasted too much precious time, and a fulfilling life was achieved by realizing fantasies became certain, solid fact one small determined step at a time.


MOTHER NATURE HATES A VOID

Peter's eyes popped open. Like a camera lens uncovered, he immediately noted his surroundings were dark, silent, and chilly. It only served to remind him further of the dream he had just experienced while asleep.

In that dream, he felt as if he stood in a void. In this dark, cold emptiness, he possessed no emotion, no thought, no body, and no awareness. Now awake, he gathered his bones and muscles and quickly rose from bed. He had already looked at the clock and noted it was only four in the morning. For a brief nanosecond, he tried to convince himself to go back to sleep, but his mind and body were tense, taut, and alert.

The void of his sleep seemed now to surround him in a space of deep silence while awake. Before he prepared for work, he viewed these extra hours as opportunity to wonder, ponder, and wonder some more. Some significant message from that sleep needed time in the present, dark silence to be assimilated, sorted, and completed.

As he prepared coffee, he mused in the beginning the universe existed in nothingness. All surroundings were filled with a silence, a darkness, no awareness, no thought – a large, black, cold void.

In that void, light appeared, suns and planets formed, and the earth formed. Then, the creatures appeared in vast variety and multitudes including the puny human being like himself. It was indeed a mysterious miracle created by a significant intelligence that man worshipped in loud song, long prose, and humble praise in wonderment and happiness he developed consciousness and solid form in that void.

Other's more thoughtful had oft quoted that nature possessed the qualities of a benevolent mother who detested the wastefulness of a void. Because of this, it prepared circumstances by intentional and happy accident that the waste would serve some purpose.


(Continues...)

Excerpted from OBSERVATIONS OF AN IDIOT by Cinda Anderson. Copyright © 2005 Cinda Anderson. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Educated in Great Britain, Ms. Anderson resides in the United States. "Observations of an Idiot" is her fourth book release. Previous works include "Voices of the Great Depression", "Fore the Deer Children" and "Dragon Lady."

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