BEERS AND GOLF BALLS

“When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, When 24 hours in a day is not enough; remember the mayonnaise jar and three beers.”

‘What are you talking about?’ I frowned

‘Life.’

‘Who’s life?’

‘Yours… and mine for that matter.’

‘What has life got to do with mayonnaise jars and golf balls? I don’t even play golf.’

HP smiled and unfolded his tall gangly frame out of the deep lounge chair,

‘Come with me to the kitchen.’

I got up and followed reluctantly, knowing I was about to get another one of those life lessons he was so fond of giving.  HP bent down and opened the bottom draw in the unit next to the stove; it was where he kept all his odds and ends. I have seen many a strange thing miraculously appear from the dark and dingy corners of that draw. It has the reputation of being ‘possessed’ in some circles.

Looking back over his shoulder, he began the story, he placed the empty jar and golf balls and small white potting pebbles on the kitchen counter. He then opened the broom cupboard, took out a packet of sand, and placed it with the rest of the things on the counter. He then walked to the fridge and took out three beers, opened them, and placed them with the rest of his things. I breathed a sigh of relief; at least we would not be going thirsty through all this.

HP stood and surveyed the items before him like Capt. Gary Esper would have looked at the prospecting charts of his estimated three billion dollar treasure find off the coat of Boston.

HP motioned with his chin that I pick up the empty jar. Looking at him from under my eyebrows, I hesitated.

‘Go on, humour me.’

‘OK’

I picked up the jar and instinctively opened it and placed it back on the counter in front of me. HP then took the golf balls and placed them into the empty jar, until there was room for no more.

‘Tell me, is the jar full?’

Being cautious and knowing him as I did, I answered carefully,

‘Yes, full of golf balls.’

He smiled and repeated slowly emphasising each word, ‘Is the Jar full?

‘Ok, yes it is.’

He then took the small white potting pebbles and placed them in the jar shaking it gently, they filtered down between the golf balls until they too reached the top of the jar.

Again, he asked, ‘Is the jar full?’

‘Yes’

HP now picked up the packet of sand and began to pour the sand into the jar. After gently shaking it again the jar was now full to the top for the third time.

‘Yeah Yeah’ I said before he could ask, ‘it is full, again, so what’s your point?’

He then took one of the beers and poured that into the jar as well the golden liquid flowed down between the balls, pebbles and sand changing the colour of each item it encountered, on its way to the bottom of the jar.

I looked at him and raised my shoulders a little disappointed with the waste of a good beer.

HP responded, ‘The golf balls are the big important things in your life, like God, family, children, health, friends and favourite passions. Things that if everything else were lost or gone, and only they remained, your life would still be full. ‘

Pointing at the pebbles, ‘these are things that matter like you job house and car, the sand is everything else, or as it has been put a million times the small stuff.’

‘Ok, I get that …’

He raised his hand, gesturing that I be quiet.

He continued,’ Tell me, if you had put the sand in first would there have been place or room for the balls and pebbles?’

I looked at the jar, shook my head, and waited.

‘The same goes for life, fill it with the small stuff and you will have no energy and room for the things that are important to you and yours. So pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Learn to really know your God, spend quality time with your children. Live a healthy life, pay attention to your partner, there will always be time to clean the house, wipe the kitchen counters or fix the dripping tap.

I nodded understanding, and took one of the beers in my hand,

 ‘And the beer, what of it?’

He smiled, lifted the other beer and turned to leave the kitchen, ‘Glad you asked, It just my way of saying that no matter how full your life is one can always make room for a couple of beers with a friend, it adds colour to your life, Let’s go watch the game…’

Thinking back now the story was not a new one but it was relevant for where I was in my life at the time. .

'Take care of the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.'

MISTER C.A.T. ERPILLAR

HP smiled and looked at me with a look only he could muster, the ‘and you want to tell me, what?’

‘Just listen,’ I said with a grin I couldn’t hide

"To what?"

"My story. You are always telling me stories"..

"Ok ..if you must…"

I looked at my coffee, cleared my throat and began…

…the sun burst over the edge of the leaf, sending a stream warm rays that touched Mr C.A.T. Erpillar’s face.

He stretched and yawned. He wriggled his first leg and made sure that he didn’t miss one all the way to the back.

He crawled to the top of the leaf his tree, which stood in the middle of all the other trees. He gazed over the entire forest. He lived on a branch of the largest oak tree in the forest. He turned half his body around and looked back down the branch; Mr. C.A.T. Erpillar loved this time of the day.

He thought of all the fresh new and juicy leaves that had sprung up overnight. Smiling he began to walk down the branch to the big trunk, he looked forward to the short trip as he would be able to see and greet his neighbours.

As he moved slowly along the branch, he saw Mr C.A. Meleon. Who was just waking up, “Good morning Mr C.A. Meleon, what a beautiful day it is” .He said in his most cheery voice.

Mr C.A. Meleon just grunted and followed his progress down the branch with one beady eye. When he thought Mr C.A.T. Erpillar could not hear him he would mutter, in a gruff voice, “Silly Worm, what’s so beautiful about it, what could he possibly know, he’s just an UUUUUGLY worm!”

Mr C.A.T. Erpillar just smiled and thought to himself, “He must have had a bad night last night.”

As Mr C.A.T. Erpillar moved further down the branch, he saw Miss S P. Ider hanging from her tread. He greeted her in the same cheery voice “Good morning Miss S P. Ider, beautiful day isn’t it?

She scuttled back up her thread and just stared at him. When she thought he could not hear her she looked at Mr C. A. Meleon and shook her head. “Silly Worm, doesn’t he know how much work has to be done today, what does he know he’s just an UUUUGLY worm!”

Mr C.A.T. Erpillar just smiled and thought to himself, “She has so much to do in a day, what with fixing her web all the time.”

When Mr. C.A.T. Erpillar reached the top of the tree, where the leaves were the softest, he began to eat and think about all the things his neighbours had said to him. He wondered mostly about what they meant when they said,” He was and UUUUGLY worm”. He had never seen himself so there was no way he could know.

As the sun began to set on the edge of the forest, Mr C.A.T. Erpillar began his journey home,

When he saw Miss S P. Ider, “Good Evening Miss S P. Ider I do hope you have pleasant rest tonight after all the hard work you have done today.”

She sprang to the centre of her web and snapped at him,” are you trying to be rude, what would you know all you do is eat and sleep; besides you are just an UUUUGLY worm!”

Mr C.A.T. Erpillar just smiled, he felt uncomfortable when creatures said good things about him and continued along the branch to his leaf.

As he rounded the corner he saw Mr C.A. Meleon gently rocking backwards and forwards on his twig, his mouth was half-open and both his eyes were pointing forwards. Mr C.A.T. Erpillar greeted him in a loud cheery voice, “Good evening Mr C.A. Meleon, I hope your day was a success,” Just as he spoke the bug at the end of the leaf flew away. Mr C.A. Meleon glared at Mr C.A.T. Erpillar with one eye. “That was my supper you frightened away you silly Worm, it is no wonder you are such and UUUUUGLY worm?”

Feeling awkward again, Mr C.A.T. Erpillar just smiled, thanked him and went on his way. That night while they all slept a wild thunderstorm swept through the forest. The rain lashed at the trees and the huge raindrops smashed against the leaves, the wind pushed the branches this way and that all night.

Mr C.A.T. Erpillar slept peacefully through it all, his leaf rode the wind and because he was under it, no rain touched him,

The next morning when the sun broke through the clouds and touched his face as normal he stretched, yawned and wriggled all his feet to the one at time all the way the back. He began to make his way to the top of the tree as he did every morning. As he made his way to the trunk of the tree, he notices that all the creatures were busy and seemed to be up long before him. He walked along the branch and as usual met Mr C.A. Meleon first.

He greeted him with a cheery “Good morning Mr C.A. Meleon lovely day isn’t it? But Mr C.A. Meleon just grunted, “UUUUUUGLY Worm!” and looked away, Miss S P. Ider didn’t even give him a chance to say hullo” What so lovely about it, just look what the storm did to my beautiful web. It will take forever to sort it out, you silly UUUUGLY Worm!”

All the other creatures snickered and mumbled, “What does he know He’s just an UUUGLY worm”

Mr C.A.T. Erpillar just smiled bowed his head and made his way to the top of the tree, When he got there he did not much feel like eating, he was too preoccupied with what all his friends in the tree had said about him. As he moved to the tip of the new soft juicy leaf, he noticed there was a pool of water trapped at the base of the leaf. He walked over to it and peered in. What stared back at him suddenly made his tiny little heart very sad? Because there in the water was his face and yes, it was what he friends had said about him. He was just an UUUUUUUUGLY worm.

A tear ran down his cheek and fell into the pool of water making the image even uglier. He quietly moved off, walking very slowly to the leaf closest to the end of the branch. He understood now, and just knew he could not go back to his old house, he just could not face all those creatures he thought were his friends. He wanted to hide away from them forever.

He crawled under the leaf, fastened himself to the base of the twig, and began to wrap himself in his silk. He felt safe there and this way he could sleep and not have to go back and face the other creatures. The silk got thicker as he wrapped himself tightly in it, until he could not see a thing. He thought,” if I can’t see them they can’t see me”.

After a while, he felt warm and safe. He fell asleep thinking of how much he loved the creatures in his tree and his tiny little heart gently broke.

After a long pause HP blurted out

‘Is that the end?!’ he glared at me

“That’s a terrible ending, it’s sad and stories must motive and build you up”

“Well not actually”, I continued, knowing I had him hooked…

When Mr C.A.T. Erpillar woke up, he felt strangely different. He still could not see a thing, and so he began to nibble through the silk that he had wrapped around himself. After a short while he could see the sun, it felt so good on his face. Struggling a little, he pushed his face through the hole. He had almost forgotten the other creatures in the tree. He now wanted to get out of his hiding place and go see his friends. He did not mind that they thought he was ugly. If they could just get to know each other a little better then they could see past his looks and get know him as a worm.

He wriggled and struggled and wriggled and struggled, until half of his body was out of the wrapping. He took a deep breath and rested a while. Then wriggled and struggled some more. He thought to himself. “Next time you wrap your self Mr C.A.T. Erpillar, don’t do it so tightly” He smiled and wriggled some more.

After a long while, his feet were free and he grabbed onto the underside of the leaf. He then gently pulled the rest of himself out of the wrapping. As the sun blazed down on his back, he felt the strangest thing. He looked over his shoulder and to his total surprise; there on his back were the most magnificent wings he had ever seen in his life. As soon as he began to flap, he lifted off the leaf. He quickly stopped and came down to rest again. He took a deep breath. Deep within himself, he felt a word begin to form, at first he didn’t recognise it but the more he flapped his wings the louder the word got. Finally, he found himself shouting aloud…

”But-i-c’nfly!”

He let go of the leaf and soared into the air. He flew this way and that, and he tumbled and turned testing his new equipment. Just as he flipped onto his back, he caught sight of Miss S P. Ider and Mr C.A. Meleon standing on the branch looking up at him. He chuckled; they had the silliest look on their faces. He waved and called out to them,

“Hi there neighbours, an absolutely wondrous day, isn’t it. “

They both looked at each other, and pointed at him and said.

” But-he-c’nfly”

As he flew off over the tops of the trees, they were sure they could hear him shout.

“To think, a while ago I was just an UUUUUGLY worm!””

…------…

HP looked at me and shrugged his shoulders,

“So what’s the morel of the story, what must I learn?”

‘Well I thought it was quite obvious, What a Cat Erpillar calls the end,

The Creator knows is a butterfly!”

HP’s CURVED BALL THEORY

One quiet Sunday afternoon the front door bell rang, (for the grammar fiends, yes I  do have a bell connected to the back door as well) I answered the door and looked into one of those grins I had come to dread yet had become so accustomed to. It spelled trouble with a capital ‘S’.

Experimental life lessons, coined by HP as ELL’s days, have you ever lived through one of those?

Not?

Wow!

If you haven’t, then you haven’t even begun to live. They could end up in one of two ways; the first, with red flashing lights, the wailing of Ambulance sirens. Folk in blue gray theater overalls rubbing those electrical paddle heart jump machine things together with malicious intent, or, second a quiet evening with a good friend talking over drinks. The name had a possible dual meaning, one, if you were from some part of the UK, one would refer to the fiery place as ‘ell. You know they have a tendency to drop the H when talking of HELL or it could be the total opposite and mean EL as in the name given, on occasion, to the creator.

My heart sank as I looked at HP and wondered which ending this day would bring.

He started to babble before I could invite him in,

‘You got you help me!’

‘With what?’

‘My experiment.’

‘What experiment?’

‘umm…’ he hesitated for a while

‘I suppose one could call it the CBT.’

‘CBT?’

‘Yes, curved ball theory!’

HP always had this look of slight disbelief on his face when he had to explain himself to me. He seemed to think we were singing form the same song sheet with everything in life.

I hesitated for a fraction too long, HP rolled his eyes and proceeded to elaborate on his CB Theory, most of which was way beyond me. You need to understand, I had to buy the ‘String Theory for Dummies’ book to even understand what the term meant let alone understand the theory. HP eventually realised that I was definitely not on the same planet as he was let alone the same song sheet. After he eventually calmed down, I managed to first get him to have a cup of coffee and out line the experiment for me before we set of the park to put it into practice. What it boiled down to was standing at one end of the park and having round objects thrown at me.

Now I need to explain something to you first, I regard myself as a person with …well… an average intelligence. (Ok some folk would argue different but we won’t go there now. ) When I heard the explanation of the infamous experiment, I was a little concerned to say the least. I likened it to repeatedly walking into a wall with ones eyes open and smiling while you do it and not only that one smiles while saying thank you to the wall for the experience.

This is where the argument about my average intelligence comes in. I know for a fact that if I was an intellectual I would find some excuse for the relevance of the extreme activity and how it would benefit society in the long term. Added to which how my sacrifice in all this could be justified as some morally acceptable collateral damage. On the other hand an individual that is challenged in any way would look at it as a fun activity, make sure there was a BBQ afterwards and as much alcohol available for consumption to numb the pain.

Right there is the rub, enter average intelligence, I am not challenged enough to want a BBQ and see it as fun and I am not overly concerned how it would benefit society. I am however really concerned how it would effect me and my immediate plans to stay relatively healthy.

Yes, you guessed it, not an hour later and we were in the park, me on one end and him on another. Him with ten or so coconut looking objects beside him and me with a knot in my stomach and wondering in if my insurance had hospital cover. The task assigned to me sounded simple enough; I had to try to dodge the incoming coconuts thrown at me. If I managed to dodge them, I had to inspect the offending missile and its contents.

Ok, so according to HP’s CB Theory the steps to avoid this in life were as follows;

One, duck or dodge,

Two, wait for a while,

Three, watch it hit the ground,

Four, wait again until it rolled to a stop,

Five, after closer inspection I must notice the coconut is filled with a coconut milk cocktail mix.

Six, after consumption you realise it tastes good, you feel good and whatever bothered you about life didn’t make much difference anyway.

HP’s experiment proved two things, his six step CB Theory works and I am still of average intelligence, I was still in the middle of BBQs, fun and alcohol, and doing something for the good on mankind…

DEALING WITH EXCESS PAPER WORK

Getting a call from HP at six am is not strange by our standards, he phoned me often at that time of the morning. Today was a Wednesday, so to hear his voice on the other end of the line was no major deal.

When I read the caller ID on my cell phone a number of thoughts raced through my mind. They ranged from, he couldn’t make our ritual morning coffee meeting, to, he had an idea that just couldn’t wait until later. Now mostly I am rather good at not thinking negative thoughts. Jeez, HP would do me a mischief if he knew I did have the odd negative idea or thought flash across my mind, like the time my car was about to be rear ended by a taxi. The two seconds before the collision the poor taxi drivers’ family history came under very close scrutiny as no adjectives relating to their afflicted crotches were left unsaid. For HP even those situations have a bright and positive angle, totally annoying I know, but mostly a good thing. I was almost sure nothing bad had happened to him; no seriously, you still have to get to know HP.

However, this morning his call did make me frown, his requests were straightforward and too the point, and more then a little formal. I didn’t even have time to question him and the phone went dead. I was to meet him at noon at his house, oh, and I was to bring a few items that just didn’t make any sense at all. Where was I going to get strong, bittersweet seventy percent Cocoa, Belgian chocolate before one this afternoon? I thought to myself if this was another of his hair-brained ideas… a little voice in my head screamed ‘you are being negative, just go with it, they maybe daft ideas but they were mostly worth it.’

I arrived at his place at about twelve forty five, clutching my very rare and expensive purchase. I knocked on the door, without effect, after waiting a few minutes I walked around to the back of the house. There, right at the bottom of the garden was my friend and coach, HP. As soon as he saw me he smiled and waved with a long pointy stick. Shaking my head, I just stood there looking at him draped over one of his canvas camping chairs. He vigorously beckoned to me, indicating he would like me to join him in the vacant chair alongside him.  As I got closer I noticed to the right of my chair was his blue Afrox gas cooker with an empty pot on it, and in front of him was a ring of neatly packed bricks with another of the long dangerous looking pointy sticks.

Placing the paper packet, with the very expensive chocolate in it, on the ground next to my chair I turned and sat down. Before the canvas had taken the shape of my rear end, HP had his nose deep in the packet. Still with his nose in the brown paper packet, he glanced at me from over the serrated packet edge. The look I saw there told me immediately that I had been stitched, they screamed, ‘…you mean you actually went to all that trouble, I would have been happy with a few bars form the local café...’

Unfolding himself from the camping chair he stood up and opened the packet of dry twigs, he hunched down next to the ring of bricks, his knees, and other extremities getting in the way of each other. With the deftness and flair of a master swordsman he pointed the sharpened stick in my direction as if it were a steel épée and he had received lifelong tuition under the grand master  Girard Thibault d'Anvers himself. He proceeded to tell me how important it was for a man to know how to make a fire. That beside standing on one leg and holding the required equipment in one hand and pissing off a cliff or possessing the prowess of reaching grand heights up a dry wall with aforementioned equipment; the art of fire making was primal and men had a deep seated urge to simply burn things for no good reason at all. Of course he was correct on both accounts again, I had witnessed many grown man sit at a camp fire, stare blankly into a fire, and burn little sticks just to see what shape the ash would form, I had also witnessed them peeing off a cliff. Now this was fine but I was not getting any new life lesson here, I knew all this very well, however I had learned from experience that it was wiser in these situations to keep quiet and watch.

In the center of the ring of bricks, the kindling sticks formed a neat little teepee around scrunched up pieces of paper. The bright orange flame devoured the paper and began to burn the kindling he quickly stacked the larger wood to keep the flames alive. Before long, we had a grand little fire going. Taking a burning stick from the flame, he lit the gas bottle and to my horror, he tossed the chocolates into the pot. Before I could stand up, they had begun to melt. With the most ridiculous grin on his face, he laid his hand on my arm and pushed me back in the chair. From a box next to his chair, he whipped out a huge, and I mean huge packet of marshmallows. They were the little pink and white ones, the ones that bring back memories of cold nights and hot coco.

HP skewered three marshmallows on the end of the long pointy stick and handed it to me, doing the same for his stick he settled back into his chair. He then opened the box next to him and began to throw the sheets of paper on the fire. As the flame climbed he roasted his marshmallows, dunked them in the chocolate, and in one fluid motion all three disappeared into this mouth. He huffed and puffed and chewed gingerly all the time keeping his mouth in a great big ‘O’ and skewered another three, all the time tossing sheets of paper on the fire. It was only after my third three marshmallows that I recognised what paper he was using for us to roast our chocolate marshmallows…

…it was a manuscript of a novel I had been stuck on for years, and had recently asked him to look over…

‘What you doing?’ I yelled struggling to get out my chair

A puzzled look owned his face,

‘Getting rid of your excess paper work. Why?’

What lesson did I learn that day, beside a way cool method of getting rid of unwanted paper work, and eating very expensive marshmallows. It is sometimes better to scrap something and start again then to let the past hold you back from moving into something new.

IT’S A TRAP

HP and I were to meet for our traditional early morning cup of coffee. Who was HP? Well… you could say he is my unofficial, official life coach…well he likes to think so anyway. We get together most mornings, start the day with a strong black coffee at our local coffee shop, and mostly just talk about life and how we could singlehandedly achieve world peace. Most of these meeting are truly memorable and this morning was no exception.

I had not prepared myself for what I was about to experience, not that one could prepare oneself for what unfolded before me. HP, filled the coffee shop door, not that he filled it physically as he was a tall man definitely not a well very well built. The box caught my attention first. Yes a cardboard box, not just any cardboard box, a huge cardboard box, the size of which could house a fair sized bus. What ever else HP did this morning, he had certainly achieved his primary objective, I was smiling and I was curious. I not only wanted to find out what was in the box, I also wanted to know what the heck he was doing bringing it to a coffee shop. If his second objective was to make me laugh for nefarious medical reasons that only he knew about; the path and time taken from the entrance of the coffee shop to my table took on pandemic proportions. So, besides the excellent advice I knew I was going to get over a long piping hot cup of strong black Brazilian, I had already received my first smile ‘shot’ for the day.

The image of a wet noodle-looking character swaying rhythmically between the tables holding an oversized cardboard box above is head will keep my therapist in Gucci belts for the rest of his life. Let us be upfront and brutal about this; HP would most definitely not go head to head with Husain Bolt in the athletic build or prowess department. At best, one could describe him as skinny with benefits, especially if one judged things by the size of his nose. The Sicilian version of Swan Lake would be one way to describe it, or maybe more aptly, the dance of the seven veils, and the box and the tables, could be another. Because what unfolded in front of me could only be described as a ballet for al dente macaroni. I can safely say it would have brought tears to the eyes of our Russian friends Tchaikovsky and Vladimir Begichev. The ‘pièce de résistance’ of course, was the look on his face, truly a sight to behold. His eyes gleamed with a holy light reserved only for Tibetan monks with a chubby Buddha in their pocket. The man’s smile took on biblical proportions only Moses could describe as he looked over the parting Red sea.

If the shop had a dirt floor one could say he arrived at our table in a cloud of dust, suffice to say the event took place with a … well…let us just say an air of boxed excitement. Still holding the box high above his head, the enthusiastic smile now fading a little, he scanned the area around the table for a place to place his precious cargo. Turning around slowly in a full circle, realisation crept across his face as he eventually noticed eyes shining with tears of laughter were watching him. The religious gleam in his eyes flickered dangerously close to reverting to steely atheism, and the Moses smile now completely vanished. A self-conscious sheepish grin grew at the same rate as the accompanying red glow spread up his neck and into his cheeks from under his collar. 

Still holding the box in the air, he turned slowly to acknowledge the kind voice of the waitress behind him. While apologising repeatedly, he self-consciously fumbled the box nearly taking the head off the woman, sitting at the next table. The waitress deftly ducked a left turn and sidestepped a right cross, the box narrowly missing her face. Swaying from the waist, she moved under the box and moved in close, grabbing the box, she assertively wrestled it from his grip. Smiling gently she stepped back turned and walked back to the till with the box. All the while assuring him it would be safe there until he decided to leave the shop. HP hesitantly sat down constantly glancing at what he obviously previewed to be a low down box thief of note. We both glanced around the shop at the other patrons; there was not a single dry eye in the shop.

Our coffee arrived and by the time, he had taken the first sip of his coffee the noise and laughter had subsided and things were back to normal again. After ten minutes or so, I could not contain myself any longer and asked him what the box was in aid of. He leaned in close, looked around as if he was about to reveal the location of the cup of Holy Grail and said in a hushed tone.

‘Do you remember when we were as kids, how alive we used to feel when we slid down a grassy hill in a box?’

‘Yes’

‘Well, that’s what it’s for.’

‘What is?

‘The Box, are you coming with me?’ he added

‘Where?’

‘To find a hill!’

‘What for?’

‘To Slide down.’

‘What on earth would I want to do that for?’ The lost look on my face set him off.

‘Jeez are you stupid or what, must I always spell every thing out for you?’ He said raising his hands in desperation,

‘Because it’s a trap!’

‘What is?’

‘Becoming an adult’, an evil glint quickly replaced the remaining Holy Grail gleam in his eyes as he hissed between his teeth, furtively glancing over his shoulder at his perceived box thief.

‘You must never grow up, it will kill you’