How far that little candle throws his beams!

So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

-Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice-

        Often I agree, often I may not. Often the world does exceed the term 'naughty', expressed by the great bard. Often there are times in our lives when only a single question mark can do the job. I feel this is one of those inexplicable periods.
        Yesterday's likeness of our candle's little beam of light shown brightly for the two of us. It wasn’t a miracle canceling out a naughty happening; far less you’re sure to agree than any merchant might provide.
The 2020 World Series came alive. Our Los Angeles Dodgers provided a gleaming forbearance as a temporary salve, the ailment we—friends and foe, together, total populous—suffer from a willing commitment to destroy all that is good in life.
        During three-plus hours of delight, all candles burned brightly. Our Merchants of Los Angeles provided new energy allowing cheers to ring out. And within this brief respite, all who love the “Blue” were thankful for today, and high-fived when the final out took place. We wondered if tomorrow would bring more of the same: a time upon us all to practice high-fives, and bright and shiny candles caused by the reflection created by a full house, all cheering together, as our Dodgers take it all, as if the merchants were paid for money loaned, when masks were gone, and smiles were happily displayed.

GO DODGERS!

BYE-BYE, COVID-19!

This news update (on Thursday, 10/22/2020), just in:
        In another part of this country of ours, namely the innards’ of a place known as Florida, a team named the Tampa Bay Rays, managed to even the series with the Los Angeles Dodgers at one game apiece. So while some folks have an overabundance of population morphing good fortune, we, the Dodgers fans of the world, will remain with chins up high; tomorrow is a new day for us. Today is Thursday, and no games are scheduled. We’re going to kick back and watch Biden and Trump elucidate our voting world.

Dodgers & Rays tomorrow, Friday! Go Blue!!

We all have a great Sunday to relish.

hk

2020: Yesterday's Sports Fan

Where did it go

Along with me

Am I virtual

No, that can’t be

Used to love to dance

I’d hold her

She’d love me

How to kiss goodnight

We’re both wearing a mask

Doesn’t matter at all

Beneath my mask

I don’t have teeth

The nature of despair for positive thinkers

Such as ourselves

Being compounded

Each day

Unwillingness to fight back

Seemingly has become a daily habit

Rituals against

Those human traits

Those by nature crying

Out for our surrender

        Too many years ago for me to recall, in the first and most decisive ascriptive to pass before my eyes, this lasting statement remains with me to this day: “Suffering is understood best by those who have suffered.” Then, of course, when repeated you chance a reply, usually from the back of the room, “Oh yea, how the hell do you know?” Obviously, I can’t say I know most things for sure—teaching and directing people as my chosen profession is subjective enough—me becoming a chaplain is not my intent.

        I’ve grabbed onto humor as my support during my life’s pursuits of education, and empathy towards those who would disallow simpatico for others to creep into their own personal lifestyle. I fervently avoid the humorless; days without humor shortens human life. I spend as much productive time laughing as possible without forcing those around me to become nutcases. Crying caused by pain will ultimately be forgotten—if a person is lucky enough, it may become a hearty laugh to remember.

        This past week I directed men and women who we are attempting to cast on a variety of acting assignments. My job assignment was to provide the necessary ingredients in order for them to present themselves in a way a sponsor would consider as the right choice to sell their product. Whether the actor delivering the lines is called on to be humorous, dramatic, or in a portrayal of a wild and crazy kind of a guy or gal, there must somehow, someway, come forth a modicum of discerned acceptability for what our actor is portending to truthfully be.

        Good or bad, my directing skills have been in the process of being honed during the course of my last fifty years of directorial practice (experience).
NOTE: (gratification) My mentors have been and remain the same—substantively the very best in all the world. (This last line delivered by me is delivered with one distinctive, and driving force: MY TRUTH!)


DECREE BY ME TO THEE!
When you come to us to read for a possible work assignment, be thankful for what we are allowed to seek out in this great environment of ours. Love and laughter, and splendiferous thought of what tomorrow will allow.

WORLD WAR TWO ABLAZE

"There's good news tonight!"

        During World War II, American forces sank a Japanese destroyer. Gabriel Heatter opened his nightly commentary accordingly, "Good evening, everyone—there is good news tonight." The phrase sparked a small flurry of letters and calls, almost all in his favor. Heatter was already well known for trying to find uplifting but absolutely true stories to feed his commentaries. (He was especially known for a fondness for stories about heroic dogs.) In April 1939, he gave the first national broadcast exposure to the burgeoning self-help group: Alcoholics Anonymous.
        Reflecting that reputation, the critic and sometime rival Alexander Woollcott composed the doggerel couplet: "Disaster has no cheerier greeter / than gleeful, gloating Gabriel Heatter."
And now, by the grace of God, it has become our good fortune to once again rise to the utmost heights of our calling. Let’s all find a way to laugh in preparation for tomorrow's real-life auditions.
        And now I raise my glass in a toast to all of you humorists out there. It’s just about single malt scotch time; well almost. Please remember: "There's good news tonight!" And there will be even better news tomorrow!

hk

Saying To Your Child...

        I’m reminded of an experience most of us as parents similarly can recall. When you’re awakened in the middle of the night by one of your kids, who's upset because they imagined a bad person being in the room with them. “Daddy, I’m scared there’s a bad man in the room, he’s hiding in the closet.” Naturally, as a Father, I was always ready, willing, and able to do the right thing. I was her hero coming to the rescue; after all, Dads are never afraid of anything. Quickly, I turned on the lights, looked around the room, and then followed her instructions by opening and going inside the closet in order to show my seven-year-old she was safe. In our case, that wasn’t the end of it. She insisted I remain in the room until she fell back to sleep. So, I tucked her in and snuggled up alongside figuring it would only be a few minutes, and I could go back to my bedroom for what was left of the night. I had no intention of spending the evening crunched in like a sardine while being a newfound companion to a stuffed monkey alongside me. But, during this instance, the next voice I heard was that of my wife standing, there in the bedroom, waking up the two of us for breakfast. It must have been a funny sight to behold. It’s one of those times when you wish there was a picture of the incident to remember it by.
        By now, during the course of the last fifty-some years—those of you out there who may have stumbled on to yours truly (Da Harv), while ensconced comfortable, or less than such, within our specific area of “La La” land—you may have noticed a thing or two written by me as I labored to travel forward against the grain of life often less than cordially presented by me. 

Note: I write long sentences because that’s the way my thoughts work, conversationally, and the pattern by which they (the thoughts) pop in and out of my head.
Many years ago, I was labeled as an abstractionist. Quite frankly, I really don’t understand the label—I’m inclined to believe most people don’t truthfully understand the meaning, as well. Those people are often heard complaining to a group or partner in a conversation, how they are being misunderstood because they’re not able to think in the abstract. Translation: It’s a way of downing those folks as being too stupid to understand their scope (kind of what so many politicians are guilty of).

I draw my subject matter from a great deal of the time from the past for two reasons:
1. The pain of the past often provides me a reason to laugh, and even celebrate about, as I reflect.
2. Reflections almost always provide me with refreshments. It’s what the truth does for me.

        So, with the daily happenings we all live with, finding a good honest way to smile may be as good as it gets. Thinking back to, and visualizing myself jammed into my little kid’s bed, the expression of great overblown seriousness on my wife’s face as we together awaited my response to our seven-year old’s question at the breakfast table: “Will you stay with me again tonight, Daddy? I feel safe when you do.”

THEY SLOWED ME TO A STOP

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 2020.
9:00 A.M.

    In this play, I was the star without lines and they were the players with all the lines and movement. They displayed the action while I was nothing more than a prop. They had placed tubes in each of my wrists, and a mask completely covering my nose and mouth in an airtight fashion. “Breathe deeply", she instructed, and before I could adhere to her gentle order, I became nothing more than an inactive stand-in. She then moved to center stage and uttered, “Do with him as you will. Summon the robot”! And so they did. My most private parts became theirs to play with.
    What I have learned about dreams is far outweighed by what I lack knowledge of. Many people are ready and willing to analyze a compadre's distillation of what they think they dreamt the night before. Others join in, a consensus of thought-provoking theories having to do with a wide variety of explanations of what a dream's content meant in relation to the reality to real-life circumstances. Some people are able to recall, with mind-boggling accuracy, a description of what took place during their dream. I’m usually (almost always) only able to recapture a few fleeting moments. And if any part of a people-type consensus having to do with when our dream is actually taking place happens to be accurate, then we can all assume we have our dream experience only a few minutes before awakening. We are also told this may or may not have occurred more than once during a sleep period.
    They said I began to smile as I was awakened from the denseness of where they had sent me. And as I did, the realization of being totally removed from being present was what these people had accomplished, unceremoniously. Almost always, my dreams are a reliving of my life’s abstractions taking place in and out of context with unattached folks moving in and out of my life, without ever having been introduced to one another. In this case, they told me I began to smile as they began to awaken me from my deep sleep brought on by the general anesthetic, having been administered earlier by the same lady who instructed me to “breathe deeply”.

My Thoughts Upon Returning

Abstract as usual

Smiling at will

With places, friends, things

All the same from the past

All kids again like me

Though slowed to a stop

They beckoned me

Gleaming horses and things from the sea

A gold ring

To be caught by a little finger

Not real gold, this misleading reward

Music an enchanting blend

Offsetting time to another time

Moving around and around

Our circle of endless joy

I ache for one more time

I ache for one more ride

Being in this circle

Never in fear

Never having to hide

So well kept, my steed

Brushed, and polished

Always ready to ride

We tired then

Our circle slowed, coming to an end

Music still gently played

Napping, we were resting before another ride

It was not to come on this day

I was home again

Fully awakened to reality

There was no circle to ride

No ring to win

The dream was gone

A new circle was to be found

If there was any chance to win

Let a new game begin