Warm Fuzzy World

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Blog note: During these COVID days, with shuttered wi-fi cafes, I am posting on Tuesday mornings.

Hello Reader,

Got warm fuzzies?

I first encountered the terms “warm fuzzies,” —not to mention “cold pricklies” and the “hip woman,” who had big hips— in an allegory, obviously from the ‘safe-to-be-creative’ late 1960’s. (Here’s the story)

The wee story was a warning against “zero sum” thinking, or “fixed pie” thinking, or “not enough human worth to go around for all the common people” thinking, a warning badly needed because such crazy thinking was so prevalent in certain less functional families, communities and work sites. I’m glad things have gotten better since the 1950’s.

(Note: Even today, some males don’t want to allow equal rights to females, out of some wimpy fear of getting less of the respect pie) 

In the real world, of course, while we can’t all have a special first place blue ribbon, we can all receive ordinary compliments, hugs and smiles. Why not? Why not be bountiful with giving warm fuzzies? When reading the allegory of warm fuzzies for the very first time I thought, “Wha-what? Wow! What a concept!” 

Since I grew up on an emotional ice burg, and then initially found employment in frozen toxic places, I was surprised by the hip woman’s message. But it sunk in, and since then I have tried to be bountiful with my appreciation for all God’s children, and lavish in my praise.

In fact, several store clerks have said I was their favorite customer. To me, being positive to clerks, besides the joy of giving warm fuzzies, offers a way of feeling like “I am paying my way on the human scene…” I don’t mean “pay,” rather, I mean I am crew not passenger, host not guest, giver not beggar, while feeling gracious in my bounty. It’s a lifestyle choice. 

Last month I was with millionaire blogger Derek Sivers. As he checked out of his luxury hotel it was natural to him to compliment a desk clerk on her spectacles. As did I. Then she said she liked mine too. A week later, during an e-mail, when I referenced this incident as being like in my Kind to Clerks essay, Derek had forgotten about his compliment. Because his appreciative lifestyle was so natural to him.

(By the way, Derek liked my Clerks essay, archived November 2019)

Parting thought: Of course I still have my bad hair—I mean, bad heart days when I am feeling witchy, or small, or ungiving, or waiting for someone else to smile first… I’m only human.

Sean Crawford

Chestermere,

made in March, 

released in May, 

2020

Sidebar: 

Speaking of “being kind,” I am proud that (link) Canada is kindly pushing for Taiwan to be allowed observer status with the World Health Organization. Especially since Taiwan, with only six—count ‘em, six— COVID-19 deaths, has something to teach the world… if allowed freedom to speak. (Now at seven)

If the United Nation’s WHO is reluctant to grant observer status, when doing so is surely a “no-brainer,” then it can only be because the WHO is under secret orders from communist officials in Beijing, lest Taiwan then desire “freedom from China.” Canada needs warm fuzzy allies to help push for justice for Taiwan, over in the Asian corner of the world, because the communist officials no longer believe in their doctrine of equality. Instead, it’s as if “‘All countries are equal,’ but China is more equal than others.”

If I would say that, “Yes, China morally deserves to rule Taiwan,” then I would have to face up to explaining why there have been not just days, not even weeks, but in fact months of demonstrations by so many idealistic young and old men and women on the streets of Hong Kong… I can face facts: China is not even morally fit to rule China, let alone a democracy like Canada or Taiwan. 

See my essay China Molests Canada archived May 2020.

Blog Administrator’s Note:

President Ronald Reagan asked for, “a kinder, gentler America.” 

Doctor Who said, “Always try to be nice, but never fail to be kind.” 

I said, “Inspired by Peter Capaldi’s Doctor Who… I could simply add “kind” to my blog site labels…” 

(Labels are on the right, that people can click on) 

So I did add “kind,” putting three posts under that label. 

Mind you, just as the label “humor” is for those few blog posts that advise, in part, on how to be funny, not simply for posts that have jokes, so too will the label“kind” be used for essays that advise, in part, on how to be kind.

As Reagan said, God bless America.

Contemptuous Coffee Table Books

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Last week’s post ended with a contemptuous: “You know what? The Chinese can keep their thought police. It’s time to recognize Taiwan.”

Now, speaking of contempt, in these quarantine lockdown times, here is a nurturing paragraph, but with righteous swear words, from the blog of best-selling writer John Scalzi: (Whatever, for April 26, 2020)

• All the above, incidentally, is why you have my official permission to tell all those people who are saying that you should develop a new hobby under quarantine and/or if you’re not doing six different things all very well, then you are wasting this precious gift of time, to fuck right off. Motherfuckers, I released a bestseller in quarantine and promoted the crap out of it and am negotiating some genuinely breathtaking business deals and I’m still mostly feeling like sleeping until 3 fucking pm in the afternoon and then going back under the covers an hour and fifteen minutes later. If you’re getting out of bed these days, you’re ahead of the game.

One of our local National Hockey League coaches would concur. “I’m pretty good,” Matt Brown replies. “And I keep telling people, ‘Pretty good is the new great’” 

Wes Gilbertson, in a sports article for page C1 of the Calgary Herald, May 9, writes ‘Sadness. Frustration. Boredom. Fatigue.’ 

He then quotes coach Matt Brown: 

“I think probably the most universal theme is that everyone, almost every day, goes through some sort of low-grade grief, and the reason is just that the emotion of sadness is always in response to loss…. 

If you look at our Flames players, for instance, the two things that they love most are playing hockey and being together. Both those things are taken away. Every day that you wake up, it’s another day that you’ve lost those things, so it’s a bit of a Groundhog Day of grief right now.

“As a result, what sadness does is it causes a drop-off in energy…. (By design) 

So we can process loss, so we can wrap our head around it…. So what people find unnerving is that you get high-functioning, very motivated people that suddenly have no energy. They know what they want to be doing…”

So, dear reader, let’s not have self-contempt. Note: The article covers the whole front page of the sports section, having much practical advice for coping with COVID-19.

Hello Reader,

Got pretty books?

Of course I’m proud to be a member of the human race—not like being a Martian—but still, sometimes I have contempt.

Oh, how I wish humankind could learn two simple things, just two: 

First is: ‘Don’t invade other countries,’ 

Second is: ‘Don’t introduce invasive species.’

So while the pretty peacenik with a guitar sings “Where have the native flowers gone?” hoping her fellow civilians will get a clue, I know the truth: 

All we learn from history is that we don’t learn from history.

… Here’s a poem from my Tracing the Martians of H.G. Wells poetry manuscript:

Coffee Table Books

Before I was born

there were books made for boys,

boys who wondered, “What’s it like on the inside?”

I saw how in a bomber fuselage

rivets and structural lines stretched along through rings,

with the turret gunner’s seat dangling like a swing.

The bombardier had a mattress to lie belly down on

looking through rings of plexiglas.

In a big cramped submarine

bunks lined the torpedo room,

with a sack of potatoes hanging inches

from a sailor’s nose.

They called their subs pigboats

as diesel fumes clung to their clothing.

A boy wants to see into the corners

of an airplane, submarine, battle-tank:

“What’s it like on the inside?”

An adult only wants to view the whole machine 

at a long glance,

posed clean and pretty on a stage,

in a coffee table book.

A grownup has trouble imagining 

the wreckage of war,

as I learned when they did a product-recall 

of a G.I. Joe battlefield command post: 

Toy soldiers with their map table and walkie-talkies 

were set in a jagged corner of an open brick building.

Grownups prefer their toys on a clean flat coffee table.

As a boy reading The Martian Chronicles

I learned that when adults saw newsreels of wars in China, 

they saw the footage as dim and unreal, too far away.

I felt war as a child 

during a nightmare in darkness.

I was with Danny Beck and Bobby Johansen 

and we were all crying.

We were soldiers by the black barn, 

and across the field was a creek.

And down in that dark creek, we knew, unseen, 

were the Germans. And we were in utter despair.

Adults live in their bright world of sunny 

coffee table pictures,

with no shadowed corners, 

never asking, “What’s it like on the inside?”

Sean Crawford

Calgary

May

2020