lovenotfear Thoughts and inspiration for a happier you

There once was a little grey, black and white bird
(the noisiest creature that you ever heard).
He lived in Lush Haven and his name was Tim,
and every two seconds, he chirped on a whim!

Now Timmy was funny and clever and cool,
but he never stopped twittering - not even at school!
He talked over his teachers and chatted in class,
and his non-stop chirping was a pain for the ass.

Nobody could ever hear themselves think -
not the pig or the cat or the slug or the fink.
No matter where or with whom, he just never quit…
Because Timmy was a talkative little tit!

Timmy missed out on all sorts of things;
the lessons at school, the cricket who sings.
“I’m having a party and I’d like you to attend!”
said Robbie, his red-breasted robin friend.
But Timmy was chattering away and he didn’t hear…
so he missed the cake, the fun and games, and the cheer!

He never listened to the babbling brook
or really heard the story, when his teacher read a book.
He missed out on wisdom and jokes and information,
because he never shut down his communication station!

But even more annoying than his constant chatter
was how he made others feel like they just didn’t matter…

He interrupted their stories every single time,
with a story of his own, or a chirp or a chime.
And he never asked questions about anyone else;
the talkative little tit only spoke about… himself.

One day Timmy’s friends planned a camping trip.
There was Cray-Cray and Robbie and slippery Slip,
and Sally the sparrow and Arnie and Paul,
Tom the cat and Ziggy and all!

“Shall we invite Timmy?” asked Sally the Sparrow.
“No”, said Arnie, “I’ll shoot straight as an arrow -
that bird talks one heck of a lot
and we want peace and quiet at our camping spot.”

“You’re right” said Slip, “let’sss not invite him.
Ssssometimes he’ssss so noisy, I jussst want to bite him!”

“Well alright then”, said Sally, “we’ll leave him behind…
Oh, I really hope he doesn’t mind!”

When Timmy flew by and saw they were packing,
he asked what they were doing, but his manners were lacking
so he didn’t wait for a single reply.
He just carried on chatting about what, when and why,
and so come the next morning when he went around to play,
nobody was home, not even Cray-Cray!

He saw Cray-Cray’s uncle, a crabby old bugger,
and said: “have you seen Cray-Cray or Sally or Slugger?”
“No”, said the crab, “I ain’t seen them at all,
nor Arnie or Tom or Ziggy or Paul”.

Timmy searched high and boy, he searched low,
but he just couldn’t find them - where did they go?

He saw Sally’s neighbour, who was a blind old bat.
“Do you know the whereabouts of Sally or Tom the cat?”

“They’re camping,” said the bat, “they seemed quite excited!
But don’t tell the tit - he wasn’t invited.
They wanted peace and quiet all weekend,
so they left behind their noisy little friend.”

Well Timmy was shocked, by what he had heard
and for the first time ever, he didn’t say a word.
He just flew away, quiet as could be,
across the meadow, past the old oak tree,
down to the orchard and up past the stream,
where he came across his uncle, Uncle Kareem.

“How are you my child?” asked the old bird,
and waited for the answer, but none was heard…
“Why so quiet, Timmy? It’s so unlike you…
Are you ill? Are you sick? Do you have the flu?”

“No” said Timmy, “I’m doing okay…
I just feel sad, because my friends went away.”

So Timmy told him all about the big trip,
with Sally and Slugger and Arnie and Slip,
and Ziggy and Cray-Cray and Tom and Paul,
and how they didn’t want to invite him along, at all.

His uncle listened and then said with a smile:
“Why don’t you perch quietly over here for a while?
You can stay and have some lunch with me –
I’ll make us a pot of Owl Grey tea!”

Timmy perched on the branch and kept quite still,
but he felt like he was swallowing a very bitter pill.
His beak began to quiver, he felt the rise of a tear,
but then a funny thing happened, he began to hear…

He heard the gentle breeze, rustling through the leaves,
and the sound of the weaver at work, as it weaves.

He heard little dogs barking, and young kids at play.
He heard a wolf howl, and a horse neigh!

He heard the cow that moos and the cricket that sings.
Oh, he heard all sorts of wonderful things!

When his Uncle returned with lunch on a tray,
Timmy ate, and sipped tea, with not much to say.
But when lunch was done and he felt good as new,
He turned to his Uncle and asked: “how are you?”

His uncle spoke about his health and his morning,
but then changed the subject and gave Timmy a warning.
“It’s important to listen, Timmy, my boy;
constant chatter does tend to annoy!
Learn to hear your teachers, family, and friends -
and maybe you’ll be invited on those camping weekends!”

“Thank you,” said Timmy, nodding his head.
“I listened to every word you said.
I’ll try to remember not to talk all the time,
or interrupt other creatures with a chirp or a chime!”

The next day his friends came back from the woods
with their tents and backpacks and other tiny camping goods.
And while they were unpacking, young Timmy flew by,
but instead of being noisy, he seemed a bit… shy.

“Did you have a good weekend?” was all that he said,
and then settled on a branch and cocked his head.

His friends were astounded that Timmy was so quiet.
They were expecting to come home to a yackety riot.

At last Timmy spoke. He said “I’d like to apologise.
The events of this weekend have opened my eyes
and I guess you could say, they also opened my ears!
So I’m sorry my pals, my friends, my dears!
I’d really like to be a better friend,
so please tell me all about your camping weekend!”

“Well, ok,” said Sally, “it was quite delightful,
although the wolf calls at night can be rather frightful!”

Timmy listened with both ears as they all shared their tales
of the campfires and the marshmallows and the cold ginger ales.
He laughed and asked questions and let them all speak
about the wolf calls and the night stars and the cave and the creek.

He felt a little bit jealous, but it also felt good
to hear about the fun his friends had had in the wood.

And when they’d told their stories, they all felt great
because it’s always fun to share your experiences with a mate.

“We’re going next weekend, to the very same spot,”
said Arnie the Ass, “and we’d like it a lot,
if you packed your backpack and torch and tent
and we all go back, to where we just went.”

I’d love to,” said Timmy, “it sounds fantastic!
And I promise I won’t be little Mr Bombastic!”

From that day on, Timmy’s whole life seemed to improve.
It was like the needle on the record just hit the right groove.
His friends liked him better, his teachers were impressed.
He felt happy and popular and (hashtag) blessed!

And it was fun to hang out with him – everyone concurred -
since the talkative little tit became the bird who heard…

THE END

There once was a cute little pink little piggy.
His surname was Wiglet and his first name was Ziggy.
He lived in a lovely little house, in a very nice road,
with a beautiful garden, and a pool, and a toad!
He had friends and a bike and toys and such,
and his parents loved him very, very much.

He had a brand-new skateboard and a soccer ball too,
books and games and his very own loo!
He had his very own bedroom, with his very own bed
and shoes for his feet, and hats for his head
and a lunchbox to open - every day at 1,
with fruit and a cooldrink and a sandwich (or a bun).

Now you’d think he’d be happy with all that he had,
but no, little Ziggy only saw the bad…

His bike wasn’t new enough – not by a mile!
And his food was so plain that he just couldn’t smile.

He really really didn’t want to go to school,
and the water was too cold in his swimming pool.

The vacation was boring – he wanted to go home.
And the movie was stupid – “I’ve seen Home Alone!”
“I don’t feel like going to the beach!” he’d say,
and: “why won’t the neighbour’s weird kid go away?”

All day long, he’d complain and he’d whine,
because Ziggy was an ungrateful little swine.

One day his parents took him out to the slums
to show him some piggies with very dirty bums.
“But why is that one so thin?” asked Ziggy.
“Well”, said his mom, “there’s no food in that piggy!”

“There’s no mommy to feed him, no butter, no bread…
Who knows when last that little piggy was fed?
He has no lunchbox, no books and no shiny toys.
There are no beach trips or new clothes for some little boys.”

“Why, some little piggies have nothing at all…
No flat screen tv, no soccer ball,
no scooter or skateboard and definitely no bike
(and no rich uncle, like your uncle Mike).
There’s no money for school, so no education.
And do you think these little piggies ever go on vacation?”

Ziggy looked at the slumpiggies and after a while,
He noticed something strange – it was… a smile!
And there was another, and another and more!
Ziggy counted twelve, seventeen, twenty-one, twenty-four!
“But mommy”, he asked, “If everything’s so bad,
why are these piggies so… not very sad?
Why are they smiling and happy and stuff,
when it’s obviously obvious they don’t have enough?”

“Well”, said his mommy, “I think it’s because…
when you don’t have very much, you learn to value what’s yours.
You learn to appreciate everything you’ve got.
Whether it’s old or new, whether it’s perfect or not!”

“That little piggy’s toy is a big round stone.
He’s not complaining about his old-ish iPhone.

And those two old piggies are smiling broadly today,
just because they had a roll in the hay!”

“These piggies appreciate every little thing -
the bright stars at night, a butterfly wing,
an old crust of toast, a puddle of mud,
a sunshiny day spent outside with a bud,
a fresh patch of grass, the scent of a flower…
They’re grateful every second, every minute, and every hour!”

Later that night when Ziggy was in bed,
he couldn’t get the slumpigs out of his head.
He lay there, warm, and snuggled up tight,
and wondered how warm they were tonight.

The next morning at breakfast, as he sipped his tea,
he thought about saying “oh, woe is me!”
But then he wondered if the slumpigs were sitting down to food
and instead he said “thank you, it’s very, very good!”

When it was time for school, he didn’t complain.
He thought “I’m lucky to be able to train my brain!”
And when he opened his lunchbox and rolled his eyes,
Ziggy realised - much to his surprise -
that moaning about this and complaining about that
probably meant he was a bit of a brat…

He decided then and there that enough was enough
and that he would be grateful for all kinds of stuff!
For every new morning and every new night,
for his little piggy tail, for his hearing and sight,
for his toys and tv and toad and pool,
his bike and his bed - and even his school!

He was a very lucky piglet – he understood that now,
and so he made a solemn vow…
He promised his mommy he wouldn’t complain
about the sun or the wind or the snow or the rain
or the shoes on his feet or the food on his plate.

Ziggy had learned to appreciate!

And a funny thing happened from that very day.
He began to see things in a whole new way.

The pool was refreshing – no longer too cold,
and his bike was awesome – didn’t matter how old!

The peanut butter sandwich was actually quite yum.
And that movie was funny – the one he’d thought was dumb.

Everything’s better when you’re grateful, you see.
From your clothes to your food, and even a cup of tea.

A dull day at the beach becomes a wonderful treat.
And that boring apple suddenly tastes quite sweet.

“This vacation’s so fun it must never ever end!”
and the kid down the street… starts to look like a friend.

In fact the whole wide world began to look better to young Ziggy
the day that ungrateful little swine became a thankful little piggy.

THE END

There are nine days left of the “hard lockdown” we’re currently experiencing. After that, who knows? We definitely won’t be attending any festivals for a very long time. (Insert sad face.) We probably won’t be booking flights anywhere for a while. And we’ll most likely be sanitising bedonnered and fistbumping our besties well into the future.

But aren’t we going to be delighted to be able to buy what we want, when we want it? Aren’t we going to be so grateful when we can hug our parents and spend quality time with them again? And aren’t we going to be overjoyed to have friends over for drinks - without fear of jail time or having to ration what’s left of the booze stash?

In other words, we are being given the opportunity to not only learn more about who and what’s important to us, but also to start to actively appreciate those people and things - to the max.

I think that’s my biggest take away from this experience - what I may have been taking for granted. The ocean. The mountains. My folks and friends. The freedom to walk my dogs in the most exquisite places. A steady stream of work and income. A beer at Dunes. My brother in the US, who I don’t speak to nearly enough. Bikram in a stunning yoga studio. Pitching my tent at a music or spiritual festival. Seeing the final four episodes of the latest season of Grey’s Anatomy (it’s OK Shonda, we understand why you had to halt filming.)

I am trying not to lament the lack of these things at the moment, but rather attempting to practice gratitude, and commit to being more aware post-lockdown, so that I do all these things more often, and with my full appreciation.

I didn’t attend a yoga class for months - months, people! And as lockdown hit, I thought “Aaw no, that means I can’t go to yoga, boo hoo, poor me.”

Really, Nikki? Really?

What and who are you missing the most?

What can’t you wait to do? Where can’t you wait to go? Who can’t you wait to hug?

From what I’m seeing on social media, it seems the big question is actually - what can’t you wait to drink?

I am not a big drinker, but how I thought 12 Savanna Lites were going to see me through is beyond me. So I can’t wait for a Savanna Lite… ooooh and a Castle Draught. Not at the same time.

(Actually, maybe at the same time.)

I can’t wait to hang out at my folks’ place and take my dogs up a mountain and drive up the west coast and have some peeps round for a braai and go for sushi and pitch my tent.

I think this has been a time of reflection for many of us, and a chance to reassess who and what we value most in this funny old life.

May we never ever take any of it for granted again.