3 posts tagged “harlot's sauce: a memoir”

       

Once upon a time, a man died and went up to Heaven, where Saint Peter was waiting for him at the Holy Gates.

“I’m very sorry,” said Saint Pete, “but I can’t let you in.”

The man was shocked and very disappointed.  “Why not, Saint Peter?” he asked. “Wasn’t I a good man on Earth?”

“You were a very good man, indeed,” replied Saint Pete.“But here’s what your problem was – you could not stop yourself from telling other people how to lead their lives. If they were making a mistake of some kind, you felt compelled to point it out to them.”

Once again, the man was shocked by Saint Peter’s words. “But I don’t understand, Saint Peter. Why was this a bad thing? I was just trying to help them. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do on Earth -  help people?”

“Not in this instance,” replied Saint Peter sternly. “You never learned to mind your own business. And for that reason, I’m afraid you’ll have to go to Hell.”

The man pleaded with Saint Pete. “Please, Saint Peter, I didn’t mean any harm. I was just trying to help, that’s all. I didn’t know I was doing a bad thing. Please, please, give me another chance?”

Saint Peter looked at the man and could see that he honestly hadn’t meant any harm. Because that was so, he thought that perhaps he might bend the rules…just this once.  However, before he did, he would test the man’s sincerity. Unbeknownst to the man, of course.

“All right,” decided Saint Pete. “I’ll go to the Higher Ups and see what I can do. In the meantime, you wait in that room over there. Just go in, and close the door behind you.”

The room to which the man had been directed was large and empty, save for a bench. As directed, he closed the door as he went in, and sat on the bench, waiting for his verdict. And as he sat, he noticed there was a narrow, open archway which led to an anteroom at the far side, opposite to where he was sitting.

As he was pondering what might be in the anteroom, the door he’d closed opened, and an angel came in. He was carrying a very tall ladder.

“Hello,” said the angel. “I hope I’m not disturbing you. Do you mind if I come through? I’ve just got to take this ladder and leave it in that anteroom over there.”

“Please, go right ahead,” said the man. “You don’t need my permission.”

And then, an odd thing happened. The man watched as the angel walked across the room towards the anteroom, turned his ladder horizontally in his arms,  and attempted to walk through the narrow archway with it. Naturally, he was unable to get through, as the ladder held horizontally was now much too wide.

The man observed with incredulity as the angel made attempt after attempt to get through the archway while holding the ladder thusly. Each time, the ends of the ladder banged against the wall on either side of the opening, propelling the angel backwards, and making quite a mess of the walls it kept hitting, in the process.

Naturally, after about fifteen minutes of this, the angel was winded and perspiring.

“Whew!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t realize this was going to be so difficult.”

The man couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you serious?” he blurted. “If you want to get through, hold the damn ladder vertically!”

The angel shook his head and looked at the man regretfully. “My friend," he said, “this ladder’s not damned, but you are.”

And the next thing the man knew, he was in Hell.

_______________________

I can’t remember how old I was when my father told

 me the story above, but I was still young enough that

my questions were only just starting to become

annoying to him.  Those questions were on every

subject from “Why do you support the war in Vietnam?”

to “Why don’t you ever do anything to stop all the

terrible things going on in this house?”

 

Since he couldn’t seem to come up with any reasonable

answers for me, the parable above was an attempt to

stave off the inevitable, which was that my

questioning of him would eventually go

from annoying to unbearable… for both of us.

 

Even my response to this story was not what he’d

hoped. He thought I’d feel forewarned that my quixotic

nature was taking me closer to Hades every day.  But

ironically, all it prompted was another litany of

questions: “What kind of angel is stupid enough to

behave like a human?” and “What kind of God would

send a man to Hell for questioning human stupidity?”

 

It wasn’t until many, many years later that I recognized

that my father had a point, though perhaps not in the

way he’d believed. Anyone at all, with an average

human intelligence, understands very well which

way one needs to hold a ladder in order to get it

through a narrow archway. But pretending that he

doesn’t, he accomplishes one thing – he can tell himself

he tried to get through with everything he had and

just couldn’t succeed.

The fact is, he doesn’t want to succeed. He says

he has to get through a door and deposit a ladder in

an anteroom, but he doesn’t truly want to.

 

He just wants to pretend to himself and everyone

else, that he really, really tried.

 

And because this is actually what he wants – that

illusion of the attempt of a completion of a 'task', which is

another word for a ‘change’ – rather than the actual

change – he doesn’t want anyone to point out to him

that his ‘attempt’ is in actuality no attempt at all.

 

He doesn’t need anyone getting in the way of
his self-deception. Like my father, it will more  
than irritate him,  because by pointing it out, making him aware that you are aware that he’s lying to himself, you will make him hate himself and, as a result, (especially if your own attempts at change are real, and your desire to help him  is motivated out of genuine caring, rather than smug superiority) – he will hate you, too.

 

A fast way to hell, indeed.

Remember that the next time you

(metaphorically) observe an intelligent adult holding a ladder horizontally, trying to get through an archway.
 

Say nothing. Wish him “good luck,” and get out of his way.

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I'm sorry I can't answer comments here. They are not possible to answer due to a software glitch on my page, which has now even begun to affect the appearance of my blogs. It's degenerative, I swear.And very irritating.

 If you'd like to leave me a message, please visit patriciavolonakisdavis.wordpress.com. Thank you very much.

Kzinti and Baria - thank you for your comments over at my wordpress blog. They meant a lot. I miss you.

Summer is upon us, and though many of us see this season as our opportunity to get frisky in the sun, it’s also the season for bug bites and… other nature-induced itches. The handy guide below will help you decide when, or even if you should “scratch”:

Poison Oak

If you’ve got a poison oak rash, it means you’ve been crawling around in a wild place you shouldn’t have, with your naked limbs exposed, and shame on you. Poison oak rash is oozy and scaly, just like that bloke you almost let pick you up at that sleazy bar your friends dragged you to last week. It’s a contamination that will spread over your entire being the more you touch it. Definitely, definitely do not scratch that tickle. Even if you have had too many shots of watered-down Jack.

Flea Bites

A flea bite is a prickling, burning bite that hurts longer than a lover’s betrayal. And just like a Cheater, fleas are hard to spot, so you really can’t do much to avoid getting bit. Do not scratch this tickle either, once it happens; you’ll only exacerbate the intensity. The only thing to do is let that flea bite burn, until the toxins dissipate and you no longer feel the pain. But it will always leave a little red mark on you which remains pretty much forever.

Mosquitoes

Any woman who believes “size matters” has never had a mosquito in her bed. These little guys have egos bigger than Rod Blagojevich, and they make even more noise than he does, too. Their incessant drone is the only foreplay that you get before they finally settle down for a nibble. And when they do, they catch you by surprise. Yet, their prick doesn’t sting much, nor last long. It can be fun to scratch their itch once or twice, but not too hard, or you’ll swell up with infection. By the time that happens, the mosquito responsible is long gone.

Prickly Heat

Prickly heat is a little red rash that shows up on your skin when you get too hot. It’s suddenly just there, like that new man you find so intriguing. Where did it come from? Will it last long? And most important, will it harm you if you rub? It’s usually pretty safe to scratch this tickle...for as long as the heat rash lasts.

Hello VOX neighbours:

Today, I'm looking for your creative opinions. A friend of mine produced a short 'book trailer' for my book, including the music. I was very pleased with the gift. 

For those who don't know, a 'book trailer' is like a movie trailer, except for books, not movies, obviously. I'd love to hear your critiques and comments.

You can still reach me at my email address patricia@patriciavdavis.com
even just to say "hello", (which would be very nice, indeed) and I'm also on Facebook now. I hope I get to see some more of you there.

Harlot's Sauce the book also has a FACE BOOK FAN PAGE, and we just ran a contest where one VOX neighbour won a $100 dollar American Express Card, a Harlots' Sauce Radio t-shirt, and an autographed copy of the book. There willbe more contests, so if you are on Facebook, and happen to like contests, come join the fan page. (It would probably also help if you actually liked the book, but I don't think they make you sign an affidavit to that effect! ; D )

Okay, so here is the video. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts! You can post them, if you wish, at http://patriciavolonakisdavis.wordpress.com

(By the way, I can't believe how far I've come with my tech skills. Though still a newbie, I remember how Foxsy Dee and Paxton had to give me lessons on even the simplest things. Now I can actually post a vid!