THE
BLUE BOX (Recycled Ideas)
by Don Cox
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I wasn't sure I could muster up the vital juices to produce
a column this week, there's been a leak in the creative
processes. This happens from time to time and it's hard
to know why. I think the present lacuna stemmed from that
thirtieth reunion I had two weeks ago with a bunch of old
farts. I found there was still the echo of a strange look
in their eyes, one I had never been able to fathom. Now
however, from the vantage point of years, I think I may
have achieved understanding.
You have to appreciate that my former colleagues, when
I first met them, were all upwardly mobile government bureaucrats
whilst I was a working scientist. There was a cultural gulf
between us. Let me give you a parallel example from the
animal world. It's well known that the camel has a permanent
disdainful regard for the world around him, you can see
it in his eyes. The reason for this superior attitude is
that the camel is the only creature who knows the hundred
names of God. This is a proud legacy, and one to feel superior
about. Likewise, all my erstwhile colleagues were steeped
in government lore, and I see now that each of them knew
the hundred names of Gov., maybe more. I think it's only
reasonable that they had a camel-like view of the rest of
humanity. Poor me, I never got past twelve or so names,
most of them unprintable.
I expect you will all appreciate that a weekend with these
Olympians of governance would erode my creative self confidence,
and taking that into account, I hope you will forgive me
not posting a column last week. This diminished feeling
persisted up to a few days ago when I found myself idly
reflecting on some of the better moments of my trips to
Portugal. I remembered admiring a street actress, flawlessly
made up, who stood stock still like a statue for half an
hour or more. I showered her with escudos and made a little
speech telling her how much I admired her act. She broke
her pose and said, "Oh thank you very much", and we had
a brief conversation. If only I had had the presence of
mind to ask at the time, perhaps she would have come home
with me. She could stand like a statue out by my mailbox
and my neighbours would shower her with loonies. We could
be rich by now. When I got that far in my ruminations I
realized the creative impulses were back and it was time
to write a column.
The more I think of it the more I like the idea. Any time
I felt like being alone I could say, "Stand! Stay!" and
she would go into statue mode. I could even run her as municipal
councillor. Now where did I put my Portugal phone book?
Bluebox ©2001 Don Cox
Website ©2001 OttawaWEB
