I’m sitting on the couch tonight, watching my Lady Wonder Wench. She’s sleeping in my big, comfortable, black leather Poppa chair across the living room. I’m sitting in her usual spot on the couch…with her needlepoint stuff and her little portable dvd player. It’s funny how changing where you usually sit in a living room can actually make the whole house you’ve lived in for years, seem a little strange. So much depends on how you look at things.
And that’s what I told a Proud Podcast Participant by the name of Carol. Carol is upset because a guy she knows is only interested in…as she puts it… “the pleasures of the flesh, instead of the true feelings of the heart.” Lots of people see things that way. “The Forces For Good In The Community”…religious leaders, maiden aunts, self righteous protectors of family values…of all kind talk as if The Lord created everything from the waist up, and the devil made everything from the waist down.
But I’m sitting here looking at My Lady Wonder Wench…and I can’t buy that. She looks like a pretty young girl, curled up in a dream, waiting for some handsome prince to arrive. I keep hoping when she wakes up she won’t be too disappointed that I’m still here instead. It’s been a long, tough day for her. She’s still wearing her jeans, her orange and blue New York Mets sweatshirt, and a pair of kind of beaten up old, scrunched down pink bunny slippers. She’s a pretty lady. But tonight…I don’t know… maybe it’s the way the light is shining behind her hair…or maybe it’s that soft smile…or…I don’t know…but just looking at her feels like the first time I got an unexpected taste of cherry vanilla ice cream. But that’s another story. This story is about the way you see things.
I have a totally different reaction to my Lady when she looks like she does tonight, as opposed to when she walks into a room wearing something she calls, “a bit more comfortable”…and she looks like Mrs. Slinky Sexy Mamma. When she does that, I tend to lose control of certain of my physical parts. Among other things, my eyebrows tend to twitch, and my ears start to wiggle. That is not supposed to happen any more to Louie-Louie Generation gentlemen like me unless there are prescription drugs involved. I mean… come on…we’ve been together since the Nixon administration. But she still sets my eyes on fire, my feet get cold, and my voice turns into a growl.
When she looks like she does tonight…little girl, tom boy soft… innocent…lovely…sometimes I have to actually touch her face to be sure that I’m really awake. Everything inside my head goes so absolutely quiet that I sometimes hear my dad’s voice from all those years ago… humming that German lullabye that he used to hum to me when I was a little kid trying to avoid going to sleep. I’m hearing the sound of his voice in my head, but it’s coming from someplace way down inside my chest. Right around my heart.
When I was doing seminars I used to tell people how little changes in what you do and what you see, can make you feel so different. I used to ask people to fold your hands like you ordinarily do…as if you were praying. If you’re right handed, you’ll probably have your left thumb on top. Now pay attention to how that feels. Then try folding them with the other thumb on top. Doesn’t that feel strange ?
Here’s another one. Try combing your hair with the part on the other side of your head from the way you usually comb it. You almost can’t get your hand to do that. And when you look in the mirror, you look like somebody else…and you almost feel like somebody else. It depends on how you look at things.
Little changes. Big differences.
Of course, there’s some comfort in doing the same things you do all the time, the same way you’ve always done them. But the problem is that you can get yourself into ruts doing that. There’s a difference between being in a rut and being in a groove. Grooves are good. Ruts ruin you.
Passion is what makes the difference. Passion is what makes a successful career, a successful terrorist, and a successful lover.
When you’re in a groove, you’re pumping your personal juice. But when you’re in a rut, the passion is gone so no matter how hard you pump, you come up dry.
There are some exceptions. Some ruts are ok. Like if you’re flying a little airplane, always land before you get out. And if you get into an argument with your Lady, you should always have the last word. And that last word should always be, “Yes Dear.” I know that’s two words, but don’t quibble. And some things you shouldn’t do never change. For example, secret handshakes are a little over the top. So is dressing like Ronald McDonald, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, or any of your more prominent religious leaders. Some ruts…deep doing them. That’s called quit while you’re ahead.
Dick’s Details Quiz. ( All the answers are in the current podcast)
1- Who doesn’t believe in Dog ?
2- What worries me about mince pies ?
3- Why do I have a pretty clear idea of what lots of you will be doing December 31 ?
Dick’s details. They take your mind off your mind.
Ruts will ruin you. There’s a story about that in the Bedtime Stories personal audio cd. It’s called Mr. Small Talk. The pilot in the story was feeling like a complete waste of skin until, just by smiling at him… the lady blew his whole life back on course. Just a smile…and she got him growling again. Every guy who’s worth his testosterone has to be able to growl every once in a while.
Mr. Small Talk. is from the Bedtime Stories personal audio cd. If you like it you can just keep the podcast. Or if you want a fresh copy, just download it from the Bedtime Stories icon on the opening page of this website.
I know it’s all in how you see things. For me, I’ve always been amazed at how small changes can make such big differences. So I’d really like to make a small change in the last line of the romance novel you’re reading, and the list of sins the holy guys are always preaching about…and more important… in the hurt that’s going on in Carol’s life right now.
It’s a change that hit me one night…in fact the first night I was with my Lady Wonder Wench. For the first time in my life, I was surprised that I couldn’t push some kind of surprising animal growl back down into my chest. It was definitely an animal sound that was directly related to a great pleasure of the flesh. That never happened to me before…and I was afraid I’d scare her. But she didn’t run away. She just gave me the softest smile I have ever seen.
There was a lot of moonlight pouring through the window that night. And when she fell asleep next to me…I had to touch her face to prove to myself that she was real. And the quiet pleasure of that touch was every bit as powerful as the feeling that just a few hours before, had come growling out of my chest.
That’s when I began to respect the pleasures of the flesh as much as the treasures of the heart. It was a small change that made a big difference in the way I’ve led my life.
Because…hey…if your heart is made of flesh…which it is, the pleasure…has to be part of the treasure.
Do you agree ? Or not ?? Let me know. (Dick@DickSummer.com) It’s really important to me.