Mythos & Marginalia

life notes; flaws and all

j.g. lewis

original content and images ©j.g. lewis

a daily breath...

A thought du jour, my daily breath includes collected and conceived observations, questions of life, fortune cookie philosophies, reminders, messages of peace and simplicity, unsolicited advice, inspirations, quotes and words that got me thinking. They may get you thinking too . . .

Mondays are just young Fridays

What has been heard, what has been said, after 24 or 27 months give or take? More or less, what was said (even wished) was mainly, and above all else, that we wanted things to return to normal.

We were longing for the everyday day-to-day, the regular way, sort of; or at least, some semblance of such. We wanted, we said, to be with people again, doing the things we usually did.

We wanted to see smiles, again, on stranger’s faces, we said from behind our masks and wanting so much for our lips to be read as much as our expressions of joy. Or reality. Or anything other than what it was for the 26 or 25 months of what came to be.

We weren’t asking for much, really, or nothing any more spectacular than what life grants us on any given day. We wanted the ordinary, if nothing else.

What we have known is not over. How we are living, coping, or struggling, is not the same as it was eight months, or 11 months, back (or 25 or 23). It was a long time, and longer still will be this shadow of a virus that has hung over us (more than a footnote, and still not quite a chapter) in this never-ending story.

What was, or what is, close to some kind of normal, feels closer now. Dare we say it? We wished it, didn’t we, and here we are now more than two years later, finally gathering in parks and parades, galleries, shopping malls, and back at the office.

Masked or unmasked, we might not be as close as we were before, but we are working on it. Aren’t we? Can’t we now see, or hear and experience life, a little bit like we did before?

Yes, we want more, but right now this is as good as it gets for those of us still cautious, yet relieved, that we are here to see what’s going on.

It is, or seems to be, a return to the usual, the normal, and the everyday ways. For some of us it will never happen, for many of us it will never be, but for all of us there is a new (or another) opportunity for ordinary.

The ordinary: after all we have been through, that may even be better than it sounds.

06/27/2022                                                                               j.g.l.

 

cloud songs

     Morning begins it all,
yet it is much later
                    you notice
   nights become shorter
when the day is no longer.
          We see less
       than we want to, and
   know more than
          we should.
   Darkness allows silence.
        May your thoughts
            be understood.

 

06/21/2022                                                                           j.g.l.

Mondays are just young Fridays

The lush canopy of green above us seemed to take its time arriving.
   The recent sunshine, warmth, and humidity contribute to a general feeling of euphoria.
   No specifics required.
   The changing of the seasons is not lost on us; nor is the change of reasons.
   In the grand scheme of things, this feeling doesn’t last as long as it should.
   Shouldn’t we appreciate this more than we do?
   Look up. Look around.
   Think of where you are now and why you are here.

06/20/2022                                                                            j.g.l.

I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.

j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.

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The Big What If?

Posted on January 13, 2016 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

_MG_4085 - Version 2

It is a thought-provoking question, and one often asked of others (and ourselves). What would you do if you won a million dollars? Or more?

It’s a question asked each week as I buy a lottery ticket. Actually I purchase several lottery tickets as part of little group at the office. Every week we pony up and buy a number of tickets for Friday’s big jackpot. We each chip in the equivalent of a half a ticket. It doesn’t seem like a lot of cash, but together it is more. It’s like anything else you do as a group; it has a greater impact (at least we hope).

As everybody puts their money on the table, there is always a wishful smile, and each of us utters one of those hopeful phrases like ‘maybe this time’, ‘cross your fingers’, ‘good luck to us, and of course the big ‘what if?’

We all know the chances are slim. The odds of winning a lottery are stacked against you.
Canadian statistics indicate the odds of winning are about one in 14 million. The odds of winning at least $15 million in the particular lottery we play are one in 28,633,528. And the chances decrease when the number of tickets sold increases. In the United States, where this week’s Powerball jackpot is an estimated $1.5 billion, the odds are one in 292 million. It’s not only astounding; it is somewhat humiliating to even think you, as an individual or small group, have any chance at all.

Technically, or realistically, the odds of us winning this week’s $50-million jackpot are unrealistically high — well past the odds of being killed by lightening or dying of flesh-eating disease — at more than one in 86,000,000.

That’s a lot of zeros, a whole lot of unlikely.

Still we try. It’s only three bucks, the price of a good latte or shot of mediocre whiskey. It’s worth that to us, individually and as a group, because pooling a few of our modest shekels, utilizing our communal power of positive thinking, gives us a chance to dream, albeit remotely, on the personal impact of a life-altering amount of money.

Somebody has to win all that cash, and maybe the stars will align just enough to let it be us. We’ve won a driblet or two along the way, some free tickets, and those $2, $5 or $10 prizes that come with having a few of the lucky numbers, but those winnings are ploughed back into tickets on the next week’s draw. We do it proudly, or with heightened optimism, like the prize money is somehow blessed. It does, incrementally, increase our chances, so even at those odds there is more hope.

Hope seems hard to come by, at times, in this uncertain economy. If a few bucks is going to buy me a little hope for the week, I’ll go without something like a muffin or magazine in favor of gaining something else. Even if it is just a little more hope.

After all, there is no point in hoping if you don’t buy into it. Like the lottery advertising says: You can’t win if you don’t play.

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