Keeping My Joy

I really don’t know what the point of driving a new car in Lagos is any more! Good week everybody! I’m in a very good mood this day of our Lord. Why you may ask. Nothing I say, I just will myself to be in a very good mood because I have seen that it is the only way one can frustrate evil in this world. I know what I’m talking about. It’s as if no one has the right to be happy and content. When I’m done hurling lies at you, walk into your office or place of work and loudly announce how ecstatically happy you are. The first question you’d be asked is the source of your joy; is it the lottery, is it a new promotion, great night with the spouse? Say yes to the former and the evil demon invites itself in either of two ways: first, by your invitation. Everyone, feeling it’s their God given right to share in your good fortune, suddenly remembers how close you used to be and so cajoles or compels you to remember you owe them an obligation to share in your wealth in its entirety – until it is spent. Second, you say no. You’ll find out how one mouth can be more deadly than twenty thousand open graves – and that’s the nice ones. The not-so-nice-ones, well, put it this way. You would be well advised to relocate yourself, your family, aged parents from both sides and leave your belongings so they think you’re still coming back – a self imposed exile from your beloved community

Regarding the latter, the great night with the spouse, hmm, Frieda once told me that if ever the topic of our sex life were to come up among her female friends and her, she would lament my total lack of prowess – in equipment and in vigour – in bed. Laughing, I asked her why she would mock me thus to which she replied that when women see something good in their fellow woman’s possession, they don’t want one like it, they want that very thing that’s been tried and tested. To my mischievous nieces and nephew sneaking to read this piece, sex is after marriage and not before! Uncle Kalu was delirious while writing this piece! Office workers reading this know only full well the perils that come with announcing a new promotion too brashly – brandished daggers stabbing from all sides that would make Julius Caesar’s assassins’ humble with respect. Demons everywhere trying to steal your joy. Like I said before, I don’t know what the point of driving a new car in Lagos is any more.

My poor Lola has been bashed and nudged so many times that if all her nudges were to be likened to love trysts, she’d be branded promiscuous or a victim of abuse – which she is. One would simply look at the paint smudges left on her body and count how many lovers she’s had, and from their colours, racially profile them. In fact were I to go to a body shop to give her a paint job, her body would serve as my catalogue to pick one colour out of the many samples on her person. In Lagos traffic, if you don’t go looking for trouble, it will come looking for you: drivers who feel they’re smarter than everyone else and drive into, and block oncoming traffic, LASTMA officials waiting for whom to pounce on, dreaded police checkpoints lurking under desolate bridges, disillusioned people who, beset by society’s numerous pressures, suddenly walk out into the road to be mowed down by you. Thank God the era of street parties are over. Sometime in the past, while it was still in force, I have had it in my head to park near one of the odious parties, surreptitiously tie a rope to the furthest table to me at the other end, tie it to the back of my car, wait till the guests are served food and drinks, and drive off in the opposite direction. It just never ends.

In conclusion I have found that no one has the right to steal my joy no matter what. Being and staying joyful is my prerogative and no one else’s. If you hurt me or annoy me, I would simply take some time out, rant and rave, deal with the situation and mentally go back to my state of joyfulness; it’s all with good reason I tell you. What’s the point of venting your frustration from an earlier accident on an innocent acquaintance who may have the intention of introducing you to some lucrative deal, or you impatiently brush aside some youngster who has admired you all his/her life, scarring them forever? When I’m in Lagos traffic now, I’m very calm, I don’t fret. I simply toss my impatience out the window, reach into my joy and think all the thoughts I haven’t had time think about; what I’d do if I had a helicopter, what if a meteor came crashing down to earth, how best I should play this role or that, what would make a good story, why is the blacked out SUV in front of me bouncing up and down, are there empty bottles in this car should I need to ‘go’? Point is, a positive outcome can never be the offspring of a negative mind so guard your heart with all diligence for out of it flow the issues of life. Have a great week everybody

When I'm Dying

When I die, bury me in a frozen lake of ice! Don’t mind me jare, I’m just mimicking 2 Chainz and Kanye’s song “Birthday Song” which I found very catchy, the beat that is. I just can’t bring myself to say “Bury me in a Gucci store” Seriously, is that the highest level we wish to attain, being buried in a famed tailor’s shop? I bow o. Maybe my ignorance is bliss given my deaf ears to lyrics of the songs I generally listen to, or does my subconscious mind pick up more than I am aware of? If they were lyrics about what to do with itches and gardening tools – for digging up yams - then yes, that I could understand and make good use of by playing role play romps with my significant other in the bedroom or the sitting room or maybe the kitchen while checking on the muffins or boli (grilled or baked semi ripe plantain) in the oven, or, wait for it, shut up in the boot of the car! See why I love writing? It sometimes dredges up things you never knew lurked in the recesses of your mind. Two things I’d have to keep handy to safely accomplish that feat though: my car keys (remote car locks of course) and a sound theme of a large dog’s bark to be activated in the very likely event of an attempted car theft Hmm, stringy meat to chew on another day. My meat for today is yes, a little off the beaten track but no less important to yours truly, the way I would like to die.

When I die and how I’d like to die are of little concern to me as whatever puny control I may exercise over the when and how of my demise may only be effected through prayer or due diligence regarding my security and lifestyle. What I would like to do at the point of my demise is a matter I have given my imagination free range to roam to its heart’s content. I have come to accept that there is, and may remain a childlike and playful side to me, and I would love to keep it that way till I’m a hundred, hopefully plus. At the moment, to my shame, I have so far only managed to envisage any of the three things I’d like to do just before kicking the bucket, which even so few, still give me a warm glow on the inside.

Like the Okinawa residents in Japan, I would love to still shag my wife at a hundred and two years old, and she, mmm, maybe between eighty two to a hundred years. Of course by then we’d have sensibly begun investing in lubricating gel, strictly to jumpstart her of course, and I, by God’s divine will, will still be rising to the occasion on demand, give or take an hour or two of prompting or stimulation, at this point, of any kind, oral or any sensible otherwise. Anyway the meat of it that we’d have been at it for any length of time ranging from four minutes to thirty – yes, I am that ambitious, the software program chosen being the lovemaking application so I can remember she’s the woman I love who has borne me these wonderful initially troublesome children who have left us to our rapturous delights and our unfathomable petty squabbles – the kind no one dares intervene in the knowledge that both of us are just looking for an excuse to have make up sex - I digress. She’s busy with her electric toothbrush buzzing away downtown between us, her wrinkled face – still as beautiful to me as the day I married her – distorted in concentration and I roger on as manly as possible, LLCool J’s “Mama Said Knock You Out” playing in the background to aid my rhythm and vigour until she stiffens suddenly and begins to let out an almost eerie low but slowly rising moan as my own fever begins to take over me in paroxysms of blurred vision, my glasses almost falling off my nose, convulsions radiating from my loins as they take over my body in ever powerful waves as now a hundred million half lives course their way up from my bejewelled orbs, my centenarian roar sounding like it’s coming from the adjoining room as we cling to each other in our torturous bliss as we are suddenly levitated to celestial transports, God’s throne. Oblivious to our new environment, we look at each other and gasp, “Wow, that was some banging!”, before we notice our celestial surroundings, angels and all, and I, seeing the Almighty and quaking with fear, blurt out, “Banging at, sorry, on Heaven’s door!”. Sharrap all of you, it’s not blasphemy; we widowed each other in matrimony!

Second, I’m at my deathbed in my home hopefully and not the hospital, still at a hundred and two, surrounded by my wife (she should outlive me – I love being pampered), children: biological, in-law and adopted, grandchildren and hopefully the greats. I call our children to draw closer to me for the last blessings and admonishment. As I bless each one and their future genealogies, I punctuate each blessing by spitting into their open mouths, yes there is an Igbo community where this form of father-child blessing has long been practised – and, hehehe, you never deny a dying man his wish. I would have made it seven spits per mouth but that would be greed, and I may expire before getting to the third child, besides I don’t know how much saliva I’d still be able to muster at that ripe age so I’ll dispense my treasures sparingly.

Thirdly, if God tarries His hand at taking me away to Him, I would bless the rest of my beloved gathering and save the last for the one most alike to me in personality or maybe the youngest. I would call him/her to me very lovingly, pray for the beautiful child, bless him/her with a tremulous voice and trembling hands, give him/her some life serving advice and ask him/her to put his/her hand under my thigh as they used to do in biblical times. When they obey me, I’ll ask them to move it up further a bit, just under my bottom whereupon I’d take a deep breath and unleash the most ferocious fart I can muster. Hopefully the force generated will be enough to propel my soul and spirit from my body to eternal bliss leaving behind a mischievous grin on my face. I must remember to maintain a strict diet of raw broccoli and beans for when the beams start to tremble and the bulb starts to dim to give me enough wind for my sails- note to self.

My point here is who says dying can’t be fun? It is inevitable so why not, instead of being so petrified all the time of it, have fun with it and making your exit as memorable as possible, both here and beyond? Cowards have the misfortune of dying many times before their death but the creative ones have the luxury of enjoying theirs many times before it comes. Death is naught but a gateway so I enjoin everyone to enjoy this life, its passing and the life beyond this one. Have a great week everyone and don’t forget to eat your fruit and veggies!.

The Wilderness

A good new year to everybody. Shame and guilt have wracked my being for the longest time – very much like the feeling a deer gets when he’s trapped in full glare, when everyone, including the occasional driver, is screaming for her to get out of the way before the fatal strike. Well I’ll jump into the loop while the swinging arms are still strong. Forgive my long absence everyone. I’ve been in the wilderness for the longest while. I say wilderness because I’ve been so heartbroken over the past few months. Most things I held to be true have come crashing down in a violent flash flood carrying with it some of the structure I had since built. but leaving the foundation firmly intact. People I held in the highest esteem have been shown to me as shells even more desperate than I. Some of my closest friends have been found not to be whom they seem. Rather than feel indignant at this discovery, or be puffed up with self-righteousness, my despondency has arisen from the realization of our vulnerability as humans. We are so frail! The tragic thing is we think we are invincible, that we can do it all – and we can! – but not when we choose to be self-absorbed, choose to use other people for our own needs instead of working with them as a team, and when desperate times befall us, largely a culmination of our lust for life, greed and selfishness, we enslave ourselves to forces we have no business affiliating with. More and more each day I am reminded of my fragility and the need to depend on the one who truly has my back no matter what the circumstance, God, my foundation upon whom I strive to build.

I know I sound rather cryptic but this missive is more of me thinking out loud to myself and bouncing it off of your crania. Frieda does that to me a lot so I suppose some her eccentricities must have rubbed off on me. I have missed you lot. I look forward to more therapeutic sessions with you. Have a great weekend everybody.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas everyone! Do I have to say good week everybody? Pish! I don’t care. All I know is that I am so excited about today mostly because I am sharing it with you my folks. I am going to be as irreverent as I want to be, I am going to write and probably break as many writing rules as I want to, because I don’t care! I have had the toughest and most depressing week. I have plenty of challenges still hounding me at my door but here’s the amazing thing. I have God! I have God who’s ALWAYS got my back, who never gives up on me no matter how stupid i get. He will flog me o, make no mistake, and it hurts when He does! But, with His other hand He wipes my tears and tells me it’s because He loves me and wants the very best for me; and i have always had the best, even when I’ve had little. I’m in a career i love so much, that feeds me. I haven’t done as many movies as my cotemporaries but the few I’ve done have given me a good name. I am not rich yet am very wealthy. I have a blog where I get to express myself and share with readers who love to read what I have to say. All this is a tip of the iceberg of what is to come. I have so much to look forward to I want to fly to the heavens. I couldn’t have asked for a better lesson to learn at this point in my life before I enter the incredible blessings that await me next year. In fact na una de celebrate Ekerisimesi (Christmas for the uninitiated). I don enter 2012 since yesterday! Make una dey dia!

First thing I’m going to do after getting rid of you guys is I’m going to pounce on a soundly sleeping Frieda. I love it when she wakes up startled – she likes sleeping on her tummy, hehehe- looks around confused, gives the lamest attempt at protesting – she’s the worst actress ever – settles in with a small smile and starts purring like a lazy cat as I start to intensify my administrations. Fly hands fly! Don’t worry folks, she did the same to me last night - I was asleep too! Fly hands fly!

After the expenditure I shall take a thirty minute nap, wake up, take a shower and begin to plot whose houses I’m going to raid. I will of course be putting the homes with the best of cooks at the top of my priority list. Only homes full of love and warmth but with not so adept culinary skills will top the former, however I will do my best to enjoin the latter to join forces with the former to make for a laudable success. And just so I don’t appear inconsiderate, I shall be armed with a bottle of wine for each household; a pretence of a fair exchange to mask the stealth predator that I am. I shall of course endeavour not to drive as i plan on being properly inebriated in the course of the night – safely ensconced among friends of course. Fly hands fl... oh heck!

Whoooo! That was fantastic! Sorry guys, couldn’t wait. Off now for my thirty minute slumber. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Have a great year everyone!

Frostbite

Good week everybody! Honestly ehn, one of the worst things to do is to give birth to your own baby and labour and strive to see it grow. Your whole heart’s in it, you worry endlessly about its future and whether it will make it in life to be able to look after you and your spouse when you grow old and fragile. And just so you don’t put all your eggs in one basket you produce other babies just so if the first one, on whom all hopes lie, fails, the others, with some prayer, hard work and dedication, keep running and by God’s infinite grace carry on the baton to provide for you and your spouse when you still grow old and fragile. Yes my dear friends and readers, I am talking about enterprise or business as people are wont to call it. I am co producing a movie here in the States, one I also co wrote and I find myself worrying about things I never bothered myself with before; marketing, target audience, what title to give it, numerous and endless meetings about any and everything; whom to hire, whom to fire etc. I have the better end of the stick; the other producers are the ones who worry about the money and believe me those robes are3 thorny and heavy. I still have a lot of ideas that I will execute in the course of my partnership with Nkem so if this baby falls by the wayside, the others will keep running.

Okay, enough philosophizing about my secure future, now to the scarier present or should I say immediate past. I just finished my morning jog with not a little relief. I have also learnt to always check the weather conditions before venturing out of the comfort of your home.

I had routinely donned my light track suit bottoms and a slightly heavier sweat shirt with my head warmer tucked in my pocket and run out of the building for my early morning jog only to be run back in by the icy wind that lashed into my face and body through my sparse clothing. I wisely went into my room and put on a much heavier fleece jacket, put on my head warmer and went out again. I had two miles to cover and intended to make short work of them with the aid of the music I was listening to on my phone. I cruised comfortably for about a mile, the wind buffeting my unguarded face with a million icicles when I became aware of a numbness in my legs. Alarmed, I realized I had made another error; I had neglected to protect the lower half of my body by wearing summer track suit bottoms in the hope that the frequent pumping of my legs would generate enough heat to insulate them against the cold which in this case wasn’t seeming to happen. With an even colder dread spreading across my heart, I realized I had I had not protected the lower half of my body, where my crown jewels and best friend junior were housed! Quickly I grabbed at them, fearing the worst – I was not wearing even boxer shorts – and was relieved to find they were still intact, even though they were not quite the size I was used to. The sac in which my future generations were housed had shrunk to the size and hardness of a walnut while junior… Well let’s just say he would not have complimented my masculinity were I to be strip searched in front of prospective female officers. I was suddenly taken back to the days when I was eight, standing at the toilet bowl, struggling to get the pee out from my morning wooded peepee – there was little difference.

Everything is much calmer now. All my bits are intact and in working order, I’m sure, but I have learnt the most important lesson of the day; to always check the weather and dress appropriately before venturing from home. To everyone else, have a great Thanksgiving, To Frieda, happy birthday darling! Your birthday present’s still intact with just a little warming up to thaw out the last of the deeply embedded frostbite! Mwah!

Dermatitis?

A good week tout le monde! I’m scared! I’m itching all over! Well on my arms and my shins. I don’t know if it’s the lagoon I plunged into while doing a scene where I, sorry, my character, was murdered by the police just because he used a hapless lady as a human shield, or because of the oppressive heat conditions I worked under while wearing a very heavy cloak all afternoon. On the one hand I may be looking at an adverse skin condition, and on the other, it could just be heat rash. When I finished that day and looked at my hands, they looked like boiled mackerel fish that had been left out in the sun for too long.

I have since then played the role of a home doctor by having three showers a day, yesterday with a good dose of antiseptic in my water, lubed myself liberally with antifungal and antibacterial cream and ghosted myself all over with dusting powder before turning in for the night. It has come down somewhat but it still lingers, possibly on account of the oppressive heat that has found its way into my home on account of the recent breakdown of my air conditioner. Don’t worry about me; if symptoms still persist, I will be sure to see a doctor, much as I hate to see those walls for fear of the confirmation of my worst nightmare. I now realise God never lets me get ill; I’d die many times before my death.

Right now I’m getting ready for two sets, the first on the Tinsel set, rush to the passport office to pick my new e-passport(with a very horrible picture of me) during the interlude, and then over to Uche’s Damage set to complete the red carpet scene that ended in a fiasco at the Vantage hotel, Oniru, on account of its greedy manager who demanded more money than was initially agreed upon by both parties when he saw the celebrities coming in. Now I have to pay for his obtuse business intellect and greed by going for a reshoot and possibly losing out on another job. I hope he gets what’s coming to him for trying to take the food off my table. Nonsense!

Anyhow, I’m off to another antiseptic shower before getting another antifungal/antibacterial coating and off to the harsher work climate. Until then, watch where you swim and have another great week everyone! Ouch! Scratch scratch…

Asaba!

Hello and a good week to everyone and a not so good one to myself. Why? Because I just lost all the data I have been compiling about my trips to Asaba and Umuahia! Where am I going to start now, and at such short notice at that? I’m so angry with myself. I’m also wondering if it got lost when the computer decided to automatically update itself – I usually leave it on standby so I can continue where I left off. I just feel like smashing something especially this stupid laptop but alas, all my eggs are in this goose. So I’ll swallow and get on with it as best as I can.

First of all let me commend all who live in Asaba on their hardiness. That town is hot! Bleedin’ ‘eck! It is super hot! It is so hot you can even chew on the air itself. If there was ever a time I appreciated water, it was in that town I did so. To try any other drink in that town with a view to assuaging your thirst is a quest in futility. Let that girl who calls herself Frieda come and brag about her inferno of a town to me again and she’ll see what fiery wrath I have in store for her – yes she’s from Asaba! I still can’t talk, and that’s unusual for someone who talks as much as I do. Every step one took in that heat was equivalent to a mile trekked on a cool day. It was so hot one had to sit near an air conditioning system to keep one’s thoughts from evaporating. Scientists say if one goes without water for three days that one could die but in this town, that has the river Niger right beside it, twelve hours without water would certainly kill me – I don’t know of others. And then the work, I was shooting a movie, was so heavy because I had very limited time to work on the set making it very tasking, especially with the three thousand plus watt lights we were using to work. And they wonder why we actors are so touchy – they don’t have to stand the heat.

Respite came at night though; I made sure I sampled all the joints the lovely town – at night – had to offer. I first went to a point and kill joint called Y2K where they had one of the most humongous catfish I have seen in a long time. I picked out the biggest there and went to our seat as they carted the protesting sod away. When it arrived on a platter, all grilled and steaming in a bed of roast ripe plantain and garlands of red hot peppers, onions and lime an hour later, I remembered my main purpose for coming to Asaba. I don’t think my head ever rose from bending over that platter until I was done licking my fingers and my chops. In fact I don’t remember a word escaping the lips of any three of us that seated at that table except to call for more beer or tissue for our eyes and noses. That wasn’t all; I made time for isi-ewu (goat- head) and bush meat pepper soup and palm wine before I left. Now you see why I am so healthy?

Alas, I was to go back home the next day as I had to catch the morning flight to Owerri the next day. My plan was to charter one of the state taxis to take me to Benin where I could hop on a flight to Lagos. A friend of mine took me to the park to get one but to our disappointment they were all gone save the private taxis who swore to me they were a comparable choice of means of transport. Looking doubtfully at their cars, I asked one of the drivers if he had air conditioning in his car to which he swore blind that he did, and had just serviced it the day before. We haggled, agreed on a price for an air conditioned vehicle and set off on our journey. He then pleaded my indulgence so he could get some fuel at a nearby petrol station and then we would be on our merry way. I assented and when we filled our tank, we went on our merry way, with the windows still wound down.

Excusing his forgetfulness, I reminded him to put the A/C on, to which he apologised and turned a few knobs while winding the windows up he then inserted a CD in the stereo and the car was filled with gospel music extolling the graces of God and how he (the driver sang along with the singer) longed to follow His righteous path and statutes. It began to get considerably warm in the entombed car and I remarked as such. The driver suddenly bent over the vents, felt this way and that with an incredulous look on his face, exclaiming he’d never had an experience like this before in his fifteen years of driving commercially. He then proceeded to dig into the glove compartment, brought out his mobile phone and began to look through it. Before I could remind him that he was about to use a mobile phone on a highway, he had already begun to hurl abuses on ‘whoever’ was on the other end of the line about why the miscreant didn’t fill his a/c unit with gas and now his customer was sweating it out in the back of his car. He then turned to me and apologised profusely swearing this had never happened to him before. I put him at ease and told him it was okay, all I needed was for him to get me to the airport on time for my 1.30 flight. We did get there on time and on getting my luggage out, I paid him the agreed (a/c) sum. He looked at the money, then at me and asked if I wasn’t going to give him a little something for the pains he took to rush me to the airport on time! Nigeria, we hail thee! Have good week everyone. I’ve missed you all!

If I were God

Good week everybody. I thank everyone for the wonderful reception of my Sarah mini saga. It’s nice to know people know a good thing when they see one, and while I did not have anything further to do with her nor did I harbour any special feelings for her, I wonder what would happen if I were to be married and how my wife would react were she to read my celebration of Sarah’s beauty. Well hopefully she would understand me enough not to take me too seriously on matters like this. But that is beside the point. My focus on this post is to explore our conception of beauty and what the parametres for beauty are.

I’ve often wondered how I’d define and create beauty if I were to be God. I have observed how groups of animals are created. Generally, preys have eyes on the sides of their heads giving them a peripheral view of goings on around them. They are usually able to spy predators coming up behind them aided by their usually long and upright necks. They usually have one or two young who are able to take flight just a few hours after birth. The mothers typically have two teats (adapted to breasts in humans) with which to suckle their young. Predators on the other hand have both eyes on the front of their heads to focus on their prey in front of them added to the fact that they have little need to fear any predator that may be lurking behind them. Their necks are usually short and craned forward for focus and speed. They, unlike the animals they prey upon, have upwards of four to eight young who cannot walk or fend for themselves for about six weeks or more after birth. To nurture their numerous young they are created to have four to six rows of teats giving them eight to twelve breasts in total. The obvious reasons being the sense of security surrounding them. This is where we humans come in and what I would probably do if I were God.

Now the question I ask is, in what class do we qualify, prey or predator? I think the answer is obvious; we are the most successful predators on earth and so typically, we have our eyes on the front of our heads; we have little to fear except our fellow man. Our young, when we reproduce, are utterly dependent on us and cannot walk let alone run for ten months to a year from birth giving us the ultimate invincibility status. We also reproduce them in ones, very rarely in twos and even rarer in threes, fours and fives. Would it not be logical then to conserve valuable resources of skin, muscle(in miniscule amounts if you ask me), and lactate by creating just one breast for most women, two for those who are prone to bearing twins, three for the triplet bearers and four for the quadruplets? For those with a breast, I would place them in the middle of their chest so they wouldn’t feel they are missing out on something by looking lopsided. The twin bearers, well, naturally I’d leave them as they are presently and for triplets, it’s quite simple. I’d place the third breast just above the navel so that the three babies do not necessarily have to jostle for position to feed. The quadruplets are best left to the imagination regarding how theirs are to be arranged.

Now imagine us men ogling gorgeous women on the beach or the poolside in their halter neck mono cup bikini tops. The one baby bearers looking so attractive with their protuberances of varying sizes swinging or jutting from the middle of their chests. The triplet bearers would look equally resplendent in their tri cupped tops; some in their one piece tops and others wearing two piece bras designed rather like reading glasses and a false nose fastened securely in place by two straps round the back in their bid to show off their midriffs, their third breasts looking more like outrageously distended navels or ‘outies’, beauty lying entirely at the mercy of we the beholders. Oops! Forgot I was supposed to be playing God and therefore having no business checking ladies out. The quadruplet prone mothers who insist on being skimpily dressed would probably wear their tops like suspender belts; twin cups vertically positioned, one on top of the other, on each side and showing off their sexy midriffs in one stroke. Oh, what a wonderful and logic world I’d create if I were God but, better Him than me. I’m just content with running wild with my imagination.

I apologise if this piece might come across as being sexist but I assure you that that is not the intention. The truth is men find women very attractive and women, well, make themselves very attractive making it very hard for men to shift their attention from them. This piece is mostly written to provoke us to explore our horizons on the vastness of the beauty available to us and to see things from the fun side as well. May we continually seek beauty in the strivings of our lives. Other thoughts on beauty are very welcome and I would to hear your perspective on the subject. Have a great week everyone