Mick's Rules for Living: The Road Revision

[It occurred to me that I haven't done a revision of this list since hitting the road. You can find the previous version of these rules at my hardly ever used but sometimes, occasionally resurrected blog, The Ohio Expatriate. Feel free to check out the site, as well as the links to the previous Expatriate site on Wordpress. It's fun stuff, I promise, and nothing less than you might expect from me.

And in case it's not evident, I'm still revising these, so they are not set in stone. Also, while I think individuals might benefit from heeding these in the spirit that they are intended, I have no intention of trying to force them on anyone. I have been accused of this. But, as I am a Wobbly, and a pacifist, I don't believe in forcing people into anything. People have to change of their own accord. 

Also, you will notice that the list has gone from 10 to 9. Most noticeably absent is former #4. If you're sedentary/settled, by all means... live close to your watering hole. But this is THE ROAD REVISION.

Cheers, Dear Readers.]

1. DO NO HARM. Violence begats violence, every single time. Being a pacifist doesn't mean you're afraid; it means you decide to have control over how you respond, not let other people or events determine your reaction. It's PROACTIVE not REACTIVE. Get it?

2. BE KIND TO ALL CRITTERS.  A slight revision. Kindness is crucial and necessary and entirely too rare. The size of the critter doesn't matter. Be kind. This also includes previous rule #5.

3. READ SOMETHING EVERYDAY. In the previous version of this list, I used the word "non-essential." However, reading, in any form, is essential. The life of your mind matters. Just make it something besides news memes and Twitter feeds. Pick up a book. Read a blog by someone you disagree with. Read poetry.

4.  WEAR CLEAN SOCKS. I have no intention of wavering on this point. And I can tell you, with a certainty, that if you end up spending 3 days and nights in a bus station, a clean pair of socks makes a whole world of a difference. Take from someone who is residentially challenged. Clean Socks.

5. HAVING PRINCIPLES MEANS YOU LIVE THEM. Sometimes you'll end up offending people when you live your principles. But if you're not living them, they're not principles. They're abstractions.

5. APOLOGIZE WHEN YOU'RE WRONG; BUT ONLY APOLOGIZE IF YOU ARE SINCERE.

6. NEVER SUBJUGATE YOUR WILL TO WHIMS OF OTHERS.  This not only includes those who presume to have power over you, but also the institutions that presume the ability to grant that power.

7. BE HONEST.  Even when it hurts.

8. YOU KNOW YOU HAD A GOOD DAY WHEN YOU SLEEP WELL THAT NIGHT. Any other qualification is false advertising.

9. THE ONLY THING YOU HAVE TO DO IN LIFE IS DIE. EVERYTHING ELSE IS AN OPTION.

Late Night Early Morning

This is one of those houses where
You hear ghosts whispering
In the water pipes. Late at night
An old woman speaks through
The drops and the drips
Echoing under the kitchen sink
And old men moan in the wind
Clattering against the porch storm windows.
These nights on the tundra
Are long and still and silent;
Semi-melted snow glazed over with
A fresh layer of frozen rain
Is all that remains
Of the storms that blew through today.
The cats uncoil in their warm corners,
Stretch, and fall back asleep.
Sitting in my chair, hoping for dreams
I can hear you in bed, moaning
The way you do when you are dreaming
And speaking to the ghosts
Who whisper quaint secrets
In your left ear at 2 in the morning; and
Though you will not remember them they will
Leave you dimes to find in odd places
As proof of their presence. As I
Nod off, I think I hear another salt truck;
But it is only
The old man on the porch stomping his boots
To remind me he is there and that
Snow will need shoveling
In the morning. Tomorrow,
The mail carrier will run late and the letters
In the local papers will outline opinions
Memorized from pews on the previous
Sunday morning. All the talk
In the restaurant on Main Street
Will center around fresh gossip,
The government, and the odd apathy
Of visiting grandchildren. Later in the day,
Down the street in the local bar, drunken farmers
Will talk of planting and shrinking subsidies
And make fun of their wives –each dreaming of when
Her breasts were firm
And the ground not so unyielding.
Then they will go home to fall asleep
In worn out recliners, lulled to black and white dreams
By the same whispers
That are keeping me awake tonight.