Selling Our Souls

Contract, Consultation, Pen, Signature, Paper

There is a major online real estate company in the UK that is currently running an ad on radio which I find disturbing. In this commercial an empty nest couple are discussing the kids having left, but their rooms and childhood belongings remain in place for their eventual visits. It is then that there is a message ringtone and they shift their stance and say “after all its only a bunch of old junk.” The indication is that they just saw how much money they could make by selling their home. What makes it worse in my view is the company spokesperson then over dubs saying that said company “knows the real value of your home.”

Of your home? Of your house maybe, the harsh impersonal sale price of the bricks and mortar, but the property in and of itself is not what makes a home! Home is an intangible full of relationships, emotions, and memories. A house might be only a house, but a home is so much more.

We are bombarded by such messages. Advertising and “social influencers” strive to indoctrinate us into the lie of image. Life, however, isn’t about the number of your followers. It isn’t about sexualising our toddlers with “mini make-up” and “sexy clothes.” Yes, the stuff is for sale online, not to mention preteen pageants and the like. Films and game have gratuitous sex and violence, and television is awash with swearing – all in the name of ratings and advertising revenue.

We as a society have gotten so tied up in “what’s in it for me,” and the “bottom lines,” that we are beginning to miss the real values of life. Even our “altruistic” politicing is often reduced to the image we produce. It isn’t, if we are honest, always about social justice, but rather that WE seem to be champions of the cause. Worse still these are fluid. Global warming is eclipsed by race relations, that is eclipsed by gender politics, that is eclipsed . . . .

I am not saying that all well meaning people are just going through the motions, most probably aren’t, but when our own reputations, wealth, etc., dictate our “bottom lines” we need to pause and take stock. Just like the message in the real estate ad. Have we missed something when “home” just means a house, or justice means just making some noise about something?

These are just some things to ponder.


Padre

Well Ordered Militia

Jon Tyson at Unsplash

Some say that society is about to implode

There’s Left, and Right, and an Anarchy mode

Some store goods, bugout kits, and preps

Others will stay home, and watch their television sets

There will be those armed to the teeth

Others will trust the good of humanity,

And that disruption will be brief

Some on the Right will have the their militias

So will the Left, but odds are they will miss ya


Padre

The attached photo struck my fancy and gave rise to the idea of what a Liberal militia might be like. Okay, that said, it is rather tongue in cheek as I am generally left of centre in my views, though I am also an 0311 infantryman. So please read it as a bit of fun.

FOWC with Fandango — Kit

The Debate

Antenna at Unsplash

It was the most acrimonious meeting of the Neighbourhood Association that anyone could remember. It was even worse that the one where the “foreign” family broke protocol and used cooking ingredients not on the “approved list,” for the annual Founder’s Day picnic.

“It breaks with tradition, and we all know how important tradition is,” Margery Cooke said authoritatively as others nodded in agreement.

“But times are changing,” Mable Hunt retorted, to applause of as few of the more progressive members.

“Well that might be all well and good over in Highland Park, but it won’t wash here in Pleasant Acres,” Margery countered.

In the end there was a very tense vote, and with the breaking of tradition the motion passed by the margin of three votes. Times were indeed changing in Pleasant Acres and the hanging baskets on Main Street were going to feature purple rather than red petunias this year. It was quite the coup.


Padre

Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #120

Northern Salad

Sliced Tomato on White Surface
Lisa at Pexels

Upon the pavement
Tomato decorated
Along with a sprig
Of salad leaf – the remains
Of midnight’s drunken kebab


Padre

There is a bit of a stereotype that there are no salads north of the River Trent, or if they do exist they are found on the pavement next to the nearest kebab stand.

Common Ground

Earth, Planet, World, Globe
Pixabay

There is that which divides us

Creating wedges and space

That make us distrustful

Of things like class or race

Yet there is more – which us does link:

Love and compassion

Music, and good food and drink

Smoothing the edges

Reconciling our mood

And when we look at this globe

From afar in the air

We are but a race human

As a common existence we share


Padre

Love One Another

People, Earth, Map, Boy, Cooperation
Pixabay

There are the haves and some have yachts

Often overlooking those that have not

Some have privilege – being born that way

Others most struggle to make their way

While all are in the image of their creator

Things like gender can be a negator

The UN says in rights and dignity

We are meant to be one

But for many the recognition has yet to be won

So look beyond the book and its cover

And let us just strive to love one another


Padre

Today’s prompt: Write a poem on justice and equality.

Woven

Brown Woven Basket on White Wooden Table
Rachel Claire at Pexels

Bamboo slats, or lakeside reeds

Mere grass is all the craftsman needs

And a thing of function and beauty too

Soon takes form as his hands move

We too alone may not amount to much

But in our interactions, lives we touch

We are interwoven within society

Becoming more together than just “you” and “me”


Padre

Crucible

Public Domain

Eight score years ago

Capital dome – like the nation incomplete

Lincoln stood upon the stairs

Reconciliation he did seek

“The bonds of affection,” he said, were suffering strain

But that those bonds of friendship should yet remain

Four years later

The dome now complete

He called for there to be no malice

To rebuild – no conflict to repeat

Today we see that white doomed bastion

Of liberty in receipt

Of scenes of bitter hatred

Enough to make one weep

These are times of testing

A crucible of pain

Let us heed old Abraham’s words

So peace and democracy – can remain


Padre

Weekend Writing Prompt #191 – Crucible in 100 words