One brave HB pencil

Sometimes in life I think there are two different sorts of people. People like me who are few and far between and then everybody else. So I was sitting in front of the fire, ahem, an electric heater that was marginally less romantic than a crackling wood fire would have been… But nevertheless there I was sitting in front of it trying to warm my iceberg of a nose as well as my toes. I was not getting very far as the abovementioned electric heater would only throw violently hot air straight at my back causing me to jump away every thirty seconds before I would freeze and again and needless to say, repeat the pointless process. I repeat, (and please take a moment to breathe for I am sure that my shocking grammar has conveniently caused you to go blue in the face and I feel I have been on a bit of a tangent and you most likely can’t recall what in heavens to Betsy I was ranting about) So, now that we are all sufficiently oxygenated I will continue. I was sitting in front of the electric fire having just finished cutting and pasting the last pieces of my almost perfected prose into my first mock children’s picture story book. It was finished and I was proud. Scattered around me were the bits and pieces of paper that hadn’t made the cut. (Excuse the pun, as I had been cutting and pasting!) ‘To the fire’ I exclaimed to the other occupants in the room who were trying to watch Men In Black II and most likely had no idea what I was on about and no real interest in finding out. Off I strode with vigor and enthusiasm in each step, holding the unwanted scratching’s of my unkempt penmanship, off to the aforementioned marginally more romantic wood fire, which happened to be not so conveniently located in the next room. I threw open the door with the red-hot cast iron handle and was rid of the rubbish forever! Moments later I let out an appropriate, Ohhhh Emmmm Geeeee. Along with the offending prose I had accidentally thrown my pencil into the inferno within! MY PENCIL! I had thrown out my pencil! And this you see is where I feel that the world is divided. I did not admit defeat and farewell my HB with a solemn obituary as I feel most would. It was time for a rescue mission! With no thought to my own five fingers safety I plunged my small white hand into the smoke and ashes and retrieved thy pencil, saving it from a sure death, a death that for my still four inch grey led pencil would have been much too soon. After washing my pencil of the ashes and dust I went back to the ‘Men In Black II’ watching zombies and cried of my successful mission. I was surprised to find that they were less than impressed; in fact they barely glanced up from Will Smith’s face to acknowledge my bravery. I repeated myself in a louder, much grander tone sure that they had been unable to hear me and alas they finally looked my way. Instead of a pat on the back and a much needed hand massage I was questioned like a guilty criminal on the stand! Why would I risk getting burnt to save a pencil? What was the pencil worth? Why did it mean anything to me? Along with the questions and accusatory looks that showed a belief that they clearly thought I had gone crazy, (little did they know that I am and always have been proudly insane) were statements about the small cost of a pencil and how easily it would be replaced. I was befuddled. In my view, the pencil was worth much more than it had been before. The pencil was interesting and it bore it’s scars and bubbled, blistered paint with pride. The pencil inside although a little ashy had not been affected beyond repair and with a quick sharpen it was, in my eyes, better than before. The end of my anecdote brings me to the reason that this blog entry has surfaced. The memory of the rescue mission and the response that ensued chased my thoughts for the rest of the day and I worried. So I have come to a conclusion that makes me both uneasy and more than a little worried. This is, in actuality, the throwaway society in which we live. It is a society where newer is automatically better and the more expensive something is the more pride we take in it. It is a society where we do not attempt to fix the broken and we laugh at those who try. It is not only how we treat our materialistic belongings that shakes me to the core. It is the exact same way that we treat our friends, family and strangers. Is this the way we want to live our lives? With such little respect?

Over and Out.