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Posts Tagged ‘Tooth Fairy’

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I decided to post some of the more amusing stories that Hayden and I shared during our travels together through life.

 

Today while driving HRM to school he told me that it was Star Wars Day. “May the Fourth be with You.”

May 4, 2016

 

When she was not too much older than Hayden, my daughter Jessica suffered fears of the night and of sleeping similar to his, and for similar reasons. So, every night at bedtime, I used to tell her long involved tales within a never-ending story. To her great annoyance often the stories would put me to sleep well before they did her.

With Hayden, I make up separate shorter stories every night in an effort to avoid nodding off during the telling. Last night’s story was a tale in a series about Danny, a boy of about Hayden’s age, and his pony Acorn. Danny had ridden Acorn to school where the Good Princess Zoe (the same name as Hayden’s teacher) sent him on a quest to the Mountains of the East to free the Prince of Words from the evil witch Miss Spelling and prevent her from turning the world into a dark place of unreadable books and a babble of unintelligible speech. Danny had to spell his way to dispatch Miss Spelling, free the prince and save the world. When I finished, I asked him what he thought of the story.

“Who is Miss Spelling’s mommy?” he responded.

I could not answer him but promised to reveal it to him in a later story. I could use your help. Does anyone out there know Miss Spelling’s mommy?

February 14, 2011

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tooth-fairy-1

My grandson HRM wrote the following note to the tooth fairy which he placed under his pillow along with the detached tooth:

“Dear Tooth Fairy,

Did you ever take John Cena’s tooth? Yes__ or No___

Please respond.”

Clearly, the lad will become a future CEO; dynamic and imperious behavior set in an imaginary universe.

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It was the Golden Age, after the pill and before the scourge of AIDs. Like all Golden Ages, people’s attention turned from mere survival to self-indulgence, self-absorption, and self-aggrandizement or as some say Hedonism, Mysticism and Capitalism and still others simplified to Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll.

Now at that time, the City of San Francisco was one of the centers of that age, often referred to as “new”, when society as a whole suffers from a mass attack of Alzheimer’s.

In the City at that time there lived a man who, like most people, wanted fame, fortune, and sex. Like most people, he believed it was his right to not have to work too hard for it.

Eastern Mysticism was sweeping the country then and attracted a wealthier class of adherents than the ever-popular Pentecostal Christianity. Besides, burning books and sexual suppression was not popular then.

So, he decided to become an eastern spiritual leader. He called himself “Baba Giufa” because it sounded like something an eastern mystical guru who could become popular and attract a lot of followers would call himself.

Now Baba Giufa knew in order to be successful he needed to assemble his own followers. So, one Saturday he put on a white busboy’s jacket and a pair of mostly white pants with a string belt. On his head, he placed an old white Panama hat from which he had carefully cut off the brim and on his feet, he wore a pair of pink rubber flip-flops.

So attired, he went into Golden Gate Park at about 3PM. He sat himself down on the heavily traveled sidewalk along-side the road that ran past the Japanese Tea Garden and the DeYoung Museum across from the Band Shell.

He sat in what looked like the traditional lotus position but really was not because he found the lotus position too uncomfortable but as long as it looked a little like the lotus position he thought that it would do for his purposes. He had no idea what to do with his hands, so he placed them palms up on his knees because he thought it looked like the picture of a Yogi master he saw somewhere. He closed his eyes and then he began to chant…

Actually, Baba Giufa did not know any chants. But in school, he had memorized Lewis Carrol’s poems the Walrus and the Carpenter and the Jabberwocky. By reciting them in a very low and sing-song voice he hoped that it would seem to sound a lot like chanting. And, it did.

Whenever he finished chanting one of the poems he would open his eyes as wide as he could until his irises seemed to float in bloodshot white seas. He also stuck his tongue out as far as he could. To most observers, it appeared as though he was having a seizure of some sort. Then after a few moments, he would retract his tongue, close his eyes and begin his chanting again.

Now after a while at this, a crowd began to gather around him; some because they were upset that he was sitting on the well-traveled sidewalk forcing them to detour around him, others out of curiosity and still others attracted by his seeming other-worldliness.

Finally, a skinny, inquisitive young man with long flowing hair and a scraggly beard that was in fashion at the time, approached him and inquired, “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

Baba Giufa stopped his chanting, opened one eye, and stared at the young man for a while and then asked, “Do you have friends and family?”

“Why yes I do.” replied the startled young man.

“Then let me tell you this,” Baba Giufa responded in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “I am called Baba Giufa and I have found the secret to inner peace and happiness and if you want to share the secret with me then next Saturday at precisely 3 PM bring along your family and friends and I will return and instruct you all.”

With this, Baba Giufa rose from where he was sitting, passed through the crowd and went home.

Next Saturday at precisely 3 PM, Baba Giufa returned to the same place in Golden Gate Park and found a crowd of about twenty people standing around. The skinny young man was sitting on the sidewalk cross-legged directly to the right of where Baba had sat the previous Saturday. Baba took his seat and began his chanting and spasms. This continued until the inquisitive young man leaned in towards Baba and said in a loud voice, “Baba, last week you told me that if I gathered friends and family here at precisely 3PM on the following Saturday, you will instruct us all on the secret to inner peace and happiness.”

With that Baba Giufa rose from where he was sitting and looked over the crowd that had grown quite a bit larger since he had arrived.

Baba Giufa then asked the crowd, “How many here know what I am about to say? Raise your hands.”

No one raised their hands.

“Than why.” said Baba Giufa, “should I say anything to those who have no idea what I will speak about? I will return here next Saturday at precisely 3 PM and at that time I will instruct only those that really want to know, the secret of inner peace and happiness.”

With that Baba Giufa passed through the crowd, left the park and returned to his home.

On the next Saturday at precisely 3PM Baba Giufa returned to the park and resumed his seat and chanting. This time the crowd was much larger. Also, although the young man remained seated on his right, an attractive blond woman in a granny dress with flowers twisted into her hair sat on his left.

Again after a while the inquisitive young man leaned towards Baba Giufa and asked of him the same question.

Baba Giufa rose from his seat and observed the ever-growing crowd and shouted so that all could hear, “All those who know what I am going to speak about raise their hands.”

This time everyone had been instructed by the skinny inquisitive young man to raise their hands when asked that question and they all did so,

Baba Giufa look at them for a moment and then said, “Why should I speak at all to any of you when you all know what it is I am going to say? I will return here next Saturday at precisely 3 PM and instruct those who truly wish to know the secret of inner peace and happiness.”

With that, he passed through the crowd, left the park and returned home.

On the third week, at precisely 3PM on Saturday Baba Giufa returned to the park. This time he carried a bunch of paper in one hand and a shoe box in the other. He found a crowd even larger than the last time. And, not only was the inquisitive man and the comely woman already seated on each side of his place on the sidewalk but several other seekers were assembled on the sidewalk as well. In addition, surrounding his place were several vases filled with multi-colored flowers. He took his seat and handed to the inquisitive young man the bits of paper on which he had written his name, Baba Giufa, and his address and phone number. In front of himself, he placed the shoebox in which he had cut a hole into the top and on which he had neatly lettered the word “Donations”. He began his chanting.

Eventually, the skinny man leaned towards Baba Giufa and asked the question again. This time Baba Giufa did not rise, instead, he simply stared at the shoebox in front of him.

After a while, everyone got the idea and several of the onlookers came forward and dropped money into the box. When Baba Giufa was satisfied that no further contributions were forthcoming, he stood up and addressed the crowd. “All of you here that know what I am going to say please raise your hand.”

About one half of the crowd, having been well-trained by now, raised their hands.

Then Baba Giufa said, “All those who do not know what I am about to say raise their hands.”

The otter half of the crowd did so.

“Well then,” said Baba Giufa, “I would appreciate it if those who know what I am going to say would tell those who do not. For those really interested in learning the way to inner peace and happiness I have given to my first disciple here, who shall hereafter be known as Babu Beardo, scraps of paper with my telephone number and address on it.”

And with that, he picked up the shoe box made his way through the crowd and went home.

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Beatles And Maharishi

The Beatles and their wives at the Rishikesh in India with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, March 1968. The group includes Ringo Starr, Maureen Starkey, Jane Asher, Paul McCartney, George Harrison (1943 – 2001), Patti Boyd, Cynthia Lennon, John Lennon (1940 – 1980), Beatles roadie Mal Evans and Beach Boy Mike Love. (Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

One day in the late 70’s or early 80’s while sitting around with a friend drinking wine, smoking some dope and discussing the doings of mystics, rinpoches, gurus and yogis we had known — which is what we aging hippies often did in the late seventies or eighties — my friend, who I shall call Peter, told me the following tale:

During the Sixties, Peter worked for an American NGO in India. At that time, many of the young American groupies who frequented the sub-continent searching earnestly for the guru of the month traveled throughout the country like locusts. They were usually stoned, broke, homeless, diseased and smelly. Now and then, some of them would end up camping out for a while in one of the rooms in Peter’s home, where they would bathe, eat some food get a little healthier and move on.

After his stay in India, Peter settled down in San Francisco, which, at that time, was also often the disembarkation point for those returning from their Indian adventures. One day one of Peter’s previous boarders showed up at his house in not much better shape than when Peter had last seen him.  After a few days, he moved on. During his stay the often reminisced about the other sojourners that had camped out in Peter’s home and wondered what became of many of them.

Now it came to pass, as they say, that about a decade later Peter had the occasion to visit Boston for a few days. His friends, with whom he was staying while in Boston, invited him to a party in the prestigious Beacon Hill neighborhood. It was being thrown, they explained, in honor of a spiritual teacher and mystic that was all the rage in the city at the time.

When he arrived at the party Peter discovered the guest of honor, dressed now all in white linen, with long clean hair in a ponytail and a well-trimmed beard was at one time his guest at the squat in Orissa and later at his home in San Francisco. The Guru, recognizing Peter, grasped him in a warm embrace. Peter could only utter the obvious “What happened?”

The Maharishi as he was now referred to took Peter aside and told him the following:

After leaving SF and crossing the country by begging on the street corners of many of the nation’s best cities, he found himself broke, hungry, homeless, desperate and in Boston with winter coming on. So, he came up with a plan to better his circumstances.

First, he went to the supermarket and with the little money, he cadged that day, bought some rice. Next, he scoured some of the empty lots in Boston for a rock of just the right size and shape. When he located one, he took it and the rice to a local park and found a suitably imposing tree. Between the roots of the tree, he dug a hole. In the hole, he first placed the rice and then on top of the rice he stood up the columnar-shaped rock, narrower pointed end up, and covered it all with dirt that he carefully patted down so the ground looked natural and undisturbed.

Later that day he went around to as many people that he could, both those that he knew and those that he did not and announced that as a result of his stay in India and years of meditation, he had gained the ability to make the sacred lingam rise from the earth and that at a certain time the next day at the park he would demonstrate his power.

That next day he went into the park. At the appointed time, he fell to his knees by his chosen tree and began chanting and repeatedly bowing until his head touched the ground. He chanted and chanted, and bowed and bowed. Each time he bowed he sprinkled a little water. After a while, some of the onlookers became impatient and began to leave. Other passers-by, noticing the small crowd stopped to see what was going on.

Suddenly cracks appeared in the ground between the roots of the tree. He continued to chant, bow and sprinkle. Soon the pointed tip of the lingam appeared pushing through the earth. It continued to rise majestically until it stood fully tumescent in the sunlight.

“And that,” concluded the swami, “was how it all began.”

Peter could not help himself but to ask, “And what do you make of all that?”

The master thought for a moment and replied, “If you do not use the proper rice your lingam won’t rise.”

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