The Ballad of the Violin-Maker

He seated himself on his bench. Doing what he did best. Better than anyone else. Maestro. They came for him from far and wide. He knew that each one he crafted was unique. Life of its own. Independent. They praised his skill to the sky. Ne Plus Ultra. Perfection. He never let them down. Never. Each one's need he made his own. Personal. His hands adroitly created these beautiful pieces.

This was all he knew. His life dedicated to genesis, to the birth of music so haunting it would melt the hardest of hearts. He worked till dusk and began at dawn while his clientele waited with a pretense of patience. Gently he would mould the wood, gingerly he would string the violin. Perfection every inch of the way. Carefully he would place it in eager hands. They would try. Joy would erupt in every sinew of his body. Create. Listen. Create. Listen. He learned to listen. All the time. To their tunes. To their stories.

One day. A little girl. Came across the violin-maker. He looked up and saw her. First time that someone came. Without needing a violin. He was puzzled. Unsure of what to do. What to say. She said all of one word. "Play". Shock. Clumsily he picked up a violin. Like a child taking it's first steps. Uncertain of direction. He picked up the fiddle. It felt strange in his hand. He had never held it in this way ever before. He looked at her again. Almost like she knew what he needed to do next. She was waiting. Oblivious to the turmoil in his mind. The realization, now fully formed struck him like an avalanche. A bolt of lightning.

He never learned to play. Too invested in making was he. Like a bird that would never flap its wings. Too tied up in serving others was he. Like love that was trapped in a heart. He never sat on that bench again.

Fin.

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A Writing We Will Go

So, I decided. To write. Letter.Note. Netter? Portmanteau. The hunt began. Had to find a pen. Pen had to have some ink in it. Nib had to be unbroken. Found! Glory. A battle won. The war, however remained. Needed paper. Parchment. Papyrus, where art thou? Obtained! Another kingdom conquered. I was on a roll. Sat myself in comfortable position. Favored beverage close at hand. Sara crooning to me. Ready.

Nib touched paper. My eyes opened in wonder. Wow. It started drizzling. The Gods themselves had opened a heavenly peephole to witness this rare event. Human writing letter by hand. I ignored them. Task at hand. Gritted my teeth. Furrowed brow. The rusty brain began noisily. Tongue slightly out. A la Michael. I went forward bravely. Began. Wrote. Wrote. Wrote. Stopped to wipe sweat from forehead. Wrote. Wrote. Wrote. I had to stop again. Like going to the gym after 7 years. Pooped. Word count. Nine. This was hard work. Not my forte. Must. Carry. On. I proceeded. Finished both sides of one sheet. The hand ached. The brain pained. I was done.

Spellcheck. Innocent thought. F7. No! Not available. Eepers! I was done for. Got over it. Looked again. Some lines went northeast, others showed a propensity for the south. The handwriting although never the best looked like it had been forced out of retirement while in the middle of a siesta. Egad! For a second, I entertained thoughts of a Control A, change font to Arial. 'No can do, Sir', said the letter. Got over it. Again.

Fine. Now the sending. Resources? Envelope? Nope. Stamps? A snowball in hell had a better chance. Panic. Suddenly. In the field of vision. A familiar silver-grey object. Scanner, baybeeee. Fancy me. Did the needful (describing scanning is trite). Emailed it as an attachment (do you feel more at home with that statement, Oh 5 people who read this blog?).

I was exhausted. Planned a vacation. Took a nap.

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A Letter from the Prime Minister of Procrasti Nation

Loyal citizens of Procrasti,

Greetings! It is I, your Prime Minister. I meant to send this message two months ago, but true to form I am sending it now. I write this letter to bring to your attention an important legislation that I intend to introduce this Fall (er..maybe Winter). It is vital that you inform yourself of the nuances of this law-to-be. I intend to abolish all time-indicating devices. I think Procrasti will thrive without these infernal things. I am of course talking about clocks, watches, even the tiny spaces on your computers and cellphones that indicate the time. Off with their heads, I say. This will be followed by universal abolishing of the use of calendars. No more two week deadlines. No more finish-by-COB-Friday. Without this nuisance we will be blissfully unaware of when a week went by or even if today was indeed Friday. These measures would only serve the principles and values laid out by the founding fathers of this great nation. The forces of efficiency are upon us and threaten to shake the very foundations of our existence as a peace-loving, postponing people.

Therefore, I beseech you, my fellow Procrastinators to get behind me and the nation to support this crucial endeavor. Time is of essence now so that it need not be of essence in the future (Heh Heh Joke). Think about it. Now, you can keep putting off writing that SOP, delay mowing that lawn, keep adding to that to-do list and not feel an iota of guilt.

I have full confidence in you to do the right thing. Remember, together we can and we will..postpone.

Yours truly,
Your Prime Minister

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