Soliloquoy On A Micro-Monologue - To Hatch Plans Without Eggs

I live in a National Historic Site of Canada called Fort Langley, British Columbia, Canada. I work for the local board of the community association here, magazines (e.g., a wedding magazine as the ‘Guy-in-Residence’), blogs, and newspapers, a restaurant (where I get burned and cut), and gardening-landscaping (where I only get cut, lucky me). 

I find the intellectual jobs more fulfilling as I am able to listen to music while I write rather than simply working and trudging along in some boring manner. Nonetheless, they reflect some commonalities of patterns of activity.

In the one, I am simply motioning with my arms and body as a whole to bring about some changes to the physical environment in mostly pointless capacities. For some, it’s making the dishes clean; in others, it’s making a garden tot for the season, ready for viewing, aesthetic. 

I volunteer in different local and national educational efforts. Typically, education on human rights and science. I have a school in Uganda with my namesake, as I fund some of it, directly, or help with applications of funding for it, indirectly, where probably about 100, or a little fewer, elementary school children get a humanistic or Humanist education, extremely unusual in their area. 

I was raised by near-retired or retired women most of my life in the community; I would probably be on the streets without them. I owe my life to these people. However I may neglect this or they may not know it entirely, I do.

My life, my form of mind, my sensibilities, my emotional development come from through, as a reflection of them. In some sense, I am an aged woman in mentality while a man in body, and a male in sex. I'm not an old woman; I'm an old lady.

Much of my quarantine time has been taken up with internships like this or writing on a variety of subject matter, one of those is the topic of human rights and philosophy. I have been doing plenty of interviews and some reading too. 

While, I listen to much Classical Music, so-called, for the mere purposes of enjoyment, as shown in Bach, Vivaldi, or Corelli, while abhorring Telemann or other clunkers. One of the texts of continual amusement, for me, has been H.L. Mencken’s “In Defense of Women.” Here’s the opening quote:

A man's women folk, whatever their outward show of respect for his merit and authority, always regard him secretly as an ass, and with something akin to pity. His most gaudy sayings and doings seldom deceive them; they see the actual man within and know him for a shallow and pathetic fellow.

In this fact, perhaps, lies one of the best proofs of feminine intelligence, or, as the common phrase makes it, feminine intuition. The mark of that so-called intuition is simply a sharp and accurate perception of reality, a habitual immunity to emotional enchantment, a relentless capacity for distinguishing clearly between the appearance and the substance.

The appearance, in the normal family circle, is a hero, magnifico, a demigod. The substance is a poor mountebank… She may envy her husband, true enough, certain of his more soothing prerogatives and sentimentalities. She may envy him his masculine liberty of movement and occupation, his impenetrable complacency, his peasant-like delight in petty vices, his capacity for hiding the harsh face of reality behind the cloak of romanticism, his general innocence, and childishness.

But she never envies him his puerile ego; she never envies him his shoddy and preposterous soul. This shrewd perception of masculine bombast and make-believe, this acute understanding of man as the eternal tragic comedian, is at the bottom of that compassionate irony which paces under the name of the maternal instinct.

A woman wishes to mother a man simply because she sees into his helplessness, his need for an amiable environment, his touching self-delusion. That ironic note is not only daily apparent in real life; it sets the whole tone of feminine fiction. The woman novelist, if she is skillful enough to arise out of mere imitation into genuine self-expression, never takes her heroes quite seriously.

I find him enormously funny, witty, and enjoyable to read, a superior writer. Someone who I take great joy in reading and imbibing to certain degrees. It is these sorts of things that take my time and take me away into the world of mind while away from the world.