The Stone-Cold Logic of a Past-Life Halibut
It’s been said that epiphanies don’t come to those who have all the answers, but to those who haven’t a clue.
Immediately following a round of ear drops, Sister Madly attempted to navigate through the whole of her itty-bitty apartment with her head tilted to the side. It was at that moment that Sister Madly had an epiphany of her own: she would never make it as a halibut.
To be fair, it’s not that she has spent her idle hours wondering what life would be like as a halibut; sometimes the universe just comes along and gives you the answer to a question you never thought to ask.
And clearly the halibut lifestyle is out of her league.
You see, halibut swim upright during the early stages of life; but as juveniles they begin swimming sideways, which cannot be a pleasant way to exist. Sister Madly has no idea how halibut make it through their posh nautical bungalows without getting lightheaded or crashing into the doorframe, but she gives them kudos for doing so.
Yet there is plenty to envy in the life of a halibut: swimming about with no inhibitions, no politics, no leafy greens on the menu. No taxes. No jury duty. No Jehovah Witnesses pounding on the door at 8 in the morning- nothing but that sweet, deep-sea life of mayhem, grand debauchery, and seahorses.
It suddenly occurred to her that she knew an awful lot about the life of a halibut without ever having encountered the fish in its natural habitat, much less befriending one. Such insider knowledge could only be explained by having been a halibut in a past life.
Not doubt these fishy reflections would have gone by the wayside had she not encountered the Professors later at the pub, where a discussion broke out on whether or not Sister Madly had knitted a certain scarf (which she certainly did not.*) The interrogation became so intense that Sister Madly hardly noticed the moment all the pitiless PhD’s agreed on splitting a Fish Sandwich- which turned out to be halibut.
* Neither does she crochet, sew, or do whatever it is that one does with a loom.
Now on any given day, Sister Madly can be found treading somewhere between stone-cold logic and utter psychosis, but that night, she was flirting with the point of no return. Never had she been so tortured over a Sandwich- and not from a ethical viewpoint, which could be forgiven, but that of a hapless soul fearing that she may be noshing upon her own brethren like some aquatic Hannibal Lecter!
So she discussed the matter amongst herself:
It’s just a sandwich, Sister Madly.
~ Not just any sandwich- a halibut sandwich.
A dead halibut, so what does it matter?
~ But it does matter! What if this filet had once been her best friend? Or one of her descendents? Seriously, this is a deep-fried nibble dish of everything that is wrong with society!
What in tarnation… Do you realize, Sister Madly, that your obsession with a fish is rendering you completely incapable of defending yourself against the grisly accusation of Scarf Knitting? You must not let yourself be thwarted by a sandwich yet again!
“You do realize that you are not actually a halibut, don’t you?”
She may not be a halibut now, Professor, but she may have been in a past life. In fact, the evidence is overwhelming:
Halibut: does not knit.
Sister Madly: does not knit.
Halibut: cannot live without water
Sister Madly: cannot live without water
Halibut: does not speak Swahili
Sister Madly: does not speak Swahili
Halibut: very tasty
Sister Madly: not very tasty *
* Trust her on this one. ‘Bitter’ is her middle name.
Halibut: strange looking
Sister Madly: strange looking
As you can see, Sister Madly fits the criteria of a halibut in 4 of the 5 characteristics listed, which proves that she was a halibut in a past life.* Logic, Professor; stone-cold logic.
* 5 out of 5 would prove that she is one currently.
Naturally, the Professor could not* argue with her reasoning.
* Some would say ‘would not’ but, whatever.
But that didn’t mean the argument was finished.
“Are you quite sure that you didn’t knit this scarf?”
Of course! Halibut don’t knit.
“Neither do wheat threshers.”
You know, you might be on to something there, Professor! Not only to wheat threshers not knit, Sister Madly instinctively knew that, much like herself, wheat threshers have absolutely no desire to learn the skill. Thus the only conclusion to be drawn is that before she was reincarnated as a halibut, Sister Madly was first a wheat thresher.
Logic. Stone-cold logic.
Childlike
Seek the Wisdom
Of the Ages ~
But Look at the World
Through the Eyes of a Child.
~ Ron Wild
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Unleash the Spirit
Once we
Believe in ourselves
We can risk Curiosity, Wonder,
Spontaneous Delight ~
Or any Experience that Reveals
The Human Spirit.
~ ee cummings
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The Razor’s Edge
At an early age, Sister Madly learned to master some heavy-handed life-hacks, such as respiration and how to use a bendy straw. But one such life-hack that continued to elude her throughout her childhood was how to properly utilize a knife in polite society.
One would think that with Sister Madly’s inclination for all things medieval that she was born wielding the weapon- but this does not guarantee the corresponding intuition of proper knife utilization. Sure, Sister Madly knows the basic safety measures when harvesting human organs down in the secret sub-cellar, and no doubt she could become an expert in fancy knife theatrics in very little time (say, 60 years or so); one can even imagine her as a plucky little lass climbing a ship’s rigging with a knife clenched between her teeth (difficult to do, by the way, without salivating like a St. Bernard.) Yet it took her a substantial amount of time to grasp the fundamentals of knife etiquette at the dinner table- to the point of embarrassment.
She often wondered why her parents had the nerve to serve her food that required a knife and fork when they knew that she was shamelessly incompetent with said knife and fork in the first place (even at that age, Sister Madly was conceited, lazy and naughty.) More often than not, Sister Madly contemplated eating these impossible meals with her hands, but that would probably result in another “you weren’t born in a barn” lecture- although she couldn’t quite understand why this was an insult, seeing as Jesus was born in a barn and some say that he is the Messiah.
The whole situation frustrated her mother the most. “Your father is not going to be there to cut your food for you when you’re on a date, you know.”
Sister Madly was actually rather pleased with this statement, as it assured her that her father would not be tagging along on her dates in later years. Still, that didn’t make the food-cutting task any easier, with the fork held in a clumsy fist and the knife routinely falling to the floor; one could trace such behavior back to her Viking roots, which of course her mother would not understand since these roots are said to be paternal in origin.*
* While Sister Madly may exhibit barbaric tendencies, there is no actual proof that she is of Viking heritage as no one has been able to trace her family tree back more than 3 or 4 generations. But if it can‘t be proven, neither can it be refuted.
Then one evening, her father offered up this modest suggestion:
Switch hands.
At first, this seemed illogical. Why, things like pencils, pens, machetes, battleaxes and grenades automatically found their way into her right hand ever since she could remember; surely using a knife with her left would cause the rivers of the world to flow backwards while bringing about the apocalypse. While she was okay with that, Sister Madly still wanted the opportunity to go on a date at least once before the end of the world.
Still, her father had never deliberately steered her wrong (a quality that Sister Madly did not inherit, she is proud to say.) And it is quite possible that she would hit it off with one of the Four Horseman, should her dad be wrong- a date with Famine would most likely not result in sawing away at a stuffed pheasant in some fine French restaurant.
So she switched hands.
And it worked like a dream.
It was this bit of parental insight that has sustained Sister Madly into maturity adulthood. Tasks that were next to impossible with her right hand have become effortless with her left, such as throwing a Frisbee, peeling vegetables, striking matches (again, totally inept until the moment she switched hands*) and most importantly, writing on mirrors in lipstick.
* Note: the sudden increase of mysterious fires around town the day after this discovery was purely coincidental.
Sister Madly has yet to go on a date where she is required to use a knife- to cut food, that is. There are other uses for a knife, you know.
THEME SONG: Cuts You Up, Peter Murphy
When Zeus Invades Your Microwave
Two types of people laugh at the law: those that break it
and those that make it ~ Terry Pratchett
There are times when the normally angelic Sister Madly cannot help but turn maverick, shunning the law by ripping the tags off mattresses, and defiantly parking in the loading zone 3 minutes before 6 PM. This is no life for a coward, for one runs the risk of unpleasant consequences.
Take, for instance, last winter. The Professors were outside, doing whatever it is that Professors do out in the cold, when what appeared to be a Fireball was launched heroically out the kitchen window and into the night. Further investigation revealed this nuclear supernova to be a flaming bag of microwave popcorn.
Earlier that day, the Professors’ succumbed to a domestic desire to make a popcorn garland for the Xmas tree. After some discussion, it was decided that little harm could come of Sister Madly microwaving this popcorn while the Professors went outside to do whatever it is that Professors do out in the cold.
After a horrifying search through the pantry (Why are you stockpiling Spam, Professor? And not just any Spam, but Teriyaki!) Sister Madly came upon a package of ‘Organic’ Popcorn (You’ve got 12 cans of Teriyaki Spam, Professor- this healthy pretense isn’t fooling anybody.)
It was here that Sister Madly made the fatal error that defeats a maverick every time: she read the directions.
Do NOT use popcorn button.
Well, son of a biscuit! The Popcorn was getting ideas above its station! Just when did it assume the authority to tell her what to do? The microwave sacrificed one square inch of personal space to provide the world with an easy, make-all-your-popcorn-dreams-come-true button, and Sister Madly was going to utilize it!
But this Popcorn was clearly in the pay of her enemies, refusing to pop into its glorious destiny of faux-buttery goodness like a stubborn teenager. It knew that Sister Madly had implemented the Popcorn Button, disapproved of her doing so, and proceeded with the admonishment to NOT Reheat.
Why must you pretend to be wiser than the rest of the world, Great Popcorn? Soon you’ll be re-writing the moral codes in every Batman comic, declaring yourself Chancellor of a vague yet menacing government agency, and telling Sister Madly how to do her hair.
But a tyrant is only as powerful as the people who support him, so know this, impertinent Bag of Popcorn: Sister Madly will be reheating you with the same one-push button that she was advised against using- and without the slightest hint of remorse.
Little did she know that she was flaunting her feathered boa in the face of the Grim Reaper.
You see, in reheating the Popcorn, Sister Madly discovered something that could not be realized in any other manner: Popcorn is a magickal life form capable of committing both genesis and genocide simultaneously, popping itself into an edible sustenance even as it bursts into flames.
Apparently, reheating Popcorn is the fastest way to summon Zeus, and Sister Madly missed the What to Do When Zeus Invades Your Microwave 101 lecture down at the Learning Annex (she overslept.) As the Professors left no brochures regarding this subject on the kitchen table, Sister Madly merely hoped that if she just ignored the fire, it would go away.
Turns out, fires don’t just go away, nor do they negotiate. But they can make Popcorn smell funky- and upon discovering just how funky that scent is, Sister Madly flung the smoldering Bag out the window and at the feet of the Professors, who were doing whatever it is that Professors do out in the cold.
Woe betide he, Professor, who heeds not the counsel of the Popcorn.
THEME SONG: Who By Fire, Leonard Cohen
Sister Madly
The Sixpence at Her Feet 