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by R. C. (RCat) Arquette
I am no card carrying member of the Christian centered coalition of the U. S. of A., in fact, I am at best a dead-again Catholic by birth. Of course, my lack of direct Christian affiliation doesn't, in anyway, keep me from understanding the underlying meaning of the Christmas holiday. I may not ascribe 100% to any one set or multi-sets of Christ based doctrine, no matter what the denomination may be, but I do understand the significance of the day. I have also passed on that significance to my kids and try to live through each holiday season by adhering to the tenets of peace, love, and understanding. I really don't limit these pursuits to just this time of the year…as much as it may sound like I do; compassion does live within my tired breast. This of course wears thin in the modern world where the worship of the dollar has replaced the messiah and the icons of the "blue light special" and the "xmas clearance sale" are more attractive than the nativity and the midnight mass. They're off! The lemmings of the season are out in mass for the annual race, grab and buy-fest. Pushing their way from one retail temple to another in search of some elusive piece of manufactured materialism. Gifts for those near and dear, as well as those they could care less about. Electric this and battery powered that…inflatable, mechanical, industrial, items that meet the perceived wants of grandma, cousin Billy, and the Brunski twins. With glazed expressions, sore feet, and credit cards in hand they jostle each other from one check-out to the next in a dull frenzy of crass commercial spending. The highways that suddenly look like parking lots; nothing moves…horns blow…voice shout… gestures are made. Parking lots that look like "used car lots" with acres of shiny tin and plastic vehicles waiting for the angry and lost to remember where they parked… returning only to find they locked their keys inside. Grumpy shoppers, rude sales clerks, tired old men, whining kids, and the wives and mothers all caught up in the middle of it searching…ever searching…as the calendar run downs. Each year I try to avoid the mayhem., but each year I have to wade into the maddening flow. Struggling to keep my head above the chaos…and each year I end up swearing I won't get pulled into this insanity again. This year it was to be different. I would not go where these creatures churned the retail waters in a feeding frenzy of gift buying. This time I was going to stay home and hide…Ha! Fat Chance! I've been overwhelmed once again! I guess all I can hope for at this time, as I'm swept away by the crowd, is maybe...just maybe next year will be different....Nah! Oh no! Man overboard!
Help!…Throw a drowning man a line, will ya'??!! Here I go
again!!... Your faithful
reporter - RCat
Currently, his duties include acting as the head of a family consisting of an overworked wife, a vibrating teenaged son, and an over stimulated housecat. An elder daughter resides at some distance with her own family; a husband, two sons, and a daughter. As head of this merry band of pranksters, the illusionary aspects of his carefree life are played out on the stage of daily routine. RCat is a self described "survivor," having lived through the "flower power" promises of the 1960's with the goals of world peace, universal brotherhood, free-love, and the legalization of certain organic herbs. Contrary to what others might say, he can still remember parts of it quite vividly. Sadly, those cosmic issues have now been reduced to the cliché. He now, more realistically, understands the world has gone quite mad and no longer cares to be a part of the continuing descent into oblivion. The thought of putting on a loincloth to venture forth and live out his days meditating in a tall tree in a distant forest sounds appealing. Of course, he isn't kidding himself. Chances are a noisy bunch of cretins will quickly invade the tree next to him. Ah well, such is the way of this planet we call home. In the meantime, he scribbles poetry, short stories, and essays, as well as a choppy stream of drawings, cartoons and works of art. All done with a grin as meditative mental therapy in an effort to hold onto what little remains of his sanity. Enjoy him while you can, he is the quintessential endangered species.
For more from RC visit his columns: then, before; and his poetry |
Nothin' Better
Songs
of
Life In The
Oh holy moly!…It's that time year! No one
is safe! Christmas has spun around once again and the consuming
loonies of America are loose in our streets!
R.
C. Arquette, "RCat" to friends and fellow writers,
is an aging hippie and practicing curmudgeon. He was dragged
into the world, kicking and screaming, back in the middle of
the last century; 1950 to be exact. His outburst clearly showed
his disdain for reality at the earliest of stages. He grew up
living in the sub-tropical splendor of the "Sunshine State,"
Florida, US of A, where he attended Jr. College and after twenty
years received his AA degree; what can I say, life kept getting
in the way.
