The parable about the rich man

As it’s Saturday I think it’s good to think about our lives and their meaning.Something coming into my mind lately has been a thought about why being rich is a problem.I used to think it was just morally wrong to be very wealthy in a world where so many are hungry/

But as I have been tidying my clothes and my books I wonder if it’s simply a practical idea.That  the more I have the longer time it seems to take to care  for one’s possesions and so the less time for simply being or meeting friends just for the pleasure of sharing thoughts.

I gave away a lot of my shoes  a few months ago…that was a start.When I got married I had 2 dresses from Woolworth’s.a skirt and blouse from a jumble sale and 2 pairs of shoes.In winter I had only one wool skirt which I kept shortening…this was the time on mini skirts.

To be frank,I did not have enough clothes for winter but packing for a trip was quick…Now I have all the warm clothes I need and more.

The less you can manage with the more time for creativity or just being alive.We forget just being alive and knowing we are alive is important… regardless of what we do.Usually doing happens naturally


The way to do is to be.

Gus the Theatre Cat by T.S.Eliot from Poetry Index (Link under the green rectangle)


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Gus – The Theatre Cat a poem by T S Eliot

Gus is the Cat at the Theatre Door.
His name, as I ought to have told you before,
Is really Asparagus. That’s such a fuss
To pronounce, that we usually call him just Gus.
His coat’s very shabby, he’s thin as a rake,
And he suffers from palsy that makes his paw shake.
Yet he was, in his youth, quite the smartest of Cats–
But no longer a terror to mice and to rats.
For he isn’t the Cat that he was in his prime;
Though his name was quite famous, he says, in its time.
And whenever he joins his friends at their club
(Which takes place at the back of the neighbouring pub)
He loves to regale them, if someone else pays,
With anecdotes drawn from his palmiest days.
For he once was a Star of the highest degree–
He has acted with Irving, he’s acted with Tree.
And he likes to relate his success on the Halls,
Where the Gallery once gave him seven cat-calls.
But his grandest creation, as he loves to tell,
Was Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.

“I have played,” so he says, “every possible part,
And I used to know seventy speeches by heart.
I’d extemporize back-chat, I knew how to gag,
And I knew how to let the cat out of the bag.
I knew how to act with my back and my tail;
With an hour of rehearsal, I never could fail.
I’d a voice that would soften the hardest of hearts,
Whether I took the lead, or in character parts.
I have sat by the bedside of poor Little Nell;
When the Curfew was rung, then I swung on the bell.
In the Pantomime season I never fell flat,
And I once understudied Dick Whittington’s Cat.
But my grandest creation, as history will tell,
Was Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.”

Then, if someone will give him a toothful of gin,
He will tell how he once played a part in East Lynne.
At a Shakespeare performance he once walked on pat,
When some actor suggested the need for a cat.
He once played a Tiger–could do it again–
Which an Indian Colonel purused down a drain.
And he thinks that he still can, much better than most,
Produce blood-curdling noises to bring on the Ghost.
And he once crossed the stage on a telegraph wire,
To rescue a child when a house was on fire.
And he says: “Now then kittens, they do not get trained
As we did in the days when Victoria reigned.
They never get drilled in a regular troupe,
And they think they are smart, just to jump through a hoop.”
And he’ll say, as he scratches himself with his claws,
“Well, the Theatre’s certainly not what it was.
These modern productions are all very well,
But there’s nothing to equal, from what I hear tell,
That moment of mystery
When I made history
As Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.”

Gus – The Theatre Cat ( poem) – T S Eliot

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