EVERY PICTURE TELLS A STORY ...

 ... like this one:

One can only assume that Richard is the old guy trudging behind.

Actually, that's not the photograph I was looking for on Facebook 'Late lost nightlife of Wellington'.

It's this one on the site that I told Richard about:

Looking cool!

INTERVIEW # 40

Yes, you read that heading correctly. Interview number 40!

Wow! *

Who would have thought?

This series has been one of the most popular of The Curmudgeon Inc.ⓒ series with, over the 39 posts an incredible number of comments that can be counted in the dozens. Now that's achievement.

To celebrate I thought that an interview featuring the number 40 somehow would be appropriate.

A quick Google search on 40 showed this:

God does not explicitly state a hidden or magical meaning for the number 40 in the Bible, but Scripture consistently uses it as a symbolic period of testing, trial, preparation, and transition.

Key Biblical Examples of 40
Noah’s Flood: Rain fell for 40 days and nights to cleanse the earth before a new beginning.

The Israelites: They wandered in the wilderness for 40 years to be purified and tested before reaching the Promised Land.

Moses: He spent 40 days on Mount Sinai receiving the Ten Commandments, and his life is broken into distinct 40-year blocks (in Egypt, in the desert, and leading Israel).

Jesus:
He fasted and was tempted in the wilderness for 40 days before starting His ministry, and there were 40 days between His resurrection and ascension.

Many theologians and teachers point out that 40 marks a clear pattern of spiritual transition—a crucial time where God shapes people, tests obedience, and brings about renewal.

Other biblical scholars caution that the Bible never explicitly assigns a formal rule to numerology, meaning 40 is sometimes just a literal length of time rather than a secret code.

 

Yeah, thanks Google but when I want a load of religious nonsense I'll ask for it or I'll read one of Robert's posts on his on-again off-again blog which is like an annoying light bulb that flickers on and off.

I asked Google again and this time a list of philosophical quotes came up that were more interesting:

Philosophical Quotes

Life really does begin at forty. Up until then, you are just doing research. - Carl G. Jung

At age 20, we worry about what others think of us. At 40, we don't care what they think of us. At 60, we discover they haven't been thinking of us at all. - Ann Landers

At twenty years of age, the will reigns; at thirty the wit; at forty the judgment. - Benjamin Franklin

Every man over forty is a scoundrel. - George Bernard Shaw

Forty is the old age of youth; fifty is the youth of old age. - Victor Hugo

Life begins at forty. - W. B. Pitkin

The first forty years of life give us the text: the next thirty supply the commentary. - Arthur Schopenhauer

The lovely thing about being forty is that you can appreciate twenty-five-year-old men. - Colleen McCullough

We don't understand life any better at forty than at twenty, but we know it and admit it. - Jules Renard

When I passed forty I dropped pretense, 'cause men like women who got some sense.' - Maya Angelou

Women are most fascinating between the ages of 35 and 40 after they have won a few races and know how to pace themselves. Since few women ever pass 40, maximum fascination can continue indefinitely. - Christian Dior

Women deserve to have more than twelve years between the ages of twenty-eight and forty. - James Thurber

That's better.

No doubt readers will expect me to choose Arthur Schopenhauer's aphorism given that he and I nearly share the same hairstyle but I'm more interested in what Carl Jung had to say - "Life really does begin at forty. Up until then, you are just doing research."


I decided that Carl would be a worthy interviewee for this 40th interview.

********************

The Curmudgeon: Hello and welcome Mr Jung.


Carl Jung: Grüezi The Curmudgeon. We understood that it would be right for you to invite me to your interview series particularly the 40th one.


The Curmudgeon: Ha ha - I see what you did there - The Collective Unconscious. Very clever.


Carl Jung: Thanks The Curmudgeon - may I call you TC? It's obvious that you weren't relegated to the General classes at school.


The Curmudgeon: Yes, TC is fine if I can call you Carl. It's true that I was in the P classes at school not the G classes which were a thing identified as distinct from other things.


Carl Jung: Mmm, yes, my theory of The principle of individuation I think. I also think TC that you have been using Google search a little bit too much haven't you.


The Curmudgeon: Yes, rumbled Carl. I should have known better.


Carl Jung: Well you do TC - better than those 3G guys anyway. Ha ha ha.


The Curmudgeon: Ha ha ha. Carl, as you picked up on, the 40th has a connection to you as you said I think and I quote "Life really does begin at forty. Up until then, you are just doing research." Can you elaborate, for our readers, on what you meant by that?


Carl Jung: Ah! By that I meant that the first forty years of life are a preparation phase where you build an ego, learn social roles, and gather data, while authentic self-understanding begins in midlife.


The Curmudgeon: Yes, I feel that that relates to me where I've gained a better understanding of myself with age.


Carl Jung: Exactly and most of us do. In our early years which I referred to as The Research Phase (Ages 0–40) you build careers, form relationships, and absorb the expectations of society. You test what works and experience failure.


The Curmudgeon: Empirical knowledge then?


Carl Jung: Yes, not blind faith like some of those silly religious guys try to explain everything away with.


The Curmudgeon: Ha ha - I know one of those.


Carl Jung: You have to build your Ego you see and you can't do that by blindly following what some joker in a dress, pushing an unproven manifesto sent to him from the Vatican out of a pulpit in the middle of an arcane and frankly bizarre ceremony - whew! You have to stop me. I got enough of that religious stuff from my father who was a pastor in the Swiss Reformed Church. I guess I take after my mother who was more of a spiritualist. She was nuts though. I digress - where was I? Oh, ego - you must first establish a functional identity and a foothold in the external world before you can examine who you are beneath the surface.


The Curmudgeon: Right, got it but where does the '40' come into it?


Carl Jung: Hold your horses TC - the Real Life (Ages 40+) is where midlife shifts the focus from external approval to inner truth. You begin the process of individuation—integrating your hidden flaws and true desires (the shadow) to become a whole person.


The Curmudgeon: Yes yes yes - as Robert used to say before the Vatican probably told him he was sinning. I get it. I'm the product of my upbringing, education and life experiences both good and bad.


Carl Jung: Yes, you learn from those things and, by first hand experience and applying a filter - a moral or ethical filter you fine-tune the process and hopefully become a better person.


The Curmudgeon: Thanks Carl, I feel better about myself now. What happens next?


Carl Jung: You die.


The Curmudgeon: Oh!


Carl Jung: But you can die happy TC.


The Curmudgeon: Yeah, thanks Carl, you're a bundle of joy alright.


Carl Jung: Hey, Life's like a box of chocolates you know. There's always one in there you won't like.


The Curmudgeon: Was that one of yours?


Carl Jung: No - it was from Forrest Gump the film I saw on the way here on Spirit Airlines.


The Curmudgeon: Ha ha. It's been great talking with you Carl. Have you any more sayings that I can use for the other bloggers?


Carl Jung: "Show me a sane man and I will cure him for you".


The Curmudgeon: Perfect. I know just the guy to say that to. Cheers Carl.


Carl Jung: Uf Widerluege TC.


The Curmudgeon: What a nice guy and with a dry and witty sense of humor I like.

* Not World of WearableArt. That starts on September 19th in Wellington.

CATHOLICS VERSUS SOCIALISTS

Robert, once again is mistakenly equating Socialism with Communism and is taking his Catholic Church stance against it preferring I guess the most right wing forms of capitalism which the Vatican endorses.

The Catholic Church considers Socialism as incompatible with its teachings, even though other Christians believe that the Bible's call to help the poor and Jesus's teachings are compatible with socialist principles.

Here are some of the Catholic Church's tenets against Socialism:

Private Property. 

The Church teaches that people have a natural right to own private property and that Socialism takes away this right. The vast wealth that the Vatican controls in real estate, banking, art treasures and stocks and bonds fully matches this.

Subsidiarity.

Catholic teaching relies on subsidiarity, which means local communities, families, and lower groups should solve local problems. It mistakenly believes that Socialism places total control in a central government. The Catholic Church does this while weekly promulgating Vatican forms of propaganda in order to have those local communities toe the 'company' line in all forms of life and social interaction e.g. sexuality, abortion rights. marriage and relationships, gender issues and yes, tithing to the Church.

Materialism.

Popes have argued that socialism views humans only as economic cogs of a machine and ignores concepts of spiritual life and the existence of gods. As per above this hasn't stopped the Catholic Church from selling indulgences (which led to the split off of other forms of Christianity through Protestantism), tithing church communities and accumulating fortunes.

State Power.

Historical and modern socialist states have unfortunately often promoted state atheism and attacked religious freedom. This has been yet another mistake of the warped Socialism that became Communism and is largely historical - a fact that the Vatican chooses to ignore - and still pushes this line.

Why do many other Christians support socialist ideas?

Early Christian Community.

The Book of Acts describes early believers sharing their possessions and giving to anyone in need. 

Focus on the Poor.

Jesus told his followers to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and care for the vulnerable.

Economic Justice.

Christian socialists hold that an economy based on cooperation rather than fierce competition fits better with Christian love. 


The problem seems to be in the confusion between Socialism (with a capital) and Communism.

Communism is a cynically adapted and warped form of Socialism where altruistic socialist ideas and wishes have been bent to suit dictatorship forms of government which, going by Orwell's Animal Farm theme benefits the top few to the detriment of the less privileged - a very ugly form of capitalism really.

The Catholic Church seems to be a right wing, capitalist institution that at times (1920s to 1940s for instance) verges on Fascism. This anomalously coexists with the fact that the majority of Catholics worldwide come from impoverished countries and communities and are not of the wealthy classes. They are however ruled in their communities by Catholics who are part of the elite and powerful who use the Church for their own agendas whether political, moral or social.  It's kind of like Robert who (now or in the past) voted National instead of Labour even though his personal needs would be better met by a Labour government.

LET'S TALK ABOUT HATS

 I've decided - well, The Old Girl decided for me quite some time ago that I don't suit hats. This is a problem given that I've become follically-challenged with age and need to wear one when the sun is shining.

I keep buying them though and, after wearing them once or twice end up relocating them to a cupboard and later to the op-shops.

Here are just a few of them. I've posted other images before.

Richard and Robert seem to suit hats better than I do. It must be something to do with the shape of their faces or that the lowbrow neanderthal look suits a hat. Maybe they can enlighten me.

I KNOW NONSENSE WHEN I SEE IT ...

 ... after all, most of what I write myself is nonsense and I admit it.

Robert however manages to write nonsense seemingly without any self-awareness as seen in his latest post:

That's it - the entire post. There's no explanation and no hint at irony. Given his past right-wing leanings and Catholicism we can only assume that this is what he believes.

This is scary.

SHAZ, TERRIBLE TERRY AND PETIEPOPS

In anticipation and frankly, expectation of a multitude of comments on the previous post TIDDLELEGS, CHEENA AND ROTTEN RO and knowing that readers will be expecting a follow-up, here's another story, this one from the Liardet Street series that also could have been published in the 1960s.

Shaz, Terrible Terry and Petiepops were three siblings without many ideas other than having fun. They lived in Vogeltown which was and still is a leafy suburb between Newtown and Brooklyn. It was made up of hills and valleys that had pine plantations, natural bush, creeks, streams and parks - a natural playground for Baby Boomer children growing up in egalitarian (as it once was or nearly was) New Zealand).

Shaz was the oldest sibling and 'called the shots' back then. Terrible Terry was second oldest and Petiepops the youngest before, a few years later their parents decided, no doubt with the encouragement of the Catholic Church, to introduce two new siblings both girls.

One summer (1957/58) as the school holidays that were wonderful and never showed any indication of ending, Terrible Terry and Petiepops, as usual, quarrelled over their comic book collection which consisted mainly of Donald Duck, Uncle Scrooge McDuck, Gyro Gearloose, the Beagle Boys and Donald's nephews Huey, Louie and Dewey. The squabbles invariably resulted in ripped pages and total comic book losses which was a shame since the legendary Carl Barks for Dell Comics who produced these was a genius and pristine copies of these comics nowadays would be worth a fortune. Shaz, who had in her room, been trying to re-read her Nancy Drew and Famous Five books stormed into Terrible Terry and Petiepops bedroom which had an upper and lower bunk (Terrible Terry on the upper and Petiepops on the lower) until later, after many fights and arguments, Dad separated the bunks into two separate beds because Petiepops claimed that Terrible Terry would lean over and spit down on him and Terrible Terry (spuriously) claimed that Petiepops would poke sharp knitting needles up through his mattress to annoy him). "Lets go down to the lower play park" said Shaz which was more of a command than a request. Shaz at age 9 although being a girl could outwrestle, outbox and generally dominate Terrible Terry at age 7 and little Petiepops at age 5. Terrible Terry and Petiepops suddenly stopped their quarrel, and looked at Shaz aghast.

The Krull Street playground was the usual one that Shaz, Terrible Terry and Petiepops played at. As The Liardet Street gang they were respected and Shaz usually ruled the roost, organising the games which featured the grass covered hill which was one of the best sledge and box sliding areas in Wellington.

Shaz stranding a boy at the top of the 'witch's hat

Krull Street playground now

The lower playground, the Farnham Street one was just outside The Liardet Street gang's jurisdiction - just south of Macalister park. The playground 'belonged' to the Farnham Street gangs and was generally out of bounds to others.

Farnham Street playground now

Sure enough, when The Liardet Street gang entered the playground the Farnham Street lot 'ganged' up on them, taunting them with insults and rude gestures. Shaz though was unperturbed and, grabbing the hands of her brothers marched in to the middle and up to the main attraction, the lullaby.

The Farnhamites quickly climbed on to the lullaby filling up the bench so that Shaz, Terrible Terry and Petiepops could not get on. A big boy in the middle said something to Shaz that wasn't very nice and spat out his chewing gum - the horrible PK that Petiepops didn't like as he preferred Juicy Fruit - at Terrible Terry. Petiepops didn't like that as, although they quarrelled a lot, Terrible Terry was his brother so he marched up to the big boy and thumped him on the knee. Hard. The big boy got such a fright he nearly fell off the lullaby. He looked embarrassed as his friends were laughing and sniggering at him. He didn't get off to have a go at Petiepops though proving that, like all bullies, he was a coward. Shaz put her arms around Petiepops and said "Well done Petie. Let's leave these sillies and go somewhere else. I've heard that The Botanical Gardens have a good playground and only have The Garden Road boys there. Thay, like their name suggests are a bunch of pansies."

Shaz, Terrible Terry and Petiepops walked off and up Liardet Street to home where they asked Mum to pack them a lunch - raspberry jam and marmite sandwiches, some apples and a small bottle of Thompson and Lewis Orange Smash for each of them. They asked Mum to look up the bus timetables and set off arriving in Glenmore Street after three bus rides. Looking through the 'Founder's' gates at the massive parkland sent shivers of anticipation up Petiepop's spine and he thought to himself "I wonder if the Garden Road boys are here today."

To be continued.

TIDDLELEGS, CHEENA AND ROTTEN RO

I thought that readers might like one of the stories from the Garden Road series - children's storybooks that could have been published in the 1960s. Here's an except for your reading pleasure.

Tiddlelegs, Cheena, and Rotten Ro were three brothers with a grand idea. "We'll make a band!" declared Tiddlelegs, the oldest, his eyes gleaming with ambition. Cheena, the middle brother, grinned. Rotten Ro, the youngest, clapped his hands with glee.

They rummaged through the garage, pulling out old cardboard boxes of all shapes and sizes. String, elastic bands, and empty toilet paper rolls became their treasures. Soon, a cacophony of plunks, twangs, and thumps filled the air as they crafted their instruments. Tiddlelegs made a giant drum from a removal box. Cheena stretched elastic bands over a shoebox for a stringy guitar. And Rotten Ro, with great determination, created a shaker from a cereal box filled with dried beans.

"Right," said Tiddlelegs, striking his drum with a flourish. "Our first song! A rock anthem about… us!"
But almost immediately, their harmonious vision dissolved. "My drum is the loudest!" boomed Tiddlelegs.
"But my guitar has the coolest sound!" Cheena retorted, plucking his elastic bands.
"It's all my boxes and string!" Rotten Ro wailed, his face scrunching up.
The argument escalated, their carefully crafted instruments forgotten. "That's it!" yelled Tiddlelegs, throwing his drumsticks down. "You two are fired! The band is over!"
Cheena shrugged. "I don't care," he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Mum and Dad will make two new brothers for me to play with soon enough."
Rotten Ro, however, did care. He threw himself on the floor, kicking and screaming. "They're mine! All the boxes and string are mine!" he bellowed, gathering every piece of their failed band project into his arms and storming off home.

Later that evening, exhausted from their musical drama and subsequent argument, the brothers stumbled into their shared room. Tiddlelegs climbed into the top bunk, pulling his blanket up to his chin. Cheena settled into the lower bunk, already half-asleep. Rotten Ro, who didn't have a bunk, found his usual spot on the floor beneath Cheena's bed, curling up with a sigh. Soon, the room was filled with the gentle sounds of sleepy breathing.

The next morning, with the forgetfulness only brothers possess, the previous day's arguments were just a distant echo. Rotten Ro, bursting with excitement, ran into the kitchen. "Look what I've got!" he shouted, holding up a brand new, shiny rugby ball.
"Awesome!" yelled Cheena.
"Let's go to the Botanical Gardens!" suggested Tiddlelegs. "We can play a huge game!"
And so, off they went, the three brothers, full of renewed energy and high spirits, eager for a game of rugby amidst the beautiful flowers and towering trees of the Botanical Gardens. They kicked the ball, chased each other across the wide-open lawns, and giggled as they dodged imaginary opponents.

But just as the game was reaching its peak, an argument began. "You cheated!" yelled Tiddlelegs.
"No, I didn't, you just missed it!" Cheena protested.
"It's my ball!" Rotten Ro shrieked, tears welling up in his eyes. He threw the rugby ball to the ground, stomped his foot, and, in a familiar flurry of indignation, collected his ball and stormed off home, leaving Tiddlelegs and Cheena alone in the vast expanse of the Botanical Gardens, once again at an impasse....

... to be continued?

SWINGING THE POLE

 "Anyway keep in mind the concept of going to a place devoid of God and using a small flat section on the end of a long pole to impart energy to a hard sphere so it is eventually impelled to fall into a chasm. By the grace of God I will practice the difficult art of swinging the pole so that it contacts the sphere in readiness."

- Said Robert in a rather - let's be kind and say 'cryptic - comment yesterday on an earlier post.

His god only knows what that meant but I hope that this new-found activity of his is seemly.

I SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO THE OLD GUY ...

 ... not my Dad this time although I regret not listening a lot more to his stories of when he was overseas during WW2.

"Listen up son"

No, I'm talking about Richard 'Sox' Prowse who I had lunch with yesterday.

On leaving I said I was going to a nearby New World supermarket to buy some wine - Elephant In The Room chardonnay. Richard proceeded to give me lengthy directions to the nearest one in Lower Hutt. I pretended to listen while checking Google Maps and starting a direction App on my phone. When I drove off though the App worked if you looked at the phone but would not connect to the in-car audio system nor even give voice directions from the phone. I don't drive while looking at a phone so just headed off in the direction of Lower Hutt and drove around aimlessly for a while. Not spying a New World supermarket I eventually found my way to the motorway and went home.

I should have listened to the old guy.

HERE’S A LITTLE CONUNDRUM

 The three bloggers are meeting for lunch tomorrow to celebrate their birthdays.

All three were born in August.

The Curmudgeon on the 8th of August.

Richard of Richard’s Bass Bag on the 20th of August.

Robert of Walk With Me Rob on the 19th of August.

Which one is going to Hell?