Why is it so hard to listen to the little voices in your head? You know the ones that tell you things that turn out to be true.
Things that you should have listened to, but did not. Personally it scares me when those voices start talking. I keep looking
around to see who is there. There is some history in my family where Little Voices have gotten out of hand and led a certain
member of my family outside of the normal realms of sanity. So when I hear the voices I am always wondering if I am headed
down that same path.
It would not be so bad if the little voices would announce themselves before sharing their infinite wisdom. You know by
some name that I would recognize like, "Don’t do That" or maybe, "I wouldn't if I were you." But instead they appear with a
voice so small so as to be inconsequential. Divulge the information they were sent to give, and then as quickly disappear.
I am sure you all have gone to put some item down. As your fingers begin to release the item a little voice says, "Maybe over
there would be better." You ignore the little voice and 30 miles down the road remember your wallet on top of the car. Now
even before you stop the car you know the wallet is gone! You call to the little voice and ask why it was not more
persistent? I think some times it is the fault of the little voices that you forget things. Especially when you try and argue
with the voice.
……………."Look, 'I Wouldn't If I Were You', leave me alone. I know what I am doing! The drink will be just fine there for a
moment."
Or maybe……………."I am only going to lean the shotgun there against the truck while I clean the quail 'Don't Do That'. I'll
put it away when I am done."
It really bothers me when the voices start laughing as I realize the dark sticky substance running down the back window of
the truck is the drink I put up there awhile ago. And the scratches on the gun and the side of the truck always bring a
chuckle from somewhere deep inside the folds of my brain. Had I not been arguing with the voices, maybe I would have
remembered the items, but alas that is not the case.
Why could they not be more like the High Commander. When she has something for me to do she never just appears with a
task and then disappears. She has learned that it takes months of nagging to get the simplest of tasks accomplished. If she
were to only quietly mention that the current state of the garage was unpleasant looking and should be cleaned up, I would
dismiss it as just another annoying little voice, and go on watching that movie on TV. No, instead, she starts cleaning the
garage. Just the sound of her moving things around in the garage is enough to get me up off the couch and into the
cleaning mood. I know that the High Commanders thoughts on what is important to be kept and what is little more than
refuse, are strangely different than mine and if I want to having anything left I better clean the garage myself.
The other day I again found myself with the great opportunity of being in charge of the welfare of Kachewnik. Commonly
called baby-sitting. Even though I am her father, I believe it is still appropriate to call it baby-sitting. I am not sure what it
should be called when the High Commander is taking care of Kachewnik, but I know it is entirely something different than
when I am doing the watching.
When I am in charge I literally sit and watch the baby. A whole room that was here to fore, perfectly clean, can in a moment
of fatherly baby sitting, turn into a disaster area. Worse yet according to the High Commander, I do not even notice anything
is wrong. On the contrary, I notice the disaster and hope the High Commander will be home soon. Lest the whole house is
destroyed.
Another problem that has arisen is the changing of diapers. The High Commander can sense the moment bodily fluids have
met the absorbent material that makes up the diaper. Through the superior use of smell and mental capacities fathers have
but do not employ, she can thus have the advanced knowledge to change the diaper in a timely manner. I on the other hand
have to have a more visual indication that the diaper needs changing. You know like, oh, the diaper dragging around the
knees of my daughter from the bodily effluent collected there.
This is not always a good indicator and can be missed by the baby sitting father, especially when the sagging diaper
coincides with the moment the elk on TV steps from behind the tree, as the hunter of the week slowly draws back his bow.
How can I be expected to take my eyes from the TV at a moment like that? But when the child trips and falls from the
restricted movement allowed by this low slung diaper that does seem to help my awareness of the situation. Or as my
daughter is fond of doing, throwing the near capacity diaper in her fathers sleeping face is always a good attention getter.
Had I been more receptive to the Little Voices including Kachewnik's, I would not have had to endure looking for a turn
around on an endless patch of freeway, or trying to clean the sticky soda from my window with only a dry towel. Similarly,
the gagging bouts I have after an attack by the overfilled diaper could be avoided.
Not all Little Voices are endowed with the gift of kindness. Not all the Little Voices are looking out for your welfare. There
are those that have only evil pranks and personal gain on their minds. What, you don't think a Little Voice could have
personal gain on its mind? Of course it could! How many times have you lost an item that you have carefully placed in a
protective spot, only to never be able to find it again? Was in not the Little Voice that reassured you that this spot was the
perfect place? That you could never forget where it was? I summit that it was the Little Voice that came back while you were
gone and took the item. I am not sure where the Little Voice hides the things that it takes but I am sure that when I find this
place I will be able to retire and live well the rest of my days. I am also sure the when I find this place there will be many
unmatched pairs of socks there, because I think the Clothes Dryer and the Little Voice are in an evil allegiance with each
other.
Here it is the dead of winter and I am looking out the window at the Daffodil's that are coming up in the flower bed in front of
my house. I had so many Christmas lights laying on and around this flower bed that the Daffodil and Tulip bulbs were
tricked into thinking it was spring and are now being assaulted by a hard frost. The Little Voice that the bulbs listened to
was obviously wrong and now the beautiful spring garden I was hoping for will be little more than a sprinkle of color. Maybe
I should put the lights back out until the threat of frost has lessened? When this thought leaks from the corner of my mouth
the High Commander in something other than a little voice assures me that that will not be necessary or acceptable. If I am
so bored she says she can find something for me to do. Luckily this Little Voice I understand and quickly retreat to the
garage and commence to clean it.
Sitting here in the garage looking around for something to clean up, my eyes fall upon the torn saddlebags from the elk hunt
two years ago. That starts me to thinking about all the times that the Little Voices have affected my life. Which horse trail to
take is one that sticks in my mind. I had competing Voices on that one.
'This Is The Perfect Place' assured me the trail was good.
'I Wouldn't Do That' warned me that something was not right.
'Don't Do That" maybe could have swayed the battle and saved me the trouble of having the terrible horse wreck I did have,
but instead kept quiet, tipping the balance towards 'This Is The Perfect Place'.
I reposition the pieces of the saddlebag and think about sewing them together. Another strap and some rope may be
needed. Maybe I should just throw them away and buy a new saddlebag? No, I will keep them to remind me of the great
Little Voices battle I had in the wilderness of Wyoming. Besides it is great fun watching friends trying to guess what the
collection of materials once were.
Soon enough, the battle of the voices on a horseback hunt may again flow to the forefront. In Two more days the decision at
the Game and Fish Department will be made and my cohorts and I will know that the time for planning can truly begin. I will
have a little talk with the voices and try to come to an understanding with them so that I will be better prepared the next
time. Now though I need to hurry and explain to the High Commander why I need to keep the huge tangled ball of fishing
line and rusty lures before she throws the precious keepsake away!
Things that you should have listened to, but did not. Personally it scares me when those voices start talking. I keep looking
around to see who is there. There is some history in my family where Little Voices have gotten out of hand and led a certain
member of my family outside of the normal realms of sanity. So when I hear the voices I am always wondering if I am headed
down that same path.
It would not be so bad if the little voices would announce themselves before sharing their infinite wisdom. You know by
some name that I would recognize like, "Don’t do That" or maybe, "I wouldn't if I were you." But instead they appear with a
voice so small so as to be inconsequential. Divulge the information they were sent to give, and then as quickly disappear.
I am sure you all have gone to put some item down. As your fingers begin to release the item a little voice says, "Maybe over
there would be better." You ignore the little voice and 30 miles down the road remember your wallet on top of the car. Now
even before you stop the car you know the wallet is gone! You call to the little voice and ask why it was not more
persistent? I think some times it is the fault of the little voices that you forget things. Especially when you try and argue
with the voice.
……………."Look, 'I Wouldn't If I Were You', leave me alone. I know what I am doing! The drink will be just fine there for a
moment."
Or maybe……………."I am only going to lean the shotgun there against the truck while I clean the quail 'Don't Do That'. I'll
put it away when I am done."
It really bothers me when the voices start laughing as I realize the dark sticky substance running down the back window of
the truck is the drink I put up there awhile ago. And the scratches on the gun and the side of the truck always bring a
chuckle from somewhere deep inside the folds of my brain. Had I not been arguing with the voices, maybe I would have
remembered the items, but alas that is not the case.
Why could they not be more like the High Commander. When she has something for me to do she never just appears with a
task and then disappears. She has learned that it takes months of nagging to get the simplest of tasks accomplished. If she
were to only quietly mention that the current state of the garage was unpleasant looking and should be cleaned up, I would
dismiss it as just another annoying little voice, and go on watching that movie on TV. No, instead, she starts cleaning the
garage. Just the sound of her moving things around in the garage is enough to get me up off the couch and into the
cleaning mood. I know that the High Commanders thoughts on what is important to be kept and what is little more than
refuse, are strangely different than mine and if I want to having anything left I better clean the garage myself.
The other day I again found myself with the great opportunity of being in charge of the welfare of Kachewnik. Commonly
called baby-sitting. Even though I am her father, I believe it is still appropriate to call it baby-sitting. I am not sure what it
should be called when the High Commander is taking care of Kachewnik, but I know it is entirely something different than
when I am doing the watching.
When I am in charge I literally sit and watch the baby. A whole room that was here to fore, perfectly clean, can in a moment
of fatherly baby sitting, turn into a disaster area. Worse yet according to the High Commander, I do not even notice anything
is wrong. On the contrary, I notice the disaster and hope the High Commander will be home soon. Lest the whole house is
destroyed.
Another problem that has arisen is the changing of diapers. The High Commander can sense the moment bodily fluids have
met the absorbent material that makes up the diaper. Through the superior use of smell and mental capacities fathers have
but do not employ, she can thus have the advanced knowledge to change the diaper in a timely manner. I on the other hand
have to have a more visual indication that the diaper needs changing. You know like, oh, the diaper dragging around the
knees of my daughter from the bodily effluent collected there.
This is not always a good indicator and can be missed by the baby sitting father, especially when the sagging diaper
coincides with the moment the elk on TV steps from behind the tree, as the hunter of the week slowly draws back his bow.
How can I be expected to take my eyes from the TV at a moment like that? But when the child trips and falls from the
restricted movement allowed by this low slung diaper that does seem to help my awareness of the situation. Or as my
daughter is fond of doing, throwing the near capacity diaper in her fathers sleeping face is always a good attention getter.
Had I been more receptive to the Little Voices including Kachewnik's, I would not have had to endure looking for a turn
around on an endless patch of freeway, or trying to clean the sticky soda from my window with only a dry towel. Similarly,
the gagging bouts I have after an attack by the overfilled diaper could be avoided.
Not all Little Voices are endowed with the gift of kindness. Not all the Little Voices are looking out for your welfare. There
are those that have only evil pranks and personal gain on their minds. What, you don't think a Little Voice could have
personal gain on its mind? Of course it could! How many times have you lost an item that you have carefully placed in a
protective spot, only to never be able to find it again? Was in not the Little Voice that reassured you that this spot was the
perfect place? That you could never forget where it was? I summit that it was the Little Voice that came back while you were
gone and took the item. I am not sure where the Little Voice hides the things that it takes but I am sure that when I find this
place I will be able to retire and live well the rest of my days. I am also sure the when I find this place there will be many
unmatched pairs of socks there, because I think the Clothes Dryer and the Little Voice are in an evil allegiance with each
other.
Here it is the dead of winter and I am looking out the window at the Daffodil's that are coming up in the flower bed in front of
my house. I had so many Christmas lights laying on and around this flower bed that the Daffodil and Tulip bulbs were
tricked into thinking it was spring and are now being assaulted by a hard frost. The Little Voice that the bulbs listened to
was obviously wrong and now the beautiful spring garden I was hoping for will be little more than a sprinkle of color. Maybe
I should put the lights back out until the threat of frost has lessened? When this thought leaks from the corner of my mouth
the High Commander in something other than a little voice assures me that that will not be necessary or acceptable. If I am
so bored she says she can find something for me to do. Luckily this Little Voice I understand and quickly retreat to the
garage and commence to clean it.
Sitting here in the garage looking around for something to clean up, my eyes fall upon the torn saddlebags from the elk hunt
two years ago. That starts me to thinking about all the times that the Little Voices have affected my life. Which horse trail to
take is one that sticks in my mind. I had competing Voices on that one.
'This Is The Perfect Place' assured me the trail was good.
'I Wouldn't Do That' warned me that something was not right.
'Don't Do That" maybe could have swayed the battle and saved me the trouble of having the terrible horse wreck I did have,
but instead kept quiet, tipping the balance towards 'This Is The Perfect Place'.
I reposition the pieces of the saddlebag and think about sewing them together. Another strap and some rope may be
needed. Maybe I should just throw them away and buy a new saddlebag? No, I will keep them to remind me of the great
Little Voices battle I had in the wilderness of Wyoming. Besides it is great fun watching friends trying to guess what the
collection of materials once were.
Soon enough, the battle of the voices on a horseback hunt may again flow to the forefront. In Two more days the decision at
the Game and Fish Department will be made and my cohorts and I will know that the time for planning can truly begin. I will
have a little talk with the voices and try to come to an understanding with them so that I will be better prepared the next
time. Now though I need to hurry and explain to the High Commander why I need to keep the huge tangled ball of fishing
line and rusty lures before she throws the precious keepsake away!
Little Voices
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