What if .......... the power of words

‘What if?’

Two simple words with amazing power.

Two words I’ve heard spoken in diametrically different ways in just the last three days

'What if?'

So what meaning and tone do you hear when you say ‘What if’?

Is it the excitement of ‘what if’ we did ………? What amazing things might happen, what new discovery could be found, what excitement generated, what new idea released?

Or is it the ‘what if’ of

‘What if’ …….. happened? What if you hurt yourself, what if you broke it, what if you can’t put it back, what if you're wrong?

Two words that can encourage or contain, can discover or deny, can enthuse or negate.

If a child or adult is surrounded by the latter then the world of their opportunity will get smaller and smaller. The potential to do new things will slowly be wrapped with fear. innovation will be stifled, dreams and hopes punctured.

We all know we need to hear the voices of problems but let the imagination of a positive 'what if' be your challenge. 

So ...... what if we 

 

Chewing on a Problem

Unusually this post is not a story - it's a part of my life

I like British teeth, I like their crooked honesty. They bring character to a face and a charm to a smile. Straight uniformed US teeth have a perfection that denies truth. At least that is what I have taught myself to believe to justify my absolute fear of the dentist, a fear born from a childhood trauma when I had six molars removed under gas with little or no explanation as to why.

I was quite happy with my resolute refusal to face a fear.

Over the last three weeks something weird happened. People I knew well began to talk about teeth and dentists, one suddenly and for no conversational reason explained how much better they were and how the needles were so much smaller. Another removed a part of his smile before eating explaining he was due to have it repaired shortly. There was no reason for this, but it kept happening.

As a result my thoughts began to consider whether I should try a trip to my dentist. My previous visit some seventeen years ago had not been too bad and the trip twelve years before that was a distant blur. However, fear of what might happen, what I might discover kept it as just a thought and not an action.

Last night a tooth broke. It was as if Lefi had decided that without some intervention I would continue to postpone the inevitable. As a result this morning I walked up to my dentist. A bright blue sky, wonderful fresh air to breathe and a broken tooth. Well two out of three isn’t too bad.

Somewhat surprisingly I was no longer on their records, apparently a regular seventeen year check up doesn’t count. I had to register again my previous NHS status lost through my stupidity.

I was thrilled when they said a dentist could see me right away, Pain 1 Fear 0. She said she would see what she could do with my broken tooth and did I want an inspection of the others. My fear wanted to say no but I heard common sense say ‘yes’.

Outcome

She was able to repair the tooth. In addition, despite years of dentistry neglect, I have no other real problems with my other teeth. I didn't deserve such a result for my cowardice and I promised her I would not recommend my approach to others. And I don’t. Pam Ayres had it right.

But I suppose my approach to my teeth is reflected in so many aspects of life. Postponing the things that you fear, procrastinating to avoid, writing short pieces about teeth to delay.

I wonder when they removed my molars as a child if they took out my wisdom as well. Keep smiling everyone.

Yours, Numb Lip Magoo

Lock, Stock and Listings

He wasn’t sure at first, he couldn’t quite believe it was true. It had been a recurring half thought, often revisited until finally he decided to try and make it – and it worked. It was a revolutionary new kind of door lock giving much stronger security to the home.

He had refined it, improved it and now he was ready for investment. Sadly, despite programmes such as Dragons Den and constant adverts via facebook and other social media showing the willingness of banks and government to invest, no one had bitten. The one piece of advice he had taken away was to pilot the idea. He needed to test the market but with little to invest in a major advertising campaign the question was how.

It was the Thursday morning that the local listings magazine came through the door. He was flicking through it when he saw the small box saying ‘advertisers wanted’. He had sent the email and arranged a meeting with the owner before his tea had properly brewed.

Two days later the deal was. The owner would place the advertising for free for a percentage on sales, the door lock had a new name and a partnership was formed between himself and the listings magazine. Five days later the magazine was published with a prominent feature on home security and a new innovation from ……….

SureLock Homes and What’s On

‘Revolutionary my dear’

What Could We Do?

She stared at the blood on her hands and thought calmly how they no longer looked like hers, she was detached from them. She hadn’t done this, they had. At the same time a strong wave of nausea swept over her as she realised that if someone as timid as her could do something like this then her belief system was shattered. People could and will do things they would normally find unspeakable.

In the world outside her head she could hear the approaching sirens. Suddenly she wanted to know where her handbag was, that everything was safe. She could just see it out of the corner of her eye. She wanted to reach out to it but was frightened to mover her hands. She could see blood still running between her fingers.

Behind her a calm voice was speaking. ‘All right love, now this is what we are going to do. Don’t make any sharp moves and don’t do a thing until we tell you. Is that clear?’

Her voice would not work so she nodded in understanding.

She felt the presence of two people as they knelt beside and behind her. Their fluorescent jackets bathed the scene with an unnatural yellow light. A large hand covered hers and the gentle voice spoke slowly, ‘OK, take your hands away……. now.’

As she did his hand replaced hers and the person behind her wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and lifted her to her feet. She could hear the uniformed woman speaking but her words were difficult to focus on.

‘You’ve done very well, you’ve been very brave. Not everyone would have done what you have done.’

Finally her vocal chords seem to recover. ‘Will he be alright, will he be OK? You see I hate blood, I really hate it,’ She looked down at her hands and found herself vomiting onto the pavement.

The paramedic led her to the ambulance as another drew up accompanied by a Police car. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up,’ said the kind voice, ‘I think you may well have saved his life.’

‘I just found him on the pavement,’ she explained ‘But I hate blood,’ she said quietly to herself, ‘I really hate blood.’

The Balloon

By the time she had managed to slide the knife in and remove the object that was preventing the drawer from gliding out she had forgotten what she wanted to get.

She shook as she carried the overfilled draw and placed it onto the small table next to her armchair. It was one of those jobs she never got round to but now it was forced upon her.

She slowly lifted out the collection of mail shots, letters, cards and other paraphernalia that had found its way into the dark recess examining each with care. The top layers were recent and the vast majority she threw onto the open fire in the hearth.

As the more modern strata were slowly disposed of she began to come across photos. Holding them between her fingers she began to look through a haze of tears. There was her husband when they were young, before his illness, when they were together. Here, one of Christmas with the children when they were little. Each photograph chipped another tiny hole in the dam of dementia keeping back her memories. The photos she placed to the side along with the letters she must have kept from her one ‘true love’.

The bottom of the drawer was a collection of safety pins, string, thimbles, badges and pens. Not worth keeping but not worth getting up to throw away. At the back was a single balloon.

She lifted it carefully out and brushed off the dust and lint. How long could that have been in there? She couldn’t remember the last time there had been balloons in the house. It must have been for one of the children’s parties. She lifted it to her lips and began to blow.

‘You silly old fool,’ she thought as she struggled to start its inflation. ‘It’s probably perished. It’ll go bang in your face,’ but she kept blowing.

When it had taken a reasonable shape she knotted it with her trembling fingers and liver marked hands.

Looking into the balloon she could see the reflection of the room behind her. Slowly she realised she could hear the noise of a party which she put down to increased blood pressure from all the effort.

Well, she did until she could see the reflection of her husband standing behind her with her children either side. Behind them were her parents and sister and brother. As she focussed through the tears she could see herself in the middle of them all as she had looked many, many years before.

She saw her husband reach out for her and closing her eyes she drifted away to meet him.

The balloon fell from her still fingers and bounced towards the fire before popping with a loud bang.

Moments later the young couple from the upstairs flat were banging on the door shouting ‘Mrs Glaze, Mrs Glaze are you all right?’

It was the police who forced entry and found her in the chair. Glancing around the room the younger policeman took in the scene as the young woman from upstairs quietly sobbed held close by her partner.

The young policeman saw the remains of the balloon on the floor and picked it up. ‘I think we can assume this as the bang you heard. The shock must have frightened her to death

Bernard

Bernard walked to where the land and the water met and looked out. This was it and he knew it. He was at the edge. He was, quite simply, totally sick of all the bills and he just couldn’t take any more.

He knew what they all told him, knew their advice. ‘Be positive’, ‘focus on the good’ but he just wasn’t going to listen to the self-help ‘quacks’ any more.

He breathed in slowly and shuffled into the water. He looked down to see his feet changing colour as they submerged, reflections played across the tops. He moved further forward stopping only to pause when the water was half way up his body and he could feel a small sense of buoyancy, of support.

He lifted his feet and in one movement dived his head under the water. Within moments he had surfaced again his mouth filled with weeds that he began to swallow whilst feeling disgusted with himself. 

He turned to see the bank. There they all were, his family and friends just sitting there watching from the land and looking like little coloured rugby balls. 

God, he hated being a duck