Maggie May Way
It is a rare mammal fortunate enough to have been assigned to such an extraordinary mother, whose name is Maggie May—time of entry into Earth’s atmosphere—August 24, 1940.
Growing through childhood, ΩNE saw Maggie May as somewhat of a normal kind of Occidental mother.
Raised by the dainty and sweet-meek Christina Primrose Addison, and her deeply self-matriculated spouse Alistair Kean Richardson in a large city, and then in a pristine area of Northern British Columbia.
The summers were divine, like fine delicious Shuswap Wine, but the penalty for these snippets of paradise was extremely harsh winters.
Undoubtably, several months in a row of Arctic-like temperature with the numbers far far below the Celsius freezing point, which in case ya’ll didn’t know, is set to ZERO.
Deep within her was an eloquent survival mechanism—forge in a small cottage, with a wooden stove, and an outhouse for relief—what’s for breakfast today Chrissy—oh, same old porridge, again and again.
Maggie May had droves of trials and tribulations to scrutinize her fortitude and resolve, along with the subconscious desire to forge a new destiny for her Clan, thus Maggie May is among the greatest leaders of any Awesome Fam.
Always introspective and judicious in her motherly duties, she was so very comforting when a downtrodden elementary 3rd grade student came crying home from school.
A drooling government employee was having a bad hair and foul breath day, taking it out on a random victim in an abominable way.
Hint٩(♡ε♡ )۶Mint
This is know as yatsu atari.
If ΩNE is looking to advance in any meaningful way, always best to avoided yatsu atari like the plague—for if not doing so—consider yourself like the plague, but worse—to be dealt with accordingly—smothered in warm-sticky-gooey—fuzzy-tree-hugging—deep-seated-judicious—notion of exacting unconditional Love.
Whether divine intervention or pure coincidence, the powerful Way of Maggie May came into full play—in this momentous instance, Maggie May also happened to be Chairperson of the local school-board for several years, including on that particular day.
At the end of the Mal Matriculation school year—this han-men-kyō-shi (poor-example-do-not-follow) was sent along into another dead-end hallway—good riddance to parasites was the marching order of that day.
Was this due to Maggie May’s clout pulling strings behind the scenes when she was out and about—one thing to make absolutely clear—for all those who need to hear—this scenario is highly unlikely, as nepotistic usage of power is simply not the Maggie May Way.
Maggie May was always of the mind to talk things through—just between me and you—she always made sense on cue—verbally in a charming way—when her immature children went astray.
That was until the water-balloon play day ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ
At 10¢ a pop, there’s nothing quite like a two-story drop—launch pad being little sisters innocent double bed alongside the windowsill—harbinger of a ghastly inevitable mega flop, in other words—slooshy slop.
After observing Maggie May diligently cleaning and scrubbing the house, in anticipation of city relatives arriving that day—the rebellious mega water balloon acted like an out of control buffoon—deciding to bequeath its watery treasure to little sisters now soggy soaked mattress, that fateful, and meaningful day.
This one off occasion is where she decided to remind her fine son, via a hand carved maple wooden spoon, containing tart stings, to emphasize and internalize the folly of this clandestine mischievous behaviour of water-balloon fun.
Each of the seven sharp reminders was iterated poignantly by the sting of the spoon—she made it crystal clear—valid reasons for ΩNE’s well deserved tears, and what exactly she thought, of the tragic tale of the wayward water-balloon, and its accomplice—a 10-year-old mini-buffoon.
1—please
2—do
3—not
4—do
5—that
6—ever
7—again
Then, ΩNE was sent away for a deeper ponder and wilderness wander, therefore, thank you kindly Maggie May—sometimes tough love facilitates edification, thus growth into a more rounded humanistic way.
What about Chip On Shoulder ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
The notion of Chip On Shoulder is something Maggie May rejects outright—urging all Other to quickly do the same.
Incessant churring of unpleasant murky past narration, remains the antithesis of the benevolent heart and rock solid constitution—the unshakable foundation of the Maggie May Way.
The past cannot be changed, yet there is freedom to think about life in a different style, sharper angle, a different perspective—how about starting to love ONESELF—a unique Infinite journey—start now today.
For it was her beloved husband, and the situation from whence he came—he soothed his weary and restless soul using the common protocol of medicating emotional suffering with large amounts of alcohol.
In order to properly mitigate this niggling issue, and as the family glue, she took it upon herself to study alcoholism from a practical self-matriculated point of view.
Over the next 10 years, starting with correspondence and night classes at Okanagan college, she then graduated from a prestigious university, a phycologist with the authoritative power and fortitude to understand those who are suffering, and bring the past to heal.
Not all mammals are honoured to have such an exemplary example—seeing ΩNE’s mother retreat upstairs after long days—more countless hours at her simple desk—deep inside the nooks of books—whisking her to Infinity Space—vision for the human race—the Muse dictating the pathways of faith.
Not to say the word proud out loud, as pride always comes before the fall from vainglory.
However, in this miraculous instance, the truth must be told, this boy wandering in the Land Of The Rising Son, could not be more honoured to have originated from her sublime DNA—her divine notion of self-matriculation intrinsic motion— inculcated at the benevolent knee of sweet Maggie May.
Bonus(*≧∀≦*)Balls
Talk to a stranger *\(^o^)/*
One of the most important lessons at the knee of Maggie May, was the Emotion Notion to engage with strangers, establishing channels while modulating the Universal Love Frequency—the ΩNE truth of humanity.
