Boxing, with Soap

There has been a lot going on in the news this past week. Wait. There has been a lot going on in the news — every single day — for the past
1 year, 252 days, 16 hours, 25 minutes and 37 seconds. The news cycles are astounding. Sometimes it is hard to keep up.

Most days, the headlines don’t make me happy. In fact, they upset me. At times, I feel anger and disgust. They make me sad or disappointed. Or I have the feeling that we are all on the great big sinking ship.

For the most part, I keep my mouth shut, here on Kid Wednesday. Mostly. But believe me, there are times when I want to get right up on my soapbox and let the world know about it.

It used to be a real soapbox, by the way. Historically. Well, they were big crates that used to hold shipments of soap. This started back in the late 1800s. People would be gathering to hear about some “this or that.” And those would-be motivators of crowds would pull up one of those soap crates. And stand on them. If they needed to proclaim something or deliver their polished speeches. They might have even been selling snake oil and were giving their best sales pitches.

Through the ages, the soap box then became a metaphor for spontaneous speech making. Or spouting off about something on your blog. You know.

Besides wanting to get up on my soap box, there are other times when I really, really, really, want to read someone the riot act. Of course, we all know what that means. You want to let someone “have it.” You give the stern warning. You tell them the “what for.”

But here is the thing. There was a REAL riot act. IT was a British law passed in 1714 to prevent riots. There must have been a big riot problem in England back then. Because they voted to enact this Act.

The gist? If too many people were gathering their little buckled shoes on the cobblestones, and if they were looking edgy, or surly, or even sideways, an officer would appear. He would read the Riot Act out loud. Officially. And then, if they kept up with their pitchforks and torches, he would let them know they had to disperse. If they didn’t, they would face punishment. Probably Ye’ Old Stockade. That’s reading someone the Riot Act.

But here. Most days.
I bite my tongue. (A phrase which probably started back in the time of Shakespeare.) Meaning of course that it is difficult to speak when someone bites their tongue.

And then, as they say, Silence is Golden.
But do we stand on the deck of that sinking ship, in silence? And simply watch as the water level rises over the deck.

Or do we sound the alarms, and send up the flairs?
Some idiot ran this unsinkable ship in to an iceberg. And now we are going down, Molly Brown.

Glub. Glub. Glub.
Or sound the horn?


“Listen with curiosity. Speak with honesty. Act with integrity.”
― Roy Bennett


“Silence is the invisibility of talking. I’d take half an argument over half a silence any day. And I’d take peace and quiet over a full-blown argument any other day, unless it’s Tuesday.”
― Will Advise, Nothing is here…


“Any woman who is sure of her own wits, is a match, at any time, for a man who is not sure of his own temper.”
― Wilkie Collins, The Woman in White