The Ministry of Silly Walks

Someone recently shared an image of a man walking silly in front of a sign that read:

YOU HAVE NOW ENTERED THE JURISDICTION OF THE MINISTRY OF SILLY WALKS. COMMENCE SILLY WALKING IMMEDIATELY.

There was also a bunch of smaller-print text, which I couldn't read.

But the image said it all.

Image traced back to Bored Panda Article

It is, of course, a reference to the classic Monty Python sketch about a fictitious ministry.

A still of John Cleese in that classic role

 If you haven't seen the sketch, it is embedded below.

We have regularly posted silly dad joke style puns in the front yard on a daily basis, something we started well before the global pandemic. But, ever since the self-isolation phase of this lockdown, I have made sure to update it every day.

It's great to see people pause to read it, and then either laugh, or exercise their eyes with a good solid eye roll.

So when I saw that image of the sign on Facebook, I decided to craft my own sign and post it in the front yard. I added a few silhouette images of Cleese to the sign and a bit of color, covered it in plastic to protect it from the rain, and fixed it to a board, so it would be a bit more solid.

The Silly Walks Ministry Sign in front of our house in Waterloo, ON

The sign I crafted, inspired by that first one, reads:

NOTICE: This property is an official jurisdiction of  THE MINISTRY OF SILLY WALKS. Commence silly walking immediately!

Then, in smaller text below that it reads:

No FINES for non-compliance, just potential FUN if you give it a try.

My home office is on the second floor and looks down on the front yard. From my standing desk I have a pretty good view and have delighted in seeing the smiles it brings to people's faces. And also, for those daring enough to give it a try.

I've seen countless folks give it a shot over the last week. The young, the old.

And, in the past few days, with the weather getting warmer so I can open the windows, I can now also hear the laughter.

Yeah, most of us who aren't on the front lines are pretty helpless to do anything but self-isolate and try to help with flattening the curve.

But if I can help make a few people smile and laugh, then that's not such a bad thing.

I have since read that this hilarious trend was started by a woman in Grosse Pointe Park, Michigan, named Liz Koto. Here is a Bored Panda article about it. So three cheers to Liz for starting this awesome movement. There's also an Instagram account showing video of people trying the walk. under the name Yorkshire Silly Walks.


If you wanted to make your own sign, I created a PDF of the one I used that you can download.

Click here to download PDF of this sign

Because, so long as Graham Chapman doesn't show up as The Colonel and tells us to stop that, lets spread some more much needed laughs and smiles.

Infectious Fun: Viral Video of Dancing To I Will Walk 500 Miles

There is a hilarious tweet with a video that I just have to share, and to talk about.

It's from a Twitter user named Liz from March 20, 2020, and it reads:

My mom has really enjoyed being quarantined with me since classes went online.

https://twitter.com/annielizzz/status/1241169722978246656

Click the image above to see the original Tweet and Video. Or below to see it on YouTube.

It starts off with a woman sitting quietly in a living room and reading.

Less than a second in, a younger woman, her daughter, comes stomping into the room to the music of I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers.

A montage then begins of the young woman dancing, following, and invading the personal space of her mother. The tension builds as the persistent dancing becomes annoying as the matriarch tries to continue going about reading or other household chores while her daughter dances up a storm.

It's funny, and, at one point you suspect it might become one of those occasional Saturday Night Live sketches that starts off funny, and then gets less funny as it goes on, and you regret losing those 2 or 3 minutes of your life to it, or how that sketch made the weekly cut.

But instead, it gets better.

Because of the confrontation that happens.

And the resolution.

 

As Twitter user lonliness points out, the "infliction point" or the "inflection point" - basically where the conflict happens, or there is a moment of dramatic change, the mother has two choices. (Writers take note of this critical element that happens in a story)

The mother makes the decision that turns this video from cute and amusing to brilliant.

And it's also a story about the beautiful infectious nature of smiling, laughing, and dancing together.

To a great song that immediately inspires dance.

And we all need a little bit of that sort of infectious fun.

HNT - Three Amigos

Between Christmas and New Years I had a brief chance to hang out and have a few beers with two of my oldest buddies, Pete and Steve (Er, not that they're old, although we're all getting a little long in the tooth - but that I've been friends with them for most of my life)

In the middle of the shits and giggles, I tried to snap a picture of the three of us. I took a half dozen shots, most of which were either too blurry, had my finger in front of the lens or showed just me and neither one of them.

Here's the best one. (Sad, isn't it, that THIS is the best one of the lot)

And here's the best out-take - Steve laughing at my lack of photography skills, and a pretty decent shot of one of my fingers. There's no fooling around with just the corner of my thumb - if I'm going to ruin the shot, that misplaced digit is taking centre stage.

The thing I love best about getting together with Pete and Steve is the fact that we can be downright silly and laugh uncontrollably like a bunch of kids at the stupidest jokes and all the simple things like flatulence that send children into non-stop giggle fits.

It's good to be able to just let go like that, let the laughter take over, and carpe diem, just like we used to when we were kids.

A Good Man Isn't Hard To Find

Every once in a while I wonder at why I bother taking time to "put myself out there" by composing blog posts about things that are important to my life.

Then, something happens that reminds me why I'm doing so.

First, I do it because I'm a writer and it's part of fulfilling my need to continually be writing.

But as to why I do it publicly, that's a tougher thing to answer. Sure, I appreciate the fact that others read my writing and can sometimes benefit from things I have to say or talk about. But then there's also the concept of "immortalizing" people places and things that are important to me.

I was recently contacted by the folks at The Good Men Project who found an online picture and post of my Dad from 2007. The picture was taken back in 1995.

They wanted me to write a short blurb to accompany this picture in their project. In the words of one of the founders: "The Good Men Project is men telling their stories in their language. It’s men sharing and searching for their good. And it’s an unfolding and limitless conversation about what good means, what the good man can be."

I agreed to let them use this picture of my Dad and to write an accompanying bit of text to go with it. So I submitted a quick summary about how I learned to laugh and find humour in regular daily situations because it's something very important that my Dad taught me. He loved life, loved to laugh, but more importantly, loved to make other people laugh. And, when following in my father's way and I'm actually able to inspire smiles or laughter from others, that's like having a bit of my Dad there with me.

In any case, I'm honoured and delighted for my Dad to be recognized in this way. And it reminds me that this "putting myself out there" on this blog is perhaps doing some good, and not just keeping me working on my "craft" of writing.

A Man, His Son And Their Laughter

My father died 7 years ago today. In many ways it seems like just yesterday that I lost him, but in other ways, it seems like several lifetimes ago.

Time perhaps makes it a bit easier as all the details of life fill one's days, but the heart aches no less.

Seven years? Really? Wow. And yes, I just doubled checked. Each March 17 I have reflected back on various things that came to mind on this anniversary of his loss in 2003.

March 17, 2005 - Miss You Dad
I had just started this blog and was reflecting on how we "sort of" named our son Alexander in honour of my Dad. I repeat the "sort of" thing with a humour I know Dad would appreciate. I mean, love him as I did, Dad's name was Eugene. But his Dad's name was Alex.

March 17, 2006 - Still Miss You Dad
I'm pretty darned good at consistent naming conventions, aren't I? Is this post I shared a poem I had written for him back in 1996 that I'll share again today.

March 17, 2007 - Dad - Four Years Ago Today
The title of this post proves without a doubt that I can indeed count. Within the post I reflect on a fine fall on Manitoulin Island when I was working on a "father/son" themed novel called Morning Son and had shared some scenes with my Dad. I'm still counting, and the novel is still unsold. (I just got back the latest rejection on it about a month ago - but I'm not giving up on that one. I know if I don't give up it'll eventually find a good home - us writers love abuse; rejection only makes us stronger . . . that's why I was such a force to be reckoned with when I was single and dating - I'd been rejected MORE than anybody around)

March 17, 2008 - And I Miss You Just The Same
This post is filled with pictures of my Dad and me, a brief summary of the day he died (since I re-live it in my head regularly), and a nod to how my Dad always left them laughing. More on that in a bit.

March 17, 2009 - Mourning Son
Last year's post I talked, yet again about the unsold novel, Morning Son (yes, there's no typo here, the title is a play on the words "morning sun" and "mourning son" -- oh how clever I am with words) -- but the really fun thing about this post is that it includes pictures of me and my Dad. They make me smile to look at them, but they make others laugh to see the mullet I was sporting.

And that leads me to a legacy my Dad left me with which I truly cherish.

My Dad loved to make people laugh. Since I admire the man so much, I naturally want to "be like" him or be seen to be like him in many ways. Yeah sure, I have middle age thinning hair and male pattern baldness just like Dad, but gosh darn it all, I want more. If I could possess only one of his skills or talents, it would be that -- make 'em laugh. Continually influenced and inspired by his manner, I do my best to put smiles onto the faces of people where-ever I go, whether it's a quick interaction with a stranger, or yet another chat with a colleague.

The world needs more laughter -- and, since my Dad left this world, and there's one less person making people smile and laugh, I feel it's only right to do my part. It's part of the reason why I chose to poke fun at myself while quietly reflecting on my sadness and loss. If that made just one reader smile, then I've done my job, and I've done my Dad proud.

Okay, and now to the serious stuff -- my (drum roll please) poetry. And no, this isn't the one I claimed to have written about that man from Nantucket.

As I copy and paste (look how hard I'm working here) this poem, I'm glancing at the beautiful artwork from an Ottawa valley artist that Fran and I purchased to give to him with the poem that partially inspired it which hangs in my den above the desk and above this poem, mounted on a gorgeous wooden frame my Dad created. We both channeled our creative energies into the project - I did the writing, Dad made the writing resonate in the beautiful natural presentation of it.

A Man, His Son and Their Dog

A man, his son and their dog
Sit quiet, ever still
They are dark silhouettes against an intense fire-red
display of the waking sun in the eastern sky
The haunting call of a loon in the distance
And a duck flaps its wings, takes flight above the lake
Slicing cleanly through the picturesque scene

The dog whimpers, leans forward, looks askance at the boy
The boy himself turns his head slowly to regard his father
The man nods, smiles, then returns his gaze to the mist
rising off of the lake

In that silent exchange
Against the orange-tinted morning sky
A mutual respect and love are shared
In a way that can never be spoken
But which still carries more power, more beauty
Than any sunset or sunrise
- Mark Leslie Lefebvre, 1996

I cried when I wrote this poem, and I cry every time I read it.

But I smile to think of that powerful, mostly unspoken bond between a father and son. And when I think about both the collaboration this poem represents, as well as the fun times and laughter Dad and I shared, my smile gets bigger and bigger, and the tears are a sadness mixed with laughter.

As I reflect on how Dad made me and others smile and laugh, I realize something crucial about the circle of life. My son makes me smile and laugh multiple times per day. So, no matter how much I try to give back and give that gift to others, it comes back to me two and threefold every single dad.

I'm a blessed man. Rich with smiles, rich with laughter. I have endless pocketfuls of the stuff that I feel is my duty to share with as many people as I can. But, like love, you can never run out of the stuff -- the more you give, the more it returns to you.

Okay, time to go upstairs and wake up my son. Unlike myself and my Dad before me, Alexander isn't a morning person. But when he's particularly hard to wake up, there are tricks I can do to get his attention -- like when I "throw myself" down the stairs. That always gets a rise, and, of course, a laugh out of him. (Kids, don't try this at home - I am, after all, a trained professional in the art of pretending to throw myself down the stairs -- been doing that for decades and haven't broken a limb -- at least yet)

So my son and I will share a quick morning laugh. What a wonderful way to start the day.

I know Dad would have been proud.