or A Good Thought for Today
I like to have a plan. I like to know what is going to happen so I can best use my time and effort. But you know what happens to best-laid plans... So when plans change, I am going to go with the flow and not get stressed about it. Because try as I might, there's only so much that is under my control.
Now a few comments on my statement for the day.
--The phrase is actually, "Get your ducks in a row," but I didn't have any pictures of ducks, so I said geese, and I also needed a G post. By the way, the rest of my family can't tell the difference between a duck and a goose no matter how many times I point out differences. Even though there are two ducks in the picture behind the row of geese, I think they would say that they were all geese.
--I wondered where the phrase, "Get your ducks in a row," came from, and as with most of these sayings, there is more than one idea. The first is a mother duck getting her ducklings in a row behind her. Another says that it is getting bowling duckpins in a row for the next ball. You can choose, or make up your own idea for its origins.
--I tried to remember what came next after, "Best laid plans..." but I couldn't. Turns out the whole phrase is "The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry," and comes from a Robert Burns poem, To a Mouse, written in 1786. And since April is National Poetry Month, I'm including the entire poem below. Enjoy.
To a Mouse
BY ROBERT BURNS
On Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough,
November, 1785
Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murdering pattle!
I'm truly sorry Man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion
An' fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
'S a sma' requet;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't!
Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's win's ensuing,
Baith snell an' keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary Winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.
That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble,
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the Winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!
But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes o' Mice an' Men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!
Still thou are blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e'e,
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I cannot see,
I guess an' fear!
