Marlow's Musings 9/29/24
Insights, adventures and fun stuff from this week.
Audio narration by David Marlow
Again this week I’m continuing the playful exploration of purpose through unlikely literary lenses. If you missed the first three you can find them below.
This week I thought it would be fun to take a twisted turn into the macabre world of Agatha Christie murder mysteries. Is it possible to create a story about purpose from a heinous crime?
Let’s find out!
Miss Marple in The Case of the Purposeful Poisoning…
Miss Jane Marple sipped her tea delicately, her keen eyes surveying the drawing room of Thornfield Hall. The air was thick with tension and the faint scent of bitter almonds.
“I'm afraid, Inspector,” she said softly, “that poor Mr. Blackwood's death was no accident.”
Inspector Hawthorne sighed. “Miss Marple, with all due respect, we've been through this. The toxicology report—”
“Oh, I don't dispute the cause of death, Inspector. Cyanide poisoning, wasn't it? No, what I find curious is the timing. And the teacup.”
The Inspector's eyebrows rose. “The teacup?”
Miss Marple nodded, setting down her own cup with a gentle clink. “You see, Mr. Blackwood was a man without purpose. Oh, he had money, certainly, a stunningly beautiful and a grand house. But no joy, no... what do the Japanese call it? Ikigai.”
“Ee-key-guy?” Hawthorne repeated, baffled.
“It means 'reason for being,'“ Miss Marple explained. “Mr. Blackwood had none. Until last Tuesday.”
The Inspector leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. “What happened last Tuesday?”
Miss Marple's eyes twinkled. “He started a garden. Not just any garden, mind you. A butterfly garden. Specifically designed to attract and nurture endangered species.”
“And this relates to his murder... how?”
“Well,” Miss Marple continued, “Mr. Blackwood's new hobby didn't sit well with everyone. His son, Geoffrey, for instance. The garden was to be built where Geoffrey had planned a new tennis court. And then there's the matter of the will.”
Hawthorne's eyes widened. “The will?”
Miss Marple nodded. “Mr. Blackwood was changing his will to leave a sizable portion of his estate to the Royal Entomological Society. For butterfly conservation, you see.”
The Inspector's brow furrowed. “But the cyanide—”
“Was in the teacup,” Miss Marple finished. “The one with butterflies painted on the rim. A gift from his daughter-in-law, delivered just yesterday.”
Hawthorne sat back, stunned. “Good heavens. But why the butterfly cup?”
Miss Marple's smile was sad. “Irony, Inspector. A cruel joke. You see, Mr. Blackwood had finally found his Ikigai, his reason for being. And someone couldn't bear to see him happy.”
As the Inspector rose, his face set with determination, Miss Marple gazed out at the half-finished butterfly garden. In the late afternoon sun, a single Painted Lady butterfly fluttered by, a fleeting testament to a purpose found too late.
“Just a moment, Inspector,” Miss Marple said softly, her eyes still on the garden. “Before you make any arrests, there's something else you should consider.” Inspector Hawthorne paused, his hand on the doorknob.
“But surely, Miss Marple, all the evidence points to Geoffrey. The motive, the opportunity—”
“Oh yes,” Miss Marple nodded, turning back to face him. “It does seem rather clear-cut, doesn't it? But you see, that's precisely why it can't be Geoffrey.”
The Inspector's brow furrowed. “I'm afraid I don't follow.”
Miss Marple smiled gently. “It's Mrs. Blackwood, the victim's wife. Or should I say, the striking and much younger second Mrs. Blackwood.”
“The wife?” Hawthorne exclaimed. “But the teacup was from the daughter-in-law!”
“Yes, and wasn't that convenient?” Miss Marple's eyes twinkled. “You see, Mrs. Blackwood had been counting the days until she could persuade her husband to sell this estate. She had dreams of a life of luxury in Monte Carlo.”
She paused, letting her words sink in. “What you may not know, Inspector, is that our dear Mrs. Blackwood has quite the penchant for gambling. She's accrued significant debts over the years, all hidden from her husband, of course.”
Inspector Hawthorne leaned forward, intrigued. “And Mr. Blackwood's new hobby threatened this plan?”
“Precisely,” Miss Marple nodded. “His newfound passion for the butterfly garden meant he'd never sell the estate. Mrs. Blackwood saw her dreams of Monte Carlo—and her chance to pay off her debts—slipping away. So she took matters into her own hands.”
“She used her daughter-in-law's gift as a clever misdirection,” Miss Marple continued. “And I daresay she encouraged Geoffrey's tennis court plans, knowing it would create the perfect scapegoat.”
Inspector Hawthorne sat heavily in a nearby chair. “Good heavens,” he muttered. “To think, all because of a garden...”
“Not just a garden, Inspector,” Miss Marple corrected gently. “A purpose. Sometimes, the most dangerous thing one can do is find their reason for being. Especially when someone else's devious plan depends on their lack of one.”
As the Inspector left to confront Mrs. Blackwood, Miss Marple turned once more to the window. The Painted Lady had vanished, but in the fading light, she could just make out the flutter of new wings on the horizon.
Chisel: The Haunting of Harold
Barney Blitherin and the Pecular Potion of Purpose
Word of the Week
fleeting (adj.)
/ˈflēdiNG/
lasting for a very short time
move or pass quickly
Origins of the word fleeting speak something fickle, shifting, unstable, existing only briefly. While there is no time limit on uncovering your purpose, the time we have to live it out is limited. Our days are indeed fleeting.
In case you missed it…
This week, there were again two Ikigai Thoughts for Today
One of Those Days is about facing times when we just don't have what it takes.
The second, An Artful Rest explored thoughts on an endlessly rainy day and the need to rest.
Ikiquest+
This week's Coffee Contemplation was another real-time reflection. The topic is judging and represents a unique reflection and turning point in my quest.
Ikiquest+ subscribers can listen to the audio or can read the transcript here.
If you aren’t yet an Ikiquest+ Subscriber, give it a try for free by clicking the box here.
Comment of the Week
There are two comments of the week to share the first from Gordon on An Artful Rest…
Autumn is telling us to slow down, to forage instead of grow, to quietly observe change, to rest our bodies and feed our minds.
I enjoy it when someone is inspired bu the Ikigai Thoughts and goes on a deeper personal reflection.
The second comment came from Scott on the other Thought for Today: One of Those Days. He said…
It amazes me how many times over the last few years you have posted on a subject that I needed right at that specific time.
I sometimes agonize over what to share on specific days, never knowing for sure what will bless and inspire readers. However, I frequently receive messages like Scott's, which both keep me encouraged and reinforce that I'm sharing the right things.
Quote I’m Pondering
This thought is from Danielle Fong…
We all come from places that no longer really exist.
Final Thoughts
As you can tell from the stories and reflections, I needed to change things up this week—shake the box, as the expression goes. During a long drive, I decided to listen to an audiobook and, unusually for me, chose a novel.
This book stood out not only because I rarely read fiction, but also because of its author: Stephen Wright, the comedian known for his deadpan delivery and surreal humor.
His book Harold is the meandering thoughts of a single day in the life of a seven-year-old boy. It is funny, irreverent, and somewhat melancholy. Two things particularly stood out to me, and I'd like to share one of them today: Harold's startling observation about weddings.
As the boy witnesses a couple being pronounced man and wife, he has an “aha” moment. To him, what this ceremony signifies is that these two people's names will one day appear on the same tombstone.
My wife was in the car with me half listening when Harold made his observation—without saying a word we each reached for the other’s hand.
Quest well.
Digitalis in the tea. Classic Christie. Loved this, David. And an excellent point about how finding our purpose is so personal. Not everyone will get it or agree with it's value.
This one was my favorite retelling yet, David,
"Sometimes, the most dangerous thing one can do is find their reason for being."
We may need to investigate who that someone else is who depends on our lack of one.
🤔