Happy Trails to You

Thought for the day: Please don't squeeze the... HEY! Where's the Charmin???

This is a common sight all over the world right now.

If poor ol' Mr. Whipple from the old Charmin television ads were still alive, wouldn't he be astounded? I mean, his very raison d'etre has disappeared. There's absolutely no reason to warn anyone not to squeeze the Charmin these days, because there's none left in the stores for anyone to squeeze... or buy.

Maybe we should blame the mysterious disappearing t.p. on those darned bears... (Or should I say bares?)

Believe me, I'm not making light of COVID-19. Like many of you, my hubby and I are both in the high risk category. But...( Or should I say butt?) as usual, I think the best way to cope with what's happening is with humor. (Surprise!)

So how about a silly little poem/song? (You can imagine me picking my guitar and singing, if you will...)

               ♪♫♪♫

The pandemic news is scary,
And no telling what's to come.
We're locked down in isolation,
And some brains have gotten numb.
That's the simplest explanation
For this obsession oh-so-dumb.
The world's kinda crumbling around them
So– they crave paper to wipe their bum??? 

CHORUS:
Buy it, buy it, and then buy some more.
Stack it in the closets; pile it on the floor.
Stash it in the basement; stuff it in the car.
Drink up all your bourbon, and then store it in your bar.
Throw out all your furniture; you can use it as your bed.
Build towers to the ceiling, and then fill a backyard shed.
Ignore your grumpy neighbors when they look at you and frown,
Because you're gonna have the cleanest butt in town.

Like a swarm of hungry locusts,
They ravage every store,
Grabbing every roll in sight
And then moving on for more.
This worldwide troop of buttheads,
Perhaps a million strong,
Care only about their precious rears
As they sing their hoarding song:

CHORUS:
Buy it, buy it, and then buy some more.
Stack it in the closets; pile it on the floor.
Stash it in the basement; stuff it in the car.
Drink up all your bourbon, and then store it in your bar.
Throw out all your furniture; you can use it as your bed.
Build towers to the ceiling, and then fill a backyard shed.
Ignore your grumpy neighbors when they look at you and frown,
Because you're gonna have the cleanest butt in town.

Fat rolls, thin rolls, packs from four to forty-eight;
Soft stuff, rough stuff, and stuff that ain't too great.
It really doesn't matter... it's all about the hunt.
"Let no roll go unpurchased!" (A stinky selfish stunt.)
Until this pandemic's over and the panic buys grow still, 
They'll amass more toilet paper to leave their children in a will.
This behavior is atrocious; I think it's very wrong,
But that happy horde of hoarders still crow their hoarding song:

CHORUS:
Buy it, buy it, and then buy some more.
Stack it in the closets; pile it on the floor.
Stash it in the basement; stuff it in the car.
Drink up all your bourbon, and then store it in your bar.
Throw out all your furniture; you can use it as your bed.
Build towers to the ceiling, and then fill a backyard shed.
Ignore your grumpy neighbors when they look at you and frown,
Because you're gonna have the cleanest butt in town...
♪♫ The cleeeeeanest buuutt in toooooown.... ♫♪

Okay, was that silly enough for you? No? Good, because I've got some cartoons for ya, too.

(Dime bags of t.p....)

our heroes... always eager to help

 Don't forget! It's more important than EVER to WASH YOUR HANDS!!! But...

              Until next time, hunker down and take care of yourselves. And keep smiling.

P.S.  On Wednesday, I took advantage of the early morning hour of shopping set aside just for us old farts at our local grocery store, and I thought I'd do you guys a solid by sharing a valuable public service announcement with you:

                                                                  You're welcome.

Showing Love to a Stranger

Thought for the day:  I think it's incumbent on anybody born on the thirteenth to consider that number... lucky. 

Friggatriskaidikaphobia is a freaky cool word that means fear of Friday the 13th. Since Friday is considered by some to be an unlucky day, and thirteen is feared by some as an unlucky number, it should come as no surprise that when the two converge, superstitious fears multiply accordingly. We could say that

Unlucky Friday + Unlucky Thirteen = Unluckier Friday

Me? I'm not superstitious. Matter of fact, I think of thirteen as a lucky number. It's the day I was born, and I always think it's extra cool when my birthday falls on a Friday... like today. Yep, today is my birthday. (whoopee)  I'd like to send all kinds of good wishes to someone else who's celebrating a birthday today. Please join me in wishing  Jon a very happy birthday... and many more. [Happy birthday, cowboy!] If you've never visited his blog before, go check it out. And if you enjoy poetry, check out his books, too. Well... no, don't just check 'em out... buy 'em! His Love Letters to Ghosts is an unforgettable collection of haunting poems that resonate like an anguished cry in a darkened room. Trust me, you'll treasure them and  read them more than once. I sure have. And his collection of poems for children is absolutely delightful. I gave a copy to one of my granddaughters last year, and she loves it. Birthday wishes also go out to Geo, another one of my favorite blogger dudes, and to cat, sweet lady and poetess extraordinaire. Not sure exactly which day their birthdays fall on, but it's right about now, give or take... Guess that makes us all Sags. Some of us more than others... :) (I prefer to think of it as a loose fit...)

[Morguefile]

 So anyhow, if you folks in the southeastern part of the United States happen to see a massive glow in the sky today, fear not. It's not Armageddon, or anything. It'll just be the blaze atop my birthday cake. (You know you're getting old when the candles cost more than the cake!) I have a feeling our local firemen are sick and tired of coming to our house every year to extinguish the bonfire... which wouldn't be necessary if Smarticus didn't light the darned candles with a blowtorch... so maybe it's time for us to think about skipping the candles from now on. The truth is, I'm creeping ever closer to that age where there'll once again be a single candle on my cake, and everybody will tell me what a good girl I am if  I can summon enough hot air to blow it out in a single try.

Know what? Maybe it'd be better to skip the cake too, and just have a glass of wine.

Hey! I'm OLD. I can do that if I wanta.

Youth is the gift of nature, but age is a work of art.  [Stanislaw Jerry Lec]

                      (Too bad my work of art is being painted by Picasso...)

You don't stop laughing because you grow older. You grow older because you stop laughing.  [Maurice Chevalier]      

I'm happy to report that my inner child is still ageless.  [Jane Broughton]

                                     

You can't help getting older, but you don't have to get old.  [George Burns]

I am old enough to see how little I have done in so much time, and how much I have to do in so little. [Sheila Kaye Smith]

[image courtesy of unsplash]

Attitude, a sense of hope and humor, along with the feeling that one is not alone, is vital to a person's well-being, especially when fighting a deadly disease like cancer. Over the past few months, I couldn't help but notice some patients were at the cancer centers... alone... with no family member or friend along to share the burden.

Sure, we spoke to each another. Matter of fact, it's astounding how much and how quickly camaraderie develops within the confines of a cancer center. It's as though everyone's a member of the same club that no one wanted to join.

Still, it troubled me to see people there alone.

I told Smarticus that once we get him healthy, I'd like to volunteer at one of the centers. Maybe some of those loners would enjoy having someone with them during their lengthy chemo infusion...? Someone to chat with or play games with...? (Smarticus and I played a LOT of Yahtzee.)

He said maybe those people WANTED to be there alone. That thought had never crossed my mind, but it gave me something to chew on.

Still, it bothered me to see people there alone with no visible sign of support. Surely I could do... something.

Then serendipity struck. An article in the newspaper alerted me to a non-profit group that sends handwritten letters to breast cancer patients. The opening paragraph of this article, written by Erika Mailman, stated: A single card, written by a stranger, became a touchstone for a woman who had been diagnosed with breast cancer. She read it every night before bed. She brought it to every appointment. 

Ah HA! thought I. Such a simple... yet profound... way to offer encouragement and show support.

Girls Love Mail was started by writer and breast cancer survivor Gina Mulligan, and to date, this group has collected and forwarded 145,000 handwritten letters and cards to cancer centers all over the U.S. The article went on to express how much these letters mean to the women who've received them. In a world of sometimes social disconnection, these letters buck the trend... and they make a difference in these women's lives.

Making one person smile can change the world. Maybe not the whole world, but their world. 

Although these letters and cards currently go to breast cancer patients, maybe if the organization receives a large enough volume of them, they could be sent to other patients, as well. I dunno... but maybe. And although this organization serves patients in the U.S., maybe there are similar non-profit groups in other countries, as well...

Try to be a rainbow in someone's cloud. [Maya Anglou]

Not all of us can do great things, but we can do small things with great love. [Mother Teresa]

                                               
                               Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

The Wings of an Eagle

Thought for the day: We are eagles of one nest... the nest is in our soul. [Led Zeppelin]

[image courtesy of unsplash]

Eagles are majestic creatures. The kings and queens of the skies, you might say. With their immense wingspans, they have the ability to soar high, and their high-flying maneuvers... from the mighty flaps of their wings,... to the graceful glides on the air... to the sudden wing-back swoops to the ground... are all magnificent things to behold.

We, too, have the ability to soar high, but like reluctant eagles, we sometimes give up or lose our desire to fly. I've told the following story before, which is loosely based on a James Agreey story, The Parable of the Eagle, but in support of the post I want to write today, it begs to be repeated:

[image courtesy of Morguefile]

While traipsing through the woods one day, a farmer happened upon a lone eaglet perched on a fallen log. He scooped up the young bird, carried it home, and put it in the barnyard with his chickens. Before long, the young eagle was walking and clucking like a chicken and pecking at the chicken feed on the ground.

When the farmer's friend, a Native American named Joseph, stopped by the farm one day, he was appalled to find the majestic eagle in the barnyard scratching in the dirt like a common chicken. With a laugh, the farmer said the bird had been raised like a chicken and never taught to fly, so he was now more chicken than eagle. Joseph insisted the bird still had the heart of an eagle, and he could... and should... be taught to fly, so the farmer agreed to let his friend try.

Joseph picked up the eagle, and said, "You're meant to be the king of the sky. Stretch forth your wings and fly!"

But the timid eagle looked at his chicken friends pecking corn from the ground and jumped down to join them.

The next day, Joseph tried again. This time, he took the eagle up to the roof, and again, he said,"You're an eagle, the king of the skies. Stretch forth your wings and fly!"

And once again, the frightened bird returned to the safety of the chicken yard.

The third day, Joseph carried the bird to a nearby mountaintop, held it high above him, and said, "You are an eagle, the king of the skies. Spread forth your wings, and fly!"

Hesitant at first, the bird looked back toward the farm, back toward the only life he knew. Then he trembled, stretched his mighty wings, and with a triumphant cry, soared into the sky.

It's possible the eagle sometimes misses the chickens; he may even visit the barnyard once in a while for old time's sake. But as far as anyone knows, he's still living life as an eagle, the king of the skies... just as all eagles were meant to do.
                                                                         *****

It's easier to hang around in the barnyard, because the prospect of stretching our wings can be very frightening, but we should never let someone else define our capabilities. Why let someone else's doubts stop you from trying? By the same token, there are a lot of things happening in the world today that might make you want to hide in the barnyard... or stay in bed with the covers pulled over your head. It seems like every day, there is something else in the news that's discouraging and disheartening. Nothing but one dark storm after another...
                                                      Are you hiding from those storms?

[image courtesy of unsplash]

[image courtesy of unsplash]

One of the many interesting things about eagles: they don't hide from storms. Nope, they don't fly straight into them, either. They're much smarter than that.

They fly above them. Up above the storm... above the clouds... to find clear blue skies and wind currents that can carry them effortlessly through the air.

All birds find shelter during a rain, but the eagle avoids rain by flying above the clouds. Problems are common, but attitude makes the difference. [Abdul Kalam]

An eagle uses the negative energy of of a storm to fly even higher [Eric Thomas]

Flap the wings of inner strength to fly above the clouds of a storm. Cry not if left alone. Like an eagle, you are strong. [Vandana Saini]

I get it. I'll confess to feeling occasional angst over the state of the world today, but we must give ourselves permission to soar above those feelings. Wallowing in discouraged sadness... in the dirt of the barnyard... won't help anyone or change anything. We may not be able to change the entire world, but we can certainly do our best to make a difference right where we are. We can't single-handedly stop all hateful behavior in the world... but we can certainly devote ourselves to being kind in our everyday lives. A simple act of kindness may be just the boost another person needs to soar above the clouds.

[image courtesy of unsplash]

I've often defined myself as a pathological optimist, but that doesn't mean it's always easy.

There is an eagle in me that wants to soar, and there is a hippopotamus in me that wants to wallow in the mud. [Carl Sandburg]

It has to be a conscious decision. I have to fight  my inner hippo... and occasionally have a diet soda with my cheeseburger.

You can't soar like an eagle when you hang around with turkeys. [author unknown]

When the storms of life gather darkly ahead,
I think of those wonderful words I once read.
And I say to myself as threatening clouds hover,
Don't fold up your wings and run for cover. 
But like the eagle, spread wide your wings
And soar far above the troubles life brings.
For the eagle knows that the higher he flies,
The more tranquil and brighter become the skies.
And there is nothing in life God ever asks us to bear
That we can't soar above on the wings of prayer.
And in looking back over the storm you passed through,
You'll find you gained strength and new courage, too,
For in facing life's storms with an eagle's wings,
You can fly far above earth's small petty things. 

[Helen Steiner Rice]

Attitude is a choice. Happiness is a choice. Optimism is a choice. Kindness is a choice. Giving is a choice. Respect is a choice. Whatever choice you make makes you. Choose wisely. [Roy T. Bennett]

If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude. [Maya Angelou]

                            Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Counting Our Blessings

Thought for the day:  Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it. [William Arthur Ward]

In the United States, we celebrated Thanksgiving yesterday. I suppose from an alien's point of view, some of the traditions associated with that holiday are a bit... strange. As an earthling, I think there's something a teensy bit strange about it, too. I mean, the idea of an annual holiday centered around the expression of gratitude sounds oh-so nice on the surface, but why isn't gratitude something we express every day? Isn't every day filled with blessings? Isn't every day a gift and a miracle? We don't need to shove bread up a turkey's butt  or stuff ourselves to the point of misery every day, but I think the world would be a better place, and we would be infinitely more content earthlings, if we made a conscious effort to express appreciation for the people and things in our lives and to give thanks for them... every day.

Appreciation can make a day, even change a life. Your willingness to put it into words is all that is necessary. [Margaret Cousins]

A most memorable story of  gratitude comes from the life of Corrie ten Boom. During WWII, her family was sent to a concentration camp for aiding and hiding their Jewish neighbors. The tent Corrie slept in at the concentration camp was horrifically infested with fleas, and yet, as she explained in the book The Hiding Place, she was grateful for those fleas. She thanked God for those fleas every single day.

Most of us with pets have had to fight a flea infestation at one time or another, but if you've never experienced that particular brand of hell, let me tell you, their bite induces a claw-your-skin-off kind of maddening itch.

So how could anyone be honestly and humbly grateful for an out-of-control infestation of those hellish creatures?

Because their presence kept the guards away, which allowed her the freedom to conduct Bible studies and prayer meetings.

Astounding, isn't it? The Bible admonishes us to be grateful in all things, but I honestly don't think I could ever live up to that example set by Miss ten Boom. Even so, we should try. Maybe not to give thanks for fleas, exactly, but to appreciate the many blessings in our lives. That being said, I'm thankful for you guys. Really. You are all bright spots in my life, and I'm grateful we met through the wonders of the Internet. I'm thankful for humor, too, even if it's sometimes inappropriate. (My bad)

Okay, how about some silly Thanksgiving riddles? They aren't even inappropriate...

• What sort of glass should you use to serve cream of turkey soup? A goblet.
• What's Alan Alda's favorite Thanksgiving dish?  M*A*S*Hed potatoes.
• What do you call sweet potatoes that are very outspoken? Candid yams.
• If I have relatives with Mohawk haircuts, multiple facial piercings, and a bunch of tattoos, what should I serve them for dessert? Punk kin pie.
• Not only was my neighbor's turkey infected with salmonella, but she undercooked it.  Guess what all her guests suffered the next day? Yup, 'fraid so. The turkey trots.
• The local restaurant served overcooked turkey, lumpy gravy, and cold mashed potatoes. Know how they advertised it? As the blooperplate special.
• NYC is placing tall bleachers up and down Broadway so spectators can get a better view of what slightly renamed event? The May See Parade.
• What famous play about a Thanksgiving turkey was written by Henrik Ibsen? Hedda Gobbler. 

Okay, enough groaners for now. Time to count my blessings. Care to join me? Check out this video  It'll put ya in the right mood.

And these cartoons are only a little inappropriate...



           

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

What Are You Waiting For?

Thought for the day: Two blondes were waiting for a bus, and when it finally came, the first one asked the driver if the bus would take her to Peachtree Street. When the driver said no, the second one stuck out her bottom lip and told her, 'Oh, that's too bad!' Then she asked the driver, 'How about me...?'

[image courtesy of unsplash]

Public transportation is readily available in Baltimore, so years  ago, my friends and I usually depended on buses to get us where we wanted to go. Like the blondes in the thought for the day, a bus always stopped to pick us up sooner or later, but unlike them, we were familiar with the bus routes.

But... what if a bus never came? What if the so-called bus stop were nothing more than a replica of a bus stop... a perfectly designed prop?

[image courtesy of unsplash]

I read an article recently about just such a thing. Fake bus stops. They look like regular bus stops... and some of them even look like bus stops from many decades ago... but they're not located near a street, and no bus is ever going to pick up any passengers from them.

They're located next to some nursing homes in Germany. The first was built outside a Dusseldorf nursing home in 2008, and since then, many more have been built at other nursing homes around the country.

Why, you might ask? Alzheimer's patients, as well as those with other forms of dementia, sometimes have a propensity for wandering off, and in many cases, it's because they want to go home... usually to a home from the distant past that no longer exists. Like people who spent the last of their money, only to get on the wrong bus, they're trapped on a ride none of them wanted to take, and they can't get off. Addled, confused, and often lonely, memories of the past are much more real to them than what they had for breakfast on any given day. Since the advent of these bus stops, these patients, filled with a temporary sense of freedom, happily chat with each other while they wait for their bus. Then after a while, they can safely be brought back inside. These nursing home bus stops fill a need and serve a purpose.

COME ON, LADY... IN OR OUT!

I visited nursing homes as a volunteer, and again when my father was a patient in one, and now that I'm getting to be an old bag, the thought of being dumped in a nursing home gives me the shivers. But if I ever DO have to go into one of those places, I think I want it to be in Germany.

No, not because of the fake bus stops. Because of a 2014 calendar. A very cool 2014 calendar created by some very cool residents of the Contilia Nursing Home in Essen, Germany. I read about it some years ago, and the bus stop story reminded me of it. So I looked it up... and found the pics that were made into the limited edition calendar. Wanta see?

JANUARY: Wilhelm Buiting, 89

FEBRUARY: Marianne Brunsbach, 86

MARCH: Erna Rutt, 86 & Alfred Kelbch, 81

APRIL: Erwin J. von der Heiden, 80

MAY: Erna Schenk, 78

JUNE: Ingeborg Giobass, 84 & Erich Endlein, 88

JULY: Lothar Wischnewski, 76 & Margarete Schmidt, 77

AUGUST: Martha Bajohr, 77

SEPTEMBER: Joanna Trachenberg, 81 & Horst Krischat, 78

OCTOBER: Irmgard Alt, 79 & Siegfried Gallasch, 87

NOVEMBER: Johann Liedtke, 92 & Marianne Pape, 79

DECEMBER: Walter Loeser, 98 & Kurt Neuhaus, 90

Dontcha LOVE 'em? Did you recognize all of the characters and/or movie scenes they recreated for their calendar? All of these folks... all the way up to age 98!... had a grand time getting into costume and making the scenes come alive for their calendar, and I love that the home they were in made it possible for them to do it. They showed great compassion and allowed the patients to express themselves in a most unusual way, and they even provided the props, staging and photographers. That's certainly above and beyond anything I've ever heard of any other nursing home doing.

If YOU could recreate any scene from any movie, what would it be? I'm thinking the iconic beach scene in From Here to Eternity... or, ooooh, wouldn't it be cool to be done up like Scarlett O'Hara in that gorgeous gown she made from her green velvet drapes? (Natch, the scene would have to include a very dapper-looking Rhett.)

You know, sometimes without meaning to, we act like we're waiting at a fake bus stop for a bus that will never come. Content to wait for someone or something to come along and take us to the destination of our dreams, we sit passively and waste precious time procrastinating, when we have the capability to get up and climb into the driver's seat ourselves.

Now, I'm not telling you to steal a bus. If you're already on the right bus, and it's heading down the road in exactly the direction you want to go, that's great. Hold on tightly... with whatever you've got... and enjoy the ride.

If you want to go to Peachtree Street, and the bus you're on doesn't go there... how long will you sit there passively and continue to ride in the wrong direction?

And if the bus still hasn't shown up to spirit you away, how long are you willing to wait for something to happen? You are capable. Don't just think about calling that old friend... do it. Don't just wish you could write a book or learn to play the piano... do it. The recipe you've been wanting to try, or the book you wanted to read? Why not do it this week? The good china you've been saving for a special occasion? Why not make that special occasion today?

The bad news is time really does fly. But the good news is... we're the pilots. Stop waiting for something to happen, because that bus you're waiting for may never come. The keys are already right there in your hand. Why not use them?

[image courtesy of unsplash]

                                   Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Keep the Change!

Thought for the day: In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being.We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirits. [Albert Schweitzer]

Yep, it's that time again. Welcome to this month's edition of the Insecure Writer's Support Group meeting... er, virtual meeting, that is. Today, writers all over the world will be posting about the ups and downs, the highs and lows, the ins and outs... of writing. We'll celebrate... we'll complain... we'll commiserate and help rekindle those inner spirits. Whatever we need, this is the place to find it. Humble thanks and a jolly tip of the hat go to Alex Cavanaugh, our fearless ninja leader and the originator of this fine group, and to all of the other fine folks who've worked so hard to make it the huge success it is today. If you'd like to join (It's FREE!) or would like to read some of the other posts, please go HERE

On the writing front, progress has been glacially slow lately. Sales of my new book have been anemic; and reviews, practically non-existent. (sigh) Makes it a tad more difficult to stay focused and maintain enthusiasm about writing books two and three. But fear not. My enthusiasm will return. It always does. Now if only my damned muse would return from vacation...

Let's move right on to this month's question, shall we?

What are your ultimate writing goals, and how have they changed over time (if at all)?

When I was a senior in high school... you know, back in the Dark Ages... I contributed to and helped edit the school's literary magazine. After all these years, I still remember a poem my friend Bruce Troup wrote for it:

Change is never constant;

Constance never changes.

But all things change constantly.

Simple, yet profound, right? I guess that's why it's stuck with me for so long. 

Anyhow, to answer the question, of course my writing goals have changed. I used to think I was destined to be a great writer. Before I learned how to read, I made up the words and pretended to read books out loud. In second grade, a test we took to determine our potential career path (I kid you not!) said I'd be an author... and I believed it. In the summers, I concocted serialized fairy tales, and would sit in the shade of a tree and tell them to a group of neighborhood kids several afternoons a week. In fifth grade, filled with self-confidence, I entered an American Legion essay contest about Brotherhood...

[source: morguefile]

...and I LOST.

Talk about being one deflated puppy. Not even an Honorable Mention! I was crushed, because I'd worked so hard on that essay, and I thought it was so good...

PBBBBT! (That's the sound of my adolescent ego deflating.) Who was I trying to kid? I'd never be a writer.

Then my teacher, Mr. DeGrafft,  who was also one of the judges for the contest, took the time to tell me the judges loved my essay... but it didn't fit within the parameters of what the American Legion was looking for in a winning essay. They wanted rah-rah, Mom and apple pie feel-good declarations about our shared humanity and the inherent kindness of mankind.

 I, on the other hand, wrote about how people seemed to have an us vs. them mentality, so I thought the only thing that would lead to true brotherhood on our planet would be if we discovered a bigger adversary on another one.

Not exactly what they were looking for. But that wonderful teacher... that kind caring man...  rekindled my inner spirit by telling me why my essay didn't do well. He had so much confidence in me, he helped restore some of my confidence in myself. For that, I will always be grateful.

Since then, I've always been involved with some kind of writing, and like everyone else, my confidence levels ebb and flow. (Where's Mr. DeGrafft when ya need him?) Things might be at the ebb level now, but I'm pretty sure the drive will roll back in any day now...

So what's changed? I no longer believe I'm ever going to be a great writer. Nor do I dream about Pulitzer prizes and cheering crowds waiting for me at book signings. I don't expect to be accepted in every anthology I submit to, and I don't expect every story I send to a magazine to be published. Whether or not I ever had any innate talent is immaterial. I'm endlessly grateful for those teachers who instilled confidence in my writing and editing ability, but since I've gotten older, I've adjusted the bar to a more realistic level.

I write because I love to write, and I still love to spin a story. Do I still get discouraged? Sure, I do. But I'm a big girl now, (in more ways than one...) and I don't need affirmation and support like I did as a kid. (But I'd still like it every once in a while...)

That's why reviews matter so much to me. At their best, they show me that I've connected with another human being... and THAT is my overwhelming goal. When I feel a little low, I re-read some of the fantabulous reviews for Hot Flashes and Cold Lemonade, and I look at some of the wonderful emails readers have sent me...

and I smile with gratitude. Life is good... even if no alien forces have united us yet.

                                 Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

'Tis the Season

Thought for the day:  People who are homeless are not social inadequates. They are people without homes.  [Sheila McKechnie]

 You can't see his face, but he still has one.

Are there any homeless people in your town? Do you ever pass them when you're walking down the street? Maybe see them sleeping on a park bench or under a slab of cardboard? Do you... see them? I mean, really see them?

Most people don't, you know. Most don't look at their faces, and don't think of them as real people. As individuals. It's much easier to lump them together and dismiss them as a faceless nameless group of... what? Unfortunates?

A castaway in the sea was going down for the third time when he caught sight of a passing ship. Gathering his last strength, he waved frantically and called for help. Someone on board peered at him scornfully and shouted back, "Get a boat!" [Daniel Quinn]

Is that the kind of disdain society shows the homeless? I'm ashamed to say it, but all too often, it is.

At least, we try harder this time of year. After all, 'tis the season, right?

Last week, the World Congress Center in Atlanta was put to a very good use. Not to promote industry or innovative ideas, and not as a center for a robotics or some other kind of competition. No, it was used as the venue to provide a lovely Thanksgiving dinner to people in need, many of whom were homeless. Some 7000 people were served on-site, and another 1000 meals were delivered to people who were unable to attend. In addition, haircuts, clothing, medical care, and other services were provided, as needed.

Fabulous, right? This annual feeding, began by the now-deceased Hosea Williams, has been taking place in Atlanta for many years. But what happens to all of those people the other 364 days of the year?

Four years ago, a homeless man who'd been wandering the streets of Atlanta for nearly a year was featured in our local newspaper. His story started with him doing what he did every day... digging through dumpsters for something to eat.

Well, he found a wallet in one of the dumpsters. A Frenchwoman's wallet... and it contained her ID and credit card. This homeless man... this man named Joel... was determined to make it right for that tourist, so he walked from hotel to hotel, until he found where she was staying. At the luxurious Omni hotel, he turned the wallet over to the desk clerk, but when the clerk asked for his name, Joel made one up. What difference did it make? He figured he was... nobody.

But he wasn't nobody to the hotel manager. Based on the picture taken by the security camera, people hit the streets until they found Joel... and brought him back to the hotel. There, he was given five hundred dollars and a week's stay, complete with free room service and a traditional Thanksgiving dinner.

Joel was much appreciative of the shower and bed. He also received new clothes, a haircut, and a modicum of new-found dignity. He also got a lot of publicity. Other people sent money and gifts to him, and he got several job offers. He was the homeless man who'd done the right thing. He was the homeless man with a background story... the homeless man with a face. With a name...

and a family, a family that had been trying to find him for the past decade. His deceased father's long-time girlfriend and two half-brothers flew to Atlanta to reunite with him. They all had Thanksgiving dinner together, and then the family left. Went back home to their lives.

Joel's story certainly didn't end there, but that was the extent of the newspaper coverage. I can't help but wonder what became of him and if he went to Alaska, like he said he wanted to do, or if he's still wandering the streets of Atlanta or some other city. I wonder if he got the medical and mental help he needed, and if he's been able to hold a job, gotten back on his feet... and stayed there. And I wonder if he ever saw his family again, or if that was a one-time Thanksgiving kinda thing.

Joel's short time in the limelight brings up a lot of questions. Like, what does it say about decent society that it can be so insultingly surprised that a homeless man did the right thing? After all, no matter what his current circumstances, how can we justify jumping to the automatic assumption that he isn't a kind and caring soul, and a decent man with concern for other people?

I mean, I don't think I'm alone when I look at the homeless person or the psychotic or the drunk or the drug addict and see their baby pictures in my mind's eye. You don't think they were cute like every other baby? [Dustin Hoffman]

Hungry not only for bread — but hungry for love. Naked not only for clothing — but naked for human dignity and respect. Homeless not only for want of a room of bricks — but homeless because of rejection.  [Mother Teresa]

A 27 year-old female visitor to Philadelphia ran out of gasoline... at night... and learned first-hand how kind and caring a homeless man can be. Johnny Bobbitt, Jr., a 36 year-old homeless man, told her to lock her car doors, and then he walked to a gas station, purchased gas with his last twenty dollars and brought it back to her. Kate McClure didn't have any cash to repay him at the time, but she later returned several times to bring him cash, clothes, and food. But that didn't feel like nearly enough to repay the selfless man, so she started a Gofundme.com campaign in his behalf, hoping to raise $10,000 to help him find a place to live, because she was sure all he needed was a little break. As of the last time I checked, donations for this former Marine had soared to nearly four hundred thousand dollars. Evidently, others believed in giving him a chance, too. https://www.gofundme.com/hvv4r-paying-it-forward

 I can't help but wonder if this time of year... this glorious time of Thanksgiving, Hannukah, Christmas, and joy to the world isn't the real reason Joel got the royal treatment for a week, and why so many people opened their wallets to help Johnny. Do you think they would have been treated as well in the middle of  July or August?




Have you ever wished people were as loving and caring year-round as they are during this time of year? Wondered why the smiles and laughter aren't as heartfelt, and the hugs as warm, in March as they are in December? Why you don't get a mountain of wrapped presents every day, instead of just one measly time a year? (Only kidding about that one. Just checking to see if you were paying attention.) Anyway, Christmas is fast approaching. Anticipation builds, and as we all prepare to celebrate, I'd like to share an excerpt from Keeping Christmas, written by Henry Van Dyke:

There is a better thing than the observance of Christmas day, and that is, keeping Christmas.

Are you willing to forget what you have done for other people, and to remember what other people have done for you; to ignore what the world owes you, and to think what you owe the world; to put your rights in the background, and your duties in the middle distance, and your chances to do a little more than your duty in the foreground; to see that men and women are just as real as you are, and try to look behind their faces to their hearts, hungry for joy; to own up to the fact that probably the only good reason for your existence is not what you are going to get out of life, but what you are going to give to life; to close your book of complaints against the management of the universe, and look around you for a place where you can sow a few seeds of happiness.

Are you willing to stoop down and consider the needs and desires of little children; to remember the weakness and loneliness of people growing old; to stop asking how much your friends love you, and ask yourself whether you love them enough; to bear in mind the things that other people have to bear in their hearts; to try to understand what those who live in the same home with you really want, without waiting for them to tell you; to trim your lamp so that it will give more light and less smoke, and to carry it in front of you so that your shadow will fall behind you; to make a grave for your ugly thoughts, and a garden for your kindly feelings, with the gate open---

Are you willing to do these things, even for a day? Then you can keep Christmas. And if you can keep it for a day, why not always?

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                                        Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

If you light a lamp for someone, it will also brighten your path.  [Buddhist saying]