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.

A Single Candle

Thought for the day: You know you're getting old when the candles cost more than the cake. (sigh)

[Morguefile]

 If you folks in the southeastern part of the United States happened to see a massive glow in the sky yesterday, fear not. It wasn't Armageddon, or anything. The blaze atop my birthday cake just got a teensy bit out of control is all. (I TOLD Smartacus not to use a blow torch to light all those darned candles.) Anyhow, the fire department must be getting real tired of coming by the house every year to extinguish the bonfire, so I think we'll skip covering the cake with 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 altogether, 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]

So maybe we can't do a thing about getting older, but do you think a single candle can make much of a difference? I do. (For one thing, there's no need to call the fire department...)

Okay, I'm gonna be serious for a minute, because I want to tell you about a very special woman whose single candle radiated enough light to hold the powers of darkness at bay. Her name was Irena Sendler, and she truly embodied the Chinese proverb: It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.

[Wikipedia]

This is what she looked like in 1942, when the young Polish Catholic woman lived in German-occupied Warsaw. As a social worker and nurse, she was allowed to enter the Jewish ghetto. She saw their suffering first-hand, and knew that people of all ages were being  forcibly removed from their homes, never to return. And she also knew what the penalty was for trying to help them.

[Wikipedia]

She knew what the penalty was, because signs like this were posted all over Warsaw. 

These signs issued a clear warning that helping anyone leave the Jewish settlement without authorization was punishable by death.

And yet...

[credit: German Federal Archive]

And yet, the dark plight of the children tore at her heartstrings, and she had to DO something. As a member of the Zegota resistance movement, she smuggled 2500 children out of the Warsaw ghetto, provided them with false identities, and got them to a safe location... to private homes, to orphanages, to convents. She took the children out in ambulances, under the pretext that they were infected with typhus; she carried them out in tool boxes; she transported them in coffins. Whatever it took, she did it. One after another, desperate parents turned their beloved children over to her, a virtual stranger, in the hopes that their children would be spared from the horrors of living... and dying... in a concentration camp. Each child's name, Sendler recorded on paper, along with their new identities and locations. Then she tucked those papers into jars and buried them under an apple tree in her yard. Following the war, the information in those jars was used to reunite some of the families. Unfortunately, most of the parents were already gone, but thanks to Sendler and other members of the resistance, their children survived.

[Wikipedia]

In 1965, Israel recognized Sendler as Righteous Among the Nations, a designation honoring non-Jews who risked their lives during the Holocaust to save Jews. And risk her life, she did: Sendler was captured, tortured, and sentenced to death... and spared from execution by virtue of a bribe. The Garden of the Righteous Among the Nations is part of the Yad Vashem complex on the Mount of Remembrance in Jerusalem.

[Wikipedia]

At the entrance to the Garden stands the Tree of Irena Sendler. I don't know what kind of tree is it, but an apple tree would be perfect, wouldn't it?

[credit: Mariesz Kubik]

This picture, taken in 2005, shows Sendler with the grown-up versions of some of the children she smuggled out of that Warsaw ghetto during the war.

[credit: Mariesz Kubik]

In 2007, Sendler was presented with the Order of the Smile, an international award given by children to adults distinguished in their love, care, and aid for children. A year later, she passed away.

In 2009, Poland issued a commemorative coin in honor of three women. One was Irena Sendler, a woman who proved that one person... one candle burning brightly in the darkness... can indeemake a difference.

In a world full of darkness, in a world full of pain,

All it takes is a sparkle, all it takes is a flame,

To make joy out of sadness, to bring hope to a life,

Like the promise of the dawn

On a long winter's night.

[from the song Light One Candle, by Ronnie Spector]

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

Let it shine! [Wikipedia]

For my birthday, a present for you guys. Sorta. Both e-versions of my books are on sale for 99 cents. Woo HOO. (I would've made them FREE, but those darned candles cost a lot of money, ya know...) Clicking on the book images in the sidebar will transport you to Amazon. U.S. Amazon, that is, but the book is also on sale in the U.K.

No Blue Feelings Here

Thought for the day: People are like stain-glassed windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed. Only if there is a light from within. [Elisabeth Kubler-Ross]

Our daughter Sunshine is definitely one of those people with a bright shiny inner light. That's her in the photo, being assisted by her cat Mrs. Flinn. It seems the kitty thought it was time to get out of bed and start the day. (i.e. Feed the cats.)

Anyhow, tomorrow is our baby girl's birthday. Somehow or another, and I have NO idea how this could've POSSIBLY happened, our youngest kiddo has the unbelievable audacity to be turning forty. I know! Crazy, right? Seems like Smarticus and I just hit that milestone a few years ago.  (sigh)

She mentioned something a couple weeks ago that I thought would make a pretty nifty blog post, so what better time to share it than in honor of her birthday?  It's about some... blue people. Yeah, really... blue. Not the kind of blue as in Billie Holiday's song Am I Blue, but blue as in the color blue. (Then again, being blue may have made them sad, too...)

In 1820, Frenchman Martin Fugate settled in a remote area of the Appalachians near Hazard, Kentucky called Troublesome Creek, and he married a local gal named Elizabeth Smith. As it turned out, both of them carried a recessive gene for a rare condition known as methemoglobinemia. (Which, understandably, is most often referred to as met-H.) Some members of a nearby clan also carried this recessive gene.

As I already mentioned, this was a verrrry remote area, so as you might imagine, the gene pool was, shall we say... extremely shallow. Familial inbreeding and crossbreeding with that other clan became the accepted norm, which meant that the shy retiring recessive gene became much more bossy and caused an inordinate number of met-H cases... the infamous Blue Fugates of Kentucky.

[image courtesy of Walt Spitzmiller]

Why were they blue, you ask?

When there's too much methemoglobin in the blood, the hemoglobin's ability to carry oxygen gets seriously screwed up, which leads to purple lips, blue skin, and chocolate-colored blood.

In the twentieth century, when transportation out of the area was more readily available, many of the Fugate descendants moved away, and thanks to their access to a more diverse gene pool, the bizarre predominance of blue-skinned people came to an end. The last known member of the family born with this condition was Benjamin Stacy, who was born in 1975 with skin so blue, his nurse feared for his life. Luckily, as he grew older, he lost the blue tint. His current whereabouts is unknown.

Although this unusual Smurf-like condition can be deadly in the extreme, the Fugate clan only had one symptom... they were blue.

While we're talking about Kentucky and the color blue, how about... bluegrass?

[image courtesy of Morguefile]

As you can see in the photo, Kentucky bluegrass looks just as green as every other kinda grass, so how'd it get that name?

[image courtesy of Morguefile]

Because when that grass isn't cut, and its seed heads are left alone to grow unhampered, their bluish-purple color will make a springtime or summer field of Kentucky bluegrass truly look blue from a distance.

Cool, huh?

[image courtesy of Morguefile]

One final thing about bluegrass... and I don't mean the grass. The music!

That wonderful music born in the Appalachians, just like the Fugate clan. With mixed roots in Irish, Scottish, and English traditional music, and later influenced by African Americans and jazz, it's hard to imagine anyone listening to this music without tapping a toe.

So, in honor of Sunshine's birthday, I'm gonna share a fabulous bit of bluegrass... a song she and I both happen to love.

Happy birthday, sweetie.

                                            Y'all keep smiling. No blue feelings allowed.

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

A Beacon in the Darkness

Thought for the day: You know you're getting old when the candles cost more than the cake. (sigh)

[Morguefile]

It's that time of year again. (Already!) If you folks in the southeastern part of the United States happen to see a massive glow in the sky tomorrow, fear not. It'll just be the blaze atop my birthday cake, assuming we take the chance on lighting all those candles. Aaah, probably not. The fire department must be getting tired of coming by the house every year to extinguish the bonfire. The truth is, I'm creeping closer to that age where there will once again be a single candle perched atop my cake, and everybody will tell me what a good girl I am if  I can summon enough whoosh to blow it out in one try. Know what? Might be best to skip the cake altogether, and just have a glass of wine.

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

Anyhow, I won't be around to respond to your comments tomorrow, and I'm not gonna write a new post for today, either. (What a rebel!) Instead, I'm going to do a wee bit of editing, and share a re-run, which originally appeared in December of 2012 as One Candle. Because sometimes a single candle is all it takes to conquer the darkness...

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

P.S. You at your wit's end trying to figure out what to give some of the senior citizens on your Christmas list? Would you like a suggestion? A hand-picked selection of greeting cards for various occasions (very inexpensive at places like the Dollar Store) is a super thoughtful and useful gift. Throw in some stamps, a couple pens, and maybe some pretty note cards or writing paper, and you're sure to make that special elderly neighbor or friend a happy camper. Or how about a book? Maybe... Old Broads Waxing Poetic? Not only is it a fun collection of poetry, but all proceeds from sales go to CARE International. Or (ahem) Hot Flashes and Cold Lemonade? Good for all ages, and hey! if I sell enough books, I might be able to treat Smarticus to a nice dinner out over the Holidays. Heck, maybe even get him fries to go with his burger...

Now then, moving right along. Where was I! Oh yeah, about that single candle...

*********************

Thought for the day:  It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.  [Chinese proverb]

[Morguefile]

Can the light from a single candle make a difference? Can one person radiate enough light to hold the powers of darkness at bay?

Yes, a thousand times yes. Or to be more accurate, 2500 times.

Hanukkah, an eight-day festival celebrating the triumph of light over darkness, of purity over adulteration, and spirituality over materialism, begins next Tuesday. To all who are Jewish, I wish you a very happy Hanukkah. For the rest of us, I believe we, too, should embrace the ideals of light over darkness. 

Here's a story of a very special woman who did just that.

[Wikipedia]

Her name? Irena Sendler. This is what she looked like in 1942, when the young Polish Catholic woman lived in German-occupied Warsaw. As a social worker and nurse, she was allowed to enter the Jewish ghetto. She saw their suffering first-hand, and knew that people of all ages were being  forcibly removed from their homes, never to return. And she also knew what the penalty was for trying to help them.

[Wikipedia]

She knew what the penalty was, because signs like this were posted all over Warsaw. 

These signs issued a clear warning that helping anyone leave the Jewish settlement without authorization was punishable by death.

And yet...

[credit: German Federal Archive]

And yet, the dark plight of the children tore at her heartstrings, and she had to DO something. As a member of the Zegota resistance movement, she smuggled 2500 children out of the Warsaw ghetto, provided them with false identities, and got them to a safe location... to private homes, to orphanages, to convents. She took the children out in ambulances, under the pretext that they were infected with typhus; she carried them out in tool boxes; she transported them in coffins. Whatever it took, she did it. One after another, desperate parents turned their beloved children over to her, a virtual stranger, in the hopes that their children would be spared from the horrors of living... and dying... in a concentration camp. Each child's name, Sendler recorded on paper, along with their new identities and locations. Then she tucked those papers into jars, which she buried under an apple tree in her yard. Following the war, the information in those jars was used to reunite some of the families. Unfortunately, most of the parents were already gone, but thanks to Sendler and other members of the resistance, their children survived.

[Wikipedia]

In 1965, Israel recognized Sendler as Righteous Among the Nations, a designation honoring non-Jews who risked their lives during the Holocaust to save Jews. And risk her life, she did: Sendler was captured, tortured, and sentenced to death... and spared from execution by virtue of a bribe. The Garden of the Righteous Among the Nations is part of the Yad Vashem complex on the Mount of Remembrance in Jerusalem.

[Wikipedia]

At the entrance to the Garden stands the Tree of Irena Sendler. I don't know what kind of tree is it, but an apple tree would be perfect, wouldn't it?

[credit: Mariesz Kubik]

This picture, taken in 2005, shows Sendler with the grown-up versions of some of the children she smuggled out of that Warsaw ghetto during the war.

[credit: Mariesz Kubik]

In 2007, Sendler was presented with the Order of the Smile, an international award given by children to adults distinguished in their love, care, and aid for children. A year later, she passed away.

In 2009, Poland issued a commemorative coin in honor of three women. One was Irena Sendler, a woman who proved that one person... one candle burning brightly in the darkness... can indeed, make a difference.





In a world full of darkness, in a world full of pain,
All it takes is a sparkle, all it takes is a flame,
To make joy out of sadness, to bring hope to a life,
Like the promise of the dawn
On a long winter's night.
[from the song Light One Candle, by Ronnie Spector]

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

Let it shine! [Wikipedia]

P.S. For those of you who will be lighting menorah candles, I'll betcha you won't be doing it in such an unusual way as THIS...

May the Fourth Be With You

Thought for the day: Freedom is the oxygen of the soul.   Moshe Dayan

[morguefile]

OK, for today, America's birthday, let's take a look at some appropriate quotations while we're waiting for the cake to come out of the oven, shall we?




 "As Mankind becomes more liberal, they will be more apt to allow that all those who conduct themselves as worthy members of the community are equally entitled to the protection of the civil government. I hope ever to see America among the foremost nations of justice and liberality."  George Washington

"Everything that is really great and inspiring is created by the individual who can labor in freedom." Albert Einstein

"Life without liberty is like a body without spirit."  Kahlil Gibran

 "I have always been among those who believed that the greatest freedom of speech was the greatest safety, because if a man is a fool, the best thing to do is to encourage him to advertise that fact by speaking." Woodrow Wilson

"We must not be free because we claim freedom, but because we practice it."  William Faulkner

"Those who deny freedom to others deserve it not for themselves."  Thomas Jefferson

"You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism."  Erma Bombeck

[morguefile]

And a quick poem by Carl Sandburg:

                                                 Fourth of July Night

                 The little boat at anchor in black water sat murmuring to the tall black sky.
                 A white sky bomb fizzed on a black line.
                 A rocket hissed its red signature into the west.
                 Now a shower of Chinese fire alphabets,
                A cry of flower pots broken in flames,
                 A long curve to a purple spray, three violet balloons ---
                Drips of seaweed tangled in gold, shimmering symbols of mixed numbers,
                Tremulous arrangements of cream gold folds of a bride's wedding gown ---
                A few sky bombs spoke their pieces, then velvet dark.
                The little boat at anchor in black water sat murmuring to the tall black sky.
                               

                             

                                                     
I hope you all have a wonderful ... and safe ... Independence Day. Oh yeah ... know what one flag said to another? Nothing, honey... it just waved. (Sorry)

Oh yeah... for any of you folks in the UK who might be interested: from July 1 until the 8th, my book Hot Flashes and Cold Lemonade is on sale through Amazon.uk for next to nuttin', honey.

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

A Catty Rerun

Thought for the day:  You know you're getting old when the candles cost more than the cake. 

Those of you who live in the southeastern United States may have noticed a bright glow in the sky on Wednesday. Sorry about that. It was my husband's birthday. Even though we had the fire department waiting on stand-by, the candles still got a little out of control again this year. My bad. I really shouldn't have tried to save time by lighting all those darned things with a blow torch.

Oh well. I'll try to do better next year.

Yeah, so we're both getting older. Big deal. Age is just a number, right? (Especially when it's his number going up, and not mine.) To tell the truth, we don't make a big deal out of birthdays anymore. No candles at all. (Too dangerous!) And no big parties, for sure. 

We prefer smaller gatherings these days. Like maybe just Smarticus, me and a few dozen of our favorite juicy friends. (That's plenty spicy enough for us, even if our pals do end up getting steamed.)

Our cat Dash got stranded atop the fridge when our friends were splashing around in the sink, which reminded me of a post I did back in June of 2011:  Tale of an Ungrateful Kitty. So I'm gonna run it again, as soon as I share a short Tom Rush video about the joys of getting older:

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]
                       
***********************

                                                        And now... for that rerun...

Thought for the day:  An invisible man married an invisible woman. Their kids were nothing to look at, either.

I've been poking fun at the English language lately, so I thought about writing a short Ogden Nash-type poem using words ending in ough to make fun of the fact that those words have so many different pronunciations.

Well, as they say, the best-laid plans of mice and men ...

I did write a poem, but it isn't Ogden Nash short. (or Ogden Nash clever) Has some ough words in it, but I ended up having more fun telling the tale than fulfilling the original premise. So, here it is, a silly little poem. It's based on a true story, and although I got away with batting my eyelashes back then, I was young, lithe, and lovely at the time. I'm afraid if I tried to pull that stunt now, Smarticus would haul me off to the eye doctor.


                                                               A Silly Little Poem

                                                   'Twas one in the morning, I vow,
                                                   When I heard a cat meow from a bough.
                                                   High up in a tree,
                                                   He seemed helpless to me.
                                                   Begged I, "Please get him down now."

                                                  With a frown, my man gave a cough,
                                                  Said, "No need to get the cat off.
                                                  He made his way up;
                                                  He can make his way down."
                                                  And I batted my eyes, sure enough.

                                                  'Twas sleeting and icy, so rough,
                                                  But my sweetie, so tender, so tough,
                                                  Climbed up on our ladder,
                                                  But that didn't matter;
                                                  To the cat, it wasn't enough.

The cat pulled back out of reach;
My man yelled, "Son of a beech!"
He stretched a bit more
To the kitty so poor,
And the cat gave a God-awful screech.

'Twas dark, so I couldn't quite see,
But the cat came tearing past me.
He'd run down my sweetie
And clawed off some meatie,
So I figured in trouble I'd be.

                                           "No more!" my man roared to me.
                                           "Next time, we leave the cats be.
                                           We don't need no damned ladder;
                                            It just doesn't matter.
                                            Have you ever
                                            Seen bones
                                            In a tree?"


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

                                                                   Me? I think I'll just ...

hang around

[The crab photo was taken by yours truly. Wikipedia provided the flames, and the catty pics come to us courtesy of Morguefile.]

Lucky Thirteen

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

Yep, today is my birthday. (whoopee)  Since it falls on a Friday this year, I guess that makes it extra lucky, right? Right.

Smarticus and I will be out and about today, so I won't be hanging around the computer, but I didn't want to leave y'all hanging without a post. Lucky for me you, this rerun fills the bill perfectly. It ran originally on another Friday the 13th, back in May of 2011.

Before I take off, let me 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!]

Heck, I'm even gonna leave the weird news stories of the week attached to the old post. What the heck? Sure, the news is old, but the laughs are still fairly decent.




+++++++++++++++

Thought for the day:  Luck is the idol of the idle.

How ironic that on a day I intended to write about Friday the 13th, Blogger took a dive. A bit of nasty luck, eh?

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

The word superstition means a belief or practice resulting from ignorance and fear of the unknown, a trust in magic or chance, or a false conception of causation. Although I have no statistics to back me up, I'll hazard a guess that there are far more superstitious males than females. I mean, really, have you ever heard of a woman refusing to change her lucky drawers or socks? No, of course not. Although I will concede that this peculiar attachment to one's dirty socks and undies and by extension, one's aversion to donning clean ones, may in fact be rooted in something entirely different than a belief in their ability to prolong a streak of good luck. For any gentlemen with a proclivity to wear said scuzzy skivvies, be forewarned: No matter how much  luck you believe those skivvies may bring you in games of chance or sport, I double dog guarantee you that wearing them will NOT lead to any semblance of luck with the ladies.

Most of us are familiar with superstitions dealing with black cats, spilling salt, breaking mirrors, and walking under ladders, but have you ever wondered where those superstitions originated?

And why FRIDAYS, for goodness sake?

And why the number THIRTEEN?

Since this is the only Friday the 13th we'll be encountering this calendar year, I thought today would be the perfect time to investigate.

WHY FRIDAY  : In ancient Rome, Friday was the designated day for executions, which certainly ended a streak of good luck for anyone whacked by the authorities, whether he was wearing his lucky bowling shirt or not. Witches' covens allegedly gather on Fridays, too, and in the Middle Ages, Friday was actually dubbed "Witches' Sabbath". The Good Friday crucifixion of Christ casts the greatest stigma on the day for Christians, but other Biblical events are also attributed to Friday: the day Eve gave Adam the apple, the day they were expelled from Eden, the day God struck the Tower of Babel, and the day Solomon's Temple was destroyed.

Some superstitions regarding Friday are:

• Clothing made on a Friday will never fit properly.
• Visiting a doctor on a Friday will lead to no good news.
• Changing bedclothes on a Friday will lead to nightmares.
• Marrying or moving on a Friday will come to a bad end.
• Cutting your nails on a Friday will lead to sorrow.
• Receiving bad news on a Friday will cause more wrinkles than receiving them on any other day of the week.
• Starting a trip on a Friday will lead to misfortune.
• Ships that set sail on a Friday are doomed to suffer bad luck.

About a hundred years ago, to disprove the superstition about ships, the Brits commissioned H.M.S. Friday. The crew was selected on a Friday, the keel was set on a Friday,  the ship was launched on a Friday, and the man chosen to captain the ship was even named Friday. The ship set sail on its maiden voyage on a Friday, too. And was never heard from again.

There are 13 members in a witch's coven. 

WHY THIRTEEN: You're probably more familiar with this word: triskaidekaphobia. That's the fear of the number thirteen, and it's no secret that many buildings don't acknowledge a thirteenth floor, and many cities opt to skip Thirteenth Street. But, WHY? 

For one thing, a witch's coven has thirteen members. There are also thirteen steps leading to the gallows, and thirteen knots in a hangman's noose. The blade of a guillotine falls thirteen feet, and at her trial, Lizzie Borden spoke thirteen words. There were thirteen people at the Last Supper, and the thirteenth card in a deck of tarot cards? Death.

Apollo 13, the thirteenth mission to be launched from pad #39, (13 X 3)  was aborted after an explosion in the fuel cell of the service module, after leaving the launching pad at 13:13 CST. The date? April thirteenth.

One theory about the root of triskaidekaphobia lays it at the feet of ancient man. It claims that when man was first learning to count, he counted on ten fingers and two feet, so anything beyond twelve was considered frightening and mysterious. On the other hand, what I find mysterious is why he didn't count on his ten toes, too. It's highly possible that he refused to take off his lucky socks.

Would you believe the number thirteen was once considered lucky? For one thing, some early religions considered the thirteenth step to be the one souls take to enter the eternal glory of the afterlife. And in the prehistoric goddess-worshiping cultures, the number thirteen represented femininity, and corresponded to the number of lunar (and menstrual) cycles in a year. The Earth Mother of Laussel, an ancient carving found in France, depicts a female holding a crescent-shaped horn with, you guessed it,  thirteen notches in it. Later, when society became male-dominated and the solar calendar replaced the lunar one, twelve became the "perfect" number, replacing the "imperfect" thirteen.

So, there ya have it. Now you know a little bit about the superstitions associated with Friday the thirteenth. Me? I still prefer the TGIF approach.

How about you? Do you have any superstitions or lucky socks?

OK, time for (a drum roll, if you will ...) the

WEIRDEST NEWS STORIES OF THE WEEK

**  In New York, a 21-year-old happened to be riding in a car that was pulled over by the police. As soon as the car stopped, the young man immediately took off running, and jumped into the Hudson River. He was able to latch onto a branch 250 feet downstream, where he waited for the police to rescue him from the fifty degree water. Know why he ran? It seems that the shivering young man thought there was a warrant out for his arrest. There wasn't. Sounds to me like there should have been.

** When two female investigators in Vienna, Austria began questioning his client, a lawyer (ahem) showed his briefs. The attorney dropped his trousers and then perched on a desk in his tightie whities with his back to the women. The client is suspected of a sex crime, but now the lawyer is being investigated, as well. (Maybe they were his lucky shorts?)

** After three late-night escape attempts, a German shepherd named Jack finally escaped from an Oregon veterinarian's office by pulling his kennel open, tripping the dead bolt on the clinic's back door and pulling down the handle to get outside. In the process, Jack tripped three motion detectors and tore open four bags of dog food. The vet said he was "impressed" with Jack's impressive recovery from the flu. Me? I wonder if that dog's last name was Bauer.

Bauer, Jack Bauer.

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

Oh, by the way, Goodreads drew the five winners of my book on Wednesday. Now Hot Flashes and Cold Lemonade is on its way to exotic faraway places I can only dream of seeing... Lithuania, Kenya, Philippines, and Holland. (Lucky book!) The fifth book is headed to Texas. A total of 1429 people entered the contest, so let's see, if all the people who didn't win actually buy my book, it just might cover the cost of mailing it to the people who DID win. HA! Oh well. I didn't have any expectations of making a lot of money... and by golly, so far, I'm succeeding brilliantly. Take care, y'all.

But They're In My Heart

Nope, sorry, I'm not planning on whipping out my wallet to bribe you guys into posting a comment today. I was just wondering: do you carry around a bunch of pictures in your wallet?

Years ago, while browsing in the infant department at the local department store, I ran into an older woman who was looking rather lost in the midst of all those diapers and baby bottles. We smiled, exchanged a few friendly words, and the next thing I knew, she was showing me pictures of her grandchildren. My daughter, who was about twelve at the time, executed a perfect adolescent eye roll at me. Poor thing, she was absolutely mortified. I mean, how could her mother stand in the middle of the store carrying on like that with a complete stranger(!)?
The thing is, I didn't have any pictures in my wallet to share with that nice lady. Still don't. I'm married to the love of my life, have three wonderful children, and a whole herd of smart, beautiful grandkids. But no pics to whip out in the middle of the infant department or anywhere else. But they ARE in my heart.

How about you? Is your wallet crammed with pictures of your loved ones? (Or I suppose, nowadays, a bunch of you carry around one of those electronic gizmos that not only stores pictures ... AND videos!, but also surfs the internet, and starts your coffeepot in the morning ...)

Interesting aside: Although one of my husband's business associates had a wife and kids, he chose to carry around pictures of his DOG! I'm not sure what that meant, and have no idea if he's still married, either ...

Anyway, I'm not gonna whip out pictures of my family here, but I am going to give a shout out to one of my chicks. It's her birthday. She's no longer an eye-rolling adolescent, and I'm pleased to say, she's just as likely to strike up a lively conversation with a complete stranger(!) as I am now. Let's call her Honey Bunny, and though she's thirty-three years old today, she'll always, always be our baby. A baby with a big heart and even bigger smile. Who's very much loved.

Even if I don't have a picture of her in my wallet.

Thought for the day: The secret to eternal youth? Simple. Lie about your age.