Thought for the day: We cannot live for ourselves alone. Our lives are connected by a thousand invisible threads, and along these sympathetic fibers, our actions run as causes and return to us as results. [Herman Melville]
Are you familiar with the butterfly effect? I took that picture on the left when we were at a butterfly festival, where a monarch butterfly took up residence on the top of my head for a good while. It was actually very cool, but the effect that particular butterfly had on me after doing his itty bitty business on my head is... when we got home, I washed my hair.
But um, that isn't a bona fide example of the butterfly effect. In essence, the actual effect, or principle, says that a tiny change within a complex system may have a huge effect. Originally, the phenomenon was ascribed largely to weather, in which American mathematician and meteorologist Edward Lorenz, who established the chaos theory, as well as theories regarding weather and climate predictability, offered the metaphorical example of how the specifics of a tornado's path could be influenced by something as minor as the flapping of a butterfly's wings.
It speaks to our larger expectation that the world should be comprehensible... that everything happens for a reason, and that we can pinpoint all those reasons, however small they may be. [Peter Dizikes, journalist]
[image courtesy of wikipedia]
Just to be different, I'm going to go in the opposite direction. Instead of moving from a tiny cause leading to a huge effect... I'm going the other way. I'm going to start with a mastodon.
Can't get much bigger than that!
Would you believe that something these behemoths did back in prehistoric times contributed to the survival of a tiny butterfly still living in Georgia today?
[image courtesy of wikipedia]
The paw paw tree is fairly common here in Georgia. In the springtime, its flowers are quite lovely, but they, um... STINK. Literally. Kinda like dead fish or rotting meat. Matter of fact, the leaves and bark have the same distinctive stench.
But these trees also produce a fruit, as shown in this picture, and it's the largest edible fruit indigenous to the U.S. They range in color from a yellowish-green to brown, and their insides are creamy and similar in taste to banana custard. Or so I've been told. I've never eaten one.
[image courtesy of wikipedia]
But lots of animals devour them. But they only eat the sweet fleshy part.
See, the seeds range in size from 1/2 to 1 inch, which is too large for any living animal to swallow whole.
Not a problem for our ol' pal the mastodon.
Mastodons gobbled 'em up, seeds and all... and then they continued their meanderings around the state. What goes up must come down, and what went in had to come out.
Meaning, as these mastodons wandered around the state, they um, sowed these undigested seeds wherever they went, and thus assured the spread of this species. The diet and excretion of these creatures from eleven thousand years ago directly led to the paw paw patches that are still seen around the state today. But how about that... tiny effect I mentioned earlier?
[image courtesy of wikipedia]
Meet the zebra swallowtail. Yep, a butterfly.
The only thing its caterpillar will eat is the foliage from a paw paw tree. So, no mastodon poop containing paw paw seeds, possibly no paw paw trees today, and no zebra swallowtails.
One thing kinda interesting about these butterflies. The stink I mentioned from the trees? It comes from a chemical, a naturally-occurring insecticide called acetogenins, and after eating the stinky foliage while in the caterpillar stage, the butterflies retain a trace amount of the substance for the rest of their lives, which provides an effective protection from predators, who evidently, don't like smelly food.
So, in essence, this lovely little butterfly, which we saw at the festival, owes its existence, in part, to the eating and pooping habits of a creature which lived in the very distant past.
Cool huh?
There is a deep interconnectedness of all life on earth, from the tiniest organism to the largest ecosystem, and absolutely each person. [Bryant McGill]
The moment you realize your bones are made from the same dust as the planets, your lungs breathing the air of migrating butterflies, and your blood is pumping because of the love and care of thousands is when you realize you're not as broken or alone as you think you are. You are full of the world. [source unknown]
Learn how to see. Realize that everything connects to everything else. [Leonardo da Vinci]
Cosmos is a Greek word for the order of the universe. It is, in a way, the opposite of chaos. It implies the deep interconnectedness of all things. It conveys awe for the intricate and subtle way in which the universe is put together. [Carl Sagan]
Another kind of paw paw flower...
[image courtesy of unsplash]
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
Thought for the day: Language has created the word 'loneliness' to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word 'solitude' to express the glory of being alone. [Paul Tillich]
[image courtesy of unsplash]
There's a huge difference between reveling in the glorious solitude of an early morning walk on the beach, where we thoroughly enjoy our own company and feel at one with the universe...
[image courtesy of unsplash]
and the devastating soul-sucking feeling of loneliness. The sense that one has been deserted. Has no one. Is totally alone and unwanted in this world.
Solitude is not the same as loneliness. Solitude is a solitary boat floating in a sea of possible companions. [Robert Fulghum]
By contrast, I suppose the lonely don't believe there are any possible companions for them. Nothing but a sea of emptiness as far as they can see.
[courtesy of unsplash]
My guess is you've all seen it: crowds of people with downcast eyes, fiddling with their cellphones while ignoring the flesh-and-blood people who are surrounding them. This isn't just a phenomenon that occurs among strangers, either. It happens within families.
From the boardroom to the bedroom, we're connected 24/7, yet loneliness is at an all-time high. More people are reaching for mobile devices than for the hand of someone in need. Where did our humanity go? [Elizabeth Kapu'uwailani Lindsey]
But we can't blame this disconnect on modern technology. Sure, the proliferation of cellphones has made the situation more blatantly noticeable, but the truth is, the disconnect pre-dates the advent of the cellphone.
[image courtesy of unsplash]
Why is it that people are more likely to react to a lonely dog with empathy than they are to a person?
[image courtesy of unsplash]
Why does a pitiful-looking kitten pluck on our heartstrings, while the sight of a saddened human being is more likely to make us look the other way? (If we even notice that person in the first place.)
It's as though we're all insulated in our own little worlds (i.e. our vehicles) passing thousands of other people, who are also insulated in their own little worlds. Separated. Disconnected.
[image courtesy of unsplash]
How many of you would feel compelled to speak to a lonely old woman sitting by herself? To a laughing child? To a person of a different race, sex, or generation than you?
I confess. To me, strangers are just friends I haven't made yet. You could say I'm an equal-opportunity annoyer. That's how I acted as a kid, and I still haven't outgrown it. (Just between you and me, I hope I never do.) Smarticus is the same way. Some would call us extroverts, I suppose. Personally, I think we just have big yaps. No one is safe from our friendly yammering, and no matter how standoffish or surprised people may be initially, they've always come around and engaged in conversations with us in the end.
Know why? Because I think people are lonely. We NEED to feel connected to other people, and that sense of belonging is achingly absent in the lives of far too many people.
Loneliness can be a serious health condition, too, especially for the elderly. According to an AARP study, prolonged social isolation is as risky to a person's well-being as smoking fifteen cigarettes a day.
Loneliness and the feeling of being unwanted is the most terrible poverty. [Mother Teresa]
And loneliness all too often leads to depression.
So why don't we reach out to each other more? Are we introverts, or are we simply afraid of being rejected? Afraid of what that other person might think or how he might react? What if there were a safe place to interact with strangers, a place where you'd know ahead of time that the other person does, indeed,want to talk to somebody, and would welcome the opportunity to meet you?
Thanks to English policeman Detective Sargent Ashley Jones, these places do exist. He became aware of how devastating loneliness can be for seniors when an elderly widow who'd been bilked of more than thirty thousand dollars by a con man told him she didn't mind, because without the con man's daily phone calls, in which he pretended to be her friend, she wouldn't have spoken to another human being for weeks on end. She was lonely and that con man temporarily eased her profound sense of loneliness.
So the good officer did something about it. In June, he got permission to give special status to a couple benches in two local parks.
How are they special? They're called chat benches... and they have made a difference. So much so, ten more benches were added shortly after the first two, often in places where the elderly tend to congregate. Now, there are forty of these benches spread throughout the UK, and other countries are starting to notice, like Australia and the U.S.
Isn't that fantastic???
Here's a short video to tell you a bit more about the benches:
So what do you think? Think this is going to be an idea that'll sweep the world and make a real difference in lives far and wide? I sure hope so. In a world of manufactured problems based on our perceived differences, how wonderful it would be if we all could learn to sit down and chat a spell with a stranger. Remember, (s)he's just a friend you haven't met yet... and even without a bench, each of us has the power to change that.
We can all fight against loneliness by engaging in random acts of kindness. [Gail Honeyman]
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 spirit. [Albert Schweitzer]
Try to be a rainbow in someone's cloud. [Maya Angelou]
If you light a lamp for someone, it will also brighten your path. [Buddhist saying]
If you meet someone without a smile, give him one of yours.
Give a stranger a smile. It might be the only sunshine he sees all day. Making a person smile can change the world. Maybe not the whole world, but their world. Be the reason someone smiles today.
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
Thought for the day: Friendship is not one big thing... it's a million little things.
Okay, so maybe friendship doesn't need words. I guess it's possible to maintain a comfortable silence when hanging out with good friends, and I'm sure it wouldn't kill us to keep our mouths shut once in a while. Not that Smarticus and I areever likely to know that for a fact, mind you, because for the most part, when we're hanging out with any of our friends, we're with talkers, story-swappers, and laugh-until-our-sides-hurt kinda people. Laughter is the shortest distance between friends.
We'll be visiting with two very special friends for the next four or five days, which means I won't be online for a while. In fact, I'm not here now. (Dontcha love being able to pre-schedule posts???) Since I'm AWOL and may not get around to responding to your comments or paying return visits to your blogs, I considered disabling the comments for this post, but I decided to let 'em be. If you choose to leave a comment, I promise I will read it, but no promises about responding or paying a return visit to your blog this time around, okay?
Anyhow, in anticipation of all the fun we're gonna have with our buddies, I got to thinking about friendship. What does it mean to bea friend? What does friendship mean to you? And do our expectations and criteria change over the years?
Never mind. What a stupid question. Of course our criteria changes! When I was a kid, everybody was my best friend. I had absolutely no filters in place, so I was just as friendly with the wonderful people who had my back as I was with those who treated me like crapola. I guess I was kinda like a puppy dog. At some point, though, I reckon we all have to learn that it's okay to choose who we want to be friends with based on more than them simply being alive or giving us an occasional pat on the head.
Friends are the bacon bits in the salad bowl of life.
That's a good way to put it, isn't it? Delightfully savory bacon bits. Friends are also the decadent frosting on our cake, the people we can depend on, and who can depend on us. Together, we double our joys and halve our sorrows. We get each other.
Good friends don't let you do stupid things... alone.
Remember the pinkie swears of youth, the shared secrets, and the oh-so-serious ritual of becoming blood sisters and brothers? I must confess, my girlfriend Caryl and I wanted to be blood sisters, but we weren't all that keen about cuttingourselves. I mean, we were practically joined at the hip since we met in first grade, and we loved to sing together and got into all kinds of fun mischief together for many years, so we simply had to be blood sisters! But... cut ourselves? Uh... no thanks. The guys could play mumblety-peg (Anybody remember that?) and slice themselves in the name of friendship with their ever-present pocket knives all they wanted, but us? Nuh-uh. Ain't no way. We simply picked at our scabs until we got enough of a trickle to mix. (Hush! Same principle, right?)
No more pinkie swears as adults, but we do still share confidences and keep secrets. No more blood brothers and sisters, either. (I still have an aversion to cutting myself, and it's been decadesyearsmonths days since I've had a ready supply of scabs on my knees.) But after all these years, my childhood blood sister and I still keep in touch, especially since she had some experimental (and successful!) chemotherapy about six years ago. As a side effect, she lost many of her childhood memories, so she asked me to help her fill in the blanks, an undertaking that's brought both of us an incredible amount of pleasure. She even flew down from Maryland to visit earlier this year, and even though it'd been decades since we last saw each other face-to-face, it was as though we'd never been apart.
Friends are people who know the song in your heart, and can sing it back to you when you forget the words.
[morguefile]
When I was eleven years old or so, I learned a little something about friendship. It happened on a beautiful warm evening in late spring, when the scent of lilacs filled the air. My neighbor friend Diane and I were chatting, giggling, and strolling to the elementary school so we could attend a pre-teen dance there, and as was fairly common in our neighborhood, seagulls were providing background music by soaring majestically above us, squawking their familiar cries.
BOMBS AWAY! [morguefile]
And then one of the seagulls zeroed in on us. Or to be more precise, it zeroed in on Diane. Like a miniature dive bomber, that squawking bird swooped down, and FWOP! splatted a big ol' load of multi-colored poop all over her. Unless you've experienced it, you have no idea how much poop a seagull can fwop. Or how colorful it can be. Trust me, it was a lot. And colorful. On her. On the shoulder of her shirt, and all down the front of her. I'm telling you, the expression on her face was priceless, and I, her dear sweet loving friend, wiped most of that nasty stuff off with my bare hands, and then oh-so-gently wrapped my lightweight jacket around her shoulders. "There, there," I crooned in my most empathetic voice. "It'll be all right."
[morguefile]
Yeah, right. You guys don't know me at all, do ya?
So sue me. I laughed. I laughed my silly arse off. And then I laughed some more. Diane, alas, failed to see the humor in the situation, and insisted on going back home. So, no dance. We went back to her house and watched TV. I learned right there and then how important it is for friends to laugh... together.
Now, before you judge me too harshly for laughing, this is the same Diane who helped break my parents' bed, and then took off like a scared rabbit and left me to deal with the mess by myself. Besides, if the seagull had pooped on me? I would've laughed just as hard. (Come on... it was funny!)
We are best friends. Always remember that if you fall, I will pick you up... after I finish laughing.
Whether you have one or two good friends, or so many you can't keep count, nothing's more wonderful than spending time with people who get you, no matter how weird you can be. If you're very very lucky, you might even be married to one of them. (Yes, I am very very lucky.)
Best friends know how weird you are, but still choose to be seen with you in public.
[morguefile]
No matter how old we are, whether we're very young and fervently declaring our status as best friends forever five minutes after we meet...
[morguefile]
or teenagers filled with insecurities, and learning more about ourselves and the world, bonding over common interests and shared secrets...
[morguefile]
or old codgers who've shared a lifetime of memories, and a lifetime of priceless friendship...
friendship is a vital part of our lives. As tasty as they may be, we don't need bacon bits on our salads, but we do need friends.
The friends we're gonna be with for the next four or five days? The bestest. We all get each other. We'll play a lot of games, swap a lot of lies, and boyohboy, will we ever laugh. Forget sleep, though. We aren't likely to get a lot of that, because we always squeeze as much as we can out of our time together.
Oh, and in case you're wondering, if a bird happens to poop on any of us, you can count on me. I'm gonna laugh. And even better? So will the other three...
How about you? When you hear the word friend, is there anyone in particular who immediately comes to mind? A childhood friend... a current friend... a blogging pal... a writing partner... or best of all... someone who's been your friend forever? Wanta tell us a little bit about that person?
Good friends are hard to find, harder to keep, and impossible to forget.
I may respond to your comments next week. (If I can stay awake...)
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
P.S. In case parts of this post seem familiar to you, what can I say? You've got a great memory! Yes, it's an updated version of a post I did a few years ago.
Thought for the day: Writing is like giving yourself homework, really hard homework, every day for the rest of your life. You want glamorous? Throw glitter at the computer screen. [Ketrina Monroe]
Yep, you guessed it. It's that time again. Welcome to this month's edition of the Insecure Writer's Support Group meeting... er, virtual meeting, that is. This, the first Wednesday of the month, is the time when writers all over the world post about the ups and downs, the highs and lows, the ins and outs... of writing. We celebrate... we complain... we commiserate. 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 thanks to all of the other folks who've pitched in to make this group such a rousing success. If you'd like to join (It's FREE!) or would like to read some of the other posts, please go HERE
[image courtesy of morguefile]
I think the love of storytelling is an intrinsic part of human nature, don't you? Long before the written word, ancient people recorded their stories with pictures drawn on cave walls. In many, if not all cultures, those individuals blessed with a talent for spinning imaginative verbal tales were highly esteemed, and the stories they told were passed down for generations. (However, alas, I betcha they rarely earned enough to put food on their humble rock table...) Various kinds of art, including interpretive dance, music, art, photos and films, as well as the written word, serve as outlets that continue to tell our stories today. It's how we communicate. How we relate. How we learn to understand each other, the world, and ourselves.
We can't help ourselves. Especially writers. Almost everything we see is subject to being interpreted through our writers' eyes as a possible story, as an avenue for pursuing another what if. In 1944, psychologists Fritz Heider and Marianne Simmel conducted an experiment designed to explore this phenomenon. Check out their video and see if your mind automatically creates a story from it.
Pretty cool, huh? (Way cooler than a Rorschach inkblot.)
Time for this month's question: What publishing path did you take, and why? I'm tired of the anonymity of being an unpublished author. I crave the anonymity of being self-published. [Tristan Durie] To be perfectly honest, I'm not familiar with Tristan Durie (Probably because he's still enjoying his anonymity...HA!) but I like that quote. Not that any concern about being anonymous played a part in my decision to self-publish. I went the normal route for a while... querying agents and jumping through their hoops... sending them synopses of their specifically designated length and the number of pages they wanted me to submit, blah, blah, blah. I even started a blog because so many of them told me to do so to establish a platform. (Now, that I don't regret! Not that I think of you guys as a platform... you've simply become friends.) In between the querying, synopses and setting up a blog, I submitted a short story to a magazine, and it was accepted. Woo-HOO! Getting that check for eight hundred dollars gave me validation, and made me feel like I really was a writer, but as much as I appreciated getting that money, I hated the way the magazine edited my story. Then it was back to waiting. Waiting for an agent to give me a green light, and then there would've probably been another interminable wait until said imaginary agent found a publisher willing to take a chance on me. With no advance, of course, because they've kinda gone the way of the dodo bird for unknown writers. Skimpy royalties, too. And if the book didn't do well within the first six months, it'd be pretty much relegated to obscurity. Publishing companies have no stomach for wasting time publicizing a new writer who isn't making money for them. It's sink or swim. And I thought... Ya know what? I'm too old for this crap.I can relegate my books to obscurity all by myself. (So far, so good.) Publishing can be tough. It can kill dreams. [Michael Stackpole] Yep, constant rejections can cause those dreams to wilt a bit. The sheer number of years it can take before a book makes it into print, assuming one ever gets an agent or publisher willing to invest in your career, can be daunting for a young person, but for someone my age? Nope. For me, it was far better to take control of things myself. And BONUS: I never have to write a query or synopsis again! The only rejection I stand to face is from readers, but even though the reviews have been scantier than I would've liked, there has only been one bad review. That, and a one-star rating from some dude in Morocco. (If he read Hot Flashes and Cold Lemonade, I'll eat my hat... and yours, too.) Self-editing a novel is like trying to put pants on a cat; yes, it's painful and time-consuming, but in the end, satisfying. [Robert Jack] Hmmm, I doubt if the cat would agree. At any rate, there ya have it. At this stage in my life, self-publishing is definitely the best choice for me. I have complete control over content, cover, and all the rest. And no high-pressure deadlines! Life is good. Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
Thought for the day: Everyone thinks forgiveness is a lovely idea, until they have something to forgive. [C.S. Lewis]
Most of us encounter countless little grievances every day, whether it's someone cutting us off in traffic, stepping on our toes, or hurting our feelings in some way, and for most of us, those things are fairly easy to forgive.
But how about the REALLY BIG things? How well do you handle that kind of forgiveness? How well can anybody handle it?
The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong. [Mahatma Gandhi]
The first time I personally witnessed genuine forgiveness in the face of something seemingly unforgivable occurred some years ago, when the widowed mother of one of Smarticus' coworkers opened her home and heart to a troubled teenager in need. The girl robbed, brutally attacked and killed that loving lady, but our friend forgave that girl, completely and absolutely. By Mahatma Gandhi's definition, she was (and remains) a very strong woman. She forgave... even when forgiveness wasn't asked of her.
To love means loving the unlovable. To forgive means pardoning the unpardonable. Faith means believing the unbelievable. Hope means hoping when everything seems hopeless. [C.K. Chesterton]
[image courtesy of wikipedia]
Then there's another case of forgiveness, in which the evil-doer did ask for forgiveness. For many years, Elwin Wilson, filled with hatred, supported numerous KKK activities, including the brutal 1961 beating of iconic freedom fighter John Lewis, who later became (and still is) a member of Congress. Like most civil rights pioneers, Lewis did not resist.
... do to us what you will, and we will still love you. [Martin Luther King, Jr.]
... we will wear you down by our capacity to suffer. And one day, we will win our freedom. We will not only win freedom for ourselves. We will so appeal to your heart and your conscience that we will win you in the process. [Martin Luther King, Jr.]
It took a while, but Mr. Wilson had a change of heart and came to regret the things he'd done as a young man. Hounded by his conscience, he went to Washington, D.C. in 2009 and offered a face-to-face heartfelt apology to Rep. Lewis. Not only was forgiveness granted, but the men embraced... and together, they wept.
Love can... and did... overcome evil.
[image courtesy of Morguefile]
On October 2, 2006, 32-year old Charles Roberts, a husband and father of three, entered the one-room West Nickels Mine Amish School in Pennsylvania, ordered the boys and adults to leave, and then he tied up ten little girls between the ages of six and thirteen. He shot all ten girls, killing five, and then he killed himself.
In the hours after the killings, an Amish man named Henry visited the shooter's parents to give them a message. He put his hand on the father's shoulder and called him... friend. Not only did the entire Amish community forgive the killer's parents; the couple was embraced as part of their community. Men and women, some of whom had lost daughters at the hand of Charles Roberts, approached his parents to offer condolences over the loss of their son. Thirty of them attended Roberts' funeral... so they could form a wall to block out media cameras. In the years since the attack, the relationship between the Amish community and the Roberts family flourished, demonstrating over and over again the unstoppable powers of love, compassion, and forgiveness. Mrs. Roberts died this summer, but during her 13-year battle with cancer, members of the Amish community provided endless support, love, and assistance to her and her family.
In this photo, Terri Roberts holds a photo of her son, and over her shoulder is a hand-carved gift... Forgiven... which was presented to her by the Amish community shortly after the shooting. But the community didn't just give her and her husband a lovely wall-hanging... they gave them the immeasurably priceless gift of forgiveness.
Forgiveness is the final form of love. [Reinhold Niebuhr]
Hopefully, none of you have anything so horrific to forgive, but here's the thing. Holding a grudge about something, big or small, whether it occurred years and years ago or as recently as today, only serves to strengthen the venom of hatred. So if you think about it, withholding forgiveness is like trying to poison someone else by swallowing the poison yourself.
Forgiveness is unlocking the door to set someone free and realizing you were the prisoner. [Max Lucado]
So why a post about forgiveness? Because there's an enormous amount of vitriol in today's world, threatening to tear us apart by building walls between us and dividing us by our perceived differences. But we are far more alike than different, and we don't need more walls. We need bridges of love, compassion, and forgiveness to bring us together. In the face of insane happenings in the world, I must believe that love can... and will... overcome evil. And it begins with each one of us.
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. [St. Francis]
Forgive others not because they deserve forgiveness, but because you deserve peace. [Mother Theresa]
Thought for the day: Ask people how they're doing, how's life? Everyone has a story, and you may be the one they want to tell it to. [author unknown]
From 1998 to 2004, CBS news had a segment called Everybody Has a Story, based on a visit to a random location within the United States, which was determined by the toss of a dart at a map. Once he arrived at that location, correspondent Steve Hartman would pick out a random name from the telephone directory, and do a story on someone who lived at that address. Much to his surprise, what started out in the beginning as a bit of a lark ended up unearthing terrific stories... some heart-warming, some heart-wrenching, and some downright funny. But always, always interesting.
Last weekend, this lucky gal didn't have to throw a single dart, and didn't have to hop on an airplane or bus to hear somebody's story. All I had to do was go to a flea market with Smarticus, who happened to be wearing a Vietnam vet cap. As often happens, a fellow vet spotted the cap, and he and a buddy approached to shake his hand and welcome him home. We stood chatting for some time, and this former Marine... this complete stranger who, for some reason, immediately felt like a long-time friend... made a point of telling me a story. He had some fun yanking my chain with some pure BS, too, but we had a good laugh over that. But this story... it was true, and like the thought for the day says, I guess I was the one he wanted to tell it to. A true man will listen to anyone, no matter how young or old the person. For everyone has a story to tell and a lesson to teach. [Ash Sweeney]
I'm not exactly a true man, but it was a true honor to hear his tale. Now, I'm gonna share it with you. Since he even told me how I could find more information about it online, I have a feeling he'd approve.
Considering what I'm about to tell you, this 1917 recruiting poster seems the perfect accompaniment. Although this true story isn't about a Marine riding a big cat, it IS about a near-deadly encounter with one. A tiger. A BIG 400-pound-plus tiger. In the middle of the night in the dark jungles of Vietnam.
On December 22, 1968, a team of Marines from the 3rd Recon hunkered down for the night, hoping dawn would bring more conducive conditions for extraction by helicopter. A couple of the guys took watch, while the others settled down on the ground and tried to catch some shut-eye.
In the middle of the night, they were awakened by Staff Sergeant Richard Goolden's blood-curdling screams.
To everybody's horror, Goolden's head was held fast in the mouth of an enormous tiger.
When one of the guys tried to beat the cat off of him, the tiger took off, and still holding Goolden in its jaws, jumped down into a bomb
crater.
Bottom line, the Marines won. The whole team shot down into that crater to kill the cat... which had already killed another Marine the month before... and miraculously, they saved Goolden's life.
Despite his serious wounds... our flea market friend said Goolden's tongue was nearly severed, his neck severely cut, and his head so torn up, his brain was exposed... the Staff Sergeant survived. Needless to say, he spent a looong time in the hospital, but he is still here to tell about it.
The Army may have had a Special Forces unit called the Tiger Force, but this young Marine, Staff Sergeant Richard Goolden, spent what must have felt like an eternity in the actual jaws of a tiger.
If you'd like to see more photos, and read an article about this event, written by Sgt. Bob Morris, and published in the Northern Marine magazine in 1968, you can find it here
While doing research for this post, I also came across another really interesting piece, about some of the critters soldiers encountered in Vietnam. You can find that here
I also found out that SSgt Goolden, although initially told he would receive a Purple Heart... never received one. He got all of the other awards he earned, but there were no written orders for the Purple Heart, so he was denied that medal. The most recent article I found was from a few years back, when his daughter was still doing her darnedest to go through the proper channels to get him that medal. Evidently, receiving catastrophic wounds while in a war zone only counts if it happens at the hand of the enemy. Not at the jaws of a tiger.
Good news, though? Goolden, though scarred, both physically and mentally, is still going strong, and our flea market friend still has a beer or two with him every week. Alas, our flea market Marine never told us his name
Just his story.
Maybe because that's the part he thought was most important.
There are eight million stories in the naked city. This has been one of them. [closing line for TV show Naked City, which aired from 1958-'63]
Just curious. Do complete strangers ever tell you their stories? This certainly isn't the first time it's happened to me... and ya know, I certainly hope it isn't the last.
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
Thought for the day: It is not how much we have, but how much we enjoy, that makes happiness. [Charles Spurgeon]
[morguefile]
Know what today... March 20... is? International Day of Happiness! How cool is that? Don't feel bad if you didn't know about it, though, because it's fairly new. This is only its third year, since the United Nations General Assembly established it in the summer of 2012. (Following Bhutan's initiative)
Its purpose? To recognize the relevance of happiness, and topromote it as a universal goal and aspiration in the lives of human beings around the world.
So what better topic to talk about today than (ta DA!) happiness?
[wikipedia]
What's happiness to you? To me, it's more a state of mind than anything. An attitude.
Most people are as happy as they make up their minds to be. [Abraham Lincoln]
Have you ever known people who hang their personal happiness on some future event... like when I get married... when the kids go to school...when I graduate... get that promotion... publish that book... retire... and on and on. What if those things never happen? Wouldn't it make more sense to work on being happy with right now?
Happiness is not a state to arrive at, but a manner of traveling. [Margaret Lee Runbeck]
[seniorark]
Does it require a bunch of money to achieve happiness? Depends on who you ask.
What's the use of happiness? It can't buy you money. [Henny Youngman]
People who say that money can't buy happiness just don't know where to shop. [Kathy Lette]
Money doesn't make you happy. I now have fifty million dollars, but I was just as happy when I only had forty-eight. [Arnold Schwartzenegger]
[morguefile]
Do you need stuff to make you happy? Fancy cars? Jewels, furs, designer clothes, around-the-world trips?
True happiness cannot be found in something or some person, because as everything changes, that level of happiness is bound to be temporary. [Sharon Salzberg]
[morguefile]
After years of happiness research, one thing in particular has proven to be fundamentally important to achieving a sense of well-being and happiness: connections to other people.
Friends. In-person friends, Internet friends, on the radio friends... doesn't matter. Just a connection to other people. Connections to other people can diminish our sorrows... and multiply our joys
Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared. [Buddha]
[morguefile]
I am happy. On just about any given day, I am disgustingly happy. Matter of fact, sometimes it makes me feel guilty: Is it horrid to be happy when so many are so sad? Is it heartless to have peace inside when war's all some have had? (start of one of my poems in Old Broads Waxing Poetic) Is it pathologically nuts to be happy when there are so many problems in the world? I say NO. It'd be much worse not to seize and appreciate each day. (It ain't gonna be here tomorrow!)
Be happy for this moment. This is your life. [Omar Khayyam]
[morguefile]
I am determined to be cheerful and happy in whatever situation I may find myself. For I have learned that the greater part of our misery or unhappiness is determined not by our circumstances but by our disposition. [Martha Washington]
If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion. [Dalai Lama]
Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is just beyond your grasp, but which is you sit down quietly, may alight upon you. [Nathaniel Hawthorne]
I'm gonna do something I haven't done in a while. Tell you a story. It's a story I recently read on the blog of the loverly L.D. Masterson, and with a wee bit of alteration, here's my version:
Once upon a time, a woman looked into the mirror and saw she only had three hairs on her head. 'Oh well,' she thought. 'I can braid them.' And so she did. It was good, and she enjoyed a very happy day. The next day, she only had two hairs left on her head. 'Oh, well,' she thought. 'I can part my hair down the middle.' And so she did. It was good, and she enjoyed a very happy day. The next day, there was one lonely hair left on her head. 'Oh well,' she thought. 'I can wear a pony tail.' And so she did. It was good, and she enjoyed a very happy day. The next day, she had no hair left at all. She smiled at her reflection, and thought, ' YAY! I don't have to fix my hair today!' And she enjoyed a very happy day.
*****************
It's all about attitude. Being happy doesn't mean your life is perfect; it means you've learned how to appreciate all the wonderful things you do have, and how to look beyond the imperfections.
*** Mysteries for Myeloma--- Here's a heads-up on a way you can do some good simply by buying a book. (Or as many books as you'd like!) On March 22, all proceeds from the sales of author Nancy Lynn Jarvis's books will be going directly to the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation. You can find out more about her books via her Amazon author's page... here. And you can find more background info about this worthwhile fund-raising effort on the lovely Yolanda Renee's blog.
Happy Happiness Day, y'all!
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
