One Candle

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

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 that celebrates the triumph of light over darkness, of purity over adulteration, and spirituality over materialism, begins at sunset tomorrow. 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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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...

Grounded by Whimsy

Thought for the day:  Ask me not what I have, but what I am. [Heinrich Heine]

Need help organizing your ... stuff?

There's a wide spectrum of attitudes about possessions. For the free spirits of the world, those who are more in the world than of it, possessions are regarded with a very wary eye. In a post a couple weeks ago, Suze described them as tiny strings, nearly invisible, strapping me to the earth when I yearned to float.

Lovely sentiment, isn't it?

So it goes without saying, (doesn't mean I'm not gonna SAY it) she isn't as likely to hold onto things as someone like me. Mind you, I'm not averse to floating, but I enjoy a certain amount of grounding, too.

What difference does it matter how much you have? What you do not have amounts to much more. [Seneca]

Not saying I have a hankering to amass a warehouse full of worldly goods. I mean, who wants more stuff to dust, right? How about you? You have a thing for ... stuff? Let's take a brief pause, shall we, to check out George Carlin's classic routine about... what else? Stuff.  [Warning: contains a teensy bit of language some of you may find objectionable.]

What I AM saying is I'm quasi-attached to some of the stuff I DO have. Not jewelry or furs. Not fine art or priceless musical instruments. Matter of fact, nothing of any particular monetary value at all. Just stuff I happen to LIKE. Whimsical things.

Wealth consists not in having great possessions, but in having few wants. [Epictetus]

Yeah, few wants. That's me. But I sure do treasure a wealth of whimsy. Wanta peek at some?

Aren't these adorable? I found them a couple weeks ago at a thrift shop/ antique store. Heaven knows, I didn't need another salt and pepper set, but who could resist? They're made in England, and for all I know, they may be quite common on that side of the ocean, but they were new to me. What can I say? They make me smile.

Okay, so I didn't need this soap dish, either, but it followed me home from that thrift shop, too.

Yeah, that antique shop probably had some real treasures in it, stuff worth a lot of money, and maybe even for an awesome price. Tough. I prefer stuff that makes me smile.

This salt and pepper set used to belong to my mother, and may even have belonged to her mother at one time. Made in Japan, nothing special about them, I suppose. Nothing special but the well-seasoned memories they stir.

This goofy cat belonged to my mother, too. It's another one of those things that simply makes me feel good.

This silly-looking clock was a gift from our daughter. The cat's eyes move from side to side, and his tail swings back and forth. (Much to the aggravation of our real cats.)

Another gift from our daughter. (She appreciates whimsy almost as much as I do.) This little gondolier's sole purpose in life is to hold a wooden spoon ... and to make me smile.

Now, who can look at THIS without smiling? (Not ME!) This belonged to my mother-in-law. My sister-in-law told me to take whatever I wanted from the house after Mom died this year, and I chose this.

And THIS. This used to sit on the windowsill in Mom's kitchen. Thanks to the little solar panel in it, the flower dances. The petals bounce up and down as if it were doing calisthenics. It just looks happy, and every time I look at it, I think of Mom.

My sister-in-law thought it was so funny that I wanted that Dollar Store dancing flower that she threw this in as a bonus. Let me tell ya, that hula dancer's hips really get a work-out on a bright sunny day.

This sign cracks me up. It used to be in my father's basement potty room. The tiny cubicle was lined with shelves, and all the shelves were stuffed with books.

This leprechaun belonged to my grandmother. It's napaware china, made in Japan sometime in the '50s. Cute, huh?





We are not the sum of our possessions.  [George H.W. Bush]

Thank goodness, huh? But I suppose the possessions we enjoy most reveal a little something about who we are. And who I am is a sentimental fool. I started out with nothing and still have most of it left.  [L. Vincent Majestic] And that is just fine with me.

Enough looking at my stuff. How about you? Do you have whimsical possessions that make you smile, too? A beloved treasure without monetary value, but with sentimental value beyond compare? What stuff matters to you?

Time is at once the most valuable and the most perishable of all our possessions. [John Randolph]

                                           And our time is the most valuable gift of all. [me]

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

Time for Launch. You Hungry?

Thought for the day: A lot of people ask me if I were shipwrecked,and could only have one book, what would it be? I always say, "How to Build a Boat."  [Stephen Wright]

U.S.S. Mississippi christening, 2011 (Wiki)

I've never launched a boat before. Have you? That distinguished looking lady in the picture is Alison Stiller, the Deputy Assistant Secretary of the Navy, and I'll betcha SHE'S launched a lot of boats... er ... ships... before. 

But I'll betcha she hasn't launched any BOOKS. 

Okay, so I haven't launched any of THEM before either. (sigh) But there's always a first time, right? Today I'm gonna take a good swig of the champagne bottle, and add my enthusiastic voice to a bunch of other bloggers' voices to help launch a book that's being released by J. Taylor Publishing... TODAY!!! 

                                               Ready? We christen theeeee.... Make Believe!

                                     
           For REAL, may her voyage be long and joyous, and her seas be ever serene.

Pretty cover, isn't it? Make Believe is a compilation of short stories, one of which was written by Aussie blogger pal and author Lynda R. Young. Her story is called Birthright. (PSSST! Wanta peek at the blurb for her story?)

Christa can mask the pain and hide the scars, but running from a birthright is impossible. 

She’s tried to escape her grief by fleeing to a small town in Florida. Much to her frustration, the locals think they recognize her even though she's never been there before. To make things worse, a man named Jack spouts outrageous theories about her. 

Both spur Christa to bolt, to start fresh yet again, but there’s something about Jack that intrigues her enough to stay. The only problem? Someone else wants her to leave, and they won’t stop until she’s dead.  


Oooooh. Intrigued?  Wait, there's more! How's about an excerpt...?

Palms rustled overhead as Mrs. Tinder shouldered open the rickety door of Christa’s new home.

“Here we are,” the landlady said. The dark space breathed Florida’s hot air. “It’s not usually so humid here in December, but never you mind about the unseasonal heat, dear. As soon as the air-conditioning kicks in she’ll be right as rain.” Mrs. Tinder toddled over to a control panel on the wall and pressed a few buttons. A hum emanated from the walls, the lights blinked on, and the air stirred.

Busying herself around the single room cabin, Mrs. Tinder spread the drapes, straightened the cushions and opened and closed the fridge. She turned her sharp gaze on Christa. “You have family in town?”

Christa gave her a tight smile. “No, I don’t.”

“Friends, perhaps?”

She shook her head.

Mrs. Tinder’s wrinkles deepened into a frown. “You’ll be alone over Christmas?” Her pinched lips broadcast her true thoughts. No one should be alone over Christmas. It’s not right. It’s not natural.

Christa’s smile wavered. “I’ll have plenty to keep me busy.” She tapped her camera case, still hanging from one shoulder.

“Ah, a photographer.” The woman’s nod turned to a slow shake.

Christa didn’t need pity, and she didn’t need more invitations to join random family gatherings, either. To prevent further discussion, she asked, “Are there any galleries in town? Or museums?”

The woman’s face didn’t brighten. “No galleries. There’s one museum. A shack run by a man named Jack.” She grunted. “But you don’t want to go there. His displays are a load of balderdash, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Balderdash?” Christa asked in mock surprise. “A mighty strong word.”

Looking like a school principal about to pass judgment on a wayward child, Mrs. Tinder perched on a kitchen stool and leaned on the counter.

Christa regretted the tease, realizing the woman had taken it for an invitation to continue.

“Apologies for my language, dear.” Reprimand laced Mrs. Tinder’s tone. After a pause of awkward silence, she sniffed. “Mr. Jack fancies himself the town historian, but he wouldn’t know history if he fell into a dung pile of it. He snoops into family lore, delves into lost legends, and makes up stories when he can’t find nothing of no interest. Mark me, all of it’s nonsense.”

Christa nodded, though she didn’t understand at all.

“Don’t get me wrong. Jack’s a lovely boy, but he’s strayed from the path.” Mrs. Tinder peered at Christa with an appraising eye. “Perhaps a woman like you would do a young man like Jack some good.”

Christa stiffened. Matchmaking was one of the many reasons she’d left New York for the holiday season. She hadn’t expected to find it in a small town in Florida, as well.

+++

If you'd like to learn more about the other stories in this book, you can find that info here And then you can pop right on over to Amazon and order it. (Let's help this book launch make a BIG SPLASH!)

Huh? I beg your pardon? You say you didn't see me swing that bottle of champagne? Pardonez-moi, you must have misunderstood. I didn't take a swing... I took a swig. (sheesh) 

Here's to Lynda and all the other authors included in this book. SALUT!!!

 (mutter, mutter) As if I'd waste a perfectly good bottle of bubbly... besides, it'd just make the pages all soggy.

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