Joy to the World

Thought for the day: Hang onto your hat, hang onto your hope, and wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day. [E.B. White]

Well, it's Christmas. Doesn't feel like it... but it is. The house is very quiet, making it easier to hear the ever-present high-pitched monotone ringing in my ears. Both cats sit close beside me, the feeling of their warm bodies a reassuring reminder that I'm not entirely alone. Oh, I could've gone to Alabama to spend the Holidays with my son and his family... but I wanted to stay home. Really. I'm hanging in there pretty doggone well since my husband died five month ago today, but I'm not ready for any raucous celebrations just yet. I seek solace in the quiet... the normal. Not much in the way of decorations here this year. Our same-old, same-old wreath hangs at the front door, and bright red poinsettias sit atop the shelf above the fireplace and on the coffee table in the sunroom. Also on that fireplace shelf are two candles that I've had forever... one of a jolly waving Santa, and the other a snowman with a huge smile. My kissing Santa and Mrs. Claus salt-and-pepper shakers sit up there, too... and one other cheerful snowman figure. Next to the TV is a seated fabric Santa that my mother made years ago, and the hooked rug my father made is in the sunroom. That's it, but don't you dare feel sorry for me. I didn't want all of the trappings this year. No cards, no gifts, no twinkling lights. Just a peaceful day with a minimum of tears. I'm not exactly pretending that it isn't Christmas, but I don't want to be reminded any more than I am every other day that Mike isn't here. 

It seems I'm not the only one who skipped sending cards this year. Mike and I used to get a kazillion cards, but this year, there's only been a trickle. Which is fine. Better than fine, actually, because that makes me feel less guilty about not sending any myself. But holy moley! I got cards from some of YOU. People I've never met face-to-face, but whom I've grown to love, nonetheless. Thank you. Thank you for caring. Thank you for spurring me to sit down to write this message to all of you. I know you care, and that means so much to me. I care about you, too. It's been a hard year for all of us, but today is a day for joy. For hope. Next year, we can celebrate, hopefully, but for today, let's embrace hope. Hope that each day will be a little better than the day before and that normal is right around the corner. Don't despair. We'll get there. You and me. All of us. We'll get there.

One tiny bit of normal is the following post, one I've shared almost every year since I started this blog. It's... a tradition. That's what you guys told me. So fine, let's go with that tradition. It seems I can do quite well without decorations and presents, but who knew? It appears I don't wanta do without Louise...

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Thought for the day: We don't stop laughing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop laughing.

No telling how many years this wreath has graced our front door.

We never made a huge production out of outdoor decorations, but every year, our kids made the same grand proclamation after we cruised our decorated-out-the-wazoo neighborhood on the way home from the candlelight service on Christmas Eve.

"The best one of all!" they'd lie as we pulled into our driveway.

Okay, so maybe they weren't really lying through their braces. Maybe anticipation of the hidden presents awaiting inside added a certain luster to their perception of our decorations.

Anyhow, I'd say decorating styles can pretty much be divvied into three categories: traditional, enlightening, and inflated. Us? We're traditional. That means, except for an occasional new acquisition, I've pretty much used the same decorations every year. For a LOT of years. Like the ornaments that hung on my parents' tree when they were first married, some of which are now paper thin, and considerably faded with age. And a slew of decades-old goodies fashioned by our children with copious quantities of felt, glue and glitter, construction paper, walnut shells, clothespins, eyeglass lenses, and even a Mason jar lid. A black spider in a golden web and a huge decorated crab shell, both made by my sister-in-law. Boxes of tinsel painstakingly applied, strand by strand, and then painstakingly removed to store in a box for yet another year. Like I said, traditional. Well, to be more accurate, I suppose we've become more traditional cum lazy, because each year, I use less and less decorations, and some of them don't even make it down out of our attic anymore. This year, very few decorations found their way out of the storage boxes. (A RED tablecloth counts as a decoration, right???)

These carolers once belonged to my grandmother.

Everybody knows the enlightening type of decorator. They're the ones with so many lights blazing in their front yards, they risk causing a blackout across three states every time they turn 'em on. Very flashy. Sometimes, they even incorporate animation and music, too, and carloads of people stop by every night to ooh and aah over their winter wonderland. It isn't at all unusual for a competition of sorts to begin when multiple enlighteners live in close proximity. (Those neighborhoods can be seen from the space station.)

                                         We're more like the house on the right these days:

And then, there's the inflated. This is a fairly recent category. I sure don't remember seeing this sort of display when I was a kid. Nowadays, you can purchase just about any character you can think of ... inflate it ... and stick it on your front lawn. And if you can't find a particular character, for the right price, you can probably have someone make one for you. Then, all those characters can weave and bob all over your yard.

Now then, to the point of today's post. Time for a tale about a Christmas inflatable of an entirely different ilk. This story originated in 1999, and was alleged to be the winning entry to a Louisville Sentinel contest about the wildest Christmas dinner. Turns out, no such newspaper ever existed, and the writer remains unknown, but the story lives on, thanks to the good ol' Internet. (WARNING: Better put your drink down before you read it.) Now here, after a bit of minor editing on my part, is that story:

As a joke, my brother Jay used to hang a pair of pantyhose over his fireplace every Christmas Eve. He said the only thing he wanted was for Santa to fill them, but what they say about Santa checking his list twice must be true, because every Christmas morning, the other stockings would all be bulging with treats, but Jay's poor pitiful pantyhose were always left dangling as empty as ever.

So one year, I decided to make his dream come true. I put on sunglasses, a fake nose, and a ski cap, and went in search of an inflatable love doll.

Know what? They don't sell those things at Wal-Mart. I had to go to an adult bookstore. By the way, if you've never been in an X-rated store before, two words: don't go. You'll only confuse yourself. I was there for an hour saying things like, "What does this do?" "You're kidding me!" and  "Who would buy that?" 

So anyway, I finally made it to the inflatable doll section. I wanted to buy a standard, uncomplicated doll that could also substitute as a passenger in my truck so I could use the car pool lane, but finding what I wanted was difficult. Love dolls come in many different models. The top of the line, according to the side of the box, could do things I'd only seen in a book on animal husbandry, but I settled for the bottom of the price scale: Lovable Louise. To call her a doll required a huge leap of imagination.

On Christmas Eve, with the help of a bicycle pump, Louise came to life. My sister-in-law was in on the plan, and she let me in during the wee morning hours. Long after Santa had come and gone, I filled Jay's pantyhose with Louise's pliant legs and bottom. I also ate some cookies and drank what remained of a glass of milk on a nearby tray. Then I went home and giggled for a couple of hours.

The next morning, my brother called to say that Santa had been to his house and left a present that had made him VERY happy, but his poor dog was very confused. She would bark, start to walk away, then come back and bark some more. We agreed that Louise should remain in her pantyhose so the rest of the family could admire her when they came over for the traditional Christmas dinner.

My grandmother noticed Louise the moment she walked in the door. "What the hell is that?" she asked.

My brother quickly explained, "It's a doll."

"Who would play with something like that?" she snapped.

 I had several candidates in mind, but kept my mouth shut.

"Where are her clothes?" she continued.

"Boy, that turkey sure smells nice, Gran," Jay said, trying to steer her into the dining room.

 But Granny was relentless. "Why doesn't she have any teeth?"

Again, I could have answered, but why risk it? It was Christmas, and nobody wanted to spend it in the back of an ambulance saying, "Hang on, Granny, hang on!"

My grandfather, a delightful old man with poor eyesight, sidled up to me, waggled his eyebrows, and said, "Hey, who's the naked gal by the fireplace?"

I told him she was Jay's friend, and a few minutes later, noticed Grandpa standing by the mantel, talking to Louise. And not just talking. He was actually flirting. It was then we realized this might be Grandpa's last Christmas at home.

The dinner went well. We made the usual small talk about who had died, who was dying, and who should be killed, when suddenly Louise made a noise that sounded a lot like my father in the bathroom every morning. Then she lurched from the pantyhose, flew around the room twice, and fell in a heap in front of the sofa. The cat screamed. I passed cranberry sauce through my nose, and Grandpa ran across the room, fell to his knees, and began administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. My brother fell back over his chair and wet his pants, and Granny threw down her napkin and stomped outside to sit in the car.

It was indeed a Christmas to treasure and remember. Later in my brother's garage, we conducted a thorough examination to decide the cause of Louise's demise. We discovered that she'd suffered from an acute case of hot ember to the back of her right thigh. Fortunately, thanks to a wonder drug called duct tape, we restored her to perfect health.

After that, Louise went on to star in several bachelor party movies, and I'm pretty sure Grandpa still calls her whenever he can sneak out of the house.

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

             Merry Christmas! May all your dreams... no matter how inflated...  come true.

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

                                                                As for 2020?

Just Call Me Edison

 Thought for the day: Regret won't change the past. Anxiety won't change the future.

Hi-ya, guys. So how are things going with you?  I know... I know... some days, it feels like a tsunami of anxiety is threatening to engulf the whole darned planet, but hang in there, okay? Just grab yourself a gnarly surfboard so you can ride that wave with a big ol' smile on your face. 

So to speak.

 I mean, we may not be able to change what's happening in the world... or in our lives... but we always always have the power to make the best of it. And we can always always search for the bright spots, the humor, and the hope. If it's too hard to smile, fake it. Whistle a happy tune, people, because we're gonna get through this. Really.

Me? I'm doing okay. I miss the crap out of my husband, but I don't reckon that'll ever change. There's a big ol' empty spot in my heart, but I still have the privilege of knowing a bunch of caring people, and the world doesn't feel empty to me at all. Just... different. It will always be... different. But the stark truth of it is, the long and beautiful saga Mike and I wrote together is over. The ending sucked, and he's gone, but it's time for me to write a new story. My own. 

Yep, time to reinvent myself, because my life ain't over. Not yet. 

Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself. [George Bernard Shaw]

Mr. Shaw was a brilliant man, but I don't think I need to create myself so much as I need to figure out who the heck I am. See, I've been Mike's wife... or Mike's girlfriend... for well over half a century, and after decades of bending over backwards to accommodate him and keep him happy, I kinda lost myself in the process. Now I'm taking baby steps to find out who I am and what I want. Simple things like putting yummy mushrooms in the lasagna sauce... which he never liked... and  getting rid of some stuff he liked... that I secretly hated. As stereotypically 1950s-like as I was as his wife, he was equally as 1950s-like stereotypical in his role, too. He took care of things. Fixed everything. Took care of the financial planning. Paid all the bills. And I've gotta tell ya, as scared as I was at being thrust into the position of suddenly having to do all of that stuff myself...rising to those tasks has given me a sense of accomplishment. I'm a tad surprised... but also proud. 

I don't know how extreme my makeover is gonna be, but I think it's gonna be okay, and so am I. For quite a while, the changes are mostly gonna be in our house. My raison d'etre right now is getting rid of a bunch of stuff and simplifying everything so it'll be easier for my kids to handle when I shuffle off to join their dad. Oh, and I want to turn one of Mike's many storage areas back into a bedroom... and fit it with a couple of bunk beds. Then, the grandkids can stay with me from time to time. Once the coronavirus has passed and a certain amount of normality has returned to everyday life, there may be more changes. Like... I might like to join our local community theater group. Maybe take tai chi classes. Heck, maybe I'll even learn to tap dance. Who knows? It's a new adventure, and I can set my own path. (Hopefully, my woeful sense of direction won't prove to be too problematic...) The jury is still out as to whether the new me is gonna be a blogger... or a writer. I think so. Maybe. Then again, I might be too busy learning how to play the saxophone... 

Heck, maybe we all need to reinvent ourselves to some extent. No matter how old we are, or what our circumstances may be, it's not too late to climb out of that rut to explore new things and learn how to bloom again. How about you? What new things might you try?

Don't ever feel like your best days are behind you. Reinvention is the purest form of hope. Make today your best yet. [Phil Wohl]

Okay, so I'll be Edison... who wants to be Tesla...?

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

                              Still feeling a little blah? This video's guaranteed to lift you up.

May Day Mayday

Thought for the day: The beautiful spring came, and when nature resumes her loveliness, the human soul is apt to revive also. [Harriet Ann Jacobs]

Aaaaaah... (CHOO!)... spring! Is there anything more beautiful and uplifting than seeing and smelling the earth burst forth in brilliant colors and heady aromas every year?

The earth laughs in flowers. [Ralph Waldo Emerson]

Today is May Day, the day that's been set aside for centuries to celebrate the glories of springtime. It's also International Workers' Day, set aside to honor the working class, but seeing's as how so many workers in the world aren't actually working right now, we're gonna ignore that in favor of singing the praises of springtime, okay?

[image: wikipedia, source: Geoff Charles]

Did you ever dance around a maypole as a child? I did. Once, when I was in fifth or sixth grade.  Not to step on anyone's toes... although it's entirely possible... nay, probable... that I did back then...  but I thought it was kinda dumb.

                          But I'm definitely in favor of celebrating the wonders of springtime.

[image: morguefile]

[image courtesy of unsplash]

Only THIS year is... different.

THIS year we have  an ominous  not-so-lovely flower to contend with. COVID-19.

And to many people worldwide, the havoc caused by the pandemic makes today feel more like MAYDAY! than May Day... like our lives are out of control and that devious brat COVID has taken the helm.

[image courtesy of unsplash]

                                                   It's surreal. And just a tad scary.

[image courtesy of unsplash]

Since the entire world is being affected by this pandemic, perhaps a universal distress call like MAYDAY! is appropriate... but I think not.

[image courtesy of seniorark]

I believe hope springs eternal, and as terrible as things may seem today, this, too, shall pass, and we'll return to some semblance to  normalcy.

We will get past it.

The world will survive.

And the world will rebuild, God willing, more caring, more appreciative, and much wiser than before.

Every sunset gives us one less day to live, but every sunrise gives us one day more to hope. [unknown]

So, let's hope for the best, shall we? And let's celebrate spring... or whatever season it may be in your corner of the world. Let's celebrate life.

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

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.

Sunshine

Thought for the day:  Don't confuse your path with your destination. Just because it's stormy now doesn't mean you aren't headed for sunshine. 

[image courtesy of unsplash]

There's a certain amount of comfort in knowing that no matter how dark the skies may be, the sun is still up there, waiting to shine its rays on us again. Just because we can't see it at the moment doesn't mean it isn't there.

No relationship is all sunshine, but two people can share one umbrella and survive the storm together.

Smarticus and I are huddled under an umbrella right now, but trust me, we're still smiling.

Laughter is the sun that drives winter from the human face. [Victor Hugo]

[image courtesy of unsplash]

We've been married for more than fifty years, so we've seen lots of eclipses together, and we know that no matter how surreal everything looks while the moon is upstaging the sun, it always steps aside in the end so we can once again see the sunlight in all its glory.

[image courtesy of unsplash]

I have faith that just like an eclipse, this, too, shall pass. But it's gonna take a little while.

When I met Smarticus for the first time, I was 12 years old, and even then, there was something about him that I found irresistible. I mean, he was reeeeally smart, funny, and a bit of a smart ass/bad ass. Even though he was a good boy, there was something of a bad boy aura about him, too. I mean, he worked on cars and smoked, for goodness sake! And ohhhh, he looked so cute with that cigarette hanging from his mouth... Yeah, I know. Dumb. Well, I'm pleased to say he finally quit smoking a couple months ago, but now he's a different kind of bad ass. His body's all marked up. Not with tattoos, though, With markings to show where he's gonna get zapped with radiation. Yeah, I know. Scary. I'm only telling you guys this because I didn't want to simply disappear from the blogosphere without any explanation. To make a long story short, Smarticus begins radiation and chemo next week and it'll be for five days a week, which means we'll both be spending a lot of time at two different medical facilities for quite a few weeks to come. I know some of you have already faced (and overcome!) cancer, and I know we aren't unique. This is just something we have to deal with, and we'll do it as best we can. Whether or not that will include blogging remains to be seen. Not that I don't love you guys. But I love him more.


Honest, I wasn't planning on saying anything about this at all, and he might prefer that I kept it to myself, so I'm not going into any details. (Lucky for me he never reads my blog, HA!) What made me change my mind was a tiny article in the newspaper about a couple of Florida teenagers with Down syndrome, and how the girl's mother took a video of the young man inviting her daughter to the homecoming dance. About how their faces shine with love... and how he asked her to be his sunshine. Just like my Smarticus has always been to me and I think I've been to him. I looked for the video mentioned in the article... and found it. Be ready to smile. The way I see it, love and sunshine are always something worth smiling about...




                                Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
                               
                                           Keep smiling and never EVER give up hope.

P.S. I've already written rather lengthy blog posts for the next two Fridays, but once they go live, anything I write after that may be shorter than usual (Stop cheering!) or might even be re-runs of oldies-but-goodies. For that matter, they may be non-existent. We shall see.

Building Bridges

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]

Out of the Cave and Swatting at Gnats

Thought for the day:  A hibernating snail is not necessarily dead. [Messaod Mohammed]

[image courtesy of Morguefile]

[YAWN] It's time to drag my weary bones (Snap! Crackle! Pop!) out of the editing cave long enough to write a new post.

Nope, still not done with the editing, but I've already foisted enough reruns on you guys. The truth is, I really am more like that hibernating snail in the thought for the day than a bear... not all that grumpy or dangerous, but I sure am SLOW.

So, what to write about? My blogging brain isn't firing on all cylinders right now, so I'm gonna ease my way back into this. (It's always best not to test the depth of the water with both feet.) Today is September 15... so what happened on this date in history?

[image courtesy of wiki]

As it turns out... LOTS of stuff, but seeing's as how I'm trying to ease back into blogging, I won't natter on about all of them... or even most of some. Just two. (You're welcome.)

First, I'll natter about... gnats. Miserable little creatures, aren't they? Anyone who does outdoor work, especially in sweaty climes, is well aware of those little booger bugs with a propensity for buzzing around heads, flying up noses and into eyes, and getting stuck in perspiration. (Why the heck didn't Noah smoosh them when he had the chance?)

So what is it about gnats and this particular date in history? Well, included in a loooooong list of historic events that occurred on this date throughout the ages, I found a peculiar listing for 1946, in which the Dodgers beat the Cubs 2-0. Yeah, I know... nothing historic THERE, but that game was called after only five innings. Not because of rain... or tornado... or hurricane... or fire... or flood. Because of gnats. Swarms of them. Who'd think a little critter like that could cause such misery and mayhem that the Cubs lost their opportunity to win that game? (Um, not that they WOULD have, mind you, but I'm just saying...) It wasn't the size or annoyance factor of any individual gnat, but the accumulative effect of a mess of them. A whole gang of them crawled out from under their rocks and banded together to create an atmosphere of cursing, swatting, and running. And in essence, the gnats... won the day. And all the good people retreated.

[photograph: Carol Highsmith]

The second event from this date in history, surprisingly enough, wasn't included on the list that cited the gnat tale, which I found astounding, because this second event was something that truly changed the course of history.

In 1963, hate-filled white supremacists bombed the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama, and four little girls were killed. Another little girl was blinded for life, and fourteen other church members were seriously injured. It's horrifying that it took something this terrible to awaken America to the deplorable state of race relations in some parts of this country, but that wake-up call also provided impetus for the passage of new civil rights laws.

Now here we are in 2017, and it seems that white supremacists are crawling out from under their rocks not only here in the United States, but in other countries all over the world, and they're banding together to create a renewed atmosphere of cursing, violence, and fear. Like swarms of gnats, they cause misery and mayhem, and the diseases they try to spread are hatred and intolerance.

The one thing we should hate is hatred; the one we should not tolerate is intolerance.

The following photograph was taken in 1992 by small-town newspaper photographer Todd Robertson at a KKK rally in Gainesville, Georgia. (If you'd like to read more about it, check this earlier post )

The child in that picture was only three years old at time. I wonder where he is now... and whether he rose above the hatred he was taught. Is he one of the white supremacists now crawling out from under their slimy rocks? Look at the face of the now-retired trooper Allen Campbell. What sadness he must have felt in his soul to see an innocent child clad in garb of hatred.

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. [Martin Luther King, Jr.]

On this September 15 of 2017, I despair that such hatred is still in existence and that the passage of civil rights laws hasn't erased intolerance from the evil hearts of some... gnats. That is what these white supremacists and neo-Nazis are to me... an annoying swarm of creatures that will be smooshed in the end. These gnats will not win, and the fight for decency will not end early. There are far more of us with love in our hearts than there are of them. This time, the good people will not retreat.

We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope. [Martin Luther King, Jr.]



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

How Sweet It Is!

Thought for the day:  Man cannot live on bread alone; he must have peanut butter.

[morguefile]

Most women would also tout the vital importance of chocolate. Especially this time of year, with Valentine's Day only a couple days away. Not all, mind you. Some would prefer... cheese. Not mentioning any names, but especially someone with the initials Crystal Collier. (Um, when you read this post, Crystal, for your increased pleasure, I'd suggest you substitute the word cheese whenever I mention chocolate or candy...)

Now then, this post is gonna be a bit different from posts I've done for Valentine's Day in past years. This year, we're gonna talk about an inordinately sweet man known as the Candy Bomber. No, he has never detonated sweet caches of candy, (Perish the thought!) but at the end of World War II, his efforts delivered chocolate, chewing gum and much-needed HOPE and LOVE to war-torn Berlin. (Cheese, Crystal, cheese...)

[wikipedia]

To refresh your memories, following the end of World War II, Germany was divided into four occupied sectors. Berlin was also split among the four occupying countries, as shown in the map, with the western part being shared by France, Great Britain, and the United States, and the eastern part occupied by the Soviet Union. Berlin was actually situated deep within the Soviet-controlled portion of the country, and let's just say they weren't enamored with the other countries controlling any part of Berlin. They wanted all of it. In hopes of achieving that end, they closed all highways, railroads and canals from western-occupied Germany into western-occupied Berlin, initiating what came to be known as the Berlin Blockade. They figured they would force the other countries to abandon their areas of Berlin.

[wikipedia]

They figured wrong. In response to the blockade, the U.S. and U.K initiated the Berlin Airlift, or as it was officially known, Operation Vittles, to supply food, fuel, and other supplies to Berliners via airplane. During the airlift, an Allied supply plane took off or landed every thirty seconds, and made more than 300,000 flights in all, delivering approximately 2.3 million tons of cargo.

courtesy of the U.S. Air Force [wikipedia]

In 1948 and '49, 27 year-old Colonel Gail "Hal" Halvorsen piloted C-47s and C-54s during the airlift. He was also an avid photographer, and while taking pictures one day, a group of about thirty children watched him through the fence. When he talked with them, he was astounded by the gratitude they expressed, and by the fact that they didn't ask him for anything. He wanted to do something for them. He only had a couple pieces of chewing gum, which he passed through the fence. To his amazement, the children tore it into tiny pieces and shared it as best they could, and then ripped the wrappers into tiny pieces, too, and passed them around, so they could all get a whiff of the minty goodness.

His heart ached for these children, and he promised to drop some candy to them from his plane. So they'd know it was him, he said he'd wiggle his wings at them, which made the children laugh, and earned him the nickname Onkel Wackelfulgel, or Uncle Wiggle Wings. 

courtesy of the U.S. Air Force [wikipedia]

When Hal got back to base, he used his rations to buy candy, and got some of his friends to contribute, too. They used extra clothes and handkerchiefs to fashion little parachutes for the boxes of candy, and the next morning, in addition to his usual supply drop, Hal dropped three boxes of candy to the children. It was the start of a regular routine for him, in which he dropped candy to the children every week. He became known as Rosinenbomber, or the Candy Bomber.

[In the picture, he's in the midst of attaching candy to parachutes.]

courtesy of U.S. Air Force [wikipedia]

When the airlift commander heard about Hal's efforts, he gave it an official name... Little Vittles... and threw his support behind it. As the news of the operation spread, children and candymakers all over the U.S. began donating so many treats, the drops were increased to every other day. By the end of the airlift, some twenty-five aircraft crews had dropped twenty-five tons of chocolates, chewing gum, and other candies to the children in Berlin.

[wikipedia]

How did the children react? After the very first candy bombing, they started sending thank you notes to Hal... along with handkerchiefs to be used again as parachutes.

How did the countries react? With an outpouring of love and gratitude, which continues to this day.  Both Germany and the U.S. have bestowed numerous honors on Colonel Halversen, including the Congressional Gold Medal. In 2002, Hal was invited to the Olympics in Berlin, where he was given the honor of leading the German team during the opening ceremonies. In 2013, a secondary school in Berlin was named in his honor.

[wikipedia]

And every year, to commemorate the airlift, the Candy Bomber returns to Berlin... and drops candy to the children.

This picture was taken in Berlin in 1989, the fortieth anniversary of the end of the airlift.

As a lifelong devout Mormon and sometime missionary, Colonel Halvesen sincerely believes what he said some years ago: Service is the bottom line to happiness and fulfillment.

Not only has he lived his life by those words, he delivered happiness and fulfillment to many children, and his caring deeds went a long way toward healing wounds between countries that were once at war.

But he isn't done! Not yet...

[photo by Sammy Jo Hester,  The Daily Herald]

This picture of him was taken last July in Orem, Utah. Looks like he's still going strong, doesn't it?




That isn't all he was doing...

[photo by Spenser Heaps, The Daily Herald]

Yep! You guess it! He dropped one thousand candy bars, attached to tiny parachutes, to the excited children below.


The Dead Sea is dead because it wraps itself around all of the fresh water of the Jordan and gives out nothing. In your community, there are Dead Sea souls who do the same. [Gail Halversen, 2015]

It's a cinch, he isn't one of those Dead Sea souls. No, he's been more like a gentle rain that nourishes the parched earth, bringing hope, and creating fertile grounds for new growth of understanding and peace. And candy! Don't forget the candy! May this loving caring man continue to candy bomb for many more years to come. How sweet it is! No... how sweet HE is. Happy Valentine's Day, y'all.

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