Not What I Intended

     This was how the rest of my afternoon, yesterday, was planned:
After dropping off Ms. Sassafras (aka 3 year old granddaughter) at Pre-K, I was going to take a nap.

     My husband seems to think I should take a nap.  Since my new early morning paper route requires me to rise at 4:30 a.m. I have a really difficult time staying awake past 8:00 p.m., hence the reason he thinks I need a nap.  He was right, I felt exhausted and was really looking forward to a few z's.

     Here is how the rest of my afternoon actually went:

     Even though it was colder than Greenland, it was a bright and sunny day.  I returned home from the trip to school and was planning on going straight in the house and catching a power nap.
As I pulled into the garage, I remembered something I wanted to do.  It wasn't something I REALLY wanted to do, but I thought it needed to be done.

     The day before was trash day and for some reason I missed the garbage truck.  That doesn't happen very often and I had a whole boat load of boxes, cardboard boxes, that I had intended on setting out for pick up.  

     I walked up the alley from the garage to inspect a lingering pile of brush.  My husband had commented earlier in the day that I could burn the boxes on this pile and it would help to get rid of it. That's what I would do first, burn the boxes, then catch the nap.

     I gathered all the boxes and pushed them out the back door onto the deck.  I took the first box down to the brush pile.  This was a big box and I had stuffed it full of small boxes and some wadded up newspapers that had come in yet another box as packing material. I'm thinking at the time, 'this baby outta burn fast'.  I strategically placed this box upon the pile, lit it and went back for the rest of the boxes.

     The first box was burning nicely and as I watched it turn into a small inferno, I decided it might be handy to have my rake.  I trotted over to the patio, retrieved the rake and returned to my fire.

     Now, I must explain a couple of things.  First, the brush pile consisted of the long plumes that emerge from my pampas grass. There are nine clumps of this grass that lines the alley and then makes a right angle turn and lines the driveway, towards the house. We love our pampas grass because it gets so big during the summer and it makes for a lovely "green" privacy fence. We usually cut it down about half way in the fall and then cut it the rest of the way right before spring. This past fall, for some unknown reason, all we cut were the plumes so the pampas grass was still about five feet tall and dry......very dry.  The pile of plumes were laying about six feet from the row of pampas grass, the very dry pampas grass.

     Second, we always accused Mother of being a pyromaniac.  She was always setting something on fire.  Not intentionally, but on a couple of occasions she did manage to catch the house on fire plus a telephone pole.

     So, I'm watching the first box burn, I squished it down with my rake and placed a large flat piece of fresh cardboard on top of it.  It was at this time the small voice in my head, that I obviously do not pay any attention to, says to me, "You're really not supposed to be burning boxes in town."

     "I know." I told the voice.  "But it will all be gone in a few minutes, we're expecting another foot or more of snow in a couple of days so it will be covered up and no one will be the wiser."

      The small voice speaks to me again.  "Ya know, it's a tad bit windy."

     "Leave me alone, it'll be fine."  

     I decide to heed the small voice, just a bit, and instead of setting the next box, which is as equally big and stuffed full of small boxes as the first one, on the already raging fire, I placed it next to it.  I took my trusty rake and drug a small piece of burning cardboard over to the second box.  It didn't take long for it to become fully engulfed in flames.  "Piece of cake", I'm thinking, nap time is just around the corner.

     It was at this time the wind decided to gust.  When it did this it blew the second box over.  Have you ever seen footage of a forest fire and watched as full grown trees burst into flames in a matter of seconds?  That first pampas grass bush went up in flames in a heart beat.  

     I tried to beat it out with my trusty rake, the second pampas grass bush lights up.  I'm furiously beating now, like a windmill on crack, and I've discovered my rake handle ain't near long enough.  Man, it was hot!  Not only was it hot, my sunglasses were getting so hot, they were burning the area right above the bridge of my nose.  I'm thinking my eyebrows are probably toast by this time and if I have any bangs left, it'll be a miracle.

     The small voice chuckles, "Tried to tell ya."

      "Shut up and help!" I screamed back at it.

     By this time the third bush is on fire and not only am I swinging the rake like a crazed idiot, I'm jumping up and down in one spot. That's when I noticed the grass on the other side of this raging inferno is on fire too.  I have to run all the way around the row to get to the yard.  As I'm beating the hell fire out of the yard, the fourth bush goes up.  

     I pulled my phone out of my pocket because I'm in deep do do now.  I thought, I'll call my son-in-law, he's a fireman and just lives 3 houses up the street.  The fifth bush ignites.  I told myself, just call the fire department!

     The small voice intervenes and says, "You'll have to tell them you were burning boxes."

     "Oh hell no!"

     The sixth bush, which would be the one closest to the house, takes off.  I then notice the trash container, that I made out of wood fencing boards, is beginning to smolder.  It sits right where the bushes make the right angle towards the house.  I race over there and frantically rake burning leaves away from it.  I've given up on trying to stop the domino effect and figure all I can do is watch and make sure the flames don't jump the sidewalk and set the house on fire.  My heart was beating so fast, I thought I might possibly have the 'big one', to be found later in a heap by my beloved charred black as coal pampas grass.

     The yard was still burning so I ran back around to viciously rake whack it just in time to see the seventh bush try to take fire.  By this time I'd had it.  I was bound and determined not to lose another huge dead clump of grass, especially this one because there's a telephone pole right next to it.  I raked flaming leaves out from the bottom and beat the living crap out of the bush and just like that, it was done.  The flames were extinguished. 

     You know that guy on TV that has all those crazy, insane workout videos?  I think his name is Shawn T.  Well, let me tell you something, Shawn T. ain't got nothin' on me.  I had just done more cardio in 15 minutes than I had done in 15 days of early morning paper delivery.  Even though I smelled like brush smoke, I felt good.  Gee, maybe I should set things on fire more often.  On second thought, maybe I should just run around the block, it might prove to be safer.

     Did I take the nap?  Nope.  I was too fired up.....no pun intended.  

     

     

Highlights of the News

     Another day of blankness.  There's lots of stuff racing around inside of my skull, but I keep waiting for one of those ideas to fall out and say "Me! Me!".  It's like watching the lottery number balls swirl around inside of the cage, just waiting for the winning numbers to fall down the chute.  My chute must be clogged.  

     That leaves me to the daily newspaper.  Let's see what's in there that might be blog worthy.

     There's an article about older men, fathering children, being responsible for a whole heap of psychological problems.  According to the research, any guy over the age of 24, who decides to father a child, increases the risk of said child to have autism, ADD, ADHD, and/or being bipolar.  Well, that pretty much sums up what's wrong with me.  I'm a freaking nut case and it's all Dad's fault.  He was 42 when I was born, what was he thinking?  That is probably exactly what he was thinking!  It's good to know I can blame it on someone else.  Society never wants to be held responsible.  

     This prime cut piece of newsworthy information will undoubtedly change the course of human history.  I can envision the coffee shop "liars" tables and the local watering holes' full of men ages 25 and up lamenting about their mutant sperm.

     The great state of Illinois wants to make it legal to shoot bobcats.  They figure there are about 3000 of them in the southern part of the state, with more scattered through out and the legislation needs to control them.  I'm not sure how that works, they can't control their spending, and herding cats is an impossible feat.  I don't know what particular threat these felines are to us, as I have not yet heard of any man eating bobcats.  They aren't eating little piglets because there are no little piglets running around, they are all in confinement buildings.   Maybe they are taking a toll on the cattle population by scarfing on the calves.  Chances are they have dined on someone's small dog or cat and that poor critter belonged to one of the legislators.

     We have bobcats in our area now.  I haven't seen one, but many people have.  I hope when I do get to see one it's not all bloodied up in the back of some guys truck, parked at the coffee shop or watering hole, while he's in the establishment, talking about his sperm.

     Here's a good one.  The big soda producers and snack makers are teaching the nations' dietitians.  These are the same dietitians who are teaching us about obesity.  If ever there was a perfect example of an oxymoron, this would be it.  The old adage of the pot calling the kettle black comes to mind.  A group of these dietitians have banded together to have this stopped, they feel it's unethical. Hmmm......let me get a 48 oz. soft drink and a bag of chips while I think about that.

     The experts say that your dog really doesn't feel shame.  The article had this, and I quote, in it:  "I think they know how to placate us with this sad puppy-dog look that makes us think they're ashamed of what they've done.  My guess is that their thinking is:  'Oh man, my owner is super mad about something, but I don't know what, but he seems to calm down when I give him the sad face, so let's try that again.'", end quote.  So, the next time you find that your dog has shredded the new curtains and appears to look guilty, he is not showing guilt, but he is having an "Oh man" conversation in his head.  That makes perfect sense.

     Lastly is the poor dude in the snake church.  Yep, he gained much fame with his stint on the National Geographic Channel's "Snake Salvation", but no more.  He got bit a couple of weeks ago by a poisonous snake and died.  That's not going to keep the good people of his church from handling snakes though, nosirree, they are going to keep the faith.  

     One thing is for sure, you won't find sister Lela within a 200 mile radius of that church.  She hates snakes about as much as I dislike spiders.  To each his own, I say, but somewhere in the back of my brain, an old story comes to mind.  It's part of the story about the devil tempting Jesus.  Satan told him to go ahead, jump off the steeple, God will save you.  If memory serves me right, I believe Jesus said something about not tempting the Big Guy upstairs.


     

     
  

     

Reaching Through The Veil

     Everything has it.  From the tallest mountain to a grain of sand.  Trees have it.  Even the chair you sit in has it, but it goes undetected.  We humans have it and so do our pets.  It's called a vibration, or a frequency.

     Jumping into the depths of quantum physics proves this.  When you explore an atom down to its very core, that is where it you will find it, this vibration.  Some things vibrate at a higher frequency, like our bodies, others vibrate at a lower, slower frequency, like a rock.  Just because we can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there or doesn't happen, it does and science proves this.

     Even our thoughts produce these frequencies and knowing this or understanding that this takes place constantly should help us realize how we are all connected.  For example, how many times have you had someone close to you bring up a topic and you were thinking exactly the same thing.  This is not coincidence, this is being connected through frequencies.  It is no different than turning on the radio and picking up a signal. 

     I have a deep fascination for the spiritual side of things.  I truly believe that is the most important part of life, realizing we are spirit first, bodies second.  I believe the power of prayer, meditation, collective thoughts, is the greatest power the human race obtains.  It can literally move mountains.

     I also believe in psychic abilities and the table by my chair is piled high with books on the subject.  We all have them, but the majority of us keep them suppressed.  There are probably few people who have not had the experience of knowing who was on the other end of the phone line, before they answered it.  There are some people whose psychic abilities are very accessible and they are usually referred to as mediums or channels.  They have the ability to pick up the frequency waves and translate the information they are receiving. 

     Some well known psychics like John Edward, George Anderson, Char Margolis and James Van Praagh have near celebrity status, but they are no different than most people.  They do things just like the rest of us, they have jobs, families and bills to pay.  The only difference is their ability to tune into the frequencies that the rest of us miss.  

     I've always wanted to have a psychic reading and one day while mindlessly scrolling through Facebook, I ran across an ad for a girl by the name of June Patrick.  As I was reading her information and looking at some of her posts, I knew she would be the one I would choose for my reading.  The reason I knew this was because she had just posted a quote from Albert Einstein; "Logic will get you from A to B.  Imagination will take you everywhere."  The day before, I had cut the same quote out of the daily newspaper and laid it on my desk where I could see it every time I sit down. Remember, there's no such thing as coincidence. 

     I booked my session, it was to be over the phone, and waited, rather impatiently, for the date to arrive.

     It was the most uplifting experience I have ever had.  Not only was she accurate, she shared with me things only I would have known.  My mother came through with several of her family members and my husband's parents came through.  

     The session was recorded and I was able to download it to my computer so I could listen to it again and share it if I wanted.  There was one part that I wasn't quite sure of, but when my youngest daughter listened to it and I saw her wipe a tear from her cheek, I knew that part was intended for her and so did she.

     I'm not going to argue or get into a debate with the nay-sayers.  You are entitled to your beliefs.  But I will pass along something John Edward says at every event, "Don't wait to go to a psychic to tell someone you love them, do it now, while they are still here and you have the chance."  Also, to prophesy doesn't mean to tell the future, it means to be divinely inspired.

     It is only a sheer veil that divides this realm we call reality and what lies on the other side.  What is on the other side is so much more than we can imagine, it is the 'peace that passes our understanding'.  We have a job to do while we are here and sometimes it helps to know that the ones we have lost are really still with us, cheering us on.

     If you would like to know more about June Patrick, check her out on Facebook or www.junepatrick.com.  

     

     

Hat Tipper

     My dad was a special kind of guy.  I don't blog about him much and I'm not sure why.  It may be because he has been gone for almost 30 years, that's longer than I actually knew him, I was 28 when he passed.

     I think about him often, the things he did or said.  He loved to play cards and when he taught us how to play, one thing was certain, he'd never let us win.  It was possible to out play him to win the game, but if we thought he might let us win out of sympathy, that wasn't going to happen.

     He loved sports, especially golf, and he rarely missed a home team basketball game.  He was grand at letting the referee know when there had been a bad call.  He usually did this after everyone else had sat down and some sort of quietness had fallen across the gymnasium.  If he was going to get his point across, he wanted the ref to make sure it was heard and seen.  This earned him not only Mother sitting further and further away from him, but a couple of technicals.  Those were always given with much fanfare.  The big T sign, pointed at my father, he always feigned great innocence. 

     Daddy was a sharp dresser too and he always wore a hat.  One of my favorite pictures is of him, probably in his late 20's or early 30's, posed for the camera, looking quite dapper.  Actually, he looked kind of like a gangster, wide legged pants, suspenders, button up shirt with the sleeves rolled and a snappy fedora, cocked to one side, on his head.  

     On occasion, he wore the simple baseball cap, the kind that just about every man on the planet thinks they have to wear.....all the time.... but he usually only wore that style for yard work.  I don't think he felt like he was fully dressed, when he went out the door, if he didn't have on a hat.  

     When he was in his fifties, he began to wear the flat cap and it became his signature hat.  There are few, who remember him, who wouldn't mention his cap.  Sometime during that decade of his life he must have had a slight mid-life crisis.  He bought a new car.  I don't know if this was his first new car, but I remember going with him when he ordered it.  We sat in the show room, looking through a book with all the options that were available for this model.  It was a sporty little 2-door Buick and he picked a creamy yellow for the color, with a black vinyl top.  

     This was sometime around 1970.  I was as excited as he was because I was approaching the sweet sixteen benchmark in a couple of years and I could already see myself driving this beauty.  Daddy was grinning like a Cheshire cat the day he brought it home.  

     I must point out something about my dad.  He was a good natured man with a marvelous sense of humor.  He was rarely angry.  The only time my sisters and I can recall him being angry was when it involved a vehicle. If said vehicle didn't start or was stuck in the snow half way out of the garage, Dad would get angry. It usually started with some grumbling beneath his breath, but if the vehicle continued to be uncooperative, it got called some pretty nasty names.  When this happened and we were unfortunate enough to be in the car with him, there was a whole lot of secret praying going on for it to start with the next twist of the key.  There was a time or two we flew back to the house to tell Mother that Daddy was mad.  It never occurred to us that we were not the focus of his rant, but not seeing this side of him often, we were not taking any chances.

     So, Daddy brings home this sporty little Buick and he is looking mighty fine.  Mighty fine until the compact sporty Buick knocked his flat cap off.  This happened every time he would get in the car. Dad began to speak to the car in the same tone of  voice as the above mentioned failing to start/stuck vehicles.

     He didn't have that car a month.  I couldn't believe it.  He got rid of a brand spanking new car that was custom ordered because it knocked his hat off?!?  My own dreams of looking mighty fine in that sporty little Buick began to dissipate.  That reality was driven home even further when he came home with a dark olive green 4-door Buick Skylark.  Undoubtedly the ugliest car I had ever seen, but it didn't knock his flat cap off his head and he was mighty fine with that.

     

Routines & Mondays

     Most folks have these.  Routines.  Some call it a rut, doing the same thing at the same time, day in and day out.  They can be a good thing and if they have been done long enough, it's kind of like being on auto pilot, you just know what to do without having to put too much thought into it.

     I've had this new "job" for eleven days.  I rise bright and early and this morning it happened, I rose before my alarm went off.  I like that, even though I'm awake before the birds, it gives me a sense of accomplishment and purpose.  Sure, it's just a paper route, but it's my paper route and I like to do it well.  I strive to be the morning paper delivery person extraordinaire.  I had even gotten my time down to 43 minutes of paper delivery mania.

     I was falling into a beloved routine, something I haven't had for way too long.  It seems I was finding myself wandering in circles, wondering what to do next.  Oh, I had and have plenty to do, but my timing was off.....I needed this routine. 

     I'm up before the crack of dawn, dressed, shoes on, trot down the front stairs, flip the locks, turn on the porch light, throw open the door and there are no newspapers.   They are always on the porch.  I looked on the steps, nope, no papers there either.  It's kind of hard to miss a stack of papers that are all bundled together.  They are heavy enough that whoever brings them to my door, in the wee hours of the early morning, has to carry them to the porch, not just give them a toss.  

     I glanced across the street, maybe they were on the neighbors' porch.  Not there either.  I couldn't find Brian's phone number and there was no one answering the phone at the newspaper headquarters.  

     There's a house a block up the street and its front porch is similar to mine.  On a couple of occasions we have had people stop there, thinking they were at my house.  I jump in the car, with the fan belt squealing like a herd of small pigs, and zip up the street to see if maybe that is where my papers are.  No papers there. 

     This wasn't a good start to my day.  There was to be no untouched, virgin paper to lay upon the silver platter and be placed before the throne of the king of the house.  When he gets done reading it, it still looks like an untouched virgin paper, all put back together in its original form.  That would by why I never touch it until after he is done.  I like to mess it up, leave the sections laying around and maybe put a fold in it where no fold would dare to go.

     I finally found the delivery person's number.  It was really early to be calling someone, but he called me at 1 o'clock in the morning the first day, to get my address, so I figured I'd return the favor.  He had a substitute driver this morning.  She couldn't find my house. Seriously?  My house has been in the same spot for as long as I can remember, plus it has huge black numbers on a white background right above the porch steps.  Since she couldn't find my house, she decided not to leave my papers......anywhere.  I'm thinking, this is a really small town, she could have left them, with a note, at the local convenience store, somebody would have called me.

     Brian brings me papers about 7 o'clock.  Bless his heart, he has a route in the neighboring town he has to do.  He has to drive over 30 miles just to start that route because he can't find anyone who wants to do it.  He would really like for me to do it and even though he is as cute as a bug, I couldn't let that smile talk me into more than I could handle.

     At this time I'm almost 2 hours off schedule and the sun is up.  I can't drive on the wrong side of the road or take the corners on the inside.  I did appear to have my seat belt on when I zoomed up the main drag, just in case.  I had to run the heater, I never do that.  It was probably because I had already consumed a pot of tea, so there was something else going on.  I couldn't jog to each door.  I don't really jog, it's more of a rolling step, the kind where you swing your arms vigorously back and forth and roll the foot from the heel to the toe while keeping the knees bent.  Low impact, easy on the joints and hysterically funny looking.  Nope, wasn't doing that in the light of day. Plus, my hair looked like the cats had been sucking on it, a severe case of bed head.  I'm rarely, if ever, seen without my hair fixed so it was really enjoyable to visit with a few of my customers who were up and explain that I did not over sleep, they didn't bring me any papers.  I'm sure my hair told a different story.

     The granddaughter just arrived, my hair still looks "rode hard and put away wet" and it's Monday.  So much for my new routine. 

     And to think, I wasn't sure what I was going to blog today.

     

SEX

     Well, that certainly got your attention.    

      Let's talk about sex.  That sounds like a fun topic.  Don't worry, I won't go all "50 shades" on you.  I could, but since my children believe they were hatched, I'll try to keep it clean.

     This isn't about hot steamy sex like what we see in the movies.  People need to understand that stuff is scripted, your hair never looks that good afterward.  No, this is about a different kind of sex, no, not kinky sex........ garden sex.

     What is garden sex?  Something new and fascinating?  Something you do outdoors?  Well, sorta.

     This particular kind of sex has been going on for millions of years, right in front of our eyes, with no censorship.  Most of us don't even realize it's happening, but without it, we wouldn't be here.

     The garden sex I'm blogging about is most commonly referred to as pollination, stuff bees do.

     There is a strict rule in my backyard when the flowers are in bloom; DO NOT KILL THE BEES.

     Bees, honey bees, may be one of the most important species on the planet.  Their job, besides making honey, is to gather pollen. When they do this and buzz from flower to flower, they transfer pollen from plant to plant.  When this happens, a dusty little version of sex takes place and allows that plant to reproduce itself.  Most of us know this.

     What most people may not know is the fact that the honey bee population is in a dramatic decline.  Big deal?......HUGE deal.

     In a recent insert to one of our county papers, was an article titled, "Is this the demise of the Honeybee?"  The following is taken directly from the article:  "Bees help pollinate more than 90 commercially grown field crops, citrus and other fruit crops, vegetables and nut crops.  Without these insects crop yields  would decrease dramatically and some foods may cease to exist.  Without bees, food production would diminish and the prices of produce would skyrocket."

     The article went on to say that beekeepers in the USA have reported deaths of tens of thousands of honeybee colonies, that is not individual bees, that's hundreds, maybe thousands, of bees per colony.  It isn't just happening here, the Netherlands and the UK have even seen some species become extinct.

     I asked a local beekeeper last fall what he thought was the reason for the decline and he told me he thought the biggest culprit was us, humans.  He said a bee doesn't know the difference between a flower on a "good" plant or a flower on a weed.  When the bees take pollen from a weed flower, one that has been sprayed with pesticides or insecticides, it takes those chemicals back to the hive.  

     The article backed up this mans thoughts.  Dead bees that were examined were found to have more than 100 chemical residues in their system.

     This is serious.  There is enough turmoil on this rock we call home without having to worry about running out of food.  No bees, no apples.  No bees, no peaches.  No bees, no peas.  No bees, I hope you are getting the picture, the bigger picture.

     So what can we do?  As individuals, we can plant lots of blooming flowers in our yards, or flower pots or wherever we can find a bit of space.  We can pass the message along and remind others not to kill the bees.  Maybe we could even write a little note to some of the big chemical companies and explain to them that if it's not good for the bees, it's probably not good for us either.  

     Get out there and peruse the garden centers or the seed catalogs.  Plant some flowers.  Not only will you be helping out the bee situation, you will enjoy the pretty colors and your yard, flower pot, window box, whatever you choose, will have more sex than you could ever stand.  Plus, it won't muss up your hair.
     

It's Getting Close

     This morning I came to a most stunning realization.  My snow boots are not water proof beyond a certain depth.

     The great Mid West has seen just about every form of weather possible in the last week.  From blizzard like conditions last Friday to thunder storms, rain and 50 plus degrees today.

     With all the snow we already had on the ground and now rain, it makes for lots of water with no place to go.  

     I checked my radar app this morning before heading out and figured I could get my paper route done before the next big storm moved into the area.  Out the door I went, leaving my rain poncho lying on the counter, still wrapped neatly in its little carrying bag.

     One should always trust their gut instinct and not rely entirely on technology.  By the time I got to the second house, it was absolutely pouring.  The lightening lit up the streets like a giant strobe light and I began to ponder if leaving my metal ice grippers on the bottom of my snow boots was a wise choice.  Those little gadgets rank right up there with sliced bread when it comes to being handy.  If I did get struck by lightening and survived, hopefully I would recover and be brilliant at math.  

     By the third house I was pretty well soaked but the temperature was in the 40's so it felt like a heat wave.  About half way through was when I had to navigate my first water crossing and learned that the quilting on my boots was meant purely for snow.  Now my socks were wet.  I will have to get my tall rubber boots out and use them until the water recedes.  They are in the shed at the back of the yard, which is still covered in snow.  When I retrieve those boots,  I'll have to do the happy spider dance on them before ever even thinking about sticking my feet in their darky depths.  I don't know why a spider would stay in a tall rubber boot, there's nothing to eat in there, but I'm taking no chances.  

     I finished in under 45 minutes this morning, it helps that most of the packed snow and ice on the streets is gone.  I can zip along, take the corners on the inside and not worry about sliding past my intended stopping point.  I don't wear my seat belt so I feel like a criminal, making my getaway in the cover of darkness.  I wore it the first day and it didn't take me long to figure out that just wasn't going to work, finding the belt plus the door handle in the dark took too much time.  I'm an early morning speed demon, good thing no one else is out at that time.

     Next weeks forecast is calling for more single digit nighttime temps.  But this morning, with the rain, thunder and much warmer air, I could feel it......Spring......it's getting closer.

This Needs To Stop

     Welcome to the A.G. Club.  It has no membership dues or fees.  You won't find its members going door to door selling donuts, cookies, candles, pizza kits or 50/50 raffle tickets to raise money for their cause.  There is no written charter or rules to follow.  Although most of the groups are small, they are becoming a world wide phenomenon.  Welcome to the Aggressive Girls Club.

     There is no doubt that girls can be mean.  A teacher who had spent most of their years with junior high age students once made the comment that girls turned into bitches about junior high, but usually by the time they were juniors in high school, they ended up being pretty nice individuals.  

     Girls go through lots of changes during that time frame in their lives.  Hormones rage and drama reigns as the queen of all that is important.  They can be so mad at someone one day, swearing to never speak to them again, to inviting that same person to a sleep over two days later.   Being a parent of daughters, it's enough to make your head spin.

     Not only do girls still go through a mean stage, they are beginning to get aggressive, physically aggressive.  It's not an entirely new thing, but it seems to be gaining an enormous amount of popularity.  On the front page of today's paper is a story about three girls, one victim and two aggressors.  The incident happened in a locker room while the victim was partially clothed.  One of the aggressors grabbed the victim by the hair, pulled her to the ground, hit her and then repeatedly slammed her head off the floor.  Her cohort in this attack recorded it on her phone, then proceeded to show it to other students.  These were high school girls, but still young enough to not get their names printed in the paper.

     That far surpasses just being mean, that's vicious.  It also sounded like maybe it was premeditated because most schools require cell phones to be kept in the student's locker during school hours.   

     After reading this story I had some deep thoughts.  I remember being that age and recalled one of the meanest things I ever did.  I said something extremely hurtful to another girl, knowing full well before it left my mouth, how bad it would make her feel.  And it did, she cried.  To this day she probably doesn't like me and I wouldn't blame her.  Another thought I had was what would I had done if one of my daughter's had done that to someone.  Along with several things that came to mind, one was they would not have touched a cell phone for the rest of their lives.

     I imagine this particular member of the A.G. Club had acted like this for quite awhile.  The warning signs had surely been there so why wasn't there some kind of intervention?  Did the teachers turn a blind eye or are they so afraid of reaching out for fear of being accused of some sort of harassment?  What about the parents, do they encourage this kind of behavior?  Being publicly humiliated at any age can do more damage than physical abuse, but that kind of humiliation among a young persons' peers is a huge red flag for intervention to take place, this time for the victim. 

     Girls who are mean or bully other people have little self esteem.  They are grand manipulators and usually have a side kick that is just as afraid of them as everyone else, but somehow has a quality the bully needs.  Mean girls put on quite a show to prove how "bad" they really are, when in actuality they are simply hiding behind a facade of feeling not good enough.  That by no means excuses their actions, but there is usually some tiny grain of good that was never nourished to grow.

     It's a shame that girls think this is an acceptable way to act.  It's sad that girls don't want to have a sense of style, compassion and grace that makes them into role models for other girls.  Mother always said you could catch a lot more flies with honey than with vinegar, girls today need to understand how important that old adage is.  Most boys do not like aggressive girls, it's usually a big turn off.

     One thing is almost a certain destiny for the girls who continue to be aggressive and carry that into their adult lives.  They will end up old, lonely, bitter and wondering why no one wants to be around them.  Young mean girls need to try to wrap their heads around that kind of reality and drop out of the A.G. Club.


    .

Why It Doesn't Work

     Its been going on for over 50 years.  Over a half of a century and it hasn't gotten any better, at least not here, not in this state.  It has been a battle ground for all this time, a war, a war on poverty.

     We have wars against drugs.  That doesn't seem to be working.  We fight against crime.....that's an oxymoron.  Then there is this 50 plus year war on poverty, that seems to amount to giving people something for nothing, and it hasn't changed a thing.

      Any time there is a fight, a battle, a war,  some one is going to lose.  Plain and simple.  That's why it doesn't work.  Everyone can't win and nobody likes to lose.  When only one side is doing all the fighting that is like pumping up a tire with a hole in it.

     Jesus said something that most of us fail to understand....there will always be poor people.  

     Does that mean we should turn our backs on them and ignore them?  Absolutely not.  But Jesus said something else and it goes kind of like this.....when you have done all you can do, shake the dust off and move on.  Yes, I know he was talking about spreading his teachings, but it applies to anything that doesn't work after a time.  

     We are suppose to be in service to each other.  We need to take care of the sick, the elderly, the down trodden.  We need to have empathy for our fellow man.  We need to heap kindness, especially on those we dislike.  We need to take care of the poor. When we do this, we teach.  When we teach, people learn.  If there is no learning, there is no progress.  If no one is learning anything, it's time to move on because when all the teachers are dead and gone, who is left to teach the next generation?  No one.

     People need food and shelter.  But there are a lot of things they can live without.  They can live without cellphones, ipads, vehicles, tattoos, flat screen TV's, new clothes and $200 tennis shoes, just to name a view.  Sure, some of those things are fun and may make life more enjoyable, but if you want them, then LEARN do something to EARN them. 

     It seems to be human nature to do just enough to get by.  Not everyone can or will be a quantum physicist, that takes a lot of hard work and studying.  When people know they don't have to do anything to get money for food, housing, etc., then they do just that. They continue to do nothing. 

     If we continue this one sided fight to give people things they do not need and continue to make them unaccountable for their actions, or lack there of, we will have created a deep hole full of people with their hand out.  We can put a ladder in the hole but the problem will be this, no one will know how to use it. 

     



      





     

Talking to the Master

     It was the oddest thing.  Something that had never happened before.  There were no birds at the feeder.  None.

     Mother's four hook bird feeder pole sits on the north side of the house and has since she has been gone.  She loved to feed the birds and so do I.  I can view the activity from my kitchen window and enjoy the opportunity to see a new species of feathered friend.

     This year has been different.  I didn't fill the feeders until some time in January.  I had a large sunflower crop this past summer and cut all the heads off when they were dry and left them out for the birds.  They are laying in the backyard and I did notice the cardinals were giving them quite a working over.  Then it snowed.  Then it snowed some more.  All the sunflower heads were buried under the snow so I filled the feeders. 

    Nothing happened, no birds.  On a rare occasion, a pair of cardinals would visit late in the afternoon, but that was it.  This has gone on for weeks.  The feeders have never stayed filled this long and I've never had a winter that I had no birds.   On a good snowy day in the past, the birds could empty a full feeder in an afternoon.

     Being at a crossroad in my life, I sat down last week and asked the great Master of the Universe if what I was on the right track.  If what I wanted to accomplish in this life was the right thing for me to do.  If it was, I needed a sign...... please send the birds to my feeders......tomorrow.

     That was on a Saturday, the next day, nothing, no birds again.  It took the wind out of my sails.  If the Master could create a universe so vast that we are now just barely scratching the surface of understanding it, He could surely send the birds to my feeder.  I guessed I wasn't on the right track after all.  That was even more depressing.  Maybe my "problem" wasn't a big concern for the Master, there were a whole lot more pressing issues going on that needed attention more than mine.

     I spent the rest of the day wondering what I was supposed to do. Which way was I to turn?  

     The next day, Monday, I woke to a sound I hadn't heard for quite awhile, the chirp of a black-capped chickadee.  They are usually considered the blabber mouth of the neighborhood.  I ran downstairs to check out the feeders.  Still, no birds.  I checked several times throughout the day, but they were not there.  My proof reader reminded me that the universe has no time table.

     That is true, what we experience and measure as time really doesn't exist.  The only time there is, is now.  Even the subconscious part of our brains has no measurement of time.  That explains why we can wake, look at the clock, drift back to sleep and dream a scenario that seems like it lasts for hours, only to wake again and realize its only been 3 minutes since we last looked at the clock.

     By the time Tuesday rolled around, I had quit looking at the feeders.  What was the point?  I had my answer, I wasn't doing the right thing.  I still didn't know what the hell I was supposed to be doing, but obviously what I thought I wanted to do wasn't it. About 9 o'clock that morning I went back to the kitchen to refill my tea cup, as I walked past the window, something caught my eye.  I stopped and turned around.  I looked out the window, they were back.  Birds.  I had birds at the feeders.  Not the usual two cardinals, but finches and lots of them.  I snapped a picture and sent it to my proof reader.

     It didn't happen "tomorrow" like I had asked.  Maybe I looked like a spoiled child, stamping my foot, wanting it right now.  

     I do not believe in coincidences.  When we put labels on things that happen, we're missing the bigger picture.  We're missing the message, the Master does hear us and He's trying to tell us something.

Taking The Bull

     Day number 3 at the new "job" and it's freaking fantastic!

     No more sounds of griping and grumbling early in the morning.  No more trips to the front door to see if it has arrived.  No more yesterday's news.......the morning paper route is mine.

     I wasn't supposed to start until yesterday, Saturday, and the young man from the paper came down Thursday to go over the route with me.  We drove around town and he used his GPS to navigate through this small community of 1200 people, give or take one or two.  I thought that was funny, I've lived here all my life and I figured I knew just about everyone on the route.  

       When my girls did this paper route there were 75 customers.  Granted, technology has taken its toll on daily newspapers but our paper delivery person hasn't helped increase the numbers.   Brian drove as I scanned the list of 31 names and addresses.  There were two I wasn't sure of.  One name I couldn't place at all, but we found the house and I located the drop off point.  The next name seemed familiar but I was at a total loss.  We drove to that address and I found myself laughing out loud.  This was someone I've known my entire life, they went to school with one of my sisters. This person has always gone by a nick name and I had no idea his first name was Glenn, never too old to learn something new.

      As Brian drove me home I asked, "So, you want me to start Saturday?"

     He looked at me and grinned, "Wanna start tomorrow?"  He was really eager to have a replacement.

     "Sure", I said and with that, away he went.  I sat down with my list and had my route figured out in about 10 minutes.  Owning 15 school buses at one time, route planning becomes second nature, kind of like breathing.

     I jumped in the car and drove my new route and it took about 30 minutes.  I thought by the time I factored in the time it took to get the papers in their right spot, it should be doable in 45.  

     Friday morning came.  I rolled out around 4:30 a.m. and found my stack of papers waiting for me on the front porch.  I had typed up a note for each paper letting my customers know there was a new carrier, since my husband and I were tired of reading the morning paper in the afternoon. I included my phone number in case I didn't put the paper in its proper spot.  I placed a note in each paper, loaded up my bag and headed out the door at 5.

     We still have snow on the ground and during the night there had been a little freezing drizzle.  The temperature was 3 above and with the added ice, it made the perfect combo for crunchy snow.  Plus we were expecting 1-2 more inches of snow on this morning. I jumped in the car and headed out.

     It's still really dark at 5 in the morning, but there are few people stirring at that hour, the streets were empty.  My little car crunched through the snow, as did I, at each stop.  When I got back home the new snow was just beginning to fall and the whole route had taken just under an hour.  Not bad for the first day.

    By that evening I had already received many phone calls thanking me for taking over the route and even had a Valentine's gift of a large bag of peanut M&M's.  Since part of the reason for doing this was for the exercise, I placed the bag next to my husbands' chair and tried not to walk over to it more than a couple of times...........OK, maybe it was three times.....or four.

     The 1-2 inches of new snow turned into 4-6 and blizzard like conditions.   Day 2 my husband offered to chauffeur me in the old Suburban with a snow plow attached to the front.  Not only did we get them delivered on time, we plowed a couple of driveways and two alleys.

     This morning it was just me, my papers and the wonderful darkness of the twilight before dawn.  The temperature had risen during the night and the snowy streets were wonderfully greasy.  I spun and fishtailed around corners, blew a couple of stop signs and jogged up to each house and back to the car.  Fifty minutes and 7 miles later, I was done.

     My goal is to ride the route on my bicycle when the weather gets better.  All I have to do is find my bike, its been awhile since I've ridden.  I may need one of those little back up motors for the hills though.  Legs of iron and buns of steel are surely in my future.

     It's not a glamorous job or one that will make me monetarily rich, but I love it already.  One of my customers thanked me for "taking the bull by the horns".  Thank you J.E. for the compliment and the title, sometimes when you want it done right, you just have to step up and do it yourself......or shut up about it.

     

     

Love Is In The Air?

     Today is Valentine's Day and love is in the air.  I may not be able to remember what I had for lunch yesterday, but I can still sing the words to that song by John Paul Young.  "Love Is In The Air", 1977, ah yes, the disco days.

     Since love is the big topic for the day, I'm going to blog about something else in the air.  Gas.  You know, flatulence, the dreaded fart.   I don't know what it is about passing gas that can turn a room full of stone faced individuals into a blubbering heap of hysteria, but it always seems to do the trick.  

     When I was a kid, fart was considered a four letter word, a word that got that "look" from Mother.  But, sister Lela bought one of my grandsons a book about a farting dog and she is WAY older than I am, so I guess it's OK for me to use it now.  Now a days, you can even buy a fart machine for flatulenciness entertainment.

     My first encounter with a fart machine was at a gathering of some friends.  We had just started our Friday Night Supper Club with this group.  Several of them had been my husband's classmates in high school so I knew them, but I didn't know them well.  After supper we went to one of the couples' house to socialize and play some billiards.  

     The lady of the house and my husband situated themselves on a couch on one side of the room and unbeknownst to the rest of us, they had a fart machine hid between them.  When it was my turn to shoot, every time I bent over, the fart machine went off.  This was a deluxe model fart machine because it made four different entertaining sounds.  

     Those two laughed like idiots, but the other ladies of our group were failing to see the humor in it because they really thought I was actually farting.  Since I was the newcomer of the bunch, I certainly wasn't racking up many popularity points.  One of their husbands even commented that he didn't realize women could fart like that. 
Seriously?  Oh yes, but we can.

     When my husband's birthday rolled around his friend gave him the deluxe model fart machine and it has been a big hit with him and his grandsons.  Literally bringing tears to their eyes in an electronic sort of way.

     Most men find farting most entertaining.  They take great pride in letting a stinker slip and usually try to do so while you are standing at the check out in a clothing store.  Naturally, they keep right on walking so you are left to stare blankly into the eyes of the check out person.

     Farting knows no language barrier either.  A very good friend of mine shared the following story.  She was in the deep south with a group of friends close to the border of Mexico.  They had stopped at a huge warehouse full of Mexican laced fare.  She had entered an area that was tucked away in the back of the warehouse to look around.  Since she was there by herself, she let one rip.  No sooner had she done so, two handsome young Latinos entered her space.
She may not have understood the language, but she sure knew what they were saying.  She said she couldn't get out of there fast enough. 

     Well, that pretty much clears the air on farting.  I've used the word fart, or variances of it, fifteen times and ya know what?  I think I feel better!

     Happy Valentine's Day.

        

     

    

Playing With Dolls

     WARNING:  The following blog contains nudity and apparent graphic violence.

     I remember the first one.  I was so excited.  I thought it to be the most wonderful thing any girl could ask for.  Absolutely stunning.

     My first Barbie Doll.  She was a beauty.  She came adorned in a shimmering gold and white striped one piece swimsuit and had a matching hat.  The hat was shaped like something an Egyptian goddess would wear.  She also came with 3 wigs, a short platinum blonde style, a medium length brunette and a long style in a deep auburn color.  Being about seven or eight years old, I thought she was 'all that and a bag of chips'.
     
     Later, I added to my small collection, the ever so handsome at the time, Ken doll and then Barbie's younger sister, Skipper. Skipper had bendable legs and let me tell you, that was the cat's meow.

     I had several accessories for my Barbie family, lots of clothes and tiny plastic high heel shoes in every color available at the time. There was even a Barbie car and mine was a pink convertible.  It was hard to put those long straight legs into the car, but since Skipper wasn't old enough to drive, I would cram Barbie and Ken in there and off into the sunset they would go.

     When I was a teenager dreaming of the future, I always said I wanted 6 sons.  I don't know why, I guess I thought that would be a rousing good time.  It was not to be and I was later blessed with a bonus daughter and two of my own.  I introduced my two to Barbie dolls but they were not nearly as taken with them as I had been.  

     Barbie has taken a lot of bad rap over the years.  She has been accused of trying to turn young girls into something that is physically impossible because she is sporting the purported perfect body. Large ample breasts, a super tiny waist, slim hips and those long slender legs.  That is probably the reason there hasn't been a pregnant version of Barbie on the shelves, we know how that can rearrange a few body parts.  Anyone who has raised little girls with Barbie dolls will usually attest to the fact that most of the time they are lying around in a naked heap and those little high heel shoes are most pleasant to step on in the middle of the night too.

     This year Barbie is 55 years old, Ken is 53, Skipper is 50 and I still have my original trio.  I never realized that Barbie was a younger man kind of gal, I guess she was the first cougar prototype.

     Ken is still as handsome as ever with his plastic molded hair. Skipper's legs still work although she may have a bit of arthritis in one, her hip pops out from time to time.  Then there is Barbie.

     Long gone are the wigs, clothes and shoes.  The years have not been near as kind to her and I think I know why.  I really do not believe that Ken is some serial psychopath, running around preying on the lovely Barbies of the world.  No, I believe her demise has come from creatures I longed for in my youth, but did not get.  God had other plans for me, He gave me grandsons....   

Gots To Have One

     Advertising is a fine art.  It may even rank right up there with a Rembrandt or a Van Gogh, my personal favorite.

     It has to capture the eye of its audience and make them feel as if they absolutely can not live without what ever item is for sale.  Not only does it need to capture the attention, it then has to hit on the emotional level, straight to the heart.  It seduces and pampers and tries its best to hit the love button.

     While dining on my low carb breakfast this morning, I was flipping through an insert from the local paper.  This would be yesterdays' paper, today's hasn't arrived yet.  

     It seems one of the biggest target audiences today is the baby boomer generation.  All the millions of folks who have been hitting 50 years old for the last decade or so.  Since I have fallen into this category it seems I should be in need of many things to make my life, what's left of it anyway, easier.  

     First on the list of  'got to have it' items was an ad for a fine collectible.  Collectibles are items one collects through out their life so their children can pack them up when they are gone.  They can fall into several different categories.  Bird figurines, brown tea pots, Santa sculptures and candle stick holders are just a few of the many things people can collect.  This particular ad was for a vinyl baby doll.  It was quite realistic looking, almost too realistic, and only cost $100 plus the $12 shipping.  The fine print states that it is not a toy.

     I decided to pass on it.  What good is it to have a 3 year old granddaughter in my house with a doll that is not a toy?  It would be a constant battle.  Not only that, she has been surrounded by boys since day one.  I could easily visualize the $100 plus $12 shipping fine collectible baby doll being catapulted from the back of the couch into a fortress of unsuspecting plastic soldiers.

     Next was a computer geared just for the senior citizen.  I guess turning 50 means you're a moron.  Most of us have had access to a computer, or own one, and obviously know how to use it.  Facebook is a perfect example of that.  This one is to make using a computer a fun and stress free experience.......bwahahahaha!

     Then there was the portable oxygen tank.  It comes with a sleek sexy carrying bag.  The elderly lady in the ad is seen strutting her stuff with this totally chic accessory.  If I need a portable oxygen tank, I do believe my strutting days are over.  I passed on that one too.

     Next was a bed that makes it easy to get out of bed.  It raises and folds until it looks like an over sized recliner and then, presto, you just walk out of it.  My thought was what happens when there is a power outage about the time you are folded up like a pretzel?  That could be bad.  I wondered too, if maybe it had an eject button just in case.  Hmm, that could be even worse.  The ad only showed a twin model, but I thought if there was a king size and it really did have an eject button it would sure come in handy when the snoring got to be more than I could take.

     The ad said that a variety of activities could be performed in this bed.  The two obvious ones that came to my mind were not mentioned, but you could craft, eat and visit with friends while in it.  I then wondered if maybe there was a toilet attached somewhere underneath. 

     Lastly, the walk in tub.  That seems like a good idea but do you have to sit in it while the tub is filling or crawl over the door when its full?  It would sure be a rude surprise if the door came open during a nice long soak and washed you right out into the bedroom. It would be embarrassing too, with all the friends who came to visit you in bed.

     

Winter Sighs

     Sigh, 4 below zero, no morning paper and no internet.  But at least the sun is shining and by Thursday the temps are to be in the 40’s.   I may have to lay out, get some rays.

     The sunshine would probably do me some good, help to warm up my sore muscles.  I’ve gotten more exercise in the last two days than I’ve had in months.  The Winter Olympics can be hard on a body.

     I’ve always dreamed of my husband and I being figure skaters.  I can just see us out on the ice, swirling and twirling in synchronized movements.  Becoming one with the music, the ice, each other.   Ah, so romantic.

 

     In all actuality, about the first time I tried to straddle his shoulders for a spin, we would end up sailing across the ice and be wedged under the protective matting at the end of the rink.  That would be a sight to see, oh well, a girl can dream.

     Then there’s the long track speed skating.  Oh, I could so do that.  Long smooth strides, leaning in on the curves and my fingertips just barely touching the ice as I come out of the corner.   No wonder my legs hurt this morning, but I’m sure they are much leaner than they were the day before.

     Since the ice rink doesn’t seem to be in my future, I will hang up the skates and pick up the snow board.  That has got to be a rush indeed.  I got a little scared while doing the back flips off the ramps, but the 180’s were a breeze.  I think I should probably stick to the low, slow slopes because when the young lady fell and cracked the back of her helmet open, I realized I could be in grave danger,   it must really be a bit harder than it looks.

     After all that work, I had to call it a day about nine o’clock.

     It has warmed up to 2 above and the sun is still shining.  No morning paper yet and no internet……sigh.

     Six hours later the internet is finally on, the temp is a whopping 14 degrees, fun stuff livin' in the sticks in winter....sigh.

Dear State,

     It was part of my new years' resolution, to not get caught up in things beyond my control.  To turn them over to a higher power. With that said, this will be my last politically/governmentiness blog....maybe.....

Dear Great State of Illinois,

     Thank-you for the letter(s).

     Yes, I am aware that I owe you money and I'm trying my darndest to figure out how to pay you.

     Like you, I guess I spent money I didn't have, thinking I could get caught up later.  Maybe I robbed Peter to pay Paul, kind of like you have done with the pension debt.

     Thanks to some cuts you did think were necessary, my business lost $60,000.00, the last year I was in business.  If I could re-coup that, you can bet your bippy I'd pay you in a heart beat.

     One thing I have figured out though, with the loss of my business, is I had to make some cuts in my budget.  I've gotten rid of lots of things I discovered I could do without.  It wasn't pretty, but in order to try and keep my head above water, it had to be done.  Here's just a few of the things I cut:

     No more eating out.  That was a hard one, anytime someone else can do the cooking, I'm all for it.  

     No new clothes or shoes.  I'm still wearing a pair of shoes I bought two years ago this May.  Luckily, they've been a good pair and they go with jeans.

     No more nice vehicle.  The one I do have is a beater, but by golly, it's paid for and  gets me up and down the road.   It has a tendency for the belt to scream when it gets really cold, but I just hold my head up and keep the pedal to the metal.

     No more health insurance, oh but wait, that's not your fault.

     I'm thinking the next thing that will need to go is the land line phone, but since you are the only one that calls me, it's really not worth the extra money to keep it.  

     One thing for sure, this has been a learning experience.  I've learned how to feed my husband and myself on less than $250 dollars a month.  It's amazing how far food will go when you learn to cook and eat leftovers.  It's actually been better for our health since we bypass most of the processed foods.  Thank God for Facebook too, I've learned how to make my own Velveeta,  that stuff is expensive!

     I understand you are trying to promote more gambling in the state.  That should work about as well as it did the first time when you touted all the money the schools would get.  Will the folks who are on your welfare programs still get to buy the scratch off tickets? That's kind of like pouring liquid in a boot with the instructions written on the heel.

     Well anyway, I'm doing what I can to make things right so don't give up on me yet. Oh, I almost forgot, your last letter said you were going to put my name on a list of people who don't pay their taxes, I hope that is the same list for those who don't pay their bills, that way my name should be right under yours.

     Sincerely,

     A Life Long Resident

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A Poetic Conversation

The brightness chimed,

"What's wrong with you?

I haven't seen you in a few.

Are you well, or are you sick?

Why do you hide in blackness thick?"

"Leave me alone", the darkness hissed.

"I do not need your happy bliss.

The blackness is my friend, so leave,

Take your shine and let me grieve."

The brightness spoke, "Well, I'll be brief,

But what has caused you all this grief?

Have you suffered the loss of someone dear?

Is that the reason for your tears?"

The darkness crawled further in its hole,

Wrapped in the sadness of its soul.

It did not need this shining light,

To quiz about its deepest plight.

The darkness called, "Just go away.

I have no wish for you to stay.

No loss of friend or family,

The only thing I've lost is me."

"You?" The brightness whispered back,

Sending its light into the black.

"But you're not lost, for I can see

You're right where you have chosen to be."

The darkness heaved a heavy sigh,

The shiny orb was still on high.

"The place I'm in is not so nice,

I do not need your bright advice."

The brightness quipped, "Then none you'll get,

But let me ask, why do you fret?

Why do you wish to be so sad?

What could it be, that is so bad?

"Brightness, you do not understand,

I did not wish, nor was it planned.

I am not happy with what I see, 

I want things how they used to be."

"The way things were?" The brightness asked,

"What were the things you had at task?

That is all I want to know,

Just answer that and I will go."

The darkness shifted in the black

And chose its words to answer back,

"There was a time when things were good

A time I thought I understood."

"A time I thought would always last, 

But now it is just in the past.

I thought I'd touched upon success

And now my life is such a mess."

"I do not think there is an end

Where I will be able to make amends.

I think that I shall never see
 The things I always dreamed I'd be."

The darkness cried, and hung its head,
"Perhaps I'd be better off dead,
Brightness you were right when you said to me,
I'm right where I'm supposed to be."

Brightness peered into the black abyss
It spoke with words as a tender kiss,
"Oh darkness, that is not what I said
And certainly you should not be dead."

"You're here because of what you choose,
To think, that you can win or lose.
Your dark thoughts have led you astray, 
They keep you from a better way."

"You can not live life in the past,
Things come and go, and some don't last.
There has never been a guarantee
That success comes to anyone easily."

"But what you think you can, you can
And can't lies in the other hand.
It's always comes down to a choice
So listen to your inner voice."

"Your inner voice will steer you right
It always lives within the light.
But you must choose to hear its call
When it whispers to you above life's brawl."


The darkness looked into the light,
The blackness' grip was not so tight, 
It felt its spirit start to soar
To brightness on some distant shore.

The brightness took the darkness' hand,
The blackness fell like grains of sand.
Brightness spoke, "You're on the brink,
You only need change the way you think."