I'm on a humorous roll

     Okay, for some reason I've been thinking about funny stories that really happened. I know this is supposed to be inspirational stories from the heart and all, but doesn't humor apply to inspiring us as well? Don't you find that a good belly laugh is sometimes more of a cure for what ails you than medicine?

     Years ago, our post office was having its local food drive. Always one to be of help, plus my father and husband were postal workers, I wanted to oblige. Into a brown paper bag, I placed many well-planned items. Cans of soups, bags of rice and pasta, boxes of cereal. I smiled, thinking warmly of the families I'd be helping. Lord, bless those who will receive these items. . .

     I was running a bit late that morning, so I rushed around my house, finished dressing, fed the cats and hastily scooped cat litter into a plastic grocery bag as was my usual habit. I threw the bag onto my front porch, but forgot to place it into the garbage container near my garage and flew off to work as quickly as possible.

     Several hours later my husband called me at work. I panicked for a moment, as the sounds he emitted sounded strangely like hysterics. Did something bad happen? Was he okay? It turned out, he was laughing. Catching his breath, he explained. Our postman, when delivering our mail that day, had picked up the bag of "groceries" on our front porch. He'd driven around that afternoon with items for the food drive from many of the wonderful people in our area wondering what that awful smell was emitting from the back of his postal truck. I almost fell off my chair, realizing I'd never placed my own food drive items out that day. It seemed the postman picked up the quite heavy bag of cat litter, thinking it was our contribution.

     I'd like to think my two cats stood snickering at the front window as they watched him drive away. Right after they dug into the bag of groceries on the kitchen floor.

Sometimes you just gotta laugh

     Not too long ago, Mom told our family her partial denture was lost. She swore she put it in the same place as always as she went off to bed. Yet the next day, my father and brother searched high and low without the pink of acrylic gums or white of acrylic tooth to be seen. Dad emptied trash cans, spilling contents out and sifting through to see if perhaps Mom might have accidentally thrown it out.
     They searched under couches, pillows and rugs. They sat back exhausted, their efforts in vain as I made another dental appointment for Mom to take impressions for a new partial.
     Mom jokingly said, "I think it was Kitty or Mya, the dog. I think they took it and were playing with it." We all shook our heads snickering a bit, wondering just what would a dog or cat do with teeth? Wear them perhaps?
     Time passed, Mom got her new teeth and all was well with the world, Until about a week ago when she announced they were missing once again. This time I was visiting as well. The search was on. We overturned every item in the house. We retraced steps like Jack Bauer in "24." Nothing. Not until Dad picked up a favorite sweater of Mom's and announced, "Here they are." Ahhh, the pocket. The source of many a shriveled kleenex and other assorted brick- a- brack.. This time it housed the partial, still intact. I think Dad felt a bit smug that day, as he heralded himself as champion.
     Hold on. You may be thinking, oh, it's just one of those things. Parents getting forgetful, etc, etc. Until today when I visited them once again. Dad met me at the door, putting a finger to his lips. "Shhhh," he said. "I have a story to tell you, but don't tell anyone else."
     I wondered what on earth he did.What secret would I have to uphold now? Dad proceeded to tell me he laid his denture in its usual spot last evening. At least that's what he thought he did. When he awoke this morning, no denture was to be found. Hmmm, maybe he left them in another convenient spot. He retraced his steps, a bit embarrassed at doing the same thing he'd teased my mother about not so long ago. Checking this place and that, he came up empty when at last, he spotted them on the living room floor.
     We chuckled together, he and I, as he realized Mya, the dog, indeed must have snatched them from an unusual spot. They were no worse for wear, no pun intended, and after cleaning them as thoroughly as possible, he proceeded to smile a huge smile at me, showing me his full compliment of teeth once again.
     I've worked in the dental field for over thirty years. We warn partial and denture patients all the time not to leave their prosthetics anywhere a dog can get to them. For a plastic item with the scent of food is a most awesome doggy toy.
     As I left my parents house today, I pictured Mya with a set of dentures in her mouth. I could swear she winked at me when I said goodbye.

Our beloved mentors

   We all have them. Teachers who've touched our lives, siblings, parents, aunts, uncles, perhaps a grandparent, or coach. One thing is certain, we wouldn't be who we are without them and their guidance.
     One of the first inspirational mentors in my life was a teacher in fourth grade. Her name was Kathy Clark. She was a quiet, simple young woman, soft-spoken and kind. She took me under her wing when she knew I had some difficult issues going on at home. Her compassion in that crucial year of life stuck with me all my life.
     I've had others who touched me in important ways. A tough English teacher in high school. She pushed us hard, and it was difficult to get an 'A' from her. But her drive and determination made us all better students, better writers.
     My own dear Nonna was another who taught me so many things in life. Resilient, kind, full of laughter, always a song in her heart. A woman who had lived through the depression and came out on the other side. I would learn virtues from her which still are a big part of who I am.
     A counselor I spoke with several years ago would be another who'd guide me in good ways. It was his belief in me and the advice he gave, coupled with his faith in God which moved me to better myself.
     And my own beloved parents. Through my father, I'd learn patience, strength, a sense of humor, goodness and kindness. Through Mom, I'd learn compassion, deep-thinking, laughter, a love of people and morals. I owe so much to these two people who gave my brother and I so many good qualities, who helped mold us into the people we are today.
    Where would I be without them?  And yet I have so many others to learn from as well. A pastor friend whose spirit soars. Who's taught me to remember to pray before everything and anything. A co-worker who continues to help me better myself. And my amazing children, each one with special talents and so much to offer. It is through their eyes at times, where I learn the most. For it's in their lives where we've once been the mentors, the ones who've guided them that I can now see new things opening to me and my life. Things which would never have been possible without taking a step back to learn something new.

The Christmas Phone Call ( A short love story)

I have a tale for you today. A true love story. . .

Once there was a fun-loving young man in his early twenties; a man with a smile like a ray of sunshine who could charm anyone with his wit and humor and a laugh that could warm the chilliest heart. There wasn't anyone who disliked him. People took notice of his humorous antics, good looks and charming ways. His heart was big, his kindness evident, and sense of compassion, great. He fell in love with a very good, simple girl from a small town. Her family was extremely close and he adored them and the way they made him feel: welcomed and loved, a true part of them.

This young couple courted quickly and married within a year. Their apartment was tiny, but well-kept, clean and cozy. They didn't have much furniture, no rich lavish decorations, but they had each other. Laughter, compassion and goodness continued to be a part of their world, and when they looked into each others eyes every night, true love could be seen in their gaze. Their lives were a testimony to people around them.

As time went on, the young man yearned for more. His small world became a prison to him. He wanted a better job, grander things to please him. The simple, good girl wasn't enough for him. She wondered what she could do to keep him happy. Should she change? Would he be more content if she was prettier, skinnier?

Then the day she never dreamed of arrived. The young man told her he was done. He wanted out of the marriage, out of their small world. He had big places to go and many important things to do. She wouldn't be welcome in this new life he'd chosen.

Though her heart was broken for a very long time, she managed to put the pieces of her world back together.

Many years went by, and the woman who'd grown and matured into a loving, caring adult found herself face to face with the man who'd betrayed her those many years ago. He told her he needed to relieve himself of a heavy burden, and would she give him just a few moments of her time.

Years of grief poured from the man. Red-faced and sobbing, he apologized for leaving her behind, for hurting her so cruelly. He'd gotten everything he wanted in life: fancy job, huge home, gorgeous women and mountains of money, yet he'd lost his soul in the process. Would she please forgive him from her heart? Would she absolve him of this most grievous sin?

With a trembling hand, she brushed away the tears which coursed down his face. She smiled a sad, tired smile at him. She thought back to the years of happiness, the simple life they'd once shared. The fact he'd been the first love of her life. She remembered the ache, the loneliness she'd gone through when he abandoned her. Everything in her screamed how wrong it would be to forgive him, yet she offered mercy to him that day. In a quavering voice, she absolved him. The release flooded through him and a burden was lifted. They parted ways and years separated them once again.

One Christmas, the woman received a phone call from the man. He was at the end of his rope. All the money in the world couldn't buy him happiness, or the simplicity he so longed for. The lavish lifestyle and grueling hours at work to keep him wealthy and comfortable was killing him. He'd lost touch with everyone that mattered: his family and friends. He felt lost, lonely and insignificant. He wanted to end it all. He had called to say goodbye to her, to hear her voice one last time, this good, simple woman who'd loved him once and forgiven him greatly.

It had been much too long since the woman had cared for him or felt emotions stirring within herself toward him. Yet she prayed a simple prayer as they spoke. "God, be with him. Show him there's so much more to life than what he's been pursuing. Give him your peace and simplicity."

It wasn't a very dramatic or elegant prayer, but a prayer offered in the quietness of a humble heart. They said their goodbyes and as she hung up the phone, she realized it wasn't her power to change him. She'd done all she could, forgiven and moved on. And that was enough. The rest would be up to God.

A Most Quaint, Cozy Place

     I chuckled to myself today while walking through the quaint town of Ligonier, Pennsylvania. The movie "Funny Farm" came to mind, but not in a bad or irreverent way. If you've seen the movie, you'll remember near the end when Chevy Chase and his wife are going to be divorcing, and they needed to sell their lovely country home. They called upon the citizens of Redbud, the quaint town nearby, to dress and act like something out of a Norman Rockwell Christmas magazine to help them push the house to prospective buyers. The town was aglow with lights, carolers and such coziness, you wish you lived there yourself.
     Today, I found myself in such a town. Snowflakes flitted upon the air, lacy and delicate. Lovely Christmas music was playing, piped through the gazebo in the town square. Shopkeepers smiled warm greetings at my husband and I as we walked by. Everywhere we went, a bit of Christmas cheer was tucked into a cozy corner.
     Nothing compared to the lovely place we stayed. A newer establishment in town, Thistledown at the Seger House is a journey back in time. With its lovely woodwork, homey, old-fashioned Christmas decor, and some of the sweetest people running it, my husband and I felt as if we were a part of a Norman Rockwell painting, book, or magazine.
     I've yet to find out the history of the building itself. Someone told me it was once an old hospital. I plan on speaking with the owners tomorrow morning to hear more about it. For tonight, my writers imagination will run wild with it. I believe my husband and I are the only ones here this evening. And though that may seem a bit creepy to some, we find it romantic and alluring. The perfect writing retreat for me and well-deserved getaway for my hard-working husband.
     We've stayed in many places on our weekend trips. This impeccable inn will certainly be somewhere we will journey to many times in the future.

http://www.thistledownligonier.com/

A Very Piggy Christmas

Merry Christmas everyone from Piggy the Cat, my alter ego. Today I've decided to post an excerpt from the final chapter of Piggy's book which would have been the Christmas volume. Although all her stories will be told in an upcoming paperback book, I want to share with her special fans just a little of the fun that awaits. You guys are amazing and Piggy wouldn't be who she is without all of you. Thanks so much for following her on Facebook and reading her books! You all rock!

Chapter 4

A Very Piggy Christmas

     I opened my eyes and blinked lazily at the bright light of a new day, shivering in the chill of the early winter morning. The wind howled, making the glass window panes rattle. Matt was already up and gone, his spot on the bed already cooled. He must have left much earlier.

     Settling in, making myself presentable for the day, I licked my paw scrubbing it over my face and ears, nibbling between my toes in the way that all cats do, careful to clean every crevice, my hind leg poised in the air. Out of the corner of my eye I spied Melvin my mousy companion in the hallway, sneaking along the baseboard.

     “Psst,” I called out. “Matt’s not here, Mel. Come on in.” I put my leg down and patted the top of the bed with my paw. Melvin scampered into Matt’s bedroom and climbed the quilted comforter with a few small scrambles of his hind legs. Once he was up, he stood on his back feet, nose pointing into the air, agog with curiosity.

     “Nice room,” he said. “Ooh, look.” He pointed near Matt’s computer where an old bowl of ice cream sat, melted. “Good thing your master isn’t a neat freak,” Melvin said. We both investigated and found vanilla ice cream with a smattering of rainbow sprinkles. One lone candy gummy worm sat off to the side of the dish looking a bit forlorn. Melvin scooped the candy into his clutches and set off nibbling the wormy head first. I lapped up the delectable vanilla flavor carefully crunching the sprinkles with my back teeth.

     Melvin looked funny with his cheeks puffed out, the last of the gummy worm dangling from his mouth. He slurped the rest of the body in, and then began licking his paws careful to remove the stickiness.

     “How’s your new room?” I asked, jumping down from the computer desk onto the hardwood floor. My nails always made a ticking sound which I found amusing.

     “Well, I’m pretty much done with the decorating. Maybe you can come see it later. If you can squeeze through the door.” Melvin added quietly as an afterthought.

     “I heard that,” I said. “Thanks for the insult.” I walked away from my pal with my tail indignantly in the air. “Humph!”

     I ran down the stairs to the first floor, Melvin close behind. “Sorry Piggy. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

     “No, of course you didn’t,” I said rolling my eyes and trying to keep some distance between us. I jumped on the back of the couch, sharpening my claws on the cushion. A bit of fluff poked from a small hole I’d created and I batted at it for a while. I pulled at it a bit harder and out popped a wad. Woops.  I tried stuffing it back into the hole and gave up a moment later, swatting it behind the couch.

     Next, I busied myself with a blanket thrown over the arm of the sofa. Using my delicate sense of touch with the pads of my paws, I kneaded the soft afghan over and over, purring as I did. The scent of my master lay embedded in the fabric as well making it especially cozy.

     All the while, Melvin kept trying to get my attention. He didn’t speak but kept running to and fro, annoying me.

      “Mel, would you give up already? I’m not in the mood today.”

     Melvin slunk away, wiry brown tail between his legs. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him mount the staircase, head hung low as he trudged to the second floor.

     Humph. Serves him right. I’m tired of the snide remarks, I thought to myself. I’ll show him a thing or two. I won’t speak to him for a few days. Then when he misses me, he’ll come running back, apologizing for the comments and beg me for forgiveness.

     Contented, I curled around and around on the fuzzy blanket laying my head onto my paws; my whipcord tail curled around me and fell into blissful slumber.

     Awakening much later, it felt as if the light had been sucked right out of the day. It was dim in the living room, though the sheer curtains were opened. Fat, lazy snowflakes began falling. Feathery, lacey, they cascaded through the air, lighting on bushes and grass. I jumped from the couch onto the window sill, my breath making frosty fog on the glass. Brrr. The day had grown even chillier. No wonder, I thought, it is December.

      Thanksgiving had just passed and Christmas was still a few weeks away. I’d always enjoyed Christmas in the old house; watching Matt’s uncle decorate, watching him and Matt pile colorful, wrapped presents under the tree. Most of all, I enjoyed guessing which ones were for me.

     Matt had a small artificial Christmas tree stuck in the corner of our living room. I liked the fake bark, and enjoyed raking my claws down the length of the trunk when Matt wasn’t looking. He’d put it up a day or so ago. Colorful twinkle lights covered every branch. Homemade ornaments from my master’s youth hung from tiny hooks.

     I liked everything about this season. The silly cartoons Matt watched, the same ones over and over through the years. I’d grown accustomed to waiting for them: the Grinch, Frosty and Rudolph. The festive songs were so cheerful and light. The many different kinds of foods and cookies Matt’s mom and grandmother made. Christmas Eve was best of all since they prepared fish as many ways as possible. Tuna spaghetti, some type of small fish called smelts, shrimp and haddock. My mouth drooled just thinking about it.

     I loved basking in the attention and warmth as Matt’s family gathered together. Humans are very fortunate to have such a wonderful time of the year.

     The snow fell harder outside, blanketing everything as I continued watching and daydreaming.  The wind raged and blew the sparkling diamonds of white all around. An extremely large burst of wind gusted, and the front door to my house flew open.

     What on earth? I crouched low and my ears flattened to my head, a ball of fear in my stomach. I’d never seen such a thing happen before. Hadn’t Matt locked up well behind himself this morning?

To Be Continued. . .

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We Do The Best We Can

My cat, Bella.

     Today I'm prompted to write this, as my heart is broken for a dear friend. You see, he had to put his cat down yesterday after only having him for three years.
     Most of us pet lovers have had to deal with this sort of heartbreak at one time or another. Our fuzzy dogs, pretty cats, even the smallest of animals, birds, guinea pigs. Sweet pets who ask nothing of us but to be loved and give so much in return. Unconditional Love. They wait for us by the door, tails wagging, tongues lolling, a big doggy grin on their faces. Cats who rub in and out of our legs, crawl upon our laps, the soothing sound of purrs and the drip of their love juices from their mouths. The many nights, when we are alone, crying into our pillows as our furry partner sits nearby watching, waiting for mommy or daddy to be alright. The lick or nuzzle of a cold nose under our arm or on our faces, as they tell us "it will be okay."
     Sometimes we feel we haven't done enough for our pets. Maybe if we'd just have brought them to the vets sooner. Maybe if I didn't buy that brand of food. Maybe, maybe, maybe, the list goes on and on.
     I have a sweet story to share with you. Perhaps it will put in perspective for any of you who beat yourselves up to this sort of thinking:
     When my son was about eleven, we were walking on a beautiful spring day. There, in the middle of our quiet road, was a little bird flapping its wings, unable to move. Our hearts were moved to compassion. How could we leave that poor thing there to its fate? A car would surely come by at some point. We retrieved the little fellow, placing him into a shoe box with warm material and we tried dropping water into its little beak at different times. We talked kindly to it, petting its battered body with a gentle finger. Yet while we slept through the night, the bird passed away. I awoke that next day, wondering what would I tell my son. He'd felt so good, so proud of our kind deeds. And now I'd have to share this sad news with him.
     I made a small grave out in our yard, and later that day, my son spent his own quiet time there, reflecting and perhaps shedding his own tears. This bothered me and I spoke with someone wise about the situation. How could I make my son understand life and death a little better especially where it pertained to an animal?
     I was told this: We gave that bird a wonderful passing. We loved it enough to pick it up when it was hurt, nurse it best we could, give it shelter and warmth. It didn't have to die alone and abandoned in the street. It knew love in its last moments.
     Last year, my son had to put a cat down. I think he handled it with poise and grace. I think, though his heart was breaking, he understood what it meant to love an animal with his whole heart. And when the time was right, when all else was exhausted, the decision to not have a pet suffer, is the most difficult, but most correct decision we'll ever make.
     So dear friends, let's feel good as we do the best we can for our dear pets. Know in your heart, you've done well by them. You've rescued them perhaps from shelters, or back alleys, or God forbid, abuse. And even if you've only had them for a short time, like the little bird, you've given them food, shelter, warmth, and love. You've done your best.

The Thief

I find myself thinking about some serious things as I write today's blog. Memories. There have been several people recently in my life who are losing theirs. Some dear loved ones who can't remember certain people, situations or even words. It hurts. It really hurts me seeing these once active people succumbing to the ravages of time and the frailty of their own bodies.

I just got off the phone with a dear aunt, one who I haven't seen in a while. Though she was completely sweet and very happy talking with me, I can see what she's going through. Memory loss. It frightens me, as I see several of my closest relatives even my dear mother as the thoughts fly out of their heads on the wings of forgetfulness. Will that happen to me, I wonder. . .

I've read up on vitamins and such things to stave off the inevitable. And I believe in God's hand through it all. I will not claim this as my own. I do not have to label myself as someone who will surely fall prey to a mind which no longer remembers events or even people.

Walking through a nursing home, I've seen sweet folks with dolls upon their laps, talking with them as if they're a long lost child. What causes this I wonder? And is it a good thing, perhaps, for some who may have gone through such trauma in their lives to put aside the daily worries and cares of this world and live in a fantasy dimension perhaps?

Take the time to love, really love the people in your family, dear aunts, uncles, grandparents and parents, sisters, brothers and good friends. You never know when that robber of the mind may snatch the precious years from you.

 The older I get, I realize I must live in the moment, love in the moment and be kind when words fail a dear loved one. When the questions they ask over and over again begin to agitate me and I feel I can't take it a minute longer. I can choose to be their shining star, the person who will carry them through this rough patch, this difficult journey of the mind.

A Fourth Grade Remembrance

It's been many years. Lives have changed. I've changed. Good things and bad have happened. But I found her again.

It was my fourth grade year in a Catholic school. Times at home were a little rough for me. My mom had some issues and was hospitalized several times. As an only child, I felt the pangs of loneliness. Fear and worry consumed me at a tender age.

She was so pretty. A "regular" teacher amidst all the nuns. Her name was Miss Clark and I'll never forget her. Soft-spoken and kind, she took to me, knowing I had difficulty at home. Her gentle manner and sweet ways were such a stable to me amidst life's turmoil. Though I wasn't sure what might happen each day, the certainty at that time was an eager smile and warm words from a young teacher to all of us children in her class.

I remember writing to her at one point in my life. Our cards and letters went back and forth, the exchange of words between old friends. Then we lost touch. Years separated us. My own life took many turns, marriage at an early age, then the tragedy of divorce when he found someone else. A son born, and life fulfilled. Dad's heart issues and the closeness and love of a good family. So many things I wished I could tell her.

I found her once again after searching for the longest time. Internet search engines turned up facts here and there when one day I saw that lovely face on Facebook. Try though I might, it wasn't as easy as I'd thought to contact her. A year later and several attempts, I was rewarded by her friendship once again. I think I wanted to tell her how much she'd meant to me as a child. I think I wanted to say my life turned out okay and it was she who helped push me in the right direction.

I pray her life has been good. I hope there's been laughter, love and great memories. Thank you from my heart dear friend, mentor and teacher. May the Lord reward you for the kindness you've shown.

Peace, not bullying

     I chose a picture of my father's Peace rose to begin today's blog. Peace at all cost. Choose peace. Make love not war. Peace be with you. Sounds good and simple doesn't it? But for many of today's young people it isn't easy to keep the peace. Young kids on a bus minding their own business. Something you say, or maybe what you're wearing that particular day sparks another child to hurl insult after insult upon you. Perhaps even hitting you, or spitting on you. How does one keep peace in such a situation?
     I share my own tale with you. One that is very painful for me to remember. I was in sixth grade in a newer school. My grandmother had a border, Phil, who lived with her who was more like an uncle to me. He asked my friend Patty and I if we'd like to go to the playground at another school I'd attended. Well, of course, we wanted to.
     When we arrived, my friend went off to the swings, while I chose to climb a set of monkey bars that resembled a space ship, I believe. All of a sudden, at least three older children came over to me and began taunting me with lewd suggestions. Looking frantically around, I could see Phil way across the playground talking with some people, my friend Patty completely oblivious to me. My heart pounded, my palms grew sweaty. I wanted to run, but found myself rooted to the spot. After several torturous moments which may have felt much longer than they were, Patty sauntered over to me and said, "Phil says we're leaving." The most welcome words I'd ever heard.
     It didn't end there however. For the girl who was with this group located me in school. Her words to me on a daily basis were, "I'm gonna beat you up." One time while swimming in a children's pool in Patty's side yard, the girl and her horrid gang walked by noticing us innocently playing in the pool. Once again, she accosted me with her terrible words and insults.
     I was a peace lover. I knew nothing of fights and bullying, angry words or quick retorts. I endured best I could daily this barrage of malice. I dreaded school, my stomach clenched and heaved and I wished myself dead many a time.
     As fortune would have it, a very tough girl heard the taunting one day. We weren't friends, but something about me must have touched a soft side of her. She warned the other girl to leave me alone and said "She's alright," referring to me. Time passed as it does, and I never was hit. Though it didn't make it any easier, I retreated into myself and my shyness even more. My mom was hospitalized at that time, so I was unable to talk with her about all that had been going on. I found my solace in make-believe: Books, television and pretend; a vivid imagination which carried me through. And the peace remained.
     Choose peace. Don't start trouble. Endure and carry on. Ignore if you can, report if you need to. I wish I'd been brave enough, or known enough to report this girl to the authorities in my school. Without my mom's guidance at the time, I was unsure of what to do. But now I do know, and it wouldn't be to shamefully carry the weight and burden of torturous insult day after day. Seek a trusted guidance counselor or other family member. But do it. Talk to them. They may have gone through it as well.