Hey, Tomorrow!

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Well, hey tomorrow, where are you goin'?
Do you have some room for me?
'Cause night is fallin', and the dawn is callin'
I'll have a new day, if she'll have me
I'll have a new day, if she'll have me
Jim Croce, Hey Tomorrow

One of the most underappreciated elements of time is “tomorrow.” It is oft a dumping ground for things we should have done today. Sometimes it is a way to avoid doing the unpleasant, ‘We’ll (do that, go there, build that, fix that) tomorrow.

And more often than not, it is a promise more gorgeous than its realization when it turns into today.

But here is the one thing tomorrow has over everything else, yesterday, today, next week, and next year. It is close by and full of potential. While there are things out of our control that may turn tomorrow into bad memories, there are also those tomorrows that fulfill the most magical of potential.

It occurred to me that tomorrow, given the right attitude of not wasting a moment’s worry or sadness on things you cannot control, always offers us that last gift from Pandora’s Box, Hope.

And as long as tomorrow has hope, it is something to look forward to at the end of today.

…we can’t keep time in a bottle.

Joe Broadmeadow

Now, someday, we will have gone through our life’s allocations of tomorrows. There will always be one more today than tomorrows. And this is exactly one of those things which should not make us sad but encourage us to embrace each transition from tomorrow into today.

So here’s what I would do if given the proverbial three wishes from a mythical genie. I would only need one to make my life and the lives of those around me happy. And here it is.

May all your tomorrows be better than all your todays.

As simple as that. “I’ll have a new day, if she’ll have me…” as Mr. Croce wrote because we can’t keep time in a bottle.

JEBWizard Publishing (www.jebwizardpublishing.com) is a hybrid publishing company focusing on new and emerging authors. We offer a full range of customized publishing services. Everyone has a story to tell, let us help you share it with the world. We turn publishing dreams into a reality. For more information and manuscript submission guidelines contact us at info@jebwizardpublishing.com or 401-533-3988.

October 2, 2023

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Coming October 2, 2023 Nationwide Release of an exciting new book by Joe Broadmeadow and Bobby Walason. Pre-order now on Barnes & Noble. Pre-order on Amazon coming soon.

Angels, Devils, and Second Chances

JEBWizard Publishing (www.jebwizardpublishing.com) is a hybrid publishing company focusing on new and emerging authors. We offer a full range of customized publishing services. Everyone has a story to tell, let us help you share it with the world. We turn publishing dreams into a reality. For more information and manuscript submission guidelines contact us at info@jebwizardpublishing.com or 401-533-3988.

A Palpable and Misplaced Sense of Anger in America

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There is a palpable anger in America revealed by the alt right’s anthem-like embrace of things like Jason Aldean’s Try That in a Small Town, the increasing (although perhaps disingenuous) ticket sales from the movie Sound of Freedom, and the whitewashing (no more à propos name was ever invented) of the history of slavery by the Florida Department of Education.

These trends all stem from a false nostalgia for America in another era.

Aldean sings.

Sucker punch somebody on a sidewalk
Carjack an old lady at a red light
Pull a gun on the owner of a liquor store
Ya think it's cool, well, act a fool if ya like
Cuss out a cop, spit in his face
Stomp on the flag and light it up
Yeah, ya think you're tough [Chorus]
Well, try that in a small town
See how far ya make it down the road
'Round here, we take care of our own
You cross that line, it won't take long
For you to find out, I recommend you don't
Try that in a small town…

I’m not sure about Aldean’s definition of a small town. He came from Macon, Georgia, with a population of 157,000. Not exactly the size of a small town, but I guess size is relative. Now before Aldean fans rush to his defense, I think he is a talented guy and perhaps never intended the song to be compromised by the alt right, but there it is. So far, all he’s done is re-edit the video to take out the most offensive parts.

Either way, it has been my experience the big or small towns have people who care about each other, steal from each other, help each other, commit crimes against each other, in other words exhibit the whole gambit of human behavior.

Aldean is merely tapping into the false nostalgia about small-town America and history. It is as if he believes towns like Garrison Keillor’s Lake Wobegon actually existed.

“Welcome to Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average.”

Garrison Keillor

Speaking about history. I thought based on the education provided by the Cumberland School Department in the 1960s—which then might have been considered a small town — that slavery lasted a few years, Lincoln ended it but not before Americans killed 400000 of their fellow Americans, many from small towns, and the slaves lived happily ever after with all the rights and privileges of being an American citizen.

Then, with the flaming cities of the 1960s from violence over continued racism and discrimination staring at us from the nightly news, doubt about such a sanitized version of history raised its ugly head.

The truth in all its ugliness gradually came to light.

Now, the Department of Education in Florida has found a way to put the genie back in the bottle and return us to that glorious time when our history of slavery, while never a good thing, had a silver lining, job training skills for the slaves.

Some of us recall the days in school where teachers might use a bit of physical persuasion to corral reprobate students. Turns out slaves had it worse at the end of a whip, but the intent was still the same, teach them skills to survive.

Who knew?

Then we come to the real biggie. One that combines the misconception of the US being a Judeo-Christian nation—although I bet a significant number of the more fervent Christians would excise the Judeo part—and the moronic Q-Anon theory by cleverly disguising it with the real tragedy of child sex trafficking.

The movie “Sound of Freedom” is allegedly based on a “true story.” But everyone knows the facts of any story never interfere with the things shown on the screen. Whenever one reads the line “Based on a true story” you should know the story bears as much resemblance to the facts as an acorn does to an oak tree.

Yes, the tree came from the acorn, but they are entirely dissimilar.

Propaganda, no matter how important the subject of the story may be, is still propaganda. And while the subject of child sex trafficking should be the priority focus of all law enforcement agencies—instead of some of the more questionable priorities—appealing to god is the least effective way to make a difference.

Whether or not intentionally—and I would clearly lean toward intentional—the director’s well-known contention of the existence of a deep state controlled by certain liberal politicians and running a child sex slave business from a pizza parlor lurks in the background. The contention is farcical. As is the “pay it forward’ ticket scam, where ticket sales may not accurately portray actual movie attendance.

But the important thing is to see it for the propaganda that it is. All disclaimers to the contrary, the movie is nothing but a high-tech disinformation scam.

And I would ask those fundamentalist Christians who embrace such ideas, profess a sincerity in their concern for children, and see a unified Christian nation as the ultimate goal of the country, one question.

Why does your god allow it to happen in the first place?

It would seem this god can’t stop it, making the claims of omnipotence void, or won’t stop it, making the claim of a loving God equally questionable, or is ignorant of it which demolishes the idea of omniscience.

Which brings me to the palpable undercurrent of anger. Those who see everything in the past as a more perfect time suffer the delusion of nostalgia. Memory is not a fixed phenomenon, but fluid and adaptive. It buries the unpleasant and amplifies the good memories. It is not a reliable form of evidence.

Memories are not the recording devices of history. Memory serves to aid and protect us. Thus it “forgets” or alters the harmful memories and mitigates them by enhancing the pleasant. Memory is like a long-lasting but imperfect analgesic for the soul.

Imagine being told that…now that’s true and justified anger.

Joe Broadmeadow

Yet this misconception—encouraged by twisting the realities of the history of slavery, ignoring true nature of life in the towns and cities of America, small or otherwise, and embracing fictionalized accounts masquerading as documentaries—rebels against the truth and attacks those who would insist on it.

They cling to a warped sense of justice. A twisted view of history. And a misplaced trust in an unseen and unproven deity. One whose only claim to fame is they are the preferred deity of a significant number of Americans.

But not all Americans.

Whether there is a god matters little to our life here. To lash out at those who one perceives as casting doubt on your memories of the past is to ignore reality. To demand a single approach to faith as the answer to all the problems we face is to ignore the breadth and depth of human experience and philosophy.

To allow this anger to direct actions against those who you see as different is inhumane.

And if you want to understand anger, try putting yourself in the position of a young black person who has faced mistreatment simply because of the color of their skin. Their family filled them with pride about how their slave ancestors arose from the chains that bound them and found their way in America. They thrived, had children, educated them, and tried to live as law-abiding citizens despite the continuing discrimination.

Over time, the young person’s ancestors made progress. Saw legislation passed which outlawed Jim Crow laws and housing discrimination. Saw a black man elected President and a woman of color elected Vice-President. Saw a Voting Rights Act passed with assured them the right to vote.

This pride sustained this young person. Gave them hope that change, while slow, was inevitable.

And then, the State of Florida decides to “teach” this young person that slaves received benefits from their captivity. They learned skills. They learned things to help them after they were free. It wasn’t all that bad. We did them a favor, saving them from a harsh life in Africa. If they succeeded it was because their slavery was foundational to their success.

Imagine being told that…now that’s true and justified anger.

JEBWizard Publishing (www.jebwizardpublishing.com) is a hybrid publishing company focusing on new and emerging authors. We offer a full range of customized publishing services. Everyone has a story to tell, let us help you share it with the world. We turn publishing dreams into a reality. For more information and manuscript submission guidelines contact us at info@jebwizardpublishing.com or 401-533-3988.

What Were the Chances?

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TRIGGER WARNING. If there are any vegans or fish lovers (meaning those who oppose fishing not those who enjoy a nicely prepared fish dinner) reading this be advised this piece discusses the consumption of fish. Consider yourself warned.

Arizona is not a state renowned for its seafood. One would need to cast a line several hundred miles long to “fish” the ocean while within the borders of the state. But they can import seafood, which is fine with me. Albeit hard to find restaurant that understands how to make good calamari and fish and chips.

And yet we found such a place. But this is not a Yelp review, it is more another example of how my mind seems to work a little bit differently than the other diners who were at the restaurant as we enjoyed our meal.

While they were likely engaged in conversation about the chef’s ability or the quality of the food or their choice of wine, I was wondering about the path my Sesame Encrusted Ahi Tuna (seared to perfection I might add) came to arrive on my plate.

The part of this journey that interested me the most was not the last few legs from the fish market to the restaurant. What interested me the most was how this tuna, newly fertilized somewhere in the ocean, survived the odds and ended up on my plate.
So off to the oracle of Google to learn about the viability and survivability of tuna eggs. The numbers are intriguing.

In one research page, it is estimated the Yellowfin Tuna (Thunnus albacares) expels some forty million (40,000,000) eggs into the water. I won’t go into the details of tuna lovemaking; this is not that kind of blog.

Of this number it is estimated that two will reach adulthood. Think about that for a moment. 40,000,000 are expelled into the water. 39,999,998 either never hatch or are eaten by predators before they reach adulthood.

It takes two years for the fish to reach full adult maturity. Those who manage to live to adulthood can expect to live another five years assuming they aren’t netted or caught on a line.

So the lovely dark red slices of tuna sitting on my dish came from a creature that defied the odds, survived predation, swam in the ocean, dove the depths, witnessed a light-pollution free sky, endured storms, and then somehow managed to end up in Scottsdale Arizona where I chose them from the menu.

Well, technically I didn’t choose them. I picked from the menu and the chef chose the particular fish. But once it arrived at our table, we were forever joined.

I like to think they were at the end of their life cycle. Still viable and healthy but facing the inevitable end of their time on this earth.

I thanked the fish—silently of course, my family already thinks I am weird enough—for joining together and helping me extend my life. And look forward to another day when I meet another such creature who defied the odds and is likely swimming the ocean as I write this.

The circle of life may seem harsh and cruel but there’s no reason why it can’t be well-prepared and tasty.

JEBWizard Publishing (www.jebwizardpublishing.com) is a hybrid publishing company focusing on new and emerging authors. We offer a full range of customized publishing services. Everyone has a story to tell, let us help you share it with the world. We turn publishing dreams into a reality. For more information and manuscript submission guidelines contact us at info@jebwizardpublishing.com or 401-533-3988.

Mind Magic

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As a writer, words carry a special significance for me. I collect unusual ones, appreciate it when someone writes something that strikes a chord, and take pleasure in crafting a piece of work that entertains, enlightens, or challenges others.

But is it really the words, letters, or grammatical markings that make the magic? Or does magic really happen in the brain?

I just finished a book called The First Signs by Genevieve von Petzinger. The premise of the book is essentially that the symbols, i.e. letters etc., are meaningless. It is our understanding of those symbols that give them meaning. Without the context of understanding what the symbols represent, there is no meaning.

old cave drawing made with paint
Photo by ArtHouse Studio on Pexels.com

For example, if an English-speaking person were to read the following, they might think it beautifully written, “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…” But if we changed the symbols out for, say, Chinese, it might appear as just gibberish 我如何愛你? 讓我來計算一下 to us.

There is no meaning without a fundamental understanding of the symbolic nature of the lines and squiggles; a b c to our English speaker and 在一開 to our Chinese speaker.

The symbols merely trigger brain processes, they have no innate meaning. The meaning lies not in the symbols themselves but in the magic of the mind’s ability to transform them into thoughts. And our thoughts are conversations with ourselves. (I often listen to the voices, don’t you?)

Written language is a consensus where we reach a collective understanding to use symbols to trigger the shared meaning of concepts found only in our minds.

The magic of everything we see, hear, or feel happens only in our minds. Everything outside is without meaning or form without the magic in our brain. It is merely light reflected off the surface of an object and translated into concepts within our minds. Thus Plato’s allegory of the cave, questioning the need for the real world.

Reality happens when we think it into existence. Beyond a matrix. Beyond any imaginary concepts. The quantum reality of existence. Symbols, be they letters or glyphs, are just that without the magic.

A clever way to think of this is the Babblefish from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe. (Please tell me you read this—the movie didn’t do it justice.) For those of you who may have missed the story, a babblefish is a creature capable of translating any language into one understood by the person equipped with such a companion. It is inserted in the ear where the babblefish leads a happy and useful life translating many languages. But what it really does is understand the universal concepts and questions,

Where is the Restaurant at the End of the Universe?

Where can I get something to eat?

How much for a vodka martini?

Where is the bathroom?

Thus it would seem while humanity has made great strides in populating the earth, it is still in the dark ages when it comes to a common language and system of writing. This, like all things, will change eventually. Even the doomed concept of Esperanto had its moments. It turned out to be the Beta tapes of language (look it up if you must) but it did spark some discussion.

To illustrate how things are constantly changing, think about the balance between spoken and written communication. In our earliest history primitive humans—Sapiens, Neanderthal, Heidelbergensis—developed language, simple yet effective as it was, to communicate information.

Where the Aurochs were. How far to water. Etc.

As human communication progressed, people developed written symbols (painted, etched, or carved into stone) to provide a more permanent “data storage” solution. A way to “record” their voice. But for the first millennia of human communication, it was almost exclusively spoken.

We lost these communications in the mists of history.

All through my generation on the earth, almost all of my communication with others was verbal. Of course, there are letters, notes, and other paper remnants of things we wrote , but we lost the majority to time.

Today, that balance between words spoken and written is changing. Social media has diminished the use of speaking to each other in favor of text, snapchats, and social media postings. I dare say that as the efficiency, reach, and speed of such systems increases, we may lose our ability for conversation.

Almost every conversation I had with friends and family growing up is forever lost to the past, inevitably altered by the fluidity of memory. In the case of today’s generation, there are petabytes (one thousand terabytes) of data storage with almost everything they’ve ever “said” online preserved for posterity.

Imagine everything you’ve ever said being available to recall and view all over again. I don’t know about you but the concept is chilling. While I’ve said some things I’m very proud of, there are an equal if greater amount better lost forever.

I couldn’t write things for people to read if there was no way to put it in front of them, be it on a screen or in a printed book. But conversation is an art. It is something intimate to be shared with our fellow humans, either a casual conversation with fellow traveler on a plane or in a coffee shop or with a child, lover, or friend.

Universities give out honorary degrees to people of note. They often entitled the degrees Doctor of Humane Letters. This is a formal way of saying a person whose words, actions, and/or writings have affected people and history.

What the title really implies is someone who has spoken to his fellow humans in the most profound way. It is the epitome of being human. It is the ultimate form of caring about your fellow beings. To spend time in conversation is to share one’s fundamental humanity.

Language lets us enter into another person’s thoughts and share the experience; We can never replace it with a symbol no matter how beautifully written. When you learned to speak, then read, then write, there was a reason speech had to come first. It is the foundation of all communication. Everything else is just a method of transmission.

It can never be the message itself.  That requires magic.    

JEBWizard Publishing (www.jebwizardpublishing.com) is a hybrid publishing company focusing on new and emerging authors. We offer a full range of customized publishing services. Everyone has a story to tell, let us help you share it with the world. We turn publishing dreams into a reality. For more information and manuscript submission guidelines contact us at info@jebwizardpublishing.com or 401-533-3988.

LXVII

How the hell did this happen? Just a couple of years ago, I was seventeen, with an entire life ahead of me. Just a few months ago, I was thirty and in the midst of living that life. Just last week I was fifty, a bit confused about how fast that seemed to arrive, but not the least bit chagrined by it.

A few days later, I was fifty-seven and hiking the Appalachian Trail with a bunch of twenty-one-year-old kids looking at me as if I would drop dead at any moment. I finished it, many of them did not.

I woke up this morning, which is always a positive sign, and realized that I am sixty-seven years old.

Sixty-seven, no matter how one tries to pretty it up or alter reality, sounds old. And while I hope to continue gathering these years and decades for the foreseeable future, they will all be a steady march into being older.

XVII to LXVII seemed a flash in the eye. Like fast forwarding a movie where you recognize faces and things but hardly have a moment to enjoy them and they are gone.


If age is a state of mind, it seems like the state is also speeding up through time and space.

Several years ago, someone once said, “You still think of yourself as a seventeen-year-old kid, don’t you?” I wasn’t certain what they meant by that, but now, with the added fifty years on top of those seventeen, I think I do.

Inside looking out is that seventeen-year-old me, existing in a dichotomy. One part is seventeen and trying to understand how time keeps speeding up and wishing it wouldn’t. The other part is the person looking back at me in the mirror who has a lifetime of memories, a gaggle of family and friends, yet managed to hold on to the optimism of that seventeen-year-old so I can look forward to “reeling in the years.”

While only time will reveal how many Roman Numerals I add to my total be it LXVIII or CXVII, the seventeen-year-old inside me is still enjoying the trip.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

JEBWizard Publishing: An Exciting New Book

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Coming this Fall from
JEBWizard Publishing
Boss Angel
by Joe Broadmeadow and Bobby Walason

1696597200

  days

  hours  minutes  seconds

until

The Book Release: Boss Angel

Here’s an excerpt from the book.

Chapter I: An Unlikely Angel

Gino “The Greek” Suraci pushed his way through the crowd waiting to get into the restaurant, knocking the host to the ground. He only slowed to step over the man as he pushed past the shocked onlookers. The Biltmore Hotel has had its share of drama, but nothing quite like this.
Scanning the room, he spotted the cause of his distress. Meeting the man’s eyes, he could see the fear. Good, he thought, the prick needs to fear me.
Ignoring all the stares and murmurs from the crowd, he made his way to the table. Then, without taking his eyes off the object of his rage, he said, “Get lost, sweetheart,” to the young woman at the table.
Anthony “the Nose” Arrusso nodded at the woman, and she fled the table, grabbing her wine glass before she left.
“Greek, what can I do for you?”
Suraci leaned down and grabbed the man by the collar. “You listen to me, you prick; you stay outta my fucking business at the port. That’s my territory, and I will use you for fucking bait on one of my boats if you keep trying to muscle in.”
He shoved the man, knocking him back off his chair.
The Nose glared at Gino but made no effort to stand. “Gino, is this any way to treat a friend?”
“You ain’t no friend. What you are is dead if you fuck with me, capisce?”
Making his way back out of the restaurant, he stuffed a couple of hundred-dollar bills in the pocket of the now standing but terrified host. “Sorry, pal,” he muttered, then walked outside like he’d just finished a fine meal.
The next day, Gino sat in his favorite seat at the Biltmore coffee shop, sipping his Americano. Despite his mother’s claim it granted longevity, he’d never developed a taste for strong coffee. All it did for him was keep him awake.
It never occurred to him to avoid the Biltmore after the shit show the night before. Fuck ‘em if they don’t like it was his philosophy. Although his bodyguard had warned him about habits and patterns, he ignored the advice.
He paid no attention to the two men using laptops near the fireplace. Just a couple of business guys using the free Wi-Fi as their office.
He also never heard the gunshots.
His next view confused him. He found himself inside an elevator dressed all in white with glorious music playing. He saw beautiful angels flying, white lights, and a huge set of pearly gates when the doors opened.
Approaching the gates, he is stopped by a powerful light pushing him back a couple of feet.
“Not so fast, pal, not so fast,” said a short but stocky-looking guy in white. “You’re on the reject list.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are? Reject list? How about I reject your head off your shoulders. Do you know who I am?”
“Yup,” the guy answered, tapping his list. “And you are still on the REJECT LIST!. See Ya.”
Suddenly, a voice surrounded them, and the little guy bowed away.
“You cannot come past these gates unless you do what I ask. Once this is completed, you may return, and only then will you be allowed into heaven.”
“Heaven?” Gino glances around. “This ain’t heaven. It’s some undigested food or that cheap scotch my idiot brother keeps pouring into the good bottles.” He turns and starts to walk away. “I’ll just wait until I wake up. See ya.”
A bright flash of light illuminates a cloud. As the mist clears, Gino saw himself sitting at the table in the Biltmore. As he sipped his coffee, the two men using laptops rose from their chairs, guns drawn and fired.
Gino saw the rounds striking him in the back and chest. As he watched in disbelief, he knew no one could survive that volume of fire. Stunned, he staggered and turned back to face whatever this place is.
“Wait, I’m really dead? That son-of-a-bitch Arruso had the balls to take me out? Hmm, okay, send me back. I’ll send the prick back in my place. Deal?”
The angel shook his head. “Not how this works, I’m afraid.” He tapped the clipboard in his hand, then pulled off one page. “This is a list of what you must do to be allowed in. Succeed and all will be forgiven, fail and…well, a few bullet holes will be the least of your problems.”
Gino read the first page. “Let me get this straight. I’m dead and can’t enter heaven unless I do this?”
“See, you’re not anywhere near as stupid as this says.” tapping the clipboard in his hand.
Gino glared. “And you’re gonna send me back where I can do things to change the past?”
The angel nodded.
“So send away, the first stop is the….”
The guy laughed. “You don’t get it, do you? We’re not sending you back to even the score with the guys who put you here. As a matter of fact, let me give you a little advice, don’t even think about it. It won’t end well. You have a chance few people get. Especially someone like you.
“Why the big guy chose you, I have no idea. I just follow orders.” The angel leaned over to Gino, looking down at him from the platform. “The moment you do anything other than what is asked of you. The instant you decide to return to your old ways and get some vengeance on anyone, you’ll find yourself in one of the circles of hell before your next breath…and not find it a pleasant experience. Clear?”
Gino stared blankly at the angel before him. He shook his head. “Listen, pal. How the hell am I supposed to do this?”
The angel smiled. “You’re a resourceful guy. Figure it out. Remember, the alternative is a permanent change of address to hell.”
Gino moved toward the angel, the old habit of hurting whoever got in his way apparently still very much part of his dead persona, but all he found was a handful of nothing.
“Okay, okay. Sorry, old habits. I get it now. So send away, will ya?”
“Remember, follow the list, and you will be forgiven. You get to pick someone to help you, but you can only guide them. You can’t directly intervene unless they are in danger. Once they are in a position to change things, you have to let them make the final choice.”
A mist began to fill the area, and Gino felt himself being pulled down through the clouds.
The angel watched him fade away, then shook his head. Never gonna happen. Guys like him never change. Why do we even bother?

Pre-order by clicking here

JEBWizard Publishing (www.jebwizardpublishing.com) is a hybrid publishing company focusing on new and emerging authors. We offer a full range of customized publishing services. Everyone has a story to tell, let us help you share it with the world. We turn publishing dreams into a reality. For more information and manuscript submission guidelines contact us at info@jebwizardpublishing.com or 401-533-3988.

The Art of Letter Writing: Following Dinosaurs into Extinction

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It seems letter writing is a dead art. Or at best it’s on life support. The things we receive in the mail are 99% political petitions for money, ads for various services, or just plain junk.

Every once in a while, it would be nice to get a letter.

brown envelop on table
Photo by John-Mark Smith on Pexels.com


Desperate for such an occurrence, I jumped at the chance to read a (kind of) letter from the National Cremation Society. Who knew such a thing existed? Or that they would have a society focused on cremation. It said it was personal and confidential and contained important information.

My first reaction was, hmm, do they know something I don’t know? Is there a reason they spent money to send me a letter?

But then I decided, what the heck. It was at least different from most things I find in the mailbox.

Of course, it was just an ad for cremation services, which I knew from the beginning, but I wondered if there was an actual society with membership lists, annual gatherings, or perhaps even cool T-shirts or beer coozies.

Something like a huge raft aflame in a lake with a slain Viking Warrior and the caption,

I Know How I’m Going, Do You?
or
Burn, Baby, Burn
or
Twenty Minutes Per Pound, Turn Gently

Turns out you can join the National Cremation Society and, if your dues are fully paid up, you get a free cremation when you check out. Not actually at the cart checkout, but the final one.

The last checkout is with no delivery date and not eligible for return.

And of course, there are many levels to the membership. Deluxe ones included viewing services for those not yet “checked out” who wish to watch the conflagration and other valuable and important considerations for those left behind.

I wonder if they’ve ever considered a marshmallow roast? I’m not a fan of S’mores, but a nice Saugy farewell would be okay with me. Lots of onions and relish. They could call it A Saugy Farewell, Toast Your Buns While We Toast His.

Since it turns out the National Cremation Society is nothing like the National Geographic Society, The Humanist Society, or the Society for the Prevention of Cruelties to Animals, I decided not to join at this time.

However, in case you are interested in the “I Know How I’m Going, Do You?” T-shirt or any other Cremation novelties, I will be accepting orders soon on my new website HelloIMustBeGoing.com.

(Did you really just try to click on that link?)

P.S. Right after I finished this piece, we ran out for a few errands. On the way back we stopped to check the mail. Normally we’d walk there, but the heat has been exceptionally dry lately (it was 114) so we went with the air-conditioned car.

Lo and behold I had a package. Hand addressed to me and containing some newspaper articles (so nice to get articles carefully cut from a print newspaper and not some impersonal link with the inevitable targeted ads) about a book I am working on with Andy Thibault, an investigative journalist, professor at the University of New Haven, author of the book You Thought It Was More about Louis “The Coin” Colavecchio a Rhode Island counterfeiter who took the casinos for millions, and Freedom of Information Act warrior. (To find out more about Andy, check http://www.morecooljustice.com and you’ll be hearing more about the book project soon.)

So there is still hope left in the world. It restored my faith. Write me a letter. It will do wonders for you as well. Might be fun to see how many people actually take the time. I’ll let you know.

Joe Broadmeadow
23497 S 212st St
Queen Creek, AZ 85142

JEBWizard Publishing (www.jebwizardpublishing.com) is a hybrid publishing company focusing on new and emerging authors. We offer a full range of customized publishing services. Everyone has a story to tell, let us help you share it with the world. We turn publishing dreams into a reality. For more information and manuscript submission guidelines contact us at info@jebwizardpublishing.com or 401-533-3988.

And Now It’s Hemingway’s Turn

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Our world is based on many falsehoods, lies, and inequities. As the saying goes, the victorious write history. It is rarely agnostic for the truth. Yet it would be a grave mistake to cast aside all that came before us because it contradicts our current level of civilization and socialization.

But this won’t prevent those who prefer to whitewash (a term they would likely object to) history by changing the reality of what happened and substituting a “kinder and gentler” version.

A recent piece from Fox News caught my eye about how the publisher of Ernest Hemingway’s works is rewriting certain scenes within his books and a University in Scotland was putting “Content warnings” because of “graphic fishing scenes” and Hemingway’s “language and attitudes.”

“This novel is explored as part of a module which deals with scenes of gory violence in a number of epic texts. We believe that content warnings enable students to make informed choices. We started providing them at the request of several of our students who told us they would appreciate being informed about these topics in advance.”

University of Scotland

Publisher Penguin Random House recently added trigger warnings to “The Old Man and the Sea,” as well as other Hemingway works over concerns about the author’s “language” and “attitudes.” Turns out similar actions are in place concerning the works of Roald Dahl, regarding “Fat” characters being removed and adding more “inclusive” gender terms.


OMFG.

Hemingway had it right when he said,

“Critics are men who watch a battle for a high place, then come down and shoot the survivors.”

Ernest Hemingway

Or, to put it more correctly,

“Critics are people who watch a (trigger warning violence and firearm reference) battle from a position physically higher but in no way superior to other places, then come down and shoot the survivors. (Please contact your nearest mental health clinic if these words trouble you or in any way distress you or cause anxiety.)

Author

What’s next, history majors opting out of reading and studying books about the Holocaust because it contains offensive language and depictions of violent actions by humans against other humans?

The course of study for a major in Modern European History, stripped of all the bloodshed, torture, rape, pillaging, burning, and death would comprise two paragraphs describing the discovery of winemaking (with the appropriate trigger warnings about alcohol abuse etc. etc.)

If we as an intelligent entity cannot read material written by such brilliant writers as Hemingway, Dahl, or others by putting it into the proper context of when it was written without curling up into the fetal position and weeping in sorrow, we are doomed.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident…”

“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”

These words were written by white men, many of whom were slave holders, who saw Native Americans and African people, both slave and free, as inferior to the white race.

Do we need to change the words to something more in keeping with our current understanding as a way of improving the spirit of their meaning? I think not.

Jefferson, Washington, Adams were wrong to allow slavery to persist. Abraham Lincoln himself, the Great Emancipator, said this,

“I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of bringing about in any way the social and political equality of the white and black races … I am not nor ever have been in favor of making voters or jurors of Negroes, nor of qualifying them to hold office, nor to intermarry with white people; and I will say in addition to this that there is a physical difference between the white and black races, which I believe will forever forbid the two races from living together on terms of social and political equality. And inasmuch as they cannot so live, while they do remain together, there must be a position of superior and inferior, and I as much as any other man am in favor of having the superior position assigned to the white race.”

Abraham Lincoln

Yet each of these men, living when women could never have participated in the crafting of the new constitution or taking part in government, set the stage for progress.

And then there is this gem. Headline from Waukesha, Wisconsin. (https://www.foxnews.com/media/teacher-fired-wanting-students-sing-miley-cyrus-dolly-parton-song-rainbowland)

Teacher fired after wanting students to sing Miley Cyrus, Dolly Parton song ‘Rainbowland’

Some of the lyrics that concerned the school board and administration are these:

Livin' in a rainbowland
Where you and I go hand in hand
Oh, I’d be lyin' (I'd be lyin')
If I said this was fine (This is not fine)
All the hurt and the hate going on here (It needs to stop here)
We are rainbows, me and you
Every color, every hue
Let’s shine through (Through)
Together, we can
Start livin' in a rainbowland

Well, I can certainly see where we wouldn’t want first-graders singing such words. After all, racism and oppression are long gone from this country.

I mean the last arrest for, let’s say, actions by the KKK was way back on July 13, 2023, after Klan members posted racist and threatening messages on several black churches in Tennessee (where they still celebrate the birthday of Nathan Bedford Forrest, a millionaire slave trader, Confederate general, mass murderer of over 200 Black Union POWs, and the first grand wizard of the Ku Klux Klan. They even have a state holiday for it.)

So obviously, there is no need to indoctrinate these first graders with concepts of inclusivity and tolerance. Why not let them sing “Oh, way down south in the land of cotton” like the good ole’ days?

But this teacher took it too far, according to the administration.

They were so butt hurt (I would have used another term but they might consider it offensive and triggering) they fired the teacher, Melissa Tempel. Firing a teacher capable of getting first graders to rehearse, let alone perform, would seem to be a contradiction. Such talent is a testament to her extraordinary capabilities.

And they fired her for teaching students a song about inclusivity. Well no wonder. We can’t have that running rampant in school systems. What’s next, desegregation? Oops, I was in a bit of a time warp there. Kind of like Rep. Eli Crane (R) of Arizona when he said an amendment he added to the defense spending bill had nothing to do with “colored people.” Sure it didn’t, genius.

The superintendent for the district was quoted in the article.

Superintendent James Sebert told WISN 12 that her social media posts “brought negative attention to the school district. Ms. Tempel deliberately brought negative attention to the school district because she disagreed with the decision as opposed to following protocol and procedure and I believe that behavior is intolerable,” he said.

https://www.foxnews.com/media/teacher-fired-wanting-students-sing-miley-cyrus-dolly-parton-song-rainbowland

He’s right about one thing. There was negative attention brough to the school district, but not by the teacher they fired. It was by the idiocy of the school board and administration.

So we have two contradictory examples of suppression. One would try to change the past by altering the writing of some of the greatest writers of all time. One wants to change the past by making believe it never was as bad and doesn’t have any impact today.

Both are misguided and disingenuous.

There once existed women and suppressed people long gone from this world who would have equaled Shakespeare, Aristotle, Plato, Einstein, Newton, Cervantes, or other giants of science, philosophy, or literature but were denied the opportunity by virtue of gender, ethnicity, or religion.

It is a tragic reality that the Holocaust and other genocidal events, as well as the brutish realities of history, killed thousands of geniuses and deprived the world of their potential.

We cannot correct the wrongs of the past by trying to mask or ignore them. We correct the wrongs of the past by realizing they temper many of the works we read, the foundations upon which we built our constitution, and the manner in which we interact with those who differ from us and keep it in proper perspective.

You cannot rewrite the Old Man and the Sea without losing the heart of the story. Perhaps if we focused on teaching ourselves to deal with reality, rather than trying to mask it, we’d all be better off. Ernest Hemingway may have been a bad person in his personal life, but his writing transcends the realities of his nature by showing the world the power of words to convey a story.

Every talented writer, musician, scientist, artist, or poet was still human, with flaws and false beliefs. To mask their flaws by changing their words accomplishes the exact opposite of what it is trying to do. It conceals the fact that human history is rife with brutality, discrimination, and false concepts, yet, from this, arose the ideas of inclusivity and tolerance.

We wouldn’t be where we are today if people like Hemingway, Shakespeare, or Mozart were suppressed because they held certain misconceptions about their fellow humans. We are who we are today because, incrementally and sometimes over frustratingly prolonged periods, we learned to change those misconceptions.

Instead of changing the words within For Whom the Bell Tolls or firing teachers who try to convey a lesson of inclusivity, we should take the moment to put things in context, either historical or current, and learn what we can gain from such considerations.

JEBWizard Publishing (www.jebwizardpublishing.com) is a hybrid publishing company focusing on new and emerging authors. We offer a full range of customized publishing services. Everyone has a story to tell, let us help you share it with the world. We turn publishing dreams into a reality. For more information and manuscript submission guidelines contact us at info@jebwizardpublishing.com or 401-533-3988.

Going Postal: I S#$t You Not

Please take a moment to share my work on social media. Agree or disagree, the more who read this the bigger the opportunity to share with others and promote meaningful dialog. It would be greatly appreciated. Thanks.

America is such a great country. It’s not the big things that make it so, the Constitution or the Bill of Rights. It is the small things that many don’t even realize exist that are the true joy of living in the USA.

One of these most wonderful benefits exists here in Arizona, the Land Where the Thermostat is Stuck on High. Like most states, we have Blue Cross Blue Shield as one of the health coverage choices. And, unlike the rest of the modern world with standardized, universal plans, each version offers different coverages all of which are detailed in a 2750-page booklet written in the original Greek.

For some inexplicable reason several of these pages contain the words “This page intentionally left blank” which of course means the page is not blank. You can understand my confusion.

Yet, every once in a while, we receive a mailing from them of value. (Actually, they must have an entire division that does nothing but send mailings to every member with useful and detailed information about things that have absolutely no bearing on one personally, for example detailed info on drugs no longer covered for conditions very few people suffer with. But they like to keep us informed.)

Recently I got one that I can take advantage of with great enthusiasm. But a little explanation first.

One of the benefits is an Over the Counter (OTC) card where we get $50 per quarter to use on specific items, i.e. toothpaste, suntan lotion (kind of silly when standing outside for more than five minutes would turn you into cinder ash, but it is the thought that counts), aspirin, etc. We now have enough toothpaste, suntan lotion, and dental floss to last several millennia.

One of the items you cannot buy is mouthwash or certain cough suppressants.  Using my powers of deductive reasoning I figured out they state would not want a bunch of senior citizens filtering these items through bread to extract the alcohol.

If they really thought about it, making the last few years on the planet more enjoyable would greatly benefit from allowing the purchase of alcohol, but Puritanism is alive and well here in on the surface of the sun.

The money goes on these neat little credit cards to be used at certain stores.  We call it our Old Age Welfare Money. Ain’t socialism great?

But wait there’s more. There are these self-assessment at home things one can do to earn additional money that can be used to buy almost anything (except alcohol of course.) I’ve bought pistachios, Arizona Diamondback baseball hats, and all sorts of other goodies.

The latest offer is almost too good to be true. It not only earns me another $25, but it eliminates for the immediate future one of the most unpleasant aspects of trying to be healthy, colonoscopies and the Devil’s Brew one has to consume the night before. An in-the-privacy of your own home sh&t collection kit mailed directly to you

Yes, you read it right. The State of Arizona (License plate “Come Bake With Us”) will pay me to “collect” a sample of SH&T, place it in a box, and send it through the Post Office to be examined for evidence of something trying to kill me.

Can you imagine. Twenty-five dollars to mail “Sh*t?”  

Knowing this process exists puts the whole phenomenon of “going postal” in an entirely new light. The only issue to decide is what do I have to eat the night before to “prepare” for the gathering.

It is a challenging quandary.

P.S. I wonder if it comes with USPS tracking number so I can watch it makes it way across the system?

JEBWizard Publishing (www.jebwizardpublishing.com) is a hybrid publishing company focusing on new and emerging authors. We offer a full range of customized publishing services. Everyone has a story to tell, let us help you share it with the world. We turn publishing dreams into a reality. For more information and manuscript submission guidelines contact us at info@jebwizardpublishing.com or 401-533-3988.