I’ve written to you in the past in this form of an open letter. (Promise Me, Joe) and I am compelled to write once more.
The time has come for a new generation to rise to the occasion. You have said this yourself as I will remind you in this piece. Now is the time to put those words into actions.
Now is the time, Mr. President, now is the time.
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, a time to reap that which is planted;
Pete Seeger, Turn, Turn, Turn! (or Ecclesiastes 3-1 if you prefer)
But first, let me say this.
Thank you. Thank you for restoring sensibilities in government. Thank you for rebuilding America’s standing in the world. Thank you for leading the world coalition supporting the Ukraine.
Thank you for leading the country out of the disaster of the pandemic. And thank you for putting an end to our presence in Afghanistan. Anyone who understands the reality of that commitment knows it was the right thing to do no matter how ugly it may have appeared.
Thank you for what you have done for this country. I only wish your opportunity had come sooner.
But there is what we want and what we have and that reality is what we deal with.
I heard you speak once after the release of your book, Promise Me, Dad. One thing you said, that brought to mind the Camelot of the Kennedy years, was it is time for a new generation to assume the mantle.
You were right.
Yet when circumstances arose, with no one stepping up, you did. Again.
You were there in our time of desperate need for a return to stability. And while the danger has not fully passed, time has.
Now is the moment for you to make your mark as one of our greatest Presidents. One who rose to the occasion as history demanded then recognized the limitations of that commitment.
Go out, find that new blood, and push them to meet destiny as you have.
Turn your words into more than a speech. Encourage this new generation, following your example, to set a new course with a new leader at the helm.
Don’t let the country merely vote against the disaster from our past, give them a choice with a limitless future.
Do this, and there is no doubt that future historians will mark this moment as another example of true American courage.
Over the course of my life, I’ve held several jobs. My first one, at 15, was washing dishes at the Admiral Inn in Cumberland, Rhode Island. My aunt, Katherine Szpila, was the hostess. Almost all my cousins and a couple of uncles worked there at some point, and I got to eat all the boneless fried chicken I could handle.
I then moved on to the Almacs grocery store. In 1972, Almacs was a great place to work. As a unionized shop, it gave me an appreciation of how important having an organization supporting workers could be. Not that most managers were difficult, but there were a few.
And I will admit to a bit of payback I exacted when I started my next serious job at the East Providence Police Department. Almacs corporate offices were in East Providence, in the Rumford section. Back then, that area was one of the quietest areas to work and I hated being assigned there.
But there was a small benefit. I would position myself on Roger Williams Ave and stop any cars leaving the Almacs facility. (Nobody stopped for the stop sign or drove the speed limit.). When I was fortunate enough to snag one of the more cruel bastards who took pleasure in wreaking havoc whenever they visited the store I worked at, they got an autographed ticket from me.
While I let most of them go, I didn’t let them all go. It made it tolerable to work the slow area and gave me a great deal of satisfaction.
After EPPD, where twenty years flew by in a flash, I moved on to other careers. While each of these had their moments, particularly my time as a Police Officer, none can measure up to my latest job.
Now, my job is to make memories with my grandson, Levi, and his soon to arrive brother.
We make memories I hope he (they) will carry their whole life. And, in those trying moments everyone faces in life, I hope those memories will bring a smile to their face and a moment of hope, even for the briefest of moments.
Of all the things I’ve done in my life, making memories that last is, without a doubt, the most important. There is never a better moment to make memories then now. Seize that moment, or all that will remain are memories never made.
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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.
On this day after Christmas, I wish you all the best of the season and all the joys of life. Here is the entire Day After Christmas Story to carry you through until next year…Enjoy
In keeping with an old tradition, I bring you Part 1 of the serialized story of The Day After Christmas.
Millions of years ago, when dinosaurs roamed the earth, the Pawtucket Times would publish a story over the two weeks leading up to Christmas.
I, along with many others, anxiously awaited the arrival of each new chapter, culminating in the ending on Christmas Eve. So, over the past few years, I have started my own version beginning with today’s opening segment. We will read this story together as I have no idea where it will go or how it will end. My only advantage is I will read it as it is born, while you my dear friends, will see it just moments after its arrival.
…and to all a goodnight!
Growing up in Cumberland, Rhode Island back then seems, at least in my memories, to have been a place of magic; making those Christmas seasons, and the spirit that infused them, all the more special.
I will just tell the story, like Charlie Brown and Linus, of something worth holding onto. Let it take us where it will…Merry Christmas!
THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS
December 26th is the slowest, and laziest, day in the North Pole. Everyone, I mean almost EVERYONE, sleeps until noon. But for one tiny—even by elf standards—elf, the day after Christmas is the busiest day of the year for her.
Emily Louise Frazier—her family is famous for growing the Frazier Pine one of the most popular Christmas trees in the world—held a critical, if almost completely unknown, position within Elfdom…she was the Monitor of the Christmas Spirit. Or as she liked to call herself, Santa’s accountant. And not just any ordinary add the numbers and balance the checkbook accountant. On no, she was the Christmas Spirit Accountant.
He job was to track the level and growth of the spirit of Christmas, for that spirit wasn’t just something one felt as Christmas day grew near. It was something that lived among the people all the year round. Bringing the joy of giving to others, the pleasure of spending time with your family, and the warmth of a good heart to all the world.
But Emily Louise Frazier was worried. More worried than she had ever been in her entire life. She stared at her little Elf laptop and shook her head. Numbers never lie. The trend was not good and now, on the day when all of Christmas Town enjoyed their one day of uninterrupted rest, she had to rouse them from their slumber and give them the bad news.
Christmas spirit was dying, a slow yet undeniable descent to a level never before seen in the history of the world and she had no idea how to fix it, or even if it could be fixed.
Making her way to the main house, she stood trembling at the door trying to force herself to ring the bell and bring such terrible news to the nicest people on the planet, Santa and Mrs. Claus.
Reaching up on her tiptoes, she managed to reach the lower of the two bells, the one placed for the elves. The opening notes of Charlie Brown’s Christmas Theme (Mrs. Claus is a big jazz music fan) echoed throughout the house.
Soon footsteps followed, coming closer, and for a moment, Emily thought of running away. But she had a responsibility and prepared herself. The door swung open and Santa and Mrs. Claus stood there, rubbing their eyes trying to focus, looking over Emily to the vast, yet sleepy town outside the door.
“Down here, Santa,” said Emily.
Santa and Mrs. Claus looked down at the now shaking little Elf.
“Emily, my dear,” said Mrs. Claus, “come inside dear, you’re freezing out there. Come in, come in.”
Emily hesitated a moment, then stepped inside. “I’m not cold, Mrs. Claus. But I have some terrible news I need to share.”
Santa closed the door behind her, then knelt down to bring his smiling face to Emily’s level.
“No worries, Emily. There’s nothing you can say that we can’t fix. Now what is so terrible that you had to wake us on our one day off?”
Emily swallowed hard, took a deep breath, then said, “Santa, I’ve been studying the charts, going over all the data, looking at the trends, and it’s clear that Christmas Spirit is in decline. The usual burst of spirit just before Christmas fizzled. I’m afraid it will fade completely over the next few months and be gone by next Christmas.”
Part II The News Spreads
“Hmm,” said Santa, “that is troubling. Are you sure?”
“Very,” said Emily.
Mrs. Claus reached for her hand. “Come dear, come sit at the table and I’ll make some hot cocoa to warm you up.”
Emily setup her laptop on the table while Santa worked at filling his pipe.
Mrs. Claus appeared within moments, carrying a tray with three cups of cocoa and a pile of cookies. She paused before she put the tray on the table and stared at Santa. Santa caught the look and put the pipe away.
Mrs. Claus smiled, then placed the tray in front of Emily. “Here you go, my dear.”
After taking a sip from the cocoa, Emily clicked a few keys then turned the laptop to face Santa and Mrs. Claus.
“What am I looking at?” asked Santa
“The first few graphs represent trends in various things, like kindness and charity. And these here represent various places, countries, cities, towns, and villages. The last graph shows a summary of the overall trends throughout the world. I compiled these graphs from a bunch of data sources that…”
Santa held up his hand and smiled. “Emily, in plain English please, I’m still a bit tired from last night.”
Emily nodded. “The world is becoming less kind, less charitable, and less happy.”
“Oh my,” said Mrs. Claus. “That’s terrible.”
Santa tapped his nose several times as he stared at the computer screen. Then, he pointed to several green dots on one graph almost lost among all the red ones.
“What are these?”
Emily smiled. “It’s the one glimmer of hope, I suppose.” She sighed. “First, I thought it was just a data error…”
Santa tilted his head to the side.
“Sorry. First, I thought I’d gotten something wrong, but I checked and rechecked and it seems there are some places in the world where everything and, it would seem, everyone is happy, kind, and charitable. And getting better every day.”
“Why is that?” said Santa
“I have no idea.”
“Well, then. There is the answer to our problem,” said Mrs. Claus.
Santa and Emily looked at Mrs. Claus.
“How is that the answer?” Santa said.
“Oh my dear, you are such a wonderful man, but sometimes a bit slow with simple solutions. If things all over the world are getting worse, except for these few places, then someone has to go there and find out why.”
She smiled and waited for him to catch on.
“It really is that simple. Go there and see why people there are so different from the rest of the world.”
Emily blinked a few times, then closed her laptop.
Santa reached for his pipe, thought better of it, than just tapped his forehead, thinking. “Emily, you and I are taking a trip.”
“We are?”
“Yes, we are, my dear. First thing tomorrow morning we leave for, ah, for… where are these places, anyway?
Emily started to speak, but Santa stopped her.
“Let’s keep this to ourselves for the time being. No need for any rumors to get started. You know how the elves and reindeer love to gossip, and I don’t want anyone to be worried until we sort this out. You can tell me in the morning and program it into the GSP thingy the Elf flight director put on my sleigh.”
“GSP?” said Emily.
“GPS, my dear,” said Mrs. Claus, “GPS.”
Santa shrugged.
The three of them stood up and headed toward the door.
“You go pack, Emily,” said Santa. “But keep this to yourself for now. I’ll tell the flight crew I want to take the sleigh out for a little spin tomorrow, just to try out some new flight tricks. Meanwhile…” Santa placed his finger over his lips. “Shhh, mums the word.”
As Santa reached for the door handle, Mrs. Claus knelt down and gave Emily a kiss on the forehead.
“Don’t worry, my dear. We’ll find the answer. I am sure of it.”
With that, Santa slowly opened the door, hoping no one had seen or heard anything. But they were all shocked to see the entire town gathered outside.
Mrs. Claus laughed. “There are no secrets here, my dear, no secrets.”
Part IIIA Journey of Discovery
Early the next morning, Emily was up, dressed, and wearing her backpack as she waited for Santa to arrive. She wondered how they would ever figure out why some places still held the Christmas spirit while others seemed to have lost it.
I hope I can be a help to Santa, but I’m not sure I’m cut out for adventure. As these thoughts percolated in her mind, a voice called out to her.
“Emily, time to go.”
The voice was familiar, of course. Everyone here in Christmas Town was familiar, but it was not the voice she expected. Glancing out her window, she saw the team of reindeer pawing at the ground, eager to fly—reindeer never tire of flying.
She saw the sleigh with its new all-season covering for flying on days other than Christmas—Santa preferred to fly in the traditional way on Christmas Eve.
But it’s who she saw driving that surprised her. Sitting up front in the driver’s seat was Mrs. Claus.
Emily ran outside, threw her backpack into the sleigh, and climbed aboard.
“Where’s Santa?”
Mrs. Claus smiled. “Santa does a wonderful job delivering presents. He’s marvelous at it. But for other things… let’s just say you and I are better suited to handle this than he is.”
“But I thought Santa managed everything.”
“Santa, my dear, is the face of the organization, but it’s all the elves and I who make the whole thing work. Now, are you ready for the first stop?”
“Yes, Mrs. Claus, I’m ready.”
“Okay, but there is one more thing you need to do before we takeoff.”
“What’s that?” Emily said.
“You need to call me Emma,” said Mrs. Claus, with a bit of a twinkle in her eye. “It’s short for Emily.”
Emily’s eyes grew wide. “You’re named Emily too?”
“Of course, my dear. And I’ll let you in on another secret.” She leaned over and whispered in Emily’s ear. “And my name before I married Santa was Frazier.”
Emily’s eyes grew twice as wide. “We’re related?”
Emily Frazier Claus smiled. “Not only related, my dear, but I am your great, great, great times one hundred great grandmother. And it’s time for the Frazier women to get to the bottom of this problem. We’ve been doing troubleshooting for years, keeping Santa on his toes. There’s nothing we can’t do; if we set our minds to it.”
She reached over and pulled Emily close to her. “Ready?”
“Ready Mrs.… I mean Emma.” With that, Emily punched the information into the GPS, then snuggled back next to Emma. I haven’t even left yet, and I already uncovered one surprise. I wonder what else I might discover.
In a flash, the reindeer leapt into the sky and they were off…
Part IV: The First Secret
“So, where are we off to first?” said Emma.
Emily reached toward the GPS and enlarged the view. “It’s a small village in the Austrian Alps called Erinnerung Dorf. I think I said that correctly.”
“You did, my dear, sounds German.”
Emma guided the reindeer as they descended into the cold, quiet village. The deserted streets seemed sad and lonely. Snow swirled in the air. As they landed, they came to a stop next to a small church. It was clear there had been a terrible fire, and the building was only recognizable by the steeple in the pile of rubble.
“Oh my,” said Emily, “this looks like it happened within the last few days.”
Emma touched her on the shoulder and pointed. A large group of villagers walked down the street—women, girls, boys, and men—some carrying tools, some driving trucks bearing lumber, some holding baskets of food.
And they were all singing, laughing, almost dancing as they made their way to the burned-out church.
Emily pulled back, afraid of what the people might think when they saw them. Emma took her hand.
“They can’t see us, Emily. To them, we are invisible. We need to see what’s going on here without letting our being here change anything. So what do you think is happening?”
“Well, there’s obviously been a fire and it would seem they have banded together to rebuild the church, but it is strange how happy they are. I mean, this fire must have happened on Christmas and ruined their day. Perhaps someone may have been hurt. Clearly the church is important to them and it is destroyed. And yet, they’re singing and laughing like it’s the best day of the year.”
“And indeed it is,” said Emma. “They understand one of the most important lessons of life.”
“And what’s that?”
Emma smiled at the tiny elf trying to understand such joy amid such devastation and loss. She knelt down and looked her in the eye.
“These people understand that life is a constant series of changes and what has happened, has happened. We cannot change the past. They understand this. They have learned that the key to a good life is to Celebrate what you had, and what you have, not dwell on what you’ve lost.”
Emily smiled. “So by doing that, they hold on to the Christmas Spirit no matter what happens in their lives.”
“It’s as simple as that,” said Emma. “Now where to next?”
Part V: The Joy of Giving
Emily leaned over and plugged the next coordinates into the GPS. “Next stop is…hmm. Wait a minute, let me recheck this.” She opened her laptop, punched the keys, shrugged, then confirmed the entry.
“Something wrong?” asked Emma.
“No, just a little confused. The next location is a Children’s Hospital in Bogota, Columbia. They treat cancer patients there. I’m just a little surprised it would be one of the places where happiness is increasing the Christmas Spirit.”
Emma smiled. “Never underestimate the power of the human heart, my dear.” And with a flick of her wrists, the sleigh rose into the air and headed to South America.
In what seemed like a blink of an eye—of course it would, this is Santa’s sleigh—they found themselves landing on the rooftop of the hospital. Emily sat for a moment in the sleigh, unsure of what she might find.
“Come on, my dear. I think this is going to be very informative for our little investigation.”
The two walked down some stairs, opened a door into a corridor, then followed some nurses into a large open room. Inside, they found about thirty kids, from little ones of four or five to teenagers, all working on cards and small craft projects.
Emily walked over to one of the groups. A teenage girl helped two small children draw pictures and paste them into greeting cards. At another table, two older boys put Christmas ornaments into packages and placed labels on them.
“What are they doing?” Emily asked.
“They’re making gifts for the poor for next year,” said Emma.
“They’re making gifts?” Emily said, her eyes giving away her surprise. “But they are all very sick, why would they be making gifts for others? Shouldn’t they be the ones people send gifts to to cheer them up?”
“Because they also understand about not focusing on things they cannot control,” said Emma. “And they understand another truth about living a happy life.”
“What’s that?”
Emma put her arm around Emily.
“It’s quite simple, my dear. Something Santa and I and the elves have known for centuries. The joy of gifts is in the giving.”
“It’s that simple, isn’t it?” said Emily.
“It’s that simple. Now let’s leave them to their fun and move on.”
Part VI: A True Friend
Weaving their way through the Rocky Mountains in Colorado, Emma guided the sleigh to their next location; a small town nestled in an isolated valley. Landing in the outskirts of the village, Emma and Emily made their way to an old house in the center of town.
In the house, a small lamp lit the inside of an enclosed porch where an elderly man sat reading a book.
“Maybe I got the location wrong,” Emily said.
“Let’s wait and see,” Emma said
A few moments later, another old man came walking down the road, dragging a small sled loaded with groceries. He walked up to the house and carried the groceries inside.
Neither man spoke, but it was clear this was not anything unusual. A moment later, he emerged from the house, sat on a chair next to the man reading the book and said, “All set, Jim. Everything you need is here.”
“I’m not sure what I would do without you, Tom.”
“I think we both get something out of this. You get your groceries; I get to leave the house so my wife doesn’t give me chores to do.”
Both men laughed, then fell into silence, lost in their thoughts.
Emma took Emily’s hand and said, “Follow me.”
She led Emily into the house and then into a small den off the hallway. Pictures of the two men covered the walls. Some showed them as young boys, but they easily recognized the faces. Others showed them at a college graduation, in military uniforms, standing next to a jet fighter, a lifetime of shared memories.
One wall was covered with images from a wedding. Tom stood smiling next to a beautiful young woman, with Jim standing next to him. There were pictures of kids, pictures of vacations, pictures of a lifetime.
Emily stopped at the last picture. It was Tom’s wife, now much older, and there was a memorial card along the edge of the frame, Mariam Louise Johnson, 1948-2014.
The sight of the picture brought a tear to Emily’s eye. “Sad that his wife passed away. He must be lonely living here by himself.”
Suddenly, laughter burst from the porch. Emily and Emma hurried out to see what was going on. The two men were both laughing their heads off.
“And I still can see the look on Mariam’s face when you put that snake in the tent,” Jim said, wiping his eyes. “I thought she was gonna kill you.”
“I did too,” Tom said. “I didn’t sleep at all that night because I was afraid she would get me back.” He paused a minute, took a deep breath, and sighed. “We’ve had some fun, haven’t we, my friend?”
“Indeed we have, Tom, indeed we have.” Standing up, he patted his friend on the shoulder. “Okay, same time tomorrow? See you then.” Making his way back outside, he pulled the small sled back up the street and disappeared.
Tom went back to reading his book, but the smile remained on his face.
“I think I have this one figured out,” Emily said.
“And what have you learned here?” Emma asked.
“That having a good friend, a genuine friend who is with you through everything that happens in life, is a key to a good life. And friends are a big part of the Christmas Spirit. In other words, It’s better to have one true friend than hundreds of pretend ones.”
Emma smiled. “Once again, simple as that.” Pointing toward the sleigh, she added, “Next.”
Part VII: Challenges
Emily snuggled up against Emma as the sleigh rose into the sky. It’s not that she was cold, it just that Emma made her feel safe. As they made their way to the next stop, Emily thought about what they’d learned so far.
“Emma, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, dear. What is it?”
“Do you think I may look at things the wrong way?”
“What do you mean, dear?”
“Well, in all the places we’ve been, the things that help grow the Christmas Spirit were just so simple. Maybe I’m missing something in the way we analyze these things.”
“Let’s see what else we find, and then we can talk about it more.” Emma pointed to the skyline of Manhattan. “That is one of Santa’s favorite sights. And I’m sure we’ll find something special here.”
The sleigh made its gentle descent into the city, coming to a stop outside a school. The sign read, Watson Institute for Education.
As Emma and Emily made their way up the ramp to the door and then inside the building, something occurred to them. There were no stairs, and all the door handles were lower than normal.
“What kind of school is this?” Emily asked.
Just then, a bell rang. “I think we are about to find out.”
Soon the hallways filled with all manner of motorized wheelchairs. Kids of all ages navigated the hallway, heading to what appeared to be a large auditorium.
Emma and Emily followed.
As the crowd settled in, several students took to the stage, one took the lead.
“Hi everyone, and thanks for coming. As you know, every year we vote to select a new charity for our annual fundraiser. This year, we’ve selected St. Ambrose Hospital.
“If you check your email, you’ll see your assignments for the various events. It’s important we all make our best efforts to insure the success. I’m sure you all know we raised over $100,000 dollars for last year’s charity and our goal this year is $125,000.
“I know with your help we can do it.”
At that, the audience burst into applause, nodding of heads, or just wide smiles.
Emily looked at Emma. “Can you believe they’re organizing a charity? That’s amazing.”
“Not really amazing, Emily. It’s just another of those lessons in life. Our challenges do not define us, but how we face them does.”
Emily nodded. “I’m learning, I have much to learn.”
Emma laughed and pointed toward the door. “Come on, dear. We have places to go and things to see.”
Part VIII: Need in the Midst of Abundance
“Let’s try something different. Let’s go to one of those places where the Christmas spirit is in decline. It might be a useful comparison.”
“That’s brilliant, Emma. Data comparison and using what appear to be conflicting data points can be very…” Emily looked at Emma, who was giving her the same look Santa did when she went off on her technical explanations. “Sorry.”
“No worries, my dear. You’re enthusiastic about your job. That’s why I had Santa assign you there.”
“You picked me for the job?”
Emma smiled. “Remember what I said, Santa is the public face of Christmas. He’s the Ho Ho Ho and delivering presents guy. We’re the brains behind the operation.”
Emily looked through the data and selected a site. “How about here?” she said, turning the laptop to show Emma.
“Perfect.”
And with a few strokes of the keys, they were off; moments later, landing outside a huge ivy-covered stone wall topped with iron spikes. Emily stood up, trying to peek over the wall, but could see nothing.
“Come on, Emily,” said Emma, “there’s a gate over here.”
As the two stood in front of the monstrous gate, a Rolls Royce limousine with a uniformed driver pulled up. Tinted back windows block their view of the passengers. After a moment, the gate swung open, and the car started up the winding drive.
Emma and Emily hurried behind them for what seemed like ten minutes.
“I didn’t know there were driveways as long as highways,” said Emily.
“I didn’t know there were houses the size of shopping malls,” Emma said, pointing to the colossal mansion before them.
The chauffeur came around to the back and opened the door. A middle-aged woman made her way out of the car and, without a word to the driver, headed up the stairs to the door.
She appeared to be crying.
A moment later, a middle-aged man got out, lit a cigar, and nodded at the driver. “Well, another lovely, wasted evening, eh, Mr. Weatherby?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir,” answered the driver.
“Well, I’ll tell you it was. Bloody auctions and Mrs. Jameson is furious I wouldn’t bid higher for some trash art she wanted. Charity or not, I’m not buying trash.”
“Very good, sir,” said the driver. “Will you be needing the car anymore this evening?
“Only if you’ll run me over. It will be better than listening to her harangue me about being cheap. How does she think we acquired all this is the first place? Not by wasting money on every stupid charity in the world. If it were up to her, she’d give it all away.”
Emma and Emily followed the man inside. At the door, a butler greeted the man and took his coat.
“Is Mrs. Jameson in the study?”
“Yes, she is, sir. She asked not to be disturbed.”
“Well, I own the place so I will disturb whomever I want.”
The man made his way down a long corridor and into the opulent study. The woman sat on a couch, glass in hand, and glared at him.
“Look, I don’t care if the bloody charity can cure cancer. I’m not wasting my money…”
“Our money,” she interrupted.
“We’ll see about that; I have skilled lawyers. Nevertheless, I still cannot see wasting money on trash art.”
“But it is for a worthy cause and we have so much.”
“We have so much because I don’t throw it away. Next time, find some damn charity that doesn’t peddle junk. Now, I am going to bed; you can wallow in self-pity all you want.”
And with that, the man left the room while the woman sat drinking her drink and wiping tears from her eyes.
“Well, this one is troubling,” said Emily. “How can people with so much be so unhappy?”
“Think about it for a moment, my dear. Think about it. What is the most basic premise of the Christmas spirit?”
Emily thought for a long moment, then her face grew bright with a smile. “Sharing, of course. Sharing time with family and friends. Sharing a Christmas meal. Sharing gifts. It’s all about the sharing.
“Once again, so simple an idea,” said Emma. Happiness exists only when shared with others.
Part IX: Age is a State of Mind
Emily tapped her computer screen a few times, then closed the cover and reopened it.
“Problems?” said Emma
“No, just I thought the next site was in Canada, but the screen display is showing me a location in Morocco.” Emily tried to refresh the screen display once more. “What is wrong with this thing?”
“Perhaps we should just go where it says,” Emma smiled. “Could be something there we need to see.”
With that, Emma looked at the screen display, punched the numbers into the GPS and in a flash they were landing in a dusty field outside a small village in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains.
Two old men sat at a table outside a small café sipping coffee and playing the card game called Ronda. As one man dealt, the other rubbed his wrinkled arthritic hands.
“Much pain today, Mohammed?” said the other man as he shuffled the cards
The man shrugged. “Like always, Youssef. All those days in the fields and tending the goats took their toll.”
“We worked hard then,” said Youssef. “Long days in the scorching sun and frosty nights in the winters. But coming home to our wives made it all worthwhile. It’s hard to believe they’ve both been gone over ten years.”
Mohammed nodded. “Seems like just yesterday we were playing with the grandchildren and watching them grow into fine men and women.” He paused a moment. “By the way, I heard Ayoub passed away, praise Allah the merciful, he was just ninety-five.”
“Ninety-five, such a young man to go so soon,” said Youssef, as a smile broke out on his face.
Mohammed laughed. “I know, ninety-five for me seems like years ago.”
“It was two years ago, Mohammed. Are you losing your mind?”
“I have lost nothing, my friend,” slowly rising from the chair, “I can still beat you in arm wrestling any day.”
“Hah, I’d like to see that!”
Mohammed’s eyes narrowed. He reached over, knocking the cards from the table. “Well then, let’s see who the better man is, shall we?”
Youssef rubbed his wrists and stretched his arms, then placed his right elbow on the table. “Come on, old man. Let me embarrass you once again as I did last year.”
“Old man? Who you calling an old man? What are you, two days younger than me? And a lot uglier.”
With that, the two men locked wrists and began the battle. Soon, a crowd of people gathered around. They cheered the men on, yet seemed to favor neither one.
After a few moments of back and forth, grunts and groans, arms tipping one way then the other, the two men broke into wide smiles.
“I think we have drawn a crowd, my friend,” said Mohammed.
“We have. They always want to see the two strongest and most handsome men in the village compete. Plus,” he winked, “the girls all love us.”
Two women stood just outside the circle of people, shaking their heads as they watched the men.
“Do they do this every day?” one said.
“They’ve been doing this every day for years,” answered the other. “My great grandfather will never stop competing until the day he dies. At least today they only arm wrestled. Two weeks ago, they had a horse race into the desert and we thought they were both gone. Then they came riding back together, laughing and joking. They almost killed the horses; the two of them were fine.”
Emma and Emily stood listening to the women and taking in the scene.
“You know, Emily, your little computer sent us here for a good reason. Sometimes, people think the spirit of Christmas is just for the young when it is for the young at heart as well.”
Emily smiled, “One of the most important things people can do to hold onto the Christmas spirit is to keep it even after they are no longer children. But how can one do that? They have responsibilities as they grow older.”
Emma put her hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Remember this always, my precious young one. Age is a state of mind.”
Part X: Remember the past, look forward to the future, live in the moment
Rising over the lower foothills, Emma steered the sleigh toward the heights of the High Atlas Mountains.
“Wouldn’t it be better to go around them?” asked Emily. “They look kind of tall.”
“Where’s the fun in that? And if you think they’re high… well… just wait. People once believed these mountains held up the sky.”
“They did?”
“Indeed, they did. There are many such legends in history. When you think about it, we’re investigating one of those legends… except ours isn’t a legend at all, is it?” Emma smiled, then let the GPS direct them to the next stop.
Emily read from the sign on the front of the building, “Walsh Center for Geriatric Care.” She turned to Emma, “What’s geriatric?”
“It means old. This is a nursing home for the elderly.”
“Hmm, why do you think we’ve been sent here?”
“What say we pop in and find out?” Emma led the way through the door and into a lobby area. Several people—some in wheelchairs, some with canes, some just shuffling along with their hand on the wall—made their way into what looked like a central meeting room.
In front of the room, a DJ played music Emily had never heard before. Some guy named Frank Sinatra was singing a song called My Way. Back in one corner, a few couples stood close together, dancing.
As the song ended, one gentleman stood and walked to the front of the room. He took the microphone from the DJ, then waited for the room to quiet.
“Okay, a couple of announcements. First, as you know, we lost two more friends over the past few days. I’ve received notes from their families about how touched they were by the baskets of letters we sent. So thanks to everyone for doing that.
“Next month, they will be a family day open house. Invite as many family members as you like. Some of us here don’t have many members left, so let’s share and get a big crowd here to make everyone remember we are all family.”
He paused a moment, pointing at a woman in the front row. “Betty has a few things to add.” He held out the microphone for her.
Betty rolled to the front of the room.
“Thanks, Bert. Now, for those of you interested, we have an outing planned for this summer to the beach. All I need is a list of names for those who are interested, and we’ll take care of all the special arrangements. Our bake sale was so successful this year we even have enough left over to double our donation to the Homeless Shelter. Now, how about we liven it up a bit with some more music and dancing?”
The group broke out into a round of applause and the sounds of Louis Armstrong singing “What a Wonderful World” brought more couples to the dance floor.
Emma tapped Emily on the shoulder, tilting her head for her to follow her back to the sleigh.
“So, what do you think?” she asked.
Emily looked up at her. “Well, I’ll tell you one thing. For a place full of old people, they certainly have a lot of life in them. I mean, dancing, planning trips, running bake sales to raise money. They have more energy than I do.”
Emma laughed. “And you know what else they have?”
“What?”
“A secret.”
“What secret?”
“Another simple one that is key to a happy life and keeping the spirit of Christmas thriving.”
“So?” Emily said. “Aren’t you going to tell me?”
“If you think about it, you’ll figure it out.”
Emily stood next to the sleigh, looking back at the building. The sounds of more music playing and people laughing drifted to her ears. “They love to remember, don’t they? But they also have fun in their lives no matter what. And they still look forward to tomorrow…”
“There you have it, Emily. Their secret is quite simple. Like the two friends in Morocco, they know that age is a state of mind and they Remember the past, look forward to the future, live in the moment.”
Part XI: One of the Few Things Worth Remembering
“Cumberland? Where is Cumberland?” asked Emily.
“it’s a town in Rhode Island, the smallest state,” Emma. “I wonder what we’ll find there?”
The sleigh slowed on the approach into the town, taking them on a circular route around Diamond Hill, over the reservoir, until finally descending into the parking lot of a small pub on Mendon Rd. called McT’s.
“Why are we here?” asked Emily.
“I don’t know, but I know how to find out.” Emma jumped from the sleigh and motioned for Emily to follow. As they got closer to the door, a cacophony of voices greeted them. Laughter mixed with the conversation while music played in the background and groups of people gathered at the various tables or stood at the bar.
The conversations were a varied lot.
“Hey, remember the time we let the goose go in the gym and the janitor had to corner it with a trash barrel?”
“What ever happened to Kevin T? I heard he moved to Australia.”
“How is your mother? I haven’t seen her since we went to the prom and she dropped us off.”
“Can you believe it’s been forty-seven years since we graduated… CHS ’74? Where does the time go?”
Emma tapped Emily on the shoulder, and they headed back out into the parking lot. “Notice anything about the cars here?” she asked.
Emily looked around and shrugged. “They’re just cars.”
“Look again.”
Emily looked at all the cars, seeing nothing that jumped out at her, but then it hit her. The license plates. They were from all over the country. Some as far away as California or Texas. Some were clearly rental cars driven by people from who knows where.
“They’re from all over. Some of these people traveled here from far away.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“I suppose to see friends and family. To revisit a place important to them.”
“That’s exactly it, my dear. You see, the world is full of things that will catch your eye, but only a few will catch your heart. This town has a bit of magic to it. It embeds itself within those who grew up here and plays a big part in making them what they are.” Emma smiled at her little friend. “For most of them, it will always be home. And do you know why?”
Emily thought for a moment. “Well, since this little quest of ours has been about finding the spark that keeps the Christmas Spirit alive, I suppose it is about remembering the important things in our lives and somehow this town is… ahh… worth remembering?”
Emma nodded. “You’ve discovered another important secret about the Christmas Spirit. It is One of the Few Things Worth Remembering…”
Part XII: Hope may be invisible, but it is always with us
Emma sat back in the sleigh, letting the reins go so the reindeer could browse a bit. “So, Emily, what do you think about picking one more place and then heading back?”
“Well, we have gathered quite a bit of information that I can use to build a report for Santa. I think it’s enough. But I’m worried. Suppose we can’t save the Spirit of Christmas, then what?”
“Hand me your laptop. I want to show you one place you might not have noticed in all your data.”
Emma took the computer, looked through a few things, then handed it back. “I think I have just the place to go.” And with the coordinates plugged into the GPS, Emma grabbed the reins and they were off.
While every one of their trips had been quick, this one was in less than a blink of the eye. Emily looked over the edge of the sleigh as they settled onto the roof of Hasbro Children’s Hospital.
“I know this place is wonderful, but many of the kids here are very ill. It’s kind of sad that this happens to them. What will we find here that we don’t already know?”
Emma smiled. “Let’s go see for ourselves if there really are miracles here.”
Wandering through the corridors, they glanced into various rooms. Kids of all ages with all sorts of medical challenges seemed to be everywhere.
“I never realized how many children need this place,” said Emily.
“This and all the hospitals like it… and there is a need for more,” Emma said.
As they turned down the hallway, they came to the Neonatal ICU. Inside, there were babies who seemed almost too small to be real. Parents sat next to many of the covered beds, often holding on to the tiniest of fingers.
Nurses checked the readouts of the machines keeping the babies alive. Doctors drifted in and out, conferring with the nurses. The sounds and sights brought a tear to Emily’s eyes.
“I know this may sound awful,” sobbed Emily, “but it would seem this is the last place we can find an answer to saving the Christmas spirit.”
Emma pulled her tight to her. “On the contrary my dear, this is a place where we have the best chance of saving it.”
Emily wiped the tear from her cheek. “But how, it seems so sad here.”
“It would be, except this place, of all the places in the world, offers the one thing every child, every person, needs. Whether they are ill and in the hospital or dealing with some other troubles in their lives… Hope.”
A smile grew wide on Emily’s face. “Of course, hope. Hope may be invisible, but it is always with us.”
The Day After Christmas: The Last Secret
Climbing back aboard the sleigh, Emily sat quietly, looking up at all the stars.
“So what have we learned?” asked Emma.
Emily remained silent for a long moment, gathering her thoughts. “Well, it would seem the real secret to keeping the spirit of Christmas is simple. Each place we went taught us something. Here’s what I learned.”
Celebrate what you had, and what you have, don’t focus on what you’ve lost
The joy of gifts is in the giving.
Better to have one real friend than hundreds of pretend ones.
Our challenges do not define us, but how we face them does
Happiness exists only when it is shared with others
Age is a state of mind
Remember the past, look forward to the future, live in the moment
Be one of the few things worth remembering
Hope may be invisible, but it is always with us
“All of that is true, my dear. But there is one more thing to learn.” She picked up the reins, then, with a wink of her eye that reminded Emily of Santa, said, “You might want to hold on.” And with that, the sleigh rocketed straight into the sky… and kept going. At about 50,000 thousand feet, they released the reindeer.
“Ah, don’t we need them to fly?” Emily asked.
“Most of the time. We will come back for them later. They like being free once in a while. We’ve made some modern additions to the sleigh… we just haven’t told Santa yet.” Emma uncovered a secret compartment. “Let’s keep this part of the trip to ourselves, okay?” She winked, then pushed a black button.
The sleigh rocketed above the earth so far that the world appeared a shiny blue marble in the blackness of space.
“Tell me what you see, Emily.”
Emily glanced at Emma, then relaxed her death grip on the sleigh. “Is that the Earth?”
“It is indeed, and what do you see?”
“Well, I see the oceans and the continents and clouds.”
“Now what is it you don’t see?”
“Don’t see? I don’t understand, Emma. What do you mean?”
“Do you see borders, or boundaries, or fences? Do you see tribes, or countries, or races?”
“No, of course not.”
That’s because all of that is artificial. All fabricated. None of it matters when you look at it from this perspective. We are all people of earth on a small blue marble in a universe full of wonder and magic.”
“So all those things we learned really are everywhere if we just know how to look for them?”
“That’s it, Emily. When it comes to the spirit of Christmas, often we miss the most important aspect. You see, my dear, if you focus on what is wrong you miss all the good in the world. And with magical things like the Christmas Spirit, There are some things in the universe that cannot be measured, they have to be experienced.
“Everyone leads different lives. Sometimes it is full of joy, sometimes sorrow, but as long as we remember to hold on to hope, there is always tomorrow for dreams to come true. Now why don’t you take another look at your data there and tell me what you see.”
Emily opened her laptop, and green dots covered the map. There were still a few red dots, and she knew now that there always would be, but they would come and go in the face of hope.
“What say we head back to Christmas Town and let everybody know we solved the problem,” said Emma. “Oh, and one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Let’s let Santa believe the whole thing was his idea. I like to let him believe he’s in charge.”
Emily laughed. “Okay, Emma, this will be our little secret.”
And with that, they gathered up the reindeer and flew back home, where Emily would let Santa give everyone the good news.
Thus ends the story of The Day After Christmas. I hope you’ve enjoyed this little jaunt into my imagination and that your Christmas or Hanukkah or whatever it is you celebrate is everything you want it to be.
Merry Christmas 2021, Joe Broadmeadow
P.S. Take a moment to read this last thought before you drift off to sleep and dream of sugarplums…you’ll be rewarded at the end with another cute picture of my grandson!
Thought on this Christmas Eve (reprinted from 2017)
I often look back on some of the things I’ve written. Sometimes, I cringe at what I released into the wild, and then sometimes I think, you know, not half bad, Joe, not half bad… And so with that in mind, on this Christmas Eve 2021, the 65th time I’ve experienced this magical day, I repost something I wrote several years ago, on Christmas Eve, 2017. I hope you find it at least not half bad…
JOE BROADMEADOW
On September 21, 1897, the editor of New York’s Sun newspaper captured the spirit of Christmas with these words,
“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus…”
Seven words with an unanticipated longevity to the truth they proclaimed. The answer to a question from an 8-year-old girl.
This 8-year-old girl, facing life’s reality, sort reassurance from the authority of a newspaper. Imagine the quandary facing that editor, tell the truth or chip away at innocence?
He demonstrated great wisdom. He told the truth. A truth that holds to this day.
“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus…”
This is a spirit different than religious traditions. It is a non-denominational phenomenon crossing cultural boundaries and containing a powerful message.
It is easy to lose hope in this world. One begins to wonder if evolution has slowed when it comes to the humanness of humankind.
Or given up on us entirely.
Despite this I say, now more than ever, yes there is a Santa Claus. Even among those who hold no such traditions. The spirit lives in the commonality of our being human.
All we need is a willingness to give for the sake of giving. To seek our happiness by making others happy.
We can share the experience of watching the wonder in the eyes of a small child. See the spark of the spirit come alive and grow within them. Embrace the comfort of old friendships, the warmth of family, or just the companionship of a good dog (but never a cat…okay, a cat as well.)
We all yearn to make others happy and feel the satisfaction of bringing joy to those we love. Or those we are yet to meet.
We can find solace in those same words; Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.
It is within us all. All we need do is open our minds.
So, no matter where your tradition comes from. Be it a generous caring man of a different era, proclaimed a Saint, and turned into the legend of Santa Claus. Or a celebration of another tradition with equal import to your memories. Whatever you celebrate, in this Christmas season and from here on, I wish for you;
To have no regrets except for things you didn’t do.
To never to be afraid of failing at anything, except failing to try.
To remember the past, but waste no time on it.
To look forward to the future, but understand you cannot control it.
To hold onto hope, no matter what.
To embrace your moments in this life, once past they can never be reclaimed.
To find what fills your heart with smiles and have it grow, like the Grinch’s, three sizes this day.
To find that childlike spirit long buried by the cares of the real world.
To let the shackles of growing up fall away.
To dance like Snoopy to the music of Schroeder.
To understand, like Linus, it is the spirit that matters.
To know there is always tomorrow for dreams to come true. Even on your last day on this earth, the dreams of those we leave behind live on.
To work for a future of a world filled with laughter.
To understand it is through our differences we share the commonality of being human.
To be a child again, if but for one moment. To hear the far-off sounds of jingling bells. To see a faint red light of a magical reindeer approaching in the cold winter sky. To feel the excitement at the footsteps of a jolly old man on the roof of your memories.
The best part of the Spirit of Christmas is it is within our power to keep it well all the rest of our days.
Happy Christmas to all and to all a lifetime of good nights!
Imagine every sound you hear could be something trying to kill you. Imagine being alone in the dark—cold, hungry, without shelter yet better off than the place where you suffered unimaginable torment. Imagine having to fight for every moment of your survival.
This is the life Dexter, a sweet lovable dog, endured for many months until he was rescued and rehabilitated by two remarkable people, Steve and Dr. Dru Pollinger.
This is their story…
EXCERPT
Through the big picture window of our animal hospital, I see an unfamiliar car pulling up to the front entrance. My plan was to have the leash handed off to me and immediately go for a walk that would begin to build a bond. Little could I have imagined the large crate that is carried out of the back of the vehicle and into the reception area.
In person, Florence is nicely dressed, fortyish, very sweet, with a concerned expression on her face. She introduces herself and Mark. Mark seems amicable, with somewhat of a more commanding presence. Our greetings being said, I am now anxious to meet Dexter who is confined in this cage.
I’m suspicious of the fact that he is not leashed. He appears terrified. He is standing up, head down, tail between his legs, ears hung low, and he is unwilling to make eye contact with me. Will this plan for an immediate walk be the right one? I don’t think so, but I will try to engage him. Further conversation is not something that I am desirous of right now.
I say to Mark, “No leash?” He responds by pulling one from his pocket, opens the cage door, and with great difficulty, slides it around Dexter’s neck. There is no aggression coming from him, but much more fear in his body language than I anticipated.
I take the leash and gently pull Dexter out. It is time for them to go and for me to begin my work. Florence hands me the paperwork regarding Dexter, and I let her know we’ll be in touch.
“Dex” is reddish-brown in color and resembles a beagle lab cross. He is medium-sized with stout legs, a long, thick tail, and droopy ears – but it is his face and his gaze that grip you. Numerous puncture scars cover the lips, muzzle, and the fossa between his eyes. His tear ducts have been damaged, and he subsequently suffers from tear overflow. His right ear has a large black hairless patch where it folds over. The front legs show linear scars arranged in a diagonal pattern. The right hind limb has a two-inch black patch of skin that never healed properly. He walks clumsily with a subtle left front lameness and his hind-end sways, perhaps from hip or back trauma. His right rear toes drag when one watches his gait from behind. There are no visible marks on his belly or back. He never rolled over in submission! In his quest for food, he may easily have encountered raccoons or a bobcat – who knows? Could he have been hit by a car – possibly? Was he caught in barbed wire fencing? We can only surmise, but we do know that no one was there to help him. His body slowly healed on its own, leaving only traces of the trauma he endured. Perhaps his earliest days were even worse, with beatings; as we will come to know with certainty later on, he was never socialized, only maligned. It is the hand approaching his face that terrorizes him…
Written by Steve and Dr. Dru Pollinger, VMD with Helayne Rosenblum
Cover Design by Jeff Slater, Slater Creative LLC.
Imagine
every sound you hear could be something trying to kill you.
Imagine
being alone in the dark—cold, hungry, without shelter yet better off than the place where you suffered unimaginable torment.
Imagine
having to fight for every moment of your survival.
Imagine
For Dexter, that was the life he led for many months. Alone, often starving, without shelter, afraid of any contact with people. He bore the scars of unimaginable abuse. Yet, the only thing that could save him were the same beings who caused him such agony—people. And he feared them even more than the predators he avoided daily.
Enter Steve Pollinger and his wife, Dr. Dru Pollinger, VMD, a resourceful veterinarian.
Learning about Dexter’s circumstances, they devised a plan to rescue this beautiful dog And that is exactly what they did. Come along on a journey from the darkness of an abused dog’s seemingly hopeless situation to his resurrection.
An unforgettable journey of hope in an often-uncaring world. This story will restore your faith in the fundamental goodness within people.
I Am Dexteris the culmination of the Pollinger’s long experience in treating animals brought to bear in a most touching recovery story of a wonderful dog named Dexter.
Assisted by Helayne Rosenblum, the Pollingers weave a wonderful story—-told from not only their perspective but from Dexter’s as well through their intimate understanding of animal behavior—of the rescue, rehabilitation, and restoration of Dexter to a healthy, happy member of the Pollinger pack.
This story will restore your faith in the fundamental goodness within people.
Praise for I Am Dexter
..magnificent—a true love story. I want to reread tomorrow again. It’s a love story on so many levels. It was emotional for me as I could also relate to Dexter. I was orphaned at age 12. Not abused, just abandoned. It was hard to read about the pool concrete incident. Hard to get that picture out of my head… magnificent writing.
Cheryl – Financial Controller PVCA Solar, California
Available soon in Print and eBook versions on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and everywhere books are sold. Contact the publisher for pre-release copies and special group rates for book clubs or other organizations.
The story about Bobby Walason’s early life is one of the saddest I had ever heard.
As I wrote in the book,
“This story casts a light onto the ebb and flow of a dark side of American society, a look at the forces that play havoc with lives that go adrift on the streets of all our cities.“
Joe Broadmeadow, UnMade: Honor Loyalty Redemption
But such stories, it turns out, are all too common in our country. Most of those kids never survived the streets. Yet, it turns out, a few did.
I encourage you to click the link below and read the blog by Craig Desorcy. His story, his experiences, and how he, though sheer determination, found a way not only to survive but to thrive is inspirational. He chose to follow a different path, not surrender to his circumstances, and uses his experiences to help others.
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.
In 2016, 62,984,828 Americans voted for Donald Trump, a mostly unknown albeit suspect political commodity. Perhaps it was the frustration with the existing system and the perception they needed to send a clear message they wanted change.
Most were sincere in seeking change; but some sought a return to the days of white hegemony and cultural homogeneity, longing for a delusive memory of a better America.
But whatever the reason, Mr. Trump won, and the country soon came to understand what it had done to itself.
It didn’t take long for a rise of white supremacist groups, ignored at best or encouraged at worst by the President, to rise up all over this country and show the dark underbelly of the nation.
Now, four years later, armed with the painful memories of shooting ourselves in the foot to support a man who clearly assumed a position way beyond his snake-oil salesman abilities, 70,903,094 (and still counting, although thankfully it won’t matter) Americans voted for that same train wreck of a President.
In 2016, many of those who voted for Trump could be forgiven since, to borrow a line used before another injustice, “they know not what they do.”
In 2020, there is no such excuse.
Maybe those of us who think of America as a nation of civility and tolerance are going the way of the dinosaurs.
Those of us who yearned for the respect and admiration of the world, not their fear.
Those of us who see science as the way to the future, not an inconvenient truth to be mocked and ignored.
Those of us who seek to embrace our differences, not suppress or subjugate those with whom we differ.
Those of us who long for tolerance and openness.
Those of us who see the greatness of America not in our military power, but in the character of those of us willing to defend this nation against those who would do us harm. They act as defenders, not conquerors.
Those of us who would then offer those same enemies a path back into the global community.
Those of us who are outraged by violent protests against those of different philosophies.
Those of us who are offended by white (or any other) supremacy,
Those who remember our cultural melting pot makes America unique globally.
Those who do not seek to homogenize the country by forcing everyone to our own image.
Maybe those of us, confused by so many of our fellow Americans embracing the tired old philosophies of nationalism, militarism, and global confrontation, are the ones fading into history.
Maybe our time has run its course, and the virus of intolerance has rendered this country unable to sustain our multicultural society.
Image Huff Post
If this is our new reality, I fear the promise of an America with a long future ahead will follow us into the fog of history.
We will be the vestiges of a once-thriving experiment uncovered by those seeking to answer what happened.
America deserves better than this. The world now knows the dark secret of this once-promising nation. And, as long as the potential for such a repeat of self-destruction exists, they will see us with a jaundiced eye. They will no longer look to us as a beacon of hope but as a bellwether of lost promise and the faded shadow of a better future.
In 2016, America lost its moral compass. While we may not have drifted as far into the darkness like some other nations in history, we were teetering on the brink.
And over 70 million Americans voted for us to stay the course. SEVENTY MILLION!
Once our Presidents accepted the will of the people with grace and humility, calling upon our better angels. Now one summons the devils of our own destruction.
We can only hope this election was not the last desperate grasp of rationality but a portent of a return to our higher calling. But we would be wise to be vigilant to our own potential for self-destruction.
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.
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Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings and learn to fly All your life You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
Blackbird by John Lennon & Paul McCartney
(Some thoughts on life and nature. Brought to you by the sacrifice of others we remember this Memorial Day)
A tiny baby blackbird, apparently fallen from its nest, drew my attention the other day. One of the adult birds, male or female I could not tell but I assumed it was the mother, attended to the little guy on the ground. I couldn’t tell if it was a scolding or an encouragement to stay brave, so I continued to watch.
Nature and Life
The adult flew off, leaving the little guy hopping and fluttering on the ground, unable to fly and pleading for its mother to return.
Often the drama of nature is right before our eyes. It is not where you look but when. I just happened to look at the moment this drama unfolded.
My first instinct was to do something. Return it to the nest, care for it until it could fly. My wife and daughter often tease me about my need to help. They say I am a boy scout. In many ways, they are correct. Something inside me compels me to do something, even when I am uncertain of what to do.
Like the case of a bird fallen from a nest and the reality of nature.
I struggled with the choice but decided I should let fate and nature take its course. The stark reality of life, and its ultimate logic, is if you can’t fend for yourself, you perish. Nature is not cruel, it is not heartless; it is agnostic to survival.
Some live, some die.
But I was still troubled by not doing anything to help a fellow living creature.
Perhaps it is not that nature is indifferent about life, about who or what lives or dies. Perhaps nature knows life is a continuity of existence that goes on forever. Whether we have self-determination—free will—to live our lives or whether it is all pre-destination, in the end, doesn’t really matter. Life preceded us, and life will continue after us.
As it would for this little guy.
In this case, the boy scout won out, and I captured the little guy, returning him to his nest. For the rest of the day, the two adults took turns calling to the little one who answered back but clung firmly to a branch just outside the nest.
If he chose not to fly, or could not, he would perish, and other living creatures would feed off his body. If he flew off, he might live a long life. I will probably never know if my interceding extended his life for just a moment or if he is now enjoying the freedom of flight.
If someday hence, I come out to find evidence of a bird’s excretions on my windshield, I’ll take it as a sign that while his life may or may not have continued, life does.
I hope the little guy gets to leave his mark on many windshields and flies long and far under a warm summer sky.
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“The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails.”
William Arthur Ward
We have before us one of those moments in history where we face a great upheaval. Often such times are defined by war, ours results from evolution—a mutated virus.
Now in such times we have a choice. We can bemoan the social distancing and shelter-in-place measures necessary to limit the spread of the virus, or we can look for the opportunities within. Wailing and gnashing of teeth about how difficult this is does little to salve our discontent. Crying about the unfairness is a waste of effort. Ignoring the measures out of a selfish sense of inverted priorities is to threaten family, friends, and the whole of the nation.
As a wise woman was fond of saying, “Life’s not Fair.” That wise woman was my mother and I know, were she alive today, if confronted with someone complaining about the situation would tell them to “get over it and stop acting like a two-year-old.”
Instead of focusing on what you can’t do, focus on the fact you have an opportunity—and the time — to do things that often get left aside in our 7X24 connected world.
Write a letter to a friend, relative, or perhaps a person in the service serving their country in a far-off place unable to be here with their family.
Read a book. Read a book to someone, even if they are far away, put Facetime or some other modern form of communication to a good use.
Take a class on-line.
Visit a zoo thru the wonders of webcams.
Go for a walk (if you can do so without coming closer the 6 feet from others)
Write that great American Novel everyone seems to want to do.
Listen to music. Really listen to music, not as background to your day, but to recapture the essence of why music “has charms to soothe the savage breast.” I find in moments of difficulties listening to the music of my youth is a tonic for the soul.
Write a song, write a poem, list the things you will do when the world recovers. And then do them when the opportunity arises.
Sit outside and look for shapes in the clouds.
Write a diary of these moments so, decades from now, you can remember the things you did and how you overcame any tendency to whine and complain.
Free your mind. Now is the time to awaken or reawaken the magic of imagination, of all things in this universe, it has no limit.
Stay well, stay in, stay safe. This too shall pass.
inconvenient [in-kuhn-veen-yuhnt]
not easily accessible or at hand.
Inopportune; untimely
not suiting one's needs or purposes.
Let’s keep our wits about us and put this in perspective. The reality of this pandemic is a serious, but manageable health risk. There are uncertainties, but this can be mitigated with simple common sense. Let’s leave the politics of blame until after the entire story is told.
Most of the effort will be little more than an inconvenience. Yet the reaction by many, from hoarding like it’s Armageddon to wailing and whining because they cancel sports events, underscores just how selfish a society we’ve become.
There will be many who will bear the brunt of the real burden, i.e. hourly workers, waitstaff, etc. those who most people never give a second thought to. For them it will be more than an inconvenience, but for the overwhelming majority of us that is what it will be.
An inconvenience.
There’s a meme making the rounds which says it best…
“Your Grandparents were asked to go to war, you’re being asked to stay home and sit on your couch. Calm down, Sweetpea!”
The virus is here. There is little we can do about that. But there are simple steps everyone can take to do their part and prevent the virus from spreading.
It may involve a whole two weeks of staying home. That’s a far cry from years away from home, without the instant communication of today’s world, fighting a war.
Sometimes circumstances require Americans to come together as a nation, now is one of them. Don’t just think of your own well-being, but consider the well-being of the nation.
That is American greatness, and that is how we will weather this storm.
