SATURDAY'S SHORT STORY

THE BOX

The minute the man bolted inside her shop, Jessica recognized him and heaved a heavy sigh. She had hoped never to see him again.

     "Hello, Mr. Palance. I see you've brought back the box."

    

     "Yes." His voice growled. "I don't care if it was free, I'm giving it back. I should have known something was fishy. Who owns a store and gives things away?"

     "Very well. I did promise if you weren't satisfied you could return it.."

     As he watched her hide the box under the counter, he scolded, "You shouldn't give this box to anyone else, Miss Kirsten. It's cursed, I tell you. It's brought me nothing but problems."

     "I am sorry things didn't work out for you. The last time you were here, you told me things had never been better. You even mentioned meeting a special lady. I reminded you then, you needed to give the box away."

     Mr. Palance rubbed the stubble on his chin, "Yes, that's true. I just couldn't part with it. In the beginning, nothing went wrong. Money was pouring in. So  I made sure the box was never out of my sight, for fear the spell would be broken. Then suddenly everything went wrong. My business partner embezzled thousands of dollars and it's going to take years before it's resolved in the courts. I'm facing bankruptcy. My girlfriend turned out to be the kind of woman who expected me to buy her expensive jewelry and wine and dine her every night." He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.

     "Why did you keep the box? That wasn't part of the agreement. I told you it would only hold its magic for a short while. Then it was vital for you to give the box away and specify the conditions. That's the tradition. It's a way for other people to have the same opportunity to prosper, just as you did."

     "I wasn't going to give up something that was bringing me good fortune. It's a useless piece of junk now. I've taken all it had to give." Without saying anything else he stormed out the front door.

     A little while later, a young girl entered the shop and gave Jessica a warm smile, "Oh what a lovely little store. It's so enchanting." She exclaimed as she walked around.

     "Thank you. Is there something special I can help you find?"

     "I'm looking for a special gift for someone who needs a little joy in her life."

     "Perhaps you may be interested in this." Jessica reached behind the counter and presented the young girl with the box Mr. Palance had returned.

     The girl made a frown as she examined it. "This looks like an  ordinary old box."

     "Yes, it's age is quite authentic. "It's been said the box will bring luck and good fortune to anyone who is willing to give it away. I must warn you. Once a person has it, it will be extremely difficult to part with it. Their lives will dramatically change.. However, the box will only be magical for its owner for a short while. He or she will have to give it away so that someone else will prosper. So you must be sure the new owner understands the conditions and consequences."

     "Something like a tradition that's passed on from generation to generation, only you don't have to wait to pass it along."

     "Exactly." Jessica smiled in approval. "If you are not happy with the box, you may return it at any time."

     "I hate spending money on an old box." She examined the box closer. "It does have a unique design on it.."

     "Oh, there isn't any charge for it. Remember if you and your friend give the box away, you are guaranteed happiness and good fortune.."

     "You know I think I'll take it.  I'm going to place little wishes inside the box for her. Thank you so much."

     "I'm sure that alone will bring her magic." Jessica smiled as she handed the girl the box. This time Jessica knew she wouldn't be getting the box back.

     

     

MOTIVATIONAL MONDAY

'DON'T FORGET - NO ONE ELSE SEES THE WORLD THE WAY YOU DO, SO NO ONE ELSE CAN TELL THE STORIES THAT YOU HAVE TO TELL. - Charles de Lin


Today is the day to start doing what you love. If you like to draw or paint or quilt, start something new today. Although the quote is meant to motivate writers, this can apply to all of you, no matter what your passions are.

Each of you has a story to tell. You can paint it, draw it, write it or quilt it. Same with Bubba's shrimp in Forrest Gump. There's a lot of things you can do with shrimp.

Take the flower I posted above.  If all of you wrote about what you see; what you feel .no one's creation would be the same. Isn't that kind of miraculous? As an example, we have the same components on our face: nose, eyes, lips, etc. Yet, we all look different from each other. (Except for twins, of course), but this isn't about genetics.

If I were painting this flower,  I'd paint it the way my heart feels. Shimmery, silver, glittery white against a midnight blue sky.

If I were writing a story about this flower, this would be a magical flower. Anyone who touched it would receive a special gift.

Or  I'd explain the meaning of the token of love someone gave me, pressed between the pages of my memories.

Maybe  I'd just write about Nature's perfect beauty in all its simplicity.

Allow your imagination to soar, your heart to sing and share it. There are so many people in the world who need your words of comfort; your enthusiasm to appreciate life to the fullest. They may need Your MAGIC.

Don't be afraid to express your emotions on paper or canvas. It's better than therapy, whether you're painting a picture, creating a story, or sewing a beautiful quilt of flowers.

It's great to be blogging again. Personal Writes will be on a varied schedule, but you can look forward to different postings.

Please feel free to share your creations with me and how you get motivated.

Would love to hear from you.



Blessings to All.

Jeanette


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LIFE'S DETOURS--THEY DON'T HAVE TO BE DEAD ENDS.

Last year my publishing career as an author came to a complete stop. 

Due to a detached retina, I was unable to see, let alone write.  It was a devastating year going through the surgeries and waiting periods.

I am one of the lucky ones. My surgeries were successful and my site is now restored. It will never be the way it was, but I am blessed. I AM WRITING AGAIN. I am ecstatic.

I took my eyesight for granted. Now I know what some people go through and the helplessness they feel when they find themselves in darkness or only see shadows. It provided me with a life long lesson.

During this time I had exhausted almost every audiobook in the market. I couldn't watch television, couldn't read and couldn't write. I was bored out of my mind.

I found an old cigar box and started painting it. I blended colors and played around with it. and I made this whimsical box. I didn't use a stencil and drew it freehand. That's why it's not perfect. I couldn't believe I could do it...me who had never painted or drawn a picture in my life.

I

This led me to make more keepsake boxes. I call them Treasure Keepers by JLD Creations. Now I've expanded to cigar purses and I sell them at craft fairs. 

My loss of sight was a detour which led me to a hobby that's been therapeutic and rewarding.

I encourage all of you who have had detours to look beyond that dead end. Find something else that will make your heart sing.

Please share how you've faced challenges and how you found another road  to express yourself.

Blessings,

Jeanette

The Feast of St. Joseph's



St. Joseph is one of the most beloved saints among Italian-Americans. As the patron of workers and the protector of the family, he's honored with a feast on March 19th.

A table is blessed by a priest presiding over a statue of St. Joseph. A stalk of lily blossoms, votive candles and a lace tablecloth are used to decorate the feast table. All are invited to partake of the traditional meal of pasta with a meatless sauce, fish, St. Joseph's egg bread, and Italian pastries. Optional donations are given at the table and given to the poor.

Keep in mind this is an open house, free food for friends, family, and strangers.Can you imagine the amount of food that had to be made? Our backyard looked like a fair. And as a child,  I HATED IT. I thought it was boring and more importantly, I didn't believe in praying to him. 

Then, like all of us, I had a year of holy hell.  I prayed to God, to Jesus, and nothing. He wasn't listening.
How could God allow this to happen to me? I had done nothing wrong! My mother kept reassuring me to have faith. I didn't, not anymore.

A few months later, my mother took me to the Sons of Italy for the Feast of St. Joseph on March 19th. I almost laughed out loud, but again, to please her, I attended.

The feast table was massive and in the middle was the largest statue of St. Joseph I'd ever seen. I mocked it. I talked to it disrespectfully, "I don't believe in you. But I'll make you a deal. You answer my prayers and I'll honor your day for the rest of my life...but ONLY if you give me some kind of tangible proof."

On March 19th, the following year, all my prayers had been answered. And believe me, they were massive requests. Since that time, he's been gracious to answer many more of my prayers: for my husband to find employment, for my step-son's healing, and for countless of other requests for my friends and family.

He denied me once in 2009. And I'm still praying.I can't believe only when everything is going my way. It's my turn to prove my faith to him.

This year I'm celebrating my 35th year, hosting the feast of St. Joseph. Join me if you can. March 23, 2014 and RSVP me.

It never hurts to believe in miracles.

PERSONAL WRITES: You Must Be the Change..

"You must be the change you wish to see in the world." - Gandhi

Like many of you, I am a Baby Boomer. I'm also a Flower Child of the sixties and I can't help but wonder what happened to all of us?

I believed we would be the generation that would change the world into a loving and peaceful universe.





We, as a united country and nation, need to take a closer look and resolve this problem. Boundaries have to be established NOW.

No weapons, licensed or otherwise, should be allowed inside schools, recreational family areas, movie theaters, malls, etc.

Airports don't allow a passenger to carry any weapons.

When I was in Europe in 2004, banks had one entrance and everything, including purses, wallets, keys, were placed in a locker before you could get inside the bank. Once you conducted your banking, you were led to another exit to the lobby where you could get to your locker. Everything inside was bulletproof. I remember thinking then that it was a little extreme. Well, I've changed my mind and think they were much smarter than us and much more proactive.

If it means we have to install equipment in every establishment, I'm willing to pay it because life is much more precious to me than anything else.

After what happened at The Groves movie theater this week, I'm forced to face reality. Violence is becoming more common in our world. I don't ever remember fearing for my safety if I entered a mall, a movie, or a school. As a pacifist, I've never believed in guns and I still don't. I do understand that we have a freedom that's priceless and I respect the right to carry a concealed and licensed weapon. But too much has happened in recent years for me to feel comfortable about it.

 A man was killed by a trusted, retired officer of the law, because of a petty argument. If this man hadn't been allowed to bring a gun inside, the argument could have been handled differently. It's too easy to pull out that revolver when tempers are flaring. It's too easy to pull a trigger when someone on the road cuts you off or tail gaits you.

Yes,  I want to have the right to defend myself in my home. Yes, I want everyone to keep their rights, but I don't want lives to be taken when other people are violating those rights. Too many people are getting away with murder. And I hope this man's attorney doesn't get him off on an insanity plea.

I'd like some feedback. Nothing angry, just open discussion. It's okay to disagree with me. Maybe we can come up with a resolution that will make everyone happy and a lot safer.

Peace be with you.

Fill Your Paper With The Breathings of Your Heart - William Wordsworth

Welcome to my new Blog: PERSONAL WRITES. This site will still be as up close and personal in sharing as much of my heart as humanly possible.

I hope all of you had a great Holiday. I was blessed this year to spend Christmas Eve with my Italian side of the family in Tampa. It made my heart sing and my head spin with the beautiful noise of Italians speaking over each other, hands moving in different directions just to make a point, and the room getting louder and louder by the minute. I loved every minute and thanked God I was there with them. So, I’m thanking my cousin Debbie for opening her heart and home to all of us. And I won’t make your mouth water by describing all the great food.

Believe it or not, this was the first time my son and his wife had the opportunity to celebrate Christmas with that side of the family. When he was little, he spent those holidays with his father. As an adult, my son would divide himself every other year at one house in Indiana or mine. And for all these years, I’ve always hosted a Christmas Eve at my house, so it was always a conflict to be with the Italians.

 I am so grateful to have been invited to be a part of that side of my family. I’ve missed that vitality and sincere demonstration of love in its purest form since my mother died.  Italians don’t hold anything back, as my previous blogs have demonstrated in a quieter way. You can’t always hear my words or see my hands moving, but I’m hoping you can feel them.

My husband, on the other hand, was huddled in a corner, holding his head in his hands, to block the noise and confusion. He claimed he was getting a headache. I merely asked him to pretend he was at the clubhouse at Southport, drinking with his buddies yelling across the table to be heard over the music. It’s the same thing, right?

On Christmas Day, my beautiful daughter by marriage to Dave, hosted a wonderful dinner at her house. Again, I felt blessed to be with my husband’s side of the family and having my son and daughter-in-law with me as well. Two holidays in a row, I was beside myself.

I made manicotti from scratch with tomato sauce and Cathy, Dave’s ex-wife, brought the steaks. Yes, isn’t that wonderful?  We had all recently taken a cruise together celebrating Dave’s 60^th birthday and it resulted in opening more doors to include everyone in the Dundas Household. To me this is the real gift we all shared on Christmas Day. We were joined in love and gratitude for all of our blessings.  I thought about Granny Mom that day because she had always been the thread that bonded us together. She would have been so proud to have seen us all in such harmony. Personally, I believe she did.

Now the New Year is upon us and all I can say is Be Kind, Be Loving and most of all Be Forgiving.

Resolutions

"You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream."
         C.S. Lewis
   
As the New Year began, like many of you, I made my usual list of resolutions: Of course I wanted to lose more weight and vowed to exercise more. When I finished writing everything, I realized I had written a full page of dreams. It felt more like a bucket list and all of them were revolved around my writing. I almost laughed out loud; still having dreams at my age, until I remembered the quote from C.S. Lewis. And my spirit was once again renewed in believing that I could do everything on that list. But setting goals and keeping them are two different things and as we all know life gets in the way of lists, plans, and blogging.

The good news is that I made goals that were reasonable and reachable. I did lose weight and with that also lost my high blood pressure &  high cholesterol.

Now we're in April and the time has gotten away from me. So much left to do.

The full completion of my first novel,"Finding Summer" is still in progress but there is light at the end of this tunnel and hope you will follow my new journey as I share the trials and errors of writing and publishing.

 Until next time, keep building your dreams.

Dancing In Thanks

Giving thanks is not always as easy as it sounds especially for those who are suffering a terrible illness or facing difficult circumstances. Perhaps they've lost their jobs or even the roof over their heads. Others may be struggling just to put food on the table. Surprisingly, these are the ones who are fervent in their thanks and gratitude.

I was thinking about this as I was stuffing my face with turkey, and all the other traditional side dishes. It was easy for me to say a prayer of thanks for all my blessings. I was surrounded by loving friends and I was blessed again when my extended family including my son and his wife joined us for left-overs. Our dining room table was filled with love, laughter and perfect harmony.

There were also memories of those I  lost who were no longer physically sitting at my dinner table. But, I can still see their smiles; feel their spirit and remember all the prayers they said for me and my family. I believe they still are. After all, they've got Higher Connections now.

There's always an extra chair. It remained empty but I never stop praying that one day she will surprise us all with her beautiful smile and loving heart and say, "I'm back."  No matter where I am or what I'm doing I always miss her.

I'm in constant prayer for her and realize I'm asking for a miracle.I'm sure God has answered me over and over again and I refuse to listen to what He's telling me. For some reason He's telling me "NO. It's not the right time." But when? I ask with a desperation that threatens my faith.

Maybe it's the Italian in me and my stubborn traits come out. I'm just not willing to hear the music when things aren't going the way I want them.

I think this may be true for all of us. We get discouraged and even angry in not getting our prayers anwered immediately. We're not used to waiting for anything. We live in a society that doesn't even like to wait in line or wait for our dinner to arrive after a certain amount of time. I believe a very impatient person must have invented the microwave.

Maybe I've lost the KEY: To hear the music and listen to the song down deep in my heart and Hear ONLY His Voice. I suppose many would call this blind faith. A strong belief that no matter how things appear at the moment things will get better and work for our highest good. Believe and ye shall receive. My mother always said to give thanks BEFORE a prayer was answered. And she was so confident and so grateful even before it actually came to pass. She never felt discouraged and remained faithful. Her heart was filled with music and she heard a never ending supply of music only she could hear. I  vow to never stop searching for it; listening for it.

I understand that Giving Thanks isn't reserved for one day and instead of viewing all the things that I don't have or what's missing in my life I will focus on what is right in front of me. Yes, I give thanks for everything and everyone in my life. I'm humbled by all that He has given me. I marvel at the prayers He has answered and duck my head in shame when I hear my negative thoughts.

I believe that every person who has crossed my path has been placed there for a reason. And there must also be a reason for those who aren't beside me at this moment in time. I trust Him. He knows things I can't possibly understand.

So the next time you see me dancing, I'm trying to listen to the music that's buried in my heart; the one that likes to play hide and seek on me. I'm trying to listen to His Voice; His Will, nstead of my own.

Join me next time and if you can hear His music, we'll dance the gift of Thanks and Promise together.

ANGEL IN-LAW

In-laws have been the brunt of comical jokes; a source for songwriters and an easy target for movies like "Monster-In-Law.  Portrayed by Jane Fonda, she  gave the audience a vivid picture of someone who was unbearable and manipulative.

I've heard horror stories from friends and family members whose own mothers-in-law subjected them to ridicule and open hostility. I adore my mother-in-law. My special name for her is, Granny Mom.

Long before I fell in love with my husband, Dave, I fell in love with her first. I thought if he had only half of her many qualities, he'd be perfect. Of course, back then, I didn't realize he'd also have half of his father's characteristics. (Just kidding).

I've learned a lot from this genteel soft-spoken Southern lady. She never says anything unkind and has taught me tolerance and commitment. Her mantra has been: "I may not always like my husband, but I will always be in-love with him."  She is the personification of a devoted wife and mother; self-sacrificing and unselfish and placing everyone else's needs above her own. 

She can discuss sensitive topics with intelligence and tact. Even at 89 years old, she has an open mind and a desire to learn as much as she can. Her mind is as sharp as a tack; her heart still tender and though her body is now frail and weak, she finds strength to carry her husband's coffee to him every morning on a tray.

Because of her, our dinner table is filled with animated conversation and sometimes heated debates. You would love to be a fly on the wall, hearing her and her son going back and forth. She is a strong Democrat and my husband listens to Rush. Need I say more?

She has been such a comfort to me;  tolerant of my faults and sincerely loving me in spite of them. Without fail, she is gracious and compassionate and always makes me feel appreciated.

The truth is, whatever I've given her, she has given it back ten-fold. I've been blessed in having this beautiful soul in my life. 

I don't know many people who can claim to have an Angel-In-Law.

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN......

When my Nanna died of cancer in October of 1977 I had too much on my plate to deal with losing one of the most influential people in my life. Though the pain was staring at me like a plate full of disgusting Brussel sprouts, rather than eating it and digesting it, I shoved it all around my plate and separated it in a little compartment. I locked it up. I covered it without giving myself the time to heal by placing a napkin over it. Like Scarlett,

My Nanna on the far left with my Momma and my son David as an infant.

"I would think about it tomorrow". I would cry my eyes out tomorrow.

Tomorrow never came and I robbed my Nanna of something she deserved: My undivided heart. I was numb and I moved on with my life like a robot because the grand-daughter she loved more than life was too self-absorbed in her own personal problems; a pregnancy; a pending divorce; a custody battle and a search for a job without a penny to my name, not to mention having to buy a car.

On the day of my Nanna's funeral, I wasn't allowed the dignity of mourning her passing. A process server found me by her gravesite and handed me my divorce papers. But that was no excuse. How self-centered of me! She deserved more from me and it's past time for me to make amends. I have no doubt that she forgave me.  I'm the one who never forgave myself.

I've been told that I take after her. I hope so. Maybe there is something to be said about that old gene pool. She was always ready to go anywhere at any time in a moment's notice. Despite the generation gap, she was the one who went with me to the USF campus to hear Mark Lane speak about his book and the assassination of JFK. My Nanna is the one who marched with me through downtown Tampa in protest of what happened at Kent State.

This woman had no fear; no reservations in speaking her mind and more importantly in following her heart. She enlightened my definition of truth because it isn't always absolute. She didn't follow; she liked to lead. She wasn't a Democrat or a Republican; she voted for the man she felt would make a great leader; one who would be strong enough to carry through on promises that were made and one who would fight to preserve peace. If she was alive today, who would she vote for?  I would venture to guess that she wouldn't vote for either candidate. She would have probably initiated her own campaign, organized a different party and would have promoted a new voice in government. And she would have won. Yes, she was that powerful and yes, I'm exaggerating.

She didn't particularly like to cook but loved to entertain and could set a table fit for a king as long as it was understood that she was the queen that reined. She loved to travel and attended the opera and plays on Broadway; She could discuss politics and make a politician break out in a sweat with her brilliant mind and sharp wit. I witnessed it myself. Her free time wasn't wasted on trivia. She read all the literary classics. Once I saw her take an encyclopedia and read it from cover to cover. She taught herself how to read, write, and speak French, Italian and Spanish. She spoke English as if she were born in America without a trace of an Italian accent.

If I have an ounce of courage or any small measure of her intelligence I consider it a direct blessing from her. If I am an avid reader it's because of her. If I write anything at all, it's because of her encouragement and her faith in me and my ability. Her unconditional love definitely overrated me and my talents. I lack her ambition and her perseverance. I am neither a leader or a follower. I am disorganized and rather scattered where she was neat, organized and highly motivated. Taking action was her mantra.

But, I do have her passion for life; her quest to seek justice and truth by listening to both sides of an argument and to keep an open mind.  No matter how old I am, I still have a desire to learn new things and explore different avenues. What would I have done without this amazing woman who helped my mother raise me? Yes, we are a dramatic lot, us Italians and in our case slightly dysfunctional. But, we knew how to love and laugh and even fight without losing respect for each other. She got so mad at me once, she cut up my Indian moccasins with a pair of scissors. But, the next day, with tears rolling down her face, she patched them together again. Would you believe those shoes became even more special to me? I wore them with pride and a little humor accompanied each and every step I took. How many shoes have a story to tell? That would be an interesting avenue to take. Maybe on another blog.

So, this is for You, my beautiful Nanna - a dedication long over-due. My anguish and guilt; my tears of pain have been replaced with tears of joy and gratitude for having you in my life. I remember your words of wisdom and can hear the sound of your laughter. I can still see the twinkle in your eyes as well as the love behind them. That's a blessing in itself. What I've written today is embedded in my soul; it will travel beyond to other dimensions so that you can feel my love, devotion and respect.  I LOVE YOU NANNA with every beat of my heart. Until We Meet Again...

HOW WOULD YOU PAINT YOUR MOTHER?

Despite my longtime love affair with words we’re now having a tug of war.  I am seriously considering a divorce.  Yes, my mother was patient, understanding, and loving.  But, those don’t adequately describe all and who she was. The words sound flat even to my own ears and don’t touch any part of my soul.  She deserves better than that.

 My memories of her are as vivid as the colors on a palette.  Oh, If only I were an artist.  But, I’ve been told I’m lethal with a brush.  I get paint in my hair and in-between my toes.  Worse, I go outside the lines.  I blame everything on my “free spirit”.
  

Determined, I envision a blank canvas.  I close my eyes and see an explosion of colors. That’s what my momma was, spontaneous and electric.  My fingers twitch as I see splashes of reds and burnt oranges across a magnificent blue sky.  It mirrors her bold and beautiful spirit. Her gift in understanding people made her appear more streetwise than what she was and it hid her innocence and vulnerability.

  I’ve sheathed her frame in a shimmering light green for her ability to put herself in other people’s shoes and having a compassionate and forgiving heart.   Her presence offered tranquility and peace; Courage and strength.  I feather a touch of gold to her aura for her unwavering faith.  The sun glows on her raven hair, softening her features. Her eyes the color of a midnight sky sparkle with intelligence and humor.  

 My excitement builds as I discover the textures and the layers that compose her identity and her true essence.   She looked like a goddess, but had physical flaws and human imperfections.  There’s a beauty mark on her chin and eye teeth that were never straightened.  The swirl of her sarcastic tongue could slice the air once her Italian temper flared.  But no matter what I may have done to cause her anger, she was quick to offer me a kiss of forgiveness to replace it.  Her devotion and her desire to protect made it difficult for me to explore independence until my rebellion in my early twenties.   Her fear of my getting hurt compounded my own insecurities until I was able to recognize and feel comfortable with who I was and who I wanted to be.   Ironically, I raised both my children the same way.  I suppose in the end, I trusted her judgment more than my own which says a lot about her influence on my life. Good, bad, or indifferent, her heart and her motives were always in the right place. She could dance around most with her wit and charm, but truth and integrity molded her life.  Her daily challenges were given to God and she embraced Him with humble gratitude for the blessings in her life.

Throughout her journey, stars were always in her eyes, but there was also a touch of sadness in them too.  The songs she wrote remained hidden in a dusty closet never to be heard; there were words unspoken of dreams that were never fulfilled and loves that were lost.  Yet, there was always laughter in her humble home.  My children and I could tell you quite a few stories but two will have to suffice.

My mother did not mix well in a kitchen although when she was in the right mood she loved baking cakes.  But, no matter what kind of a cake she made, they all tasted the same in the end. She solved the issue by using food coloring.  She called them her rainbow cakes.   

Although she was blessed in having many friends, she created one of her own and when she’d visit, she’d tell us stories about what Sarafina did that day. She’d roar with laughter and if anyone else would have heard her they would have insisted she be put away.  Being a little off-center myself and guilty of creating my own characters, I thought her to be quite normal if not a little eccentric.

She didn’t want me to worry about her in her later years; she insisted she was happy and content, though I felt she deserved so much more.   I wish I had the power to go back and change some things and my heart cries out, “I didn’t have a magic brush. “ 

Now, as I add the final touches to her painting, I feel compelled to sprinkle it with Angel dust.  My tears involuntarily spill on her canvas because I still miss her so much. I watch transfixed as my tears merge and melt on a mouth that suddenly explodes into a megawatt smile.  She offers me a sly wink, shakes her shoulders and flutters her new found wings.  She turns her head and blows me a kiss before flying away.  In the distance, her sweet voice echoes my name:  “Jeanette…Jeanette, I’m Home.”

Harvesting Kindness

     As Halloween approaches, I fondly remember my cousin.  She had dark curly hair cropped short,very close to her head, in a feeble attempt to style her hair like her favorite movie star.  While I had pictures of Elvis Presley in every nook and corner of my bedroom, Doris Day adorned her walls.

     Her prominent features were far too large for anyone to describe her as being pretty.  Tall and big boned, she felt more comfortable wearing dungarees and a shirt than she did in a frilly dress.  On Sundays, it was a Cardinal Rule that she dress up for church.  She'd tug awkwardly on the ribbons of her hat until they looked worn and frayed.  Ineveitably, she'd somehow manage to get a stain on her white dress or dirt on her gloves.  Her mother would take a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh while trying to repair the damages her daughter had incurred before entering the church.  My cousin usually walked fast and I'd have a diffucult time catching up with her long strides.  But, on Sundays, I watched her wobble in her heels taking small baby steps.  I feared for her safety as her ankles twisted and turned walking down the aisle.

     On this particular Halloween night, I was crying because all my friends had gone Trick or Treating and my mother wouldn't allow me to go unsupervised. She was sick and couldn't go with me.  When my cousin found out I was crying, she volunteered to take me.  I can't describe the gratitude I felt toward my cousin at that moment. I was thrilled. I put on my costume and she decorated a brown grocery bag with my crayons, punched holes in it for her eyes and mouth and placed it over her head.  I clicked my ruby red shoes together and we were off to see the Wizard.

     Once I became a teenager our paths occasionally crossed, but the visits became less frequent.  One day, two of my relatives were sitting at our kitchen table and I overheard them talking to my mother in hushed whispers.
      "She's disgraced the family." One of the aunts said.
      "We will never forgive her."  The other one vowed, while vehemently shaking her head.
      "Please don't say that."  My mother pleaded.  "I don't understand it either, but it's not for us to judge."

       Later, I discovered that the reason the family was so angry was because my cousin had fallen madly in-love.  Not with a man, but with a woman.

     I must confess that I didn't understand it then any more than I do now.  I can't envision myself or anyone else of the same gender being physically attracted to one another. I tried  placing  myself in her situation and asked myself:  What if society shunned a relationship between a man and a woman?  What if I would be considered abnormal if I weren't attracted to another woman?  What if I were afraid to disclose my attraction to a man?  What if by choosing to come out I would be ridiculed and humiliated?  How would I feel if I were shunned and condemned by my church? How brave would I be if I were the one confronted with this kind of hatred?

     I can't honestly call myself a gay advocate because I seem to teeter on the fence.  I don't belong on one side or the other.  I balance myself in the center so I don't fall from grace.  I can't condone, but neither can I condemn.

     I had an exemplary role model in my mother who never placed any conditions on showing another person basic human kindness.  I have done my best to follow in her footsteps.

     As more teenagers continue to commit sucide as a result of bullying, I feel  like we have tragically failed them.  Whether you feel they are right or wrong, the bullying needs to stop  This kind of viscious cruelty should not be tolerated and I stand firm in passing a law to prohibit this kind of behavior.

     Ask yourselves:  How do you feel Jesus would treat a homosexual or a lesbian?  What do you believe Jesus would do?  How would He react to them?  What would He say?  Would He be cruel or unkind?  Would He make them feel unworthy of His love?  Would He forgive or cast them all into Hell? You may answer these questions differently than I would. You have the right and I respect it, but I feel  that we should all  harvest a little kindness. We may need it one day ourselves.

     I have personally found consolation in the belief that when my cousin reached Heaven's Door, Jesus was there to greet her with outstretched arms and welcomed her into Paradise.

Dancing With A Star

I've heard people say that the best years of their lives were in high school.  I cringe at my own memories during most of that time.

Maybe it was fun for THEM because they were the jocks and cheerleaders; the popular kids; the ones who wore designer clothes and drove convertible sports cars.  I was never one of them.  My mother drove me to school in an outdated monstrous Buick.  It actually had wings and I wanted to fly away into oblivion.  I remember hiding in the back seat on the floor so one one would see me in it.  Oh, how I would appreciate and love driving around in it now.

If you remember the movie Never Been Kissed, you may be able to relate to this kind of peer pressure.  I made myself as invisible as possible to ensure I'd be spared any possible ridicule.  So, I chose not to date anyone from my own high school.  There were a few boys I had crushes on, but I would never dream of letting anyone know about it. I was happy with my own group of friends, many of which I still have today.  It's just that I felt more comfortable in being their "buddy" than on their list as their "latest flame".

One night, I spotted a boy at one of the school dances held at the gym.  He was tall with Elvis hair and blue eyes.  He had all the right moves. I had never seen anyone dance with such natural rhythm.  Oh, how I wanted to dance like that. So, I just admired him from afar.  Then I saw him walking toward me.  I thought he was looking for the punch bowl, so I looked behind me and saw nothing but my own shadow.  Would you believe he asked ME to dance? I merely shrugged my shoulders in defeat,
     "Sorry, but I don't know how to fast dance."
     "I'll teach you right now."  He offered.
     "I can't dance with you in front of all these people. Everyone will laugh at me."
     "Who cares? We're not hurting anybody. Do you like music?"
     "Oh, I love music."  I practically swooned.
     "Well, just follow me.  Feel the beat.  Don't think about anything else.  Don't care about anyone watching."

For some unexplainable reason, I believed him.  He took me to a far corner of the gym and he danced with me for the rest of the night.  There wasn't a song too fast or too slow for us. I was floating on a cloud dancing with a star.  As I spread my wings, I discovered I could fly by just moving to the rhythm of my own heart.  It was a delirious experience.  Did anyone else care or notice us?  Did anyone laugh at me struggling to keep up with him? For the first time in my life, it didn't matter and I realized that I had wasted precious time because I was too afraid to be my own person.

It taught me an invaluable lesson.  I don't give anyone the power to take away my spirit.