LET THEM GO

 4017

“This is what I learned in all of my years on this earth. If somebody wants to walk out of your life… Let them go. Especially if you know you have done everything you can. You’ve been the best man or woman you can be and they still want to go, let ‘em go. Whatever they’re running after, they’ll see what they had in a minute, but by then it will be too late. Half of these people you’re crying about, you’re worrying about, two or three years from now, you won’t even remember their last name. How many times you’ve seen folks say, ‘What in the world was I thinking? What was wrong with me? I must have been mighty lonely to hook up with you.’

Let folks go, son. Some come for a lifetime. Some come for a season. You got to know which is which. And you gonna always mess up when you mix them season of people up with lifetime expectations. You got people who have gotten married to people they were only supposed to be with for a season. They got married to people they were only supposed to be with for a season and they wonder why they have so much havoc in their life. That was a person who was supposed to teach you one thing. You didn’t know it so you just fell in love and now you wonder why you don’t have peace nowhere you go.

No, no. Listen. I put everybody that comes into my life in the category of a tree. Some people are like leaves on a tree. The wind blows, they’re over here. It blows the other way, they’re over there. They’re unstable. Seasons change. They wither and die. They’re gone. That’s alright. Most people in the world are like that. They’re just there to take from the tree. They aren’t going to do anything but take and give shade every now and then. That’s all they can do. Don’t get mad at people like that. That’s who they are. They were put on the earth to be a leaf. Some people are like a branch on the tree. You gotta be careful of those branches too. They’ll fool you. They make you think they’re a good friend and they’re real strong, but you step out there on them, and they break and they leave you high and dry.

But if you find you two or three people in your life just like the roots at the bottom of that tree, you are blessed ‘cause them the kind of people that ain’t going nowhere. They ain’t worried about being seen. Don’t nobody have to know they know you. Don’t have to know what they’re doing for you. But if those roots weren’t there, that tree couldn’t live. A tree can have a hundred million branches, but there’s only a few roots down at the bottom. I’m telling you son, when you get some roots, hang onto them. But the rest of them, let it go. Let folks go.

Nobody said it will be easy, but it gets easier when you learn how to love yourself. When you get to the point in your life where you look at people and you go, ‘Okay, wait a minute. You or me. You will make a decision.’ I’ve never in my life told nobody, ‘Don’t bother me. Don’t talk to me.’ But what I do, I say, ‘Look. This thing you’re doing right here. That’s gonna cause a problem. You gotta fix that. Cause if we’re gonna be friends, we gonna be cool, you’re gonna fix that. And if you don’t, we’re gonna have an issue.’ If you see somebody fix it, or even trying to fix it that’s somebody that cares. Keep them people around. That’s a leaf that’s trying to grow up and be something else. You understand?

But if you tell somebody ‘what you doing is hurting me, you need to stop,’ but they keep doing it, they don’t care. Move on. Let them go. No matter how much it hurt, let them go. And it will get easier. Every day it will get easier and easier, you just gotta make it through. You need to learn to be by yourself. People have to learn how to be alone. I don’t understand all these people who pray, ‘Lord, where is my man? Lord, where is my woman?’ That is crazy as all get out. If you don’t know how to be by yourself, what you gonna do with somebody else? Stop praying about it. Shut up and wait. Go work on you. That’s what that time is for to get yourself together. I’d rather be in the corner by myself with a puppet and a goldfish, and be happy than to be sitting around with somebody in my house, and I’m wondering ‘what they there for?’

You would be surprised at what people put up with just to have somebody to say they love them. I don’t understand it. I can’t live in dysfunction. I’m sorry. I’ve done come through too much mud and high water to let you come up in my adult life when I’m supposed to be at peace and give me all kind of trouble. Only two places on this earth you gonna have peace. The grave and your house. And if you can’t wake up in your house and have peace, something’s wrong.”

(“Madea” – Tyler Perry)

COMBATTING TINNITUS

 4016

If you have to ask what Tinnitus is, you don't have it. I have struggled with Tinnitus for decades, but somehow overlooked the wisdom of the last tip in this article. I have mostly avoided soft drinks the past six weeks (and don't drink coffee) and my Tinnitus has been absent the past six weeks, except for several hours a couple of days recently.

Tinnitus doesn’t have an FDA approved cure or treatment. But, that doesn’t mean that there aren’t things you can do to self-treat the condition. Below, we will introduce you to 26 different ways with which you can try to deal with your Tinnitus. Putting these guidelines to use will definitely allow you to at least find some relief with your Tinnitus, if not even completely resolving it for you. If anything, these tips will definitely prevent your Tinnitus from getting worse, something that happens all the time! Also, find out if your Tinnitus is permanent or temporary. Use our site’s search bar to learn more about the 26 different tips mentioned here. We get into a lot more detail if you want to learn more about Tinnitus relief! Here’s a guide on pharmacological treatments available for Tinnitus as well. Depending on what may have caused your Tinnitus, a pharmacological treatment may be a more straightforward way to treat Tinnitus, over natural methods.

How to Deal with Tinnitus? 26 Tips!

Try to habituate first – Tinnitus is almost impossible to overcome when you are constantly fighting it. While you can definitely try to work on your Tinnitus, you must first learn to habituate to it. By simply resisting the urge to fight it constantly, you will actually give the other 25 tips suggested here a chance to work! Here are ten Tinnitus habituation tips to get started!

Find out if you will benefit from hearing aids – Did you know that over 90% of Tinnitus sufferers also suffer from some sort of hearing loss? Hearing loss can confuse the brain into thinking that your ears aren’t working, causing it to invent noises. Caught early, hearing loss induced Tinnitus can be addressed by the use of hearing aids. You will have to visit an audiologist to see if you will be a good candidate for hearing aids

Check for impacted ear wax – Impacted or hardened ear wax could be the reason behind your Tinnitus. Hardened ear wax can press against the eardrum and cause it to malfunction, with Tinnitus being one of the side effects. Hydrogen peroxide solutions or a visit to the ENT can fix this problem in a jiffy for you

Protect your ears against loud noise – If you have Tinnitus, there’s a good chance that you have sensitive ears. It is therefore imperative that you protect your ears against loud noises. Avoid noisy environments or wear volume-normalizing ear plugs in noisy environments. Protecting against loud noises is also important because loud noise is a leading Tinnitus trigger

Stabilize your blood pressure – High or even low blood pressure can make it difficult for your heart to pump blood to your ears. Your ears rely on oxygen and minerals like sodium and potassium to function properly, all of which are supplied by blood. Correcting erratic blood pressure levels with medication, dietary or lifestyle changes can sometimes bring profound Tinnitus relief

Check for Magnesium Deficiency – Magnesium deficiency overexcites your nervous system. If you are Mg deficient, a supplement can do wonders for the ringing in your ears

Avoid sinus allergies – Did you know that sinusitis, sinus allergies or even the common cold can aggravate your Tinnitus? It happens because there’s a narrow tube that runs from your sinus cavities to your ears. This tube is responsible for equalizing air pressure in your ears. Allergies and colds can clog this tube causing ear malfunction that can then result in Tinnitus. So, do what you can to avoid those allergies! Learn more about Tinnitus after a sinus infection.

Learn about Ototoxic Medicines– Oto means ears. Toxic of course means bad. Ototoxic medicines then of course are those medicines that are harmful for your ears, potentially worsening your Tinnitus. NSAIDs like Ibuprofen, Aspirin and many antidepressants like Xanax and Wellbutrin are quite ototoxic. Talk to your doctor about alternative medication if you take any of these regularly

Get more Vitamin D – The sunshine Vitamin has the ability to dramatically improve muscle and bone health in your ears. Yes, your ears have tiny muscles and bones that need to be in great shape if you want to avoid problems like Tinnitus

Up your Vitamin B12 Levels – Almost everyone is Vitamin B12 deficient. Correcting this vitamin’s levels will increase red blood cell production which will bring more nutrients to your ears, potentially resolving ear ringing for you

Get more iron in your diet – Are you anemic? Being anemic will accelerate cell death in your ear’s cochlea. And, this type of cell death is usually permanent! Get those iron levels up, pronto!

Add turmeric to your recipes – Curcumin in turmeric has the ability to protect your ears against loud noise damage. It also offers protection against ototoxic medicines. Add turmeric to your recipes or take a Curcumin supplement for an added layer of ear protection

Sleep better – Sleeping better is easier said than done, especially when you have an annoying ringing in your ears. But, even slightly increased sleep quality can greatly lessen the intensity of your Tinnitus. Practice good sleep hygiene and invest time, effort and money into getting better sleep. It will be well worth it when your Tinnitus is more manageable

Cut out added sugars – Love sugary foods? Going off them will allow your blood to become thinner. Sugar also excites your nervous system which is really bad when you have Tinnitus. Cut back on sugars and see how your ringing quietens down

Manage your stress – It is estimated that almost 78% of Tinnitus sufferers also have stress, anxiety or depression. Practice meditation, habituation and mindfulness to dial back the stress which can otherwise keep making your Tinnitus worse. Drinking a Tinnitus tea is also a great way to manage stress and anxiety caused by Tinnitus. You must particularly try to address depression as depression can worsen Tinnitus.

Cigarettes are a No-No! – Do you smoke? You might want to quit, cold turkey, asap. Nicotine is a neurotransmitter blocker and it also irritates your inner ear’s delicate lining, both of which can have a profound effect on your Tinnitus

Drink more water – Dehydration deteriorates the quality of your inner ear fluid, lubrication and even causes ear muscles to spasm, all of which can lead to or aggravate Tinnitus

Lower your salt intake – Salty foods constrict blood vessels. When blood vessels are constricted, blood supply to the ears is compromised as your heart focuses on sending blood to vital organs first. And, you guessed it, your ear isn’t a vital organ, at least according to a heart that is under stress

Throw away artificial sweeteners – Think you are playing it smart by using Equal or another sugar-free sweetener? Think again. Sugar substitutes greatly overexcite your nervous system and that’s the last thing you need when you have Tinnitus

Love seasoning mixes? It’s time to ditch them, forever! – Seasoning mixes are a great way to quickly spice up your recipes. But, they don’t do your Tinnitus any good. They too overstimulate your auditory nerve

Cut back on alcohol – Dial back on the amount of alcohol you consume. Excessive alcohol constricts the tiny capillaries leading to your ears, making blood flow difficult. Alcohol in your blood stream can also leak into your inner ear fluid. Lastly, definitely don’t drink before bedtime as alcohol greatly reduces sleep quality, even if it seems like it makes you sleepy

Get your Thyroid checked out – Thyroid levels influence the production of a hormone called Aldosterone. Aldosterone is linked to hearing problems, problems that include Tinnitus

Try to Habituate to Tinnitus – Are you constantly trying to fight off Tinnitus with your mind? It will only make the ringing more profound. Instead of trying to mentally fight off the ringing, try to habituate or live with it, until it actually goes away or fades into the background

Ginkgo Biloba could help – This Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) has shown promising results for Tinnitus sufferers. It offers a dual benefit by thinning blood, making it easier to reach the ears. It also prevent cochlear cell damage

Attend to jaw problems – Have a nagging problem with your jaw? Bruxism or teeth grinding or clenched jaw problems and Tinnitus might be very related. Attend to jaw problems and it might just result in Tinnitus relief!

Reduce your caffeine intact drastically. Soft drinks, coffee and tea contain high levels of caffeine.

So, there you have it, 26 different ways that answer the question – how to deal with Tinnitus. Practice all or at least many of the above tips and your Tinnitus will definitely at least become more manageable.

(Author Unknown)

CIVIL WAR JOURNAL - Joshua Frier - Chapter 3 - Lewis Paine, Lincoln Conspirator

 4015

REMINISCENCES OF THE WAR BETWEEN THE STATES BY A BOY IN THE FAR SOUTH AT HOME AND IN THE RANKS OF THE CONFEDERATE MILITIA

Chapter 3 – Lewis Paine

It was in the early part of the year 1862 that by chance I happened to meet the boy Doc Powell, who afterwards became the man of unenviable fame; Lewis Paine, the attempted assassin of Secretary Seward. I was the bearer of a message to his father who lived at this time in Hamilton County Florida. I had become acquainted with all the family, with the exception of him prior to my visit there. I had heard of him as a very indolent, and worthless boy; the black sheep of the flock, I had fancied him as a boy of my own size.

 His brother, Oliver and I walked out to the barn to put away the horse I rode and found him asleep on the barn floor. Oliver aroused him, and when he awakened he leered at us in a manner I shall never forget, and after rubbing his eyes awhile, the boy that was destined to figure so prominently in one of the most remarkable tragedies in this, or any age, looked me square in the face for the first time. I thought him one of the ugliest, and most repulsive looking boys I ever met; great coarse hair and a dull stupid countenance, slow and awkward in movement. Such was my first impression of the boy who as a man became the pliant tool of such a scoundrel as J. Wilkes Booth. 

Later on in the evening when I got better acquainted I found him remarkable good natured. We wandered around a lake that evening and he pointed out his favorite fisherman stories which showed him to be a sportsman of the first-water. Among them was one that was of peculiar interest to me; he told me he had slipped off one Sunday morning with tackle for some sport and caught the devil. He had a terrible fight to land him and when he finally succeeded, he came near biting off one of his fingers and walked right back into the water. I asked him how he farther identified the “Old Man” when he told me Uncle Green, an old Negro on the place had told him the character of his game. From the description he gave of it I have since been able to make and alligator turtle out of it, one of the most vicious reptiles that was ever created. This one accomplished a reform that the fear of the rod never could; breaking a bad boy from fishing on Sunday. 

Before the evening was over Dock and I were great friends; all his repulsiveness had vanished, and it was with regret next morning that I parted with him. I exacted a promise from him to visit me at my home, and gave him a similar one in return, neither one of which was ever fulfilled. I never met him but once afterwards and that was purely accidental as he shortly afterwards joined Capt. Stewart’s Company of the 2 Fla. Regmt.

 And I never heard from him but once until his father got a letter from him after Lincoln’s assassination. He father endeavored to go see him in Washington, but lack of funds prevented it. The old man was the soul of honor, no stain rested on any of his family with the single exception of this boy, whose full name was Lewis Thornton Powell. The old man died a few years ago in Orange County in this state; full of years and honor. It was circulated some years after Paine was hanged that the Elder Powell said he had yielded up his life in a good cause. This I am satisfied was an untruth; for while the entire family proved loyal to the South, Lewis excepted, (he having joined the United States Army at one time) they were to high toned and honorable to countenance assassination in any form. His brother Oliver before mentioned died or was killed early in the war. While the oldest brother George is still living in this states. 

Such, dear reader, was my acquaintance with the man who for a given price attempted to take the life of Secretary Seward, and thereby coupled his name to one of the most atrocious crimes of modern times. While Paine’s execution was deplored by his family, and their sympathetic friends it was generally acknowledged to be just as such penalties ever is. Of one thing, I and everyone is satisfied, that he knew anything of him; it is this; that he was incapable of conceiving or aiding in the origination of such a fiendish plot as this. And in acting his part he was simply clay in the molder’s hands, it was his nature to be easily influenced for either good or evil, and persons who knew him well said, that any move or enterprise that had the element of danger in it, had a fascination for him that he was unable to resist. It was said of his family that the fear of man was something they knew nothing of. Still, they were peaceable in manners, and courteous to all, and a more law abiding citizen, or better neighbor than his father never lived.

(Pgs. 13-18)

 by Joshua H. Frier II

 

 

THE EMPTY SPOOL

4014

There is a story about the 18th century Irish and Scottish immigrants who boarded masted ships, and reluctantly left their old world homes for the United States.

It has been said that as some of them trudged up to the ships which would ferry them to the new world, carrying everything of value they owned in canvas bags, that among those possessions was a ball of twine. As they prepared to climb the ladder which ran up the side of the ship, they handed the end of the twine to a relative on the shore.

Having boarded their assigned ship, Liam or Celeste or Annie, as the case may be, waved a final 'goodbye,' the sails were turned towards the wind, and the ship sailed slowly out of the harbor.

Now, the twine began to play out, and as their relatives on the beach seemed to grow smaller and smaller, the ball of twine grew smaller in proportion to the distance from the beach.

And now, the end of the twine slipped from the spool, and dropped listlessly into the ocean, their relatives on the beach still holding the last connection the fearless immigrants had maintained with all they had known and loved all their lives.

by William McDonald, PhD

IT'S CRAZY OUT THERE!!!

 4013

Pt. 1

Over the last six or eight years, I have walked out my front door about 4am, and either jumped on my bicycle, or begun walking, mostly the former, rather than the latter; depending on the state of repair of the former. While I cannot begin to tell you how many miles I have walked during that time period, I have biked roughly 13,000 miles, (or halfway around the world).

Not unlike the crazy social media photos snapped in the Walmarts around the country, during the course of my nightly journeys I think I have seen it all. It's crazy out there.

A woman standing in the landscaped area of a bank holding a leash attached to a small dog on the lower end, and singing (perhaps 'warbling' is the word) the eeriest song I think I have ever heard.

A young man limping along the sidewalk, cane in his hand. Pedaling past him, I paused and asked him where he had come from and where he was going. He told me that he'd been released from the county jail in a nearby city hours earlier, and that he was walking home. I replied that I'd be glad to pedal back to my house, retrieve my car, and meet him again a few minutes later; which I did. Stepping into the passenger side of my vehicle, he thanked me and guided me to his house; about three miles from where he got in.

A man, a woman, an intersection and a tractor trailer truck. I arrived at the intersection in time to see the man helping the woman into the side door, walking back around to the driver's side, he got in and drove away. In retrospect, it seemed to me that the woman had been a bit unwilling to get into the cab, (as if the driver had taken her by force off the sidewalk). I surmised (I hoped) that she had merely been driving the semi, was overcome with fatigue, and given the lack of traffic, they had decided to switch off at the intersection. Thankfully, I never saw anything in the newspapers about an abduction. (But, I have always wondered).

A possum which ran out in front of my bicycle. Throwing on the brakes I "did a Peter Pan" over the handlebars, and landed two arms, chest, stomach and two legs on the asphalt; convinced I had broken up something inside. (I tell people the flight was ecstatic, but the landing was pretty rude).

Stopping my bicycle at a stop sign, I prepared to cross a four laned highway. I looked to my right, and noticed a young man walking down the sidewalk; perhaps 50 feet away. I looked to my left, and back to my right, and the young fella had vanished "into thin air." There was an eight foot wall on his left which bordered a gated community. There was, as I have previously inferred, a lighted street on his right. I could only surmise that I had seen... an angel. Interestingly enough, a week or two later, a woman died in a one car crash at that intersection. I naturally wondered if perhaps I had witnessed the Death Angel doing a dry run. (When I told my grandson about this event, he replied, "You just saw some guy dressed up in an angel suit!)"

Pt. 2

And then tonight, well, it was much too early to ride my bike, about 1am, but I was craving a canned Coca-Cola. (The plastic bottled ones are virtually tasteless). I drove to "Circle K," and was informed they didn't sell the cold canned Coca-Cola's. Getting back in my car, I drove to "Racetrack," got out, and went in. Retrieving my bounty from the cold case, I walked up to the counter, paid for the two frigid cokes, (so cold I feared frostbite), and walked out of the store.

As I walked towards my vehicle, a slightly built woman approached me. She was wearing what I would describe as a white, flowery summer dress, thin shoulder straps, "V" neck, tight waist, and an "A" shaped skirt. She spoke.

"Hello Sir!"

Thinking she was either soliciting money or offering me a "trick," I said,

"Hello, what can I do for you?"

To which she said,

"Oh nothing" (and) "I was wondering why all those people are lined up like that," (which seemed to be a perfectly incoherent remark).

Not having a ready answer for the young woman, I simply replied,

"God bless you" (and with this, she blessed me in return).

Getting in my vehicle and driving the three or four miles back to my house, I could not stop thinking about the young lady. Walking in the front door, I sat down at my computer, Googled the number of the store, grabbed my phone, punched in the seven digits and reported the situation to the clerk. He assured me that he'd check on the seemingly incoherent or intoxicated lady.

I don't know if it's me, or if it's me, but...

it's crazy out there!!!

Post-script

When I was a 9th grade English class, our teacher taught us an old Irish poem.

"From ghosties and ghoulies and long legg-ed beasties

and things that go 'bump' in the night,

Good Lord, deliver us."

That just about covers it.

by William McDonald, PhD

UNFINISHED DREAMS

4012

A soft breeze stirs the sea grass, and the gulls float listlessly above the azure waters of Normandy. The guns are silent, and the German bunkers collapse under the weight of more than half a century. The breeze freshens a bit, and the short, tended grass above the bluffs mimics the rolling of nearby waves.

 

Viewed from above, the rolling green grass seems dusted with snow. But Summer is upon the land, and our snowflakes do not melt. Row upon row of white stone crosses stand where the jackboot tread and Rommel smiled. Sentinels ever, they whisper, “Never again, but if so, our sons will yet defy the enemy.”

 

We gaze into their eyes, their portraits fading now, and yellow about the edges. Their features so young, so sharp, so vibrant. Their lips full of a healthy pride. Their eyes speak volumes. A million unfinished dreams and unspoken destinies.

 

And like gladiators of old, they steel their spirits and set forth into the unknown. A young private asks his sergeant, “How many will not come back?” The older man responds, “Many, most… I don’t know.” A tear forms in the young man’s eyes, and the lump in his throat betrays his fear. Other men smile, as if to say, “It won’t be me. I’m coming out of this. I’m going home when this is over.”

 

The waves are large, and the gale is brisk. The sea is spread thick with ships, and boats and landing craft of every description, bobbing like bottles in a bathtub.

 

And we see them as they make their way to sandy beaches. Beaches with code names like Utah, Omaha, Gold, Sword and Juno. Thirty-five amphibious tanks are dispatched into the cold surf. Thirty-two begin to sink, their desperate crewmen clamoring to get out of the turrets. Many drown. Others, having escaped certain death, flounder in deep waters now, their ammo and packs weighing them down. Calling, crying for help, they beg crewmen in other craft to pick them up. But more often than not, they are ignored. The urgency of the mission is foremost. As they begin to perish anguish breaks within the bosoms of those who watch, those who cannot respond.

 

A landing craft finds the sandy bottom, and the huge door falls flat forward. Thirty men scramble to reach shallow water, and their objective. And before the sound of gunfire can reach their ears, or any understanding of their fate dawns upon them, they lie dead. For these thirty, mission complete, mission over.

 

Oh, the glider troops. The sky is full of them. Loosed from mother planes, these frail craft ride the winds, and winds and terrain offer these men different fates. For some crash violently against cities and trees and earth, and all on board are lost. Others display the art of controlled crashes, upright at least, a broken shoulder here, a twisted ankle there.

 

The Rangers. There can be none like them. For they begin to climb, treacherous enough without added difficulties. They are greeted with all the trouble of a plan gone bad. Hot bullets rain down upon their hapless bodies. Live grenades shower the rocks around them.

 

And some reach the summit. And some win the prize.

 

And some come again to walk the beaches. To smell the salt water. To read inscriptions on stark stone crosses. To live that day anew. To weep, unashamed among a thousand other men who are doing the same.

 

We have come to an anniversary of that day. D-Day. A day that is still living in the hearts and minds of the survivors. They cannot forget. They bid a new generation to remember. To remember that young, shiny-eyed trooper who ran across the beach, only to fall, and to understand in his last mortal moment that Normandy’s sand had become the waning sands of his own hourglass.

 

To remember the commitment of such a one as this. The paratrooper who might have stayed down after the first bullet grazed his forehead. But such a one as this who stood, and fought and fell again, never more to rise.

 

The soft breeze stirs the waters of Normandy. The waves wash easily across the clean, white sand. Though the blood, and footprints of just men have been cleansed by the whelming flood of water, their stone crosses stand sentinel, just above the cliffs, just beyond the field of their labor.

 

They gave their tomorrows for our today.

 

By William McDonald, PhD

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE STORY OF A WAR DOG

4011

Smoky was a 4 lb, 7 inch tall, Yorkshire Terrier who served in World War II. In 1944 Smoky was found in a foxhole in the jungles of New Guinea by an American soldier who brought her back to camp and sold her to Corporal William A. Wynne for $6.44. For the next 2 years Smoky lived a soldiers life. Because she was not an official military dog, she did not get dog food or medical care. She shared Wynne’s meals and slept beside him in his tent.

The little dog even flew 12 air/sea rescue and photo reconnaissance missions, secured in the soldiers backpack. She survived 150 air raids and saved Wynne by warning him of incoming shells. Like many Yorkies, Smoky also loved to learn tricks and preform. She did so with the Special Services – entertaining soldiers in hospitals. After the war Smoky was flown back to the US hidden in a oxygen mask carrying case.

For the next 10 years she made television and public appearances in Veterans hospitals until her death in 1957.

WHAT KIND OF PROBLEMS DOES SHE HAVE?

 4010

When I was serving as a staff counselor for Calvary Church, I was fortunate enough to have a skilled lady associate named Sherri assisting me. 

Sherri did some of the women’s counseling, and during the course of one particular case, she invited “Sheila” to bring her seven year old daughter in for a few individual sessions.

The client felt this was would be good idea, and after she had arrived home from work one day, she asked “Stephanie” to sit down on the couch beside her.

“Honey, there’s a lady at church who I have been talking to, and I wonder if you would be willing to talk to her.”

Stephanie looked a bit confused, smiled shyly, and replied,

“I don’t know Mom. What kind of problems does she have?”

By William McDonald, PhD

PLAYING SHERLOCK HOLMES IN A LOCAL RESTAURANT

 4009

My wife and I visited a local restaurant in central Florida called "Manny's Chophouse" last night. It is an eating establishment we frequent at least once a month. And without fail, we always order and share either the whole rack of ribs or the salmon entre; more often the former, than the latter of the two choices.

Our waitress, a very personable young lady named "Jenny," (not her real name) engaged us in an ongoing conversation as she came, and went throughout the course of our forty-five minute dining experience. And as is my habit, I asked her about the identity of a man in a large framed photo which hangs on the restaurant wall; just feet from the bathrooms.

"Jenny, let me ask you a quiz question. Do you happen to know who that man is?"

It is important for my readers to understand that the photo was 20-25 feet from our table, and partially obscured by other tables and diners, though I realized that our waitress would have walked past it countless times. 

And has always been the case, thus far, our waitress replied with a,

"Hmmm, I honestly don't know."

(and)

"Is it that guy who does that beer commercial?"

(and)

"Yes, that's gotta be the man on the wall. What is his name? Oh yeah, Jonathan Goldsmith. In the commercial he is called, "the most interesting man in the world." (To be fair she didn’t actually say his name. I looked it up).

(and)

You know, he says,

"I don't always drink beer, but when I do I drink Dos Equis."

And it occurred to me who she was referring to since social media is full of photos of Mr. Goldsmith with a myriad of humorous captions overlaying his photo, such as,

"I don't always drink beer, but when I do, I don't know my limit!"

At any rate, it was then that I replied,

"Jenny, the man in the photo isn't the fella in the beer commercial. He's the previous owner of this restaurant, Nick Christy. Back then, it was a much more sedate, formal dining experience. I knew Nick Christy. When I was a UPS man, I delivered packages to the back door, and he would often meet me there, and sign for the packages."

(Christy's Sundown Restaurant was one of the most popular dining establishments in this part of Florida at the time, and the lobby wall was covered with autographed photos of movie stars and other notables who had visited at one time or the other).

As our conversation continued, Jenny suggested something I would have never expected from a waitress, given the large number of tables they are assigned.

She spoke.

"My OCD is kicking in. Let's walk over there and look closer."

I was certainly "game" and I immediately rose from my seat, and the two of us navigated the twenty or thirty steps which separated us from our quest. As we walked, Jenny scrolled through her phone and brought up a photo of the "beer man."

After I excused myself a few times to other customers who blocked our way, my own temporary “Watson” and I arrived at the photo of the middle-aged, bearded man on the wall.

The waitress spoke again.

"Now, look at this picture. The guy here on the wall looks amazingly like Mr. Goldsmith."

I glanced at the photo of the man on her phone which I had seen countless times. Then I studied the photo on the wall of the restaurant. Glancing back and forth two or three times, my resolve weakened a bit.

"Jenny, I have to admit the man in this photo looks surprisingly like the man on your phone."

(and)

"But I'm convinced that this guy on the wall is the former owner of this restaurant."

Now, we made our way back to my table and my wife. I pulled my chair out and sat down again.

"Jenny, tell you what, I'm going to message Mr. Christy's son, and ask him if the photo on the wall is his dad. I'll let you know what he says the next time we come in."

Over the course of the next ten minutes, Jenny brought us a couple of "to go" boxes, I paid our bill, and we said our "adieus." 

It's funny how the events and experiences of a day sometimes fall together. I never expected to “do a Sherlock Holmes” at a local restaurant which I had visited numerous times in the past. But I think I enjoyed the experience more than the food.

William McDonald, PhD

Post-script - I immediately contacted Tony Christy, Nick Christy's son, when I returned home. Having looked at the photo which my wife snapped before we left, he assured me that the man on the wall was not and is not his father. And since he's the expert, this brings my investigation to an inexorable conclusion. 

I'LL BE RIGHT BACK

 4008

Several years ago my wife and I attended a Ruth Graham seminar on the west coast of Florida. And as I recall, the multi-hour event included elective segments on any of a number of topics, and with such guests as the Christian singer, Damaris Carbaugh, the mother of Ellen Degeneres’ former girlfriend, Ann Hecht, (who was decidedly against the gay agenda), and of course, (it goes without saying) Ruth Graham, herself.

Well, for anyone who has known me very long, it should also “go without saying” that I didn’t drive an hour there, and an hour back, not to make Ruth Graham, the daughter of the famous evangelist, Billy Graham, my priority.

Apparently, one segment Jean and I attended finished early, and (also apparently) my wife got involved elsewhere, since I headed over to the main convention hall to get a “good seat.” And (you guessed it) Ruth Graham was scheduled next on the, well, schedule.

It can safely be said that I did, indeed, get a good seat since when I walked into the auditorium I found myself completely

… alone.

And since I had a few hundred seats from which to choose, I walked towards the front of the theater, and took a seat in the 3^rd row, center. (I simply don’t sit on the first row of a theater, church, auditorium, or fill in the blank. Somehow, it seems a bit comforting, if that is the word, to have something in front of me, and not, as it were, to have my legs hanging out in midair).

At any rate, as I sat waiting for Ruth Graham to make her debut, who should appear but, (you guessed it)

… Ruth Graham.

Ruth, (if I may be so bold to call her by her given name) came striding across the floor from right stage towards the left, and had walked perhaps ten feet when she saw yours truly seated in Row 3, Center. Suddenly, the young lady, (younger than me, and definitely younger than she is now) stopped, and said,

“I’ll be right back!”

As I recall, I sheepishly responded with,

“Uh, Okay.”

The well-known daughter of an even better-known father. The never-to-be-well-known, except in his little corner of the world, pastoral counselor.

Interacting at that moment, at least, on the same level. (Well, to be fair she was up on a stage, but you see where I’m going). We momentarily engaged one another as if we were acquainted.

I refer to such scenarios as

“creating memories.”

And though, if you asked her, Ruth may have long since forgotten that momentary exchange,

… I never will.

by William McDonald, PhD

OLD NICK

4007

My wife and I dined at our local Red Lobster yesterday, and we were pleased to be seated in the section of tables and booths which was serviced by our favorite waitress, “Gertrude.”

Having been seated by the hostess, the elderly waitress strode up to our booth and warmly greeted us. After she had explained the parameters related to “the fish of the day,” I happened to ask her,

“How long have you worked for Red Lobster?”

To which Gertrude responded,

“45 years.”

Although I am slightly hard of hearing, I understood her quite well. However, I repeated her words, though I added a rhetorical question mark at the end of my short sentence.

“45 years?”

Gertrude smiled, and nodded her head. And since as a counselor I always say, “One question deserves another,” I presented her with an immediate follow up.

“And did you work anywhere prior to your current career?”

Without the slightest pause, she replied.

“Yes, I worked at Christy’s Sundown Restaurant for a short time.”

It was my turn to smile, since I knew the place well.

I immediately thought of old Nick Christy; a heavy-set man with a Greek heritage. His eating establishment was literally “the talk of the town,” and many celebrities who frequented the theme parks of central Florida stopped by for a delicious meal. At the time, the lobby walls were lined with photos of actors and actresses; adorned by their cursive salutations and autographs. Faces and signatures of people such as Johnny Carson, Carol Burnette and Jack Lemmon were bolted securely into the cypress paneling.

Not only had my parents celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary in a nicely outfitted reserved room at old Nick’s, but my ‘tenure’ with him and his establishment went back much further than this.

For you see, as a UPS driver I often delivered packages to the back door of Christy’s Sundown.

Pt. 2

Although I hesitated to detain our waitress, I continued our dialogue.

“You know when I used to wear that cute little brown matching costume, and drove an equally brown truck, I would pull up at the service door, and ring the bell. And without fail, old Nick would throw open the door, and greet me.”

And with this I imitated the dear old codger’s gruff tone of voice, and tell-tale (almost Mafia-like) accent.

“Uh, hello there son. Good to see ya. You can put that stuff on the counter.”

(and)

“Tell me where ta sign, son.”

(and)

“Thank ya, son. Come back and see me.”

Gertrude laughed, and exclaimed,

“You definitely have him pegged. You sound just like him. (God rest his soul”).

They say “Imitation is the surest form of flattery,” and it later occurred to me that our momentary reminiscence of old Nick Cristy provided him a brief interlude in which to, in essence, live again; at least in the hearts and minds of those who remember and admired him.

And I think old Nick would be pleased that someone, somewhere took a moment to reflect on those times and days, now past, and which can never be repeated

…except by those of us who still live and move and have our being, and who have not only remembered, but never forgot.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 56

MRS. OLESON (WAS) ALIVE AND WELL AND LIVING IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA

 4006

From my perspective, Katherine MacGregor of “Little House on the Prairie” is one of the two or three greatest supporting actors of all time; (including, of course, Don Knotts of “The Andy Griffith Show” fame).

“Mrs. Oleson” is, at different times, endearing and maddening, hilarious and despicable, conniving and manipulative. And Katherine plays the part “to a T.” (One may witness a pale comparison of her singular abilities in the similar role of “Mrs. Godsey,” actor’s name omitted here, on “The Waltons.”)

Little could I have known when the series originally aired in the 70’s, and when I viewed reruns in the first decade of the new century, that I would ultimately experience the privilege of “meeting” the 1880’s television storekeeper. Well, to be fair, I never met her face to face, but rather…

I discovered Katherine MacGregor’s mailing address, her actual residence to be sure, on the webpage of her television daughter, “Nellie.” And on this site Alison Arngrim claimed that Ms. MacGregor enjoyed receiving fan mail, and attempted to answer any and all correspondence which she received. As a result, I decided to write the (now) 90 year old actress, and make her aware that among millions of viewers, past and present, she was finally reading a letter from her biggest fan in this, or any other universe.

I told her what a great actress I considered her to be, I mentioned the existence of a Wikipedia page in her name, and relayed a message from a distant cousin who claimed to have known her, and whom she assisted in a little theater stage play.

And true to “Nellie’s” assurances, two or three weeks later I received a letter with the unfamiliar “Katherine MacGregor” and a California address in the upper left hand corner. And then the unfamiliar became all too familiar.

“Mrs. Oleson,” of course!

I lost no time ripping open the letter, and began reading.

Not only had “Harriet” returned my original letter, but she had responded with a half page of cursive beneath my signature, and also filled up the entire back of the page with her handwriting. She thanked me for my stated appreciation of her acting skills in the old television series, disclaimed knowing anything about Wikipedia, but found my description of one of my edits on the Katherine MacGregor page humorous. And she denied knowing my distant relative.

(Interestingly enough, my cousin is a former Hindu, and it seems Katherine is also a Hindu; in spite of her church attendance on the Little House series. “Ruby” had told me that, at one time, she and “Mrs. Oleson” had been members of the same Hindu sect, and that the great supporting actress had, as I previously alluded, come along side my cousin on some local stage production in the area).

And tucked inside the envelope was, as “Nellie” had inferred there might be, a noticeably aromatic slip of paper with her own hand-drawn cartoonish caricature of herself; along with Katherine’s scribble, “A Touch of Perfume!”

And what began with one letter sent, and one received metamorphosed into a short-lived pen pal relationship. (However, the subsequent interaction between Katherine and I was, at this point, a matter of her own initiative and interest, and not my own). And the content of the two or three follow up letters was all about discovering whom my distant relative, (who had claimed to know her) was, and in the meanwhile denying any acquaintance at all with her.

After several letters promoting this vein of thought, including one addressed to my cousin, the retired actress ultimately wrote,

“Dr. McDonald, I’m too old, and too involved with my other admirers to continue corresponding with you as I have. This will have to be my last letter.”

And of course, I thought,

“Well, my dear, you’re the one who has insisted on writing and mailing these copious and extensive letters, not I.”

I sometimes pull out my old scrapbook and re-read the dear lady’s letters. And based on Ms. MacGregor’s words, tone and apparent personality, I can safely say her portrayal of the prairie storekeeper seems just about right.

“Mrs. Oleson” is (was) alive and well in southern California.

by William McDonald, PhD

FINGERPRINTS ON A LIFE

 

4005

A few years ago, a friend of mine bought some surplus red bricks which had been used to pave a city street in central Florida, and upon which traffic had passed for the better part of a century.

After Jeff picked up the load of bricks, and got them home, he noticed fingerprints on the surface of a few of them; the imbedded fingerprints of the brick maker which had been left there while the bricks were still wet.

Who can say? Perhaps the fingerprints were placed there on purpose; very much like you or I might leave our handprints in a newly laid sidewalk or driveway. More likely, however, that the fingerprints were left there as the result of having been picked up and transferred to the kiln in which they were cured.

And very reminiscent of the fingerprints in the bricks, I have a photo of my dad taken during WWII. In the photo, my 16 year old father poses with a hula girl in Hawaii. And on one side of the color photo is a distinguishable fingerprint; no doubt left there when the picture was still wet. I have wondered if the fingerprint belongs to the photographer or my father. (I suppose I will never know, as my dad went on to his reward ten years ago).

However, the stories, above, immediately bring to mind the fingerprints of God on our lives, and our resulting fingerprints on the lives of our fellow human beings.

As a pastoral counselor and mentor, I have often used the foregoing metaphor to express our impact on those who will, no doubt, outlive us, and their impact on others God sets in their pathway, and their impact on others, and so forth and so on.

As one of my former interns finished her mentoring session one day, and she stood to leave, Rita spontaneously said,

"Dr. Bill, I don't want to disappoint you. I'll go for you when you can no longer go. I'll speak for you when you can no longer speak. I'll reach, teach and keep people in your name long after you have gone on to your reward." 

Fingerprints on a life. It works like that. One life touching another touching another touching another. My mission statement is 

"My students are living messages to a time that I will never see."

I have often shared a conviction with my interns and counseling clients:

"I am hopeful my message will go on making a difference in lives a thousand years from today. Of course, they will have long since forgotten my name. But that's okay... as long as they remember my message."

How privileged we are to leave our fingerprints on lives.

by William McDonald, PhD