The Magic Window #66

Morning Friend,

The bittersweet time of year that is Christmas, is nigh.

And with it comes a myriad of reasons and excuses not to be Merry – or in some cases to get drunkenly “un-Merry” until it’s all over with.

“Grinches”, come in all shapes, sizes, denominations and levels of inebriation, but share a common lament: “I can hardly wait till it’s over!”.

If you’re a staunch atheist, Jew, Muslim, or orthodox sociopath, you get a pass from me; have a Merry... couple of days off work!

If you’re a suffering alcoholic whose misery is all the more intensified by memories of Christmas before booze ruined your life, allow me to humbly suggest that the gift of sobriety could possibly be the best gift you could give to yourself, and everyone else in your life?

But that’s just me, “suggesting” out loud.

If you think it better to get loaded and rant and rail against the contradictory Joy, Peace and Happiness associated with Christmas, then by all means, “have at”.

Fortunately for you, it will soon be a done deal and you can get back to normal, everyday Hell on earth.

But if you’re like many “rushed” out people whose hustle has run out of bustle and your spirit and credit cards are neck and neck in a race to max out, I would humbly ask you to pause, and remember those who can hardly wait for Christmas to arrive; never mind “be over”!?

Children are Christmas, and Christmas is for them.

In this cold, cruel and oft-chaotic world, the window of years where “magic” still exists – where children can “believe” in Santa Claus – gets smaller all the time.

Some kids, by their burgeoning intellect and irrepressible curiosity, break the spell on their own, while others through familial dysfunction or other harsh twists of fate, aren’t “allowed” to believe in magic; Christmas or otherwise.

As one blessed with a TROVE of magical childhood memories, the very idea of a child not waking up on THE Morn without a gift from Santa is alien, abhorrent, and in this day and age, downright shameful.

Like the finest most fragile crystalline sculpture is the heart of a child; blinding is the light of joy reflected in their ecstatic faces and astonished eyes.

Exquisite is the love of a child touched by magic; precious is the innocence of fertile souls where sorrows magically disappear.

I remember my friend, when the “sleeps until Santa came” seemed like an eternity.

Now as an adult ( at least “chronologically” so), I’m like most folks who find the pre-Festive season fairly frantically fast-paced.

But I side with the kids when it comes to “wishing it was over”!?!?

Are you KIDDING me!?

I know of a young girl who is getting her Christmas present “several sleeps” early this year; a trip to Disney World! – sponsored by the Children’s Wish Foundation.

The trip had to be bumped up to last week when further treatment for brain cancer became futile and the window for her being strong enough to go had become desperately small.

Talk about your “Christmas Rush”!?

The window of this poor girl’s magical innocence and her window of life now share the same panes.

Now there are a few certainties about this knowledge and a lesson perhaps as well.

One, is that this is likely if not certainly the brave girl’s last Christmas.

And two, that neither her or anyone in her family is wishing the “wretched season” to end.

This is a family that no doubt wishes Christmas would never end; that the magic this year would include a miracle.

As have I fervently prayed since learning of this tragedy.

The lesson in “perspective” needn’t be mentioned really.

Anyone not enduring such devastating heartache as this, should be hopefully moved to keep and exalt the Children’s Season with renewed generosity and loving enthusiasm.

THROW some toys into that bin at work....drop off gifts to any media outlet in town....give to Children’s Wish or any other kids charity!

Open the magical window and keep it open as long as possible because it closes all too soon.

And keep your whining to yourself....especially that “bunk” about there being no Santa!?!

Merry Christmas!

love tImMy:)

Laugh as much as you breathe....

Love as long as you live (believing)

Yes? #65

Morning Friend,

It all started innocently enough, with a note, stealthily passed via a third party to my desk in grade four.

My ten-year-old imagination quickly shifted into hyper-speed as I stared at the oddly feminine flair in the writing of my name.

Was this a coded message from Mata Hari?....my secret orders from High Command? The beginnings of a Hardy Boy Mystery Adventure?....Could Frank and Joe be in peril at this very moment...their fate spelled out in this note written in what could well be the flowery scrawl of Nancy Drew?

With suddenly trembling sweaty hands, a roar in my head and a "junkie's paranoia" that the teacher was going to pounce on me at any moment, I carefully opened the note like a fragile ancient parchment that might turn to dust at any moment.

Little did I realize, that the little piece of paper unfolding in my hand might just as well have been written by Franklin W. Dixon himself, because it was the prologue to a "Hardy Boy Adventure" that has lasted a lifetime.

The note asked, "Do you like Mandy?" - and had three boxes to choose from; "YES, NO, or MAYBE?"

Now a ten-year-old boy "likes" about a gazillion things, and in naming them he'd likely run through a whole slew of nasty, slimy, grody, thunderous, flashy, explosive, cool and gnarly things before he got near mentioning a GIRL!? ( although you just might have found Ellie-Mae Clampett in the top 100?)

To be sure, Mandy was no "Ellie-Mae" nor were there ANY buxom, "critter loving" tomboys to be found amongst the female students in a grade 4 classroom. ( there was quite a tall German girl who's intellectual development was right in step with her rather early physical development, thus rendering her more obnoxious than likeable )

But Mandy was cute and funny and friendly, and even though I was new to the note-passing subterfuge of adolescent courtship and youthful infatuation, the obvious bottom line here was that she liked ME.

That note suddenly represented the end of my innocence.

The safe circle of "likes" in my life; my family, friends, hobbies and heroes, had been invaded by one of nature's most powerful entities...puppy love.

I had not invited it yet it landed on my desk like a Federal Audit Notice...."Welcome to the World of LOVE".

"Please fill out the following form carefully and truthfully."

"You will be required from this point on, to make any and all intentions with regard to matters of the heart i.e.: "Love"... clear, concise and legible."

"This is a binding contract in which your actions will be required to mirror your words."

"The love in this agreement is "conditional" upon regularly reviewed performance."

That note my friend, was the FIRST time I became aware of one of the great necessities in all "grown up" human interaction: making one's self, and one's intentions, clear.

Surely I had been "showing off" on the playground and was interested in attracting the attention of someone, but who it was, was not CLEARLY known?

Answering the note would clarify my position and alleviate the need for so many break-neck acrobatics or class-disrupting "Tim-foolery".

It would give young Mandy the courtesy and consideration of knowing "where she stands".

Whether you're a pre-teen or a Pensioner, it is essential to people who love you to know where they stand - to get a note back that says "Yes, No or Maybe".

The "note" itself can be non-specific; an unspoken wish for your well-being, an offer of help, the hand of peace, a guiding light awaiting nothing from you but a sense of your willingness.

You can say "Yes" in a hundred different ways without saying the word, just as there are hundreds of ways of showing No.

Body language, tone, demeanor, affect, color, quality, efficacy, are some of the myriad nuances of ACTION; your response to any and all notes that life slips onto your desk.

For many of my adult years the object of my affection received confirmation of my ardor on a daily basis.

From the devotion, commitment, resources, time, energy, passion, earnestness, fire, willingness and zeal that I spent on it, it was painfully obvious to all that I was in LOVE with booze. ( to the exclusion of all else)

I thought of my "sweetheart" first thing in morning, all day, and fondly before each night's passout.

We're "broken up" now ( thanks to A.A. , the Good Lord, and the fact both our parents were against a "mixed" relationship) which has left me with the delightful dilemma of where to channel all of that unused love blessedly yet in my heart.

There is so much to love about life now that one of the more difficult tasks has been where to start?

As singularly as I was in love with booze, my passions today are plentiful on the grownup playground, where "knowing where you stand" is just as monumentally important as it was in grade 4.

I won't throw a snowball at you or hang upside down on the monkey bars, but if I "like" you, you'll KNOW it.

Unlike Mandy who got a "Maybe".

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live (Hardy-Boying)

...many things... #64

Morning Friend,

Since snow, and with it the Christmas Season are finally UPON us, I thought it appropriate to share MY "Festive Focus", as the "countdown" - for many of us, begins......

Christmas Is.... by tImMy

C is for the CHILD of GOD whose birth did set us free
His Holy Birth proclaims the worth of Spirituality

H reminds of HOME and HEARTH where families bind anew
Slights forgotten, heartaches trodden...respite from the blues

R is for REFLECTING on one's blessing and one's sins
Strength and health give mercy stealth, forgiveness ere begins

I INSTILLS an INNER PEACE and sweet tranquility
A mighty spirit all can feel it, the glow of Christmas glee

S is for the SONGS that SING in every person's heart
Carols ring sweet voices sing, symphonic souls embark

T feels like the warming of a special loving TOUCH
Hugs, hands shaken, blessings taken...so little meaning so much

M is for the MEMORIES that the Yuletide seems to nourish
remembrance cast from Yuletides past, forge legacies which flourish

A is for the ATMOSPHERE emerging from the Season
Strangers greeting, minds are meeting, Love rhymes, Faith is Reason

S is for the SOULFUL STATE in which I deem to fall
Be at Peace and Share God's feast, MERRY CHRISTMAS one and all!

* the aforementioned "countdown" is at 25 ( critically important) SLEEPS. Especially critical to those with concerns about their standing on the old "naughty/nice" balance sheet!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( being Good)

Lions' Den #63

Morning Friend,

Contrary perhaps to what is considered advisable, I spend a portion of my spare time in the company of people who drink alcohol regularly, and heavily.

The fact that many of them may be alcoholic is a fact not lost on one who most certainly is.

But the fact that we all share the same interest in shooting pool and shooting the bull is as inescapable as the loving clutches of a spry old Aunty.

In fact, the Sherbrooke Inn where we often congregate is one of this town's more nefarious old "Lush's Landmarks".

I've whiled and wasted many a dark day and endless night away there myself.

If I believed in such things, then the GHOSTS of my own lost spirit must yet be lurching through its' dank archways in search of 2 more draft.

Such romanticism and wonder is no longer on tap there for me, but the dour old dive still holds a familiar spell over a "regular" or two.

And since many of my old friends are mostly "regular", at least from a bar-going standpoint, I find myself once a week in "harm's way".

Now if you think my friend that this is about some kind of "whistle by the graveyard" affair where I'm flaunting mayhem and purposely risking disaster, you're being a little bit melodramatic, but the issue of advisability, does apply here.

I do get asked quite frequently, "what are you doing here?", "how do you stand being around drunks?", and my favorite, "are you SURE you're an alcoholic?", as if my healthy glow and clear countenance were incongruent with the considered model.

This is after all, a distribution point ( albeit a stinky one) for wine and spirits...it's a BAR!

It's a common room, a drinking establishment, a beverage room, a lounge, a club, a pub, THE bar.

One can easily see why it wouldn't be on the list of "advisable" places to be when one is alcoholic.

One look reveals why it's also not on the list of advisable places to impress a date?

The dilemma thus arises, and options with it.

The advisable "textbook" option is to simply stay away from anywhere that alcohol might be available, and get all new friends.

The textbook option is probably/actually responsible for keeping me drunk for a few extra years because it made sobriety sound about as appealing as low back pain.

But for many newly sober, or those still at a high risk for slips, it is the only option, and for some a life long one.

It's not hard to recommend to a burn victim, not to run into any burning buildings.

The "new friends" business is not so geographically solved, and requires not so much that they be new, so much as you are.

Many of my "new friends" are the same "old" ones.

I of course "weeded out" all of those who had been forcibly pouring booze down my throat and/or were a "bad influence".

But besides me if there's anything else new it's the friendship itself.

It's real.

Not like a textbook, but a just published tome with unfinished stories in it and chapters richly telling of love and fellowship and brotherhood and true friendship.

These are people with whom I've shared life, celebrated their young and buried their dead, and we all relish in the notion that they didn't have to bury me.

Witnesses to my darkest hours, they as I now bask in the joyous new brightness of an emerging light and daily reprieve from despair....so long as I don't "preach". ( or brag too much! )

The tradeoff is I try not to make sobriety sound so appealing and my friends in return, refrain from forcing me at gunpoint to drink.

I suppose if I was a "by the book" kind of a guy and wanted to see my friends somewhere where alcohol wasn't available, we could meet at the library.

But what the book doesn't mention is that I have friends who would smuggle a "mickey" into the library anyway, so I figure we may as well shoot some pool.

And while it may not be advisable to do so in the company of alcoholics, I do so with great vigililence and no small amount of gratitude.

Grateful, because the Good Lord has rewarded my resolve with the strength to walk fearlessly with whomever and wherever my journey takes me.

Because you're only in danger in the lion's den if you're feeding the lions.

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( under advisement)

Let It Roll #62

Morning Friend,

If I knew today was my last day to live I'd put on clean underwear and my most comfortable shoes.

I’d try and “tidy the place up”.

I'd get a "decent haircut" in case my Grandmother is on "Pearly Gate Duty" today.

I'd give up smoking because surely I could last a DAY?

I'd go up to that person who I'd been meaning to chew out and give them a hug, and apologize to the person chewing me out so they'd give me one.

I sure as heck wouldn't get distortedly drunk and miss out on anything.

No matter what the weather was like, I'd be compelled to extol the virtues of our vibrant environmental variables.

I’d “smell the roses”, or at least be mindful of how they lovely they smell in comparison to what I’m smelling.

I'd dust off the best joke I knew and make as many people smile as I could.

I'd pick ONE thing from my ever-lingering "to do" list and do it WELL.

I'd go through my usual daily exercises, not for any long-term benefits obviously but for the energetic "glow" they usually provide.

(Same thing for brushing and flossing I suppose.)

NO regrets, angst or self-pity today my friend....today would definitely be a day for unrestrained and gleeful GRATITUDE.

Because truthfully, when one who is fortunate enough to live in this "Eden-esque Land of Plenty", stops and does a true Life Assessment, the enormity of one's good fortune is self-evident.

I’d throw down such a gauntlet of glee that fearful thoughts would scatter like dead leaves in a gale.

I would tell people I liked, why, and people I loved, how much.

I would absorb; the fresh air, the engaging scenery, the melodic sound, the kaleidoscopic essence of the day like a dusty sponge cast into a teeming ocean.

I'd make the most of it, that's for sure.

But what if today "might" be my last day to live?

I "might" get "ironed out" in an unforeseen traffic mishap as people do every day?

I "might" have an unbeforeseen cerebral aneurism blow up like a tire and not wake up from my afternoon nap today?

I “might” fall ill and never recover or worse; left in a weakened or debilitated state for the rest of my days?

Or I "might" live to be a hundred years, defying all odds while miraculously thwarting every sinister pitfall known to man?

It's a fine line between knowing and wondering isn't it?

The trouble with not knowing is that it makes life something of a daily gamble.

Can I put off, delay, postpone, procrastinate, or WASTE, one more day or not?

If you're the type that enjoys the perilous pace, the anxiety-laced, stomach-souring EDGE of rolling the dice with your life, you’re taking the chance that "snake-eyes" doesn't come up too suddenly; too soon, before you're ready... like today.

I was fortunate enough to get up from the “craps table” while I still had a dollar left in my pocket.

Not even enough for bus fare to church or an A.A. meeting, but I'm a cyclist with an aversion to Transit Tom anyway.

And my bets are on the fact that this blessedly wonderful gift from God, just "might" be my last day to live.

Tomorrow is an uncertainty.

Today is really the only sure bet I have today, and today is the only day I have to live to its’ fullest.

If it’s the last one then it certainly will have been a shameful thing to waste.

And if it ISN'T, then I'm a winner either way.

‘Cause my barber is on holiday :)

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....
Love as long as you live (prepared)

Try This At Home #61

Morning Friend,

Here's a little experiment I've been trying that you might find very enlightening.

I say "trying" because it involves changing one of my festering and long ingrained character defects.

And I say "one" because there are actually several which the self-discovering voice of sobriety has brought to my previously distorted attention.

"Ahh the days of wine and roses and rose-colored glasses!"

"Hmmm."

Yes my friend, it turns out that if you sober up a drunken horse thief, you're still left with a larcenous equestarian.....probably even a more effective one!?

So on this ever evolving list of reasons I'll never sing Mac Davis's "Oh Lord It's Hard To Be Humble" again, ( at least not with same drunken fervor anyway? ), was a fairly easy defect to identify because it involves communication, which in my case is pretty much akin to breathing.

Like my Dad, who'd be impossible to sway from trying to strike up a conversation at a deaf-mutes' convention, I enjoy talking with people.

Probably a great deal more than my bosses appreciate, but thankfully my gregariousness is not a hindrance to my productivity....if anything, it enhances it!

The question becomes, "if you're talking a lot, what are you finding to talk about?".

Of course with me it all starts with the "joke of the day"....( by the way, "what's the difference between the government and the mafia?....one of them is organized.” )...then it's on to sports, current events, the weather, and eventually....gossip.

As to the origin of the word....

Gossip - In merry old England, a godsib was a godparent of either sex, sib being the Anglo-Saxon word for "kinsman." When godsibs were together, particularly female ones, no doubt a fair share of idle talk occurred, and the word soon lost its d and its religious context and acquired the meaning of one with whom one chats intimately.

As to it's contemporary role as part of an organization’s or circle of friends' informational "grape vine", gossip is inevitable.

It is also as tantalizing as it is unreliable and it can be as mean-spirited as it is rampant.

My workplace being no exception, seemed the perfect place for my experiment.

I wanted to know how much NEGATIVITY I was contributing to its' rampant and tantalizingly unreliable network of gossip.

And I did so because of a promise I made to myself in the middle of a dear friend's funeral last year.

"Ginette", the tearful eulogist said, "never had a bad thing to say about ANYONE."

"THIS!", I said to myself was one of this fine lady's innumerable attributes that I could strive for.

If I had nothing "good" to say about someone, then I would change the subject, or shut up.

A "valiant promise" indeed but one which my experiment showed, I'd been breaking badly...."bad-mouthing", "insinuating", "trash-talking" "ridiculing", "nay-saying", and every other bent of "bleak blathering" you can name.

Now the beauty of a self-made promise, if you're sincere about it ( and in my case sober when making it); it's like one you broke with an angry girlfriend only this time she's on speed dial in your BRAIN.

And all the while I'm in the middle of a conversation, there's a familiar ringing in my head ( yes it DOES get quite noisy up there sometimes), that goes off whenever the old compulsion to throw my black hat into the ring arises.

And it reminds me once again that while I wasn't a horse thief in my old life, I sure did a Texas-sized heap of wallowing, reveling and relishing in my and others' misery.

It didn't take too much experimenting to discover how that defect could flourish quite nicely....how new AND improved only happens in advertising.

I got the "new" part....the "improved" comes from just trying to improve daily.....on a conversation to conversation basis.

It's actually turning out to be "fun" addressing this defect, and it's certainly something you can "try at home"!

There are some instances where finding something good to say about someone or something can be considered a great FEAT of imaginative prowess!

And sharing that "find" with positive energy, superfluous sincerity, and heartfelt flourish might well be a masterpiece of performance art!

And your experiment, a rousing success!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( hypothesizing)

Standards #60

Morning Friend,

"Doing a good job is sometimes like wetting your pants while wearing a dark suit...it gives you a warm feeling, but nobody notices !"

I have seen this quote on posters of a "'sheepish-looking" Charlie Brown so I assumed they were the words of the late great Peanuts creator, Charles M. Schulz himself.

Further research however attributes the words to a lesser-celebrated but no less prolific talent by the name of "unknown".

Ironic isn't it that the profound work itself should be like another good job running warmly down Mr. Unknown's legs as it's mistakenly credited to someone else?

I'm not sure which is worse, having your good work go unnoticed or someone else receiving the accolades for it?

The truth of the matter, ( here comes one of my "Life's Harsh My Friend"...), the truth of the matter IS, my friend... that MOST of our good works during our all too brief time on earth go completely unnoticed, and a good many ARE attributed to others - sometimes by some far less scrupulous individuals than ourselves !

In an ultra-competetive workplace this can be troublesome.

In a work environment where job security, compensation and advancement relies on good workers being identified, one could easily spend as much time ensuring they get correctly recognized for their efforts, as they spend on the work itself?

Or worse, one could spend ALL their time "sidling", "spinning" and "brown-nosing" instead of DOING anything other than taking credit for the good work of others?

On the other hand is the NON-competetive workplace like the "Union" shop where "accolades" and "bonuses" are neither sought nor given.

A "good" job requires that you show up on time and complete the basic required tasks.

You can "knock yourself out" all you want striving for excellence, doing extra, being the best, and going above and beyond, but all the "thanks" that you might get, won't buy you a cup of coffee.

So what's a poor soul to do in this "starkly cool and unfair" world where exceptional performance can go unnoticed, be stolen or is deemed unnecessary?

I would suggest that a person of high moral fibre and a strong sense of self-worth should have no trouble setting their OWN standards of job, and LIFE performance.

At the end of the day, ( unless you're sociopathic or otherwise deranged), it's YOUR face in the mirror.

IF you can face it, can you answer its' questions?

- Did I do my BEST today?

- Did I live up to my STANDARDS?

- Did I make myself PROUD?

- Can I set my standards HIGHER?

For many like myself who've found true success through a DAILY life of small, but not insignificant triumphs, the nightly ritual of self-assessment and evaluation is ALL the BONUS I require.

My "standard" is to simply do the BEST with the tools the Good Lord has given me.

I don't always get noticed.

Other people sometimes take credit for my work.

I'm not REQUIRED to go the extra mile.

But I am the setter and keeper of my own standards and they are high indeed.

I wrote a little question to myself and it's posted on my "office" door at work and on my kitchen wall which reads:

"IF I OWNED THIS COMPANY, WOULD IT BE IN MY BEST INTERESTS TO HIRE ME?"

In answering the question I'm often left with a warm feeling that doesn't require I wear a dark suit.

...or mutter "Good Grief" either.

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live (acknowledged)

Anger-Shmanger #59

Morning Friend,

Before you go ahead and pop a vessel over burnt toast, bad drivers or uncooperative co-workers today, you might want to take a look at anger from a "cooler" and somewhat enlightened perspective.

Now because I'm no medical expert I've dug up some interesting facts on the physiology of anger that should be of interest, especially if you happen to be a "frequent flyer", ( as in "off the handle"?).

The following is from an article by Vijai P. Sharma, Ph.D...

"As America's number one killer, heart attacks account for nearly half of all deaths in U. S. Every year, over twice as many people die of heart attack as from all types of cancer combined. Other conditions being equal, a person given to angry outbursts and high hostility is at a higher risk of a heart attack, or even death than a person with low anger and hostility. We must remember that anger does more inward damage than can be seen by the naked eye. Anger hurts the angry more than it does the object of the anger. There is an oriental saying, that goes, "You will not be punished for your anger. You will be punished by your anger." This is a physical fact!

Let's look at the physiology of anger. During an outburst of anger, heart rate goes up to 180 beats per minute or even higher compared to the regular heart rate averaging about 80. The blood pressure too goes up, 220 to 130 or even higher, compared to normal readings of 120 to 80. Other harmful physical and chemical changes take place. Body uses up sugar extremely fast creating a sugar deficiency. As a result an angry person shakes in anger.

In the primitive order of the animal world, anger, aggression, and assault are one and the same thing. The body just knows that it is in a "fighting" mode in which it may be injured and bleeding may occur. To safeguard itself in the case of excessive bleeding, the angry person's body releases chemicals to coagulate (clot) the blood, therefore blood clots form more quickly than usual. Now a truly dangerous situation is at hand, that is, ( 1 ) bleeding has not occurred, and (2) a clot is formed which can potentially travel to any organ of the body, including, the brain or the heart.

In a fit of uncontrollable anger, in the case of a heart patient, the heart can suddenly stop due to that clot floating up to the heart and getting lodged there. In another case, heart arteries can squeeze off hard enough to choke off the supply of oxygen to the heart which can cause severe chest pains, creating the well known condition of "angina pectoris." A stroke can also occur when a person in an uncontrollable fit of anger bursts an artery in the brain. This is how anger can hurt the subject more than it does the object of the anger".

Now you're probably wondering my friend, how on such a gorgeous Autumn day with everything coming up roses in my life, why I'd choose to address such a tempestuous topic?

Well first of all it's nice to be able to write "about" anger as opposed to "writing angrily because I'm angry".

If I had to be angry to write, than I certainly wouldn't get much writing done, if any?

Besides the market is already flush with furious editorialists and curmudgeonly commentators looking to incite and infect the masses with their virulence.

MY goals are more along the lines of "shared enlightenment"...and of course a little "fun" :)

Not that there wasn't a time when I was frustrated and bitter and mad at the world. ( 1579 days ago actually !)

In those dark days, everything and everyone was against me from the weatherman to the government.

My health was failing, everyone around me were idiots and my Spiritual light was barely flickering.

And if there's a common thread to be found amongst "angry" people, ( besides the fact they usually die early from some sort of "blown gasket"), is the fact that it's ALWAYS SOMEONE ELSE'S FAULT!

You would think that in a world where one is completely perfect and blameless; mere PREY to the whims and folly of the imperfect world outside, that one would be better off and safer, staying at home and getting drunk? ( which is what I did actually. )

Strangely enough though, you reach a point in that so-called "safe" place and realize there's nobody around to get angry at, because you're alone.

The only one left to vent, rail and rant against is that bloodshot mess, staring forlornly at you in the mirror.

And if, at that moment you have the wherewithal to do an ACCOUNTING, you will realize all the previous anger has been sadly misplaced, misdirected, AND as it turns out, miss-USED.

The problem is NOT, the government, the weather, bad drivers, over-zealous police, your boss, your neighbor, bad luck, ill-will or misfortune!

The problem is YOU....being ANGRY instead of ACCOUNTABLE!

Getting angry changes nothing in life, ( except your cardiac function as Dr. Sharma told us ).

However, if the source of your anger is something that you can realistically change, and inducing such intensely powerful physiological symptoms already, then why not HARNESS that energy and put it behind a plow of RESOLVE?

You see just such an example of this in today's accompanying picture of good old Abraham "Harvesting Tomatoes in the Snow".

An unexpected "mini-storm" a week or so ago caught me with my harvesting "pants down" so to speak and I had obviously waited too long to pick the last of my tomatoes.

"#$&%(@)-WEATHER !!!!" , was my first instinctive thought of course, but from that angry energy I quickly decided that "all was not lost" and readied to conduct a "salvage mission" at first light.

The slightly soggy mission was a "sweet" success, owing in part to the hardiness of the Good Lord's tomatoes, and the calm resolve of his grateful friend!

And a few days later the #&*%$ weather turned nice enough to wear shorts again ( still ) !

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( mellow)

Ex-Tree-dinary #58

*NOTE: the following has been rated "P" by the Op/Ed Writers Society as it "may contain poetry or some form of writing laid out to look like it". (This is a public service announcement...."you're welcome"! A.S.)

Morning Friend,

I am humbled by nature.

And affected greatly by the seasons; CONTENT in Winter, EXCITED in Spring, GRATEFUL in Summer, and ....?

The FALL, used to be a severely depressing time for me, and it had nothing to do with the impending six months of local climate and terrain not unlike that found on Earth's moon. ( the dark side of it! )

No it was more a case of NOT being humbled, touched, moved or affected by nature in any way at all.

It was a case of living UN-naturally, and therefore not exalting the ever-changing, ever-beauteous seasons, but lamenting them.

Like a squirrel that had caroused all summer and not squirreled away anything for the Winter, my "nutty" existence was completely contradictory to what is considered natural behavior.

Sometimes my friend, a simple walk amongst the teeming life of the woods is a humbling reminder that I am but a tree in God's forest, and thrive best when not breaking, Nature's laws.

If I may, a little excerpt from what a little "cabin winterizing with Pop" over the weekend brought to mind whilst cavorting in the breath-taking woods of Traverse Bay!

Ex-Tree-dinary by tutall

I am yet breathless from an adventure

whereupon I walked upon

a beautiful carpet of late-fallen leaves

I heard summer summer's whispering wind

bid farewell coolly and coyly

as if to say, "See ya...later?"

The air heavy with the scent of harvest

was smoke-tinged

and wondrously familiar

In the eerie silence of the deep woods

gnarly tree limbs creaked

like an old man's bones

I saw beneath the blaze of color

that the forest's finery

had been but a mirage

The green skirt of earth's burlesque summer

lay strewn and kicked aside

by the naked trees

The once sensuous siren boughs

now hags' claws clutching

at falling beauty

In the tepid light of the low Autumn sun

the forest holds its' breath

gilded in patient bark amour

The long dark Knight of Winter is approaching

upon a hellish white steed

of icy mayhem

The trees are sentinels in stoic stances

guarding the hasty retreat

of those shelter-bound

There are casualties of fire and wind and time

and tears freely flow

nourishing the land with hope

Mighty treetops melt into the stage

as on exquisite cue

until Spring's curtain call

The long darkening shadows of Autumn

are cold empty specters

best left behind

The upturned eyes of the squinting trees

ever stare

at the life-giving sun

Never a backwards glance give they

at shadows behind

and beneath

I am yet breathless from my adventure

where I found the light of Nature

within God's sight

And the light fairly lit up my soul

and the beautiful carpet

of late-fallen leaves

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( Tree-mendously)

Ever fore #57

Morning Friend,

Here’s a “story” to put you asleep once the leftover turkey runs out.!

I was unable to obtain the services of Robert Bateman for the accompanying "artwork"; in fact the primitive scrawling is probably the least "Bateman-esque" you are likely to find !? ( "Crude but Effective Expressionist"? )

I image you’ll be able to glean any number of my underlying psychiatric issues from this "fairy tale"?, but on the whole I think it nicely reflects the afterglow I’m feeling after a blessed weekend of shared thankfulness, unabashed generosity of spirit, and a true bounty of loving nourishment.

May God bless my friend, all whose hearts are hearths of comfort and everlasting, ever-glowing, ever-giving love...evermore.

Ever fore by tImMy

The young moth took off along with her first breaths of life and soared as the breeze breathed purpose into her furtive and uncertain path.

It was dusk and the growing darkness only added to the already fearful moth’s sense of dread. She flitted aimlessly from branch to flower trying in vain to capture the warm coattails of the setting sun but soon realized it was setting faster than her spirits.

She finally settled upon a warm mossy rock that had been baking in the warm afternoon sunlight and she relished in its’ comfort as the air cooled around her. The moth innately knew that this lovely place – while a haven for the sun’s rays – left her vulnerable to predators such as the birds she heard madly chirping nearby.

She flew off the now cooling rock keeping as low to the ground as the strengthening wind would allow; her senses taut in desperation to find some form of light and accompanying warmth.

The young moth soon found herself faltering in the shroud of the darkening woods. It was getting cold….as cold as the graying light. She feebly thought of making a dash toward the dimly lit moon but realized thoughtfully that its reflected light held little comfort to a shivering moth whose waning strength was hardly up to such a journey!

Suddenly a wisp of wind tinged with wood-smoke painted the air and she flew off eagerly towards the tangy source. The wind ruffled and strained her beating wings and she fought and won several losing battles having to double back time and time again; the smell getting stronger….the essence getting closer….the feel getting nearer….and then….the SIGHT!

A blazing five-foot bonfire had been abandoned by some careless revelers and to the young moth’s delight there was no sign of their returning!

Gorgeous multi-colored flames lashed out and sucked the chill from the air, exhaling a blast of serious heat that drew the young creature forward like a fluttering mindless drone.

The warmth, the color, the smell and the crackling sounds were pure Ambrosia to the moth-maiden who, in her weakened delirious condition was about to fly head-long into the fiery abyss.

“Hold on there young lady!!!....”

The moth stopped dead in mid-flight - the booming voice like an invisible wall in front of her.

“What in the heck do you think you’re doing?”

Weak with shock and surprise, the moth fluttered to the forest floor at the outer edge of the bonfire’s seething heat and gasped, “ I….I…don’t know….I….who are you?”

“Well….last time I checked, I’m a fine strapping eight hundred degree crackling burning bonfire that would probably do little more than just singe your pretty and foolish wings you silly moth!”

“I am not a silly moth. I am just young and didn’t know better….but I’m thankful nonetheless for your consideration in saving me and showing me the error of my way. I’d surely enjoy the warmth of your company! Is there any way I can possibly pay you!?”

She now basked in the glow of the bonfire inching as close as she dare hardly believing she was actually having a conversation with it/him!?

A gust of wind stirred a vast wave of flame and a shower of sparks that the moth thought was meant as an end to their conversation but as she prepared to fly off the bonfire’s voice froze her with his its’ plea.

“I’m sorry about the wind….how it scared you. But I’d surely wish you’d stay!? That’s how you could… pay, though I hardly think you owe me anything…and if you’d like, I could tell you some stories!....before I…have to go.”

The aftermath of the sudden wind gusts had diminished the bonfire significantly and the moth found herself able to move ever closer, somewhat dangerously as the hot embers tickled her wings.

“Where do you have to go?” she asked with an uneasy sense of dread about her new and appealing “friend”.

“I’m not sure!? I was once ablaze with fiery strength and burning passion...it was like daylight in this clearing! But now....I’m weakening....burning up I suppose!? But never you mind....I’ve got SOME stories to share with you! Wonderful tall tales, and funny jokes and yarns of exploits and adventure that have been told and cherished right here at my very feet!! I’ll try my best to edit for content, since you’re so young and all! Some things in this life you’re better off finding out as you go!”

The bonfire’s tone reflected his own intensity as he shared his stories and his warmth with the enraptured moth. She reddened with embarrassment ( as much as a moth can I suppose!), and flushed with delightful laughter as he re-told the bonfire stories and fireside jokes he’d experienced.

The night passed quickly and giddily, as the bonfire relished the rapt joyousness of his precocious new friend. ( as it often does, among friends.)

With the passing of the night came the realization that the bonfire was dying. His voice had weakened like the fire that had battled the darkness through the cold hours. His spirit began to wane as his strength faltered like the flickering flames.

“I think I’ve...run out of stories... young lady.” The voice a mirror of the ashes soon to become cold in the silent fire pit.

“This has been....you have been....I....”, the last spoken in a breath swallowed up by the breeze.

“You can’t go!”, the frightened young moth was now dangerously close to the bonfire’s coals and hanging on to his words for dear life.

“Please don’t leave me Mister Bonfire!!!!....I....I love you!!!”

There was nothing in response but a dreadful silence as smoke wisped and then wafted from the blinking embers.

Frantically the moth rose up, her wings desperately fanning the cooling charred wood, pleading for a spark of response.

“Mister Bonfire!...Mister Bonfire!?....my love, please say something!”

Seeing one last glowing ember amongst the ashes, she saw with clarity and pure certainty, her beckoning destiny. How she was alive....how she was saved....how she had lived, and learned, and loved was owed to this fading force of life shared – and fulfilled.

The night is not dark by the fire of love, nor cold in its' company or lonely in its' memory.

The young moth hovered briefly, whispered his name one last time, and then flew headlong into the smoldering coal, bursting into tiny flume of fire...her last conscious feelings were those of the loving warmth of his embrace...and the eternal comfort of his words, “ I love you too!”

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....

love a long as you live (extraordinarily)