It is a matter of forgiveness...and what is that?

I have realized that nothing causes more turmoil than denying my own inner voice and choosing to not live by my truth.

If we have been disrespected, it in no way gives license to disrespect others. Nor does it negate the fact that our actions do affect others. However, as you will read below, one is responsible for themselves, their actions, their reactions, not the actions and/or reactions of others.

To forgive……You must have blamed.

Sometimes we must take a hard look at a concept called "forgiveness". Forgiveness as most of us have been taught is nothing but an illusion. One that is in place to keep us in a state of blame, judgment, and revenge. Most hang on to their judgments and hatreds. I have even heard others say - "I am a vengeful person and I like myself this way. For now I am OK with being vengeful…Until it hurts me." Well from a deeper perspective one can see that it hurts the whole way through. Most are also very good at blaming others for the shortcomings and problems of their own lives. When you think about this, it's insane. How can we blame others for OUR life?! Simple….its how we are taught, brought up, bred … whatever you want to call it.

Spirit does not forgive because it does not blame!

Life is a series of events that we ourselves have attracted and created. The universe is also a series of events. All of these events occur independently of our opinions about them. The stars are all in their proper places. Each snowflake that falls lands exactly where it is supposed to. The temperature and weather each day is exactly as it is supposed to be. The storms, the droughts, the floods, the flow of the rivers and the placement of the mountains, the orbit of the planets – all of it just is, perfect. The universe in all its glory, beauty and perfection is presented to us. There is nothing to forgive, because there is nothing to judge and no one to blame.

We create all that we need for our existence. When we know this, then we are in a position to know that we create all the frustration, anger, and hatred we have towards others as well. Even deeper….Are we in fact creating the others in our life for the purpose of having someone to blame?

Our need to forgive is a monumental misperception!

The belief that others should not have treated us the way they did is, of course, the ultimate absurdity! The ultimate expression of selfishness is to believe that the world should be the way we think it should be and that others should act as we think they should. The universe is always working exactly as it is supposed to, and so is everything in it even the things that we have judged to be wrong, improper, cruel, bad, and painful for us and others. Our desire to improve these things is also a part of this perfection. How can others not have treated us the way they did? Instead of being angry at the way we were treated, regardless of how horrible we have perceived it to be, we need to remember to view that treatment from the true perspective. They did what they knew how to do, given the conditions of their lives. The rest of the baggage we carry around with us is ours! We own it all ! If it is anger and judgment, then that is what we have elected to carry around with us and that is what we will have to give away to others!

I am sure some of you are saying…What? That is crazy. Is it?...I have been treated poorly, I have been wronged, I am a victim. He/she had no right to say or do that to me. I deserve to be treated better! I could go on and on and on. The truth is, how we react to others is what offers us peace or causes us pain. It has nothing to do with anyone but us. Let me rephrase that ... Our happiness is our responsibility, it has nothing to do with how others act, how they treat us, or the like. Furthermore, how we treat others has nothing to do with anyone but us as well. If someone is angry with us, hating us, casting out insults, doing all sorts of "perceived wrongs" to us, it is still our choice how we react to them and how they treat us.

An example. If you squeeze an orange what do you get out of it? Does it matter how you squeeze it? Does it matter what you use to squeeze it? Does it make a difference what the circumstances are that surround the squeezing of the orange? The truth is, when you squeeze an orange, no matter how, what, when, or where, you will always get orange juice. The same goes for us. If someone is angry with us and we react in anger it is because we harbor anger inside. If we have only love inside, we have only love to give away. No matter what, apple juice will never come out of an orange. And no matter what, if one is filled with love, understanding full responsibility for themselves, regardless of what is thrown their way, love is all they have to give in return.

If it is hate and judgment that we have elected to carry around with us, then it is hate and judgment that we will have to give away. You have literally given control of your life to those whom you have judged to have wronged you. It is really not about learning to forgive, but rather learning to correct the misperceptions that you have created with your own thoughts. Once you clear your thoughts you assume total responsibility for yourself, including how you are treated, and you will reach a point where the concept of forgiveness is no longer something that you even practice. Forgiveness will simply become part of your being, or rather you will realize that it has been part of your being, of your Spirit all along. You will have corrected all of your misperceptions and eliminated the three sources of your discontent: blame, judgment, and revenge, which create the need to forgive in the first place.

Once again….

To forgive….You must have blamed!

Now...that is a revelation for me...and one that has taken me on a long journey...partly fixating on what others did or others thought. The truth is...I don't really know...I can guess. And what does it matter in the end? The prison I created for myself certainly out ways the perceived wrong...they only did what they do...my reaction was to defend myself and blame them...and then have to find a way to "forgive". Really? Too much trouble to me...and not very productive for my happiness...So, I looked at the picture through another set of eyes...I stepped outside of my little prison...and discovered something...All the angst was focused on me...and for the first time I took a long deep breath and breathed it out.

No two interactions will ever be seen by people the same way. Misques, mistakes, and misunderstanding, all come with the distinct disadvantage of not really knowing what the persons real motive was...and besides, could that act be so important as to launch a thousand hours wrestling their demon? And how will that change the outcome? In truth, it doesn't.

Perhaps the key to dealing with it all...is just to view it as a movie...some parts are good...some dialogue real...ans some endings...well, just end unhappily...or does it?

What I guess I am saying is...As difficult as it seems, you can be sure of this: At the core of the heart, you have the power to move beyond the old issues that are still hindering your freedom. The hardest things—the ones that push you up against your limits—are the very things you need to address to make a quantum leap into a fresh inner and outer life.

In the long run, it's not a question of whether they deserve to be forgiven. You're not forgiving them for their sake. You're doing it for yourself. For your own health and well-being, forgiveness is simply the most energy-efficient option. It frees you from the incredibly toxic, debilitating drain of holding a grudge. Don't let these people live rent free in your head. If they hurt you before, why let them keep doing it year after year in your mind? It's not worth it but it takes heart effort to stop it. You can muster that heart power to forgive them as a way of looking out for yourself. It's one thing you can be totally selfish about.

The incoherence that results from holding on to resentments and unforgiving attitudes keeps you from being aligned with your true self. It can block you from your next level of quality life experience. Metaphorically, it's the curtain standing between the room you're living in now and a new room, much larger and full of beautiful objects. The act of forgiveness removes the curtain. Clearing up your old accounts can free up so much energy that you jump right into a whole new house. Forgiving releases you from the punishment of a self-made prison where you are both the inmate and the jailer.

Sincere forgiveness isn't colored with expectations that the other person apologize or change. Don't worry whether or not they finally understand you. Love them and release them. Life feeds back truth to people in its own way and time—just like it does for you and me.

Israel Zangwill said...it best

The Past: Our cradle, not our prison; there is danger as well as appeal in its glamour. The past is for inspiration, not imitation, for continuation, not repetition.

Well you know I like that...and for what it is worth...I like not making a prison of my feelings...I rather like the idea...of simply saying...it is what it is...and that in some other universe...or quantum observation...I may have been the offender...or maybe I was...wouldn't that be something?



Sometimes...it is just that easy...now why the heck does it take so long to figure it out? I know...but I am not telling...

Love,
The Lass

Now get some sleep...a new day is dawning...and I like to think it will bring with it much love and joy...if not...it will not be me stopping it.

Oh...one more thing, to forgive does not mean to continue to engage in the same behavior that attracted the thing that caused the grief to beging with...that would certainly mean that someone...is not thinking...

I love a good book store....and I have my favorite

I love libraries, museums and book stores. Not the real commercial type...Borders etc...I love a private, lovingly attended to...Book Store. The Book store I have fallen in love with, is Elliott Bay Book Company...This is no normal bookstore...it is a place of the love of books...of all books...and more.


Here is how they describe themselves...

The Elliott Bay Book Company, an independent, family-owned bookstore, was founded in 1973 by Walter Carr in the space which currently houses our children's section. In 1976, with the generous support of the Globe Building's owners and numerous friends of the store, we moved the store to the building in the corner and took residence on our current home at 101 South Main Street. That space comprised the store's first two rooms. In subsequent years we grew, room by room, to occupy the various nooks and crannies we do today. One of those expansions took us downstairs, and The Elliott Bay Café, Seattle's original bookstore cafe, was opened in 1979. This reader's haven, with its tasty foods, tempting desserts and beverages, and convivial setting, has served as one of the city's meeting places from the day it opened.


It is a joy...I tell you a joy...to walk around these rooms...just opening books to undiscovered places of mental landscapes...Someone wrote the words for me to read...to explore. They entertain...they teach...they inspire...they fill me with the desire to touch each page with solemnity...reverence for the author...a kinship of being. I love the written word. I wish I had the talent and the vision to ignite the thoughts that I have been so passionately attached to in my life.

But just as people find the natural environment full of grace and beauty, I find the same in the warmth of this bookstore.

So...if you find yourself in Seattle, and are looking for a way to spend the day...and you happen to love books...go to the Elliot Bay Book Co...and open yourself up to a wonderful experience full of the smell, touch, and experience...of loving books...

A little tune to go along...with fantasy...the Book of Love...



Some of it's transcendental...some of it's just really dumb...why yes indeed it is...but read to me...and my heart is yours...

Oh...and this is dedicated to a man who loves books...and shared his love of a few...he was not a friend...but he is forgiven...for a lover of books...cannot be all bad...
he wrote:

.. I picked up old copies (1922 and before) of several books last week including The Chessmen of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs, Kidnapped, and Last of the Mohicans the Burroughs book was the "newest" - printed in 1922. I have two (old) copies each of both Kidnapped and Last of the Mohicans. Actually - if I had the money (tentatively priced at $1,000) I would have bought a book by G.K. Chesterton inside of which was a letter by his wife, written to the person who had owned the book. I collect old books and manuscripts - the oldest being a sermon from 1686 followed by a collection of sermons & letter by Jonathan Swift (Gulliver's Travels) compiled by his nephew and printed in 1768. After that I have a number of books from the early 1800's like a bible from 1826 and number of classics from (e.g. printed in) the early to late 1800's like those mentioned above, and others by Dumas (The Three Musketeers), a couple by Jules Verne including one is Swedish from 1879 (I read enough to very crudely get the gist of the story but that is about it), Rudyard Kipling (The Light that Failed), George Eliot (Silas Marner), and then a of books from (printed) 1900-1925 by H.G. Wells, Edgar Allen Poe and others.

Oh...one more thing...it is a good place to purchase a Christmas gift for someone...trust me...books make good gifts. I have never met a book, I did not enjoy...even if it was "just really dumb".

The Lass...

no place to die...but death does not come with a happy ending

Last night a man went shopping. He may have been purchasing a gift for a love one...or simply purchasing something for himself. But, as he looked through videos in the electronics department...he took his last breath. The man had a fatal heart attack...in the aisle of our store.

The attempts by paramedics failed to restart the heart that simply gave way. But what was most disturbing was the crowd of on-lookers. The man was stripped naked...by the paramedics...and the crowd of people shopped and stood by watching as the attempts to save what life was left...would fail. My coworker Jim...closed the department...He was shocked. He said.."Diana...they continued to shop around him...My God..what is wrong with people.." I know what he was saying...this was not an animal...this was a human being...with family, and history....and dignity.

He didn't choose the time...it chose him. And it that moment...he was alone...among strangers...dying on a department store floor...as people moved around him...without a pause...no inconvenience to stop their shopping.

I write this because we all will meet this fate...let's hope that our time is met with more dignity...and never to be witnessed by such shallow people.

God bless this man's soul...and I do hope that his family never learns of just how inappropriate the people who would witnessed his passing were.

Sadly,
The Lass

Living Deliberately...and Thoreau...

As Henry David Thoreau so eloquently put it:

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.



That pretty much sums up where I am in my life...living deliberately. I like that notion. It came to me today while I was stocking cosmetics. Now this is certainly a menial task, and well someone with a degree an um teen years of management, probably should not be stocking shelves. But you know something...I enjoy it. What I think I like about it is the instant gratification...I fill a hole...and another and another until the shelf looks full...complete. And in that moment I get a "well done" thought in my head. Could anyone do it? Sure. Is it going to change the world? No, certainly not...but in that moment...I have done something with my hands...and I like that feeling.

I used to get great satisfaction from financial success...for companies...or seeing my goals met...but not any lasting feeling of simple pleasure. So I began to think about what really makes me happy. And you know...it is simple things...gardening, painting a wall, or decorating a home...I enjoy painting, photography, sewing, and just about anything that gives me that sublime moment of completion...as a manager you are never finished...there is no moment of ....it is finished. But when you create something with your hands...when you see the product finished...it is a joyful moment.

I love to cook for the same reason...it is an art to me. I love collecting recipes...and preparing dishes for friends and family...for that exact moment...when it is finished...and all gather to consume what I have created with my hands...

I would say in my life the things that have mattered most have all been connected with creating something...seeing it grow, completing it. In a sense...I have been living a life...deliberately.

Everything I do, witness, create, feel, sense, learn...is all done with such depth....I wonder how sometimes I could feel so lonely then? Perhaps I define this in terms that others may not understand...or perhaps I simply want to share all of this wonder...this lust for life...with someone who shares the same...deliberateness...

Even when life is difficult there is something vital in the difficulty. I overcame cancer...a loss of a job, financial ruin...and a year of struggling to find work in a place that was strange to me. But, when I think about it...other than a few behaviors that I would prefer to forget, I not only survived it all...I thrived. And I think I could...because I believe that all along I was living my life with deliberateness...awareness...and no resignation to my plight...but simply a daily move...to keep going and all the while stripping the layers of my onion.

All possessions gone...no money to speak of...lost to paying medical bills...no certain future...yet never losing that "knowledge", that I would make it...that I could make it.

I think when you work with your hands...when you create something...you are not thinking about yourself...you actually don't think at all...you are in a sense....outside of yourself...and the only thing you need to do...is to complete the task. Whether it is building a skyscraper, repairing a car...or simply casting a line in to the water...we all need to be active...and actively living.

Each day I spend on this wonderful blue dot...I am more hopeful for mankind. Unlike the doom and gloom club, I am inclined to believe in us...why? Because we are marvelous...simply marvelous...and even those of us who stray...or are flawed...are part of the glory of it all.

So...when I spoke to a friend tonight that was complaining about not having the "Christmas Spirit"...I began to talk to her about her fondest memories...of my experiences with customers and co workers at the store....of music that I have been listening to...or the boats that I watched last night...all decorated with lights...parading for people like me...to sit in joyful awe of the beauty of it...the celebration of it...and although I was alone...I stood with hundreds of my fellow human beings...smiling...oohing and ahhing...as the colorful lights drifted by.

Now...certainly I will be alone this Christmas...and certainly I would love to be with family....loved ones...but I guess on Christmas day...I will find a place or a moment to be part of it all...Church for one.

Now...if you are feeling blue this holiday season...go bake some cookies...or paint a ceramic village house...or purchase a toy for Toys for Tots...or simply go to the town square...where you live...and enjoy the hustle and bustle of people busy with their shopping...

And if that doesn't do it for you...remember Thoreau...

Friends do not live in harmony merely, as some say, but in melody

The melody for me sounds like this...




Now...how can you not be in a good mood...really...truly...

Love,
The Lass...living deliberately

Everybody loved Einstein...or did they?

I think that people sometimes get things wrong...very.

Although Einstein was a fairly intelligent man...the great scientist was also a flawed man, childlike and petulant in interpersonal relationships, blindly condescending to brilliant women, a failed father to his sons (one of whom was mentally ill), no father at all to his illegitimate daughter, and a fervent believer in the eugenic pseudoscience that underpinned Nazism.

Einstein, from the middle of his life until the end, made constant mistakes in his quest for a unified field theory uniting the giant world of relativity to the tiny realm of quantum mechanics. For a time, Einstein announced great breakthroughs almost annually, only to recant and retreat later. For all his revolutionary genius, he could not accept as final the probabilistic equations describing the quanta he discovered in 1905, insisting till the end that "God does not play dice."

There were dramas engendered by Einstein's great failures. These ran parallel: in science, in personal relationships, and in politics, where Einstein achieved his greatest notoriety. "After 1930, Einstein's opponents targeted his political views more than his physics--even in circles that were inclined to endorse his views," One author wrote. "He spoke on every topic under the sun. `Abortion up to a certain stage of the pregnancy should be allowed if the woman so desires. Homosexuality should not be subject to persecution except where necessary to protect young people. In regard to sexual education: no secrecy.'"

Einstein treated wives, lovers, and political causes in a way many Hollywood watchers would be familiar with today. But unlike today's icons, Einstein maintained a humbleness of spirit and a style to match. His great material loves, aside from his famous violin, were a small sailboat and a modest summer home in Caputh, Germany. "He had no need for a stately villa, like Thomas Mann, or for a banquet in the Adlon Hotel, like [writer Gerhardt] Hauptmann, or for stylish cars like Bertolt Brecht," Neffe explains. "He was satisfied with his fragrant little wooden house made of Oregon pine and Galician fir wood, in which he sometimes felt like Robinson Crusoe. [His wife] Elsa had wanted to build something larger, while he was almost ashamed at the grandeur of the house. `I think there is enough space here for all the scholars in the world whom I know and who have steered science onto new courses to gather together to talk and eat.' What more could he want?"

well...maybe Einstein saw the universe as we could not...but we live in the now...and so there are some clues to his humanity...such as his treatment of his wife.

After Einstein and Mileva married, they had two sons: Hans Albert and Eduard. Einstein’s academic successes and world travel, however, came at a price - he became estranged from his wife. For a while, the couple tried to work out their problems - Einstein even proposed a strange "contract" for living together with Mileva:

The relationship progressed. Einstein became estranged from his wife. The biography reprints a chilling letter from Einstein to his wife, a proposed "contract" in which they could continue to live together under certain conditions. Indeed that was the heading: "Conditions."

A. You will make sure
1. that my clothes and laundry are kept in good order;
2. that I will receive my three meals regularly in my room;
3. that my bedroom and study are kept neat, and especially that my desk is left for my use only.
B. You will renounce all personal relations with me insofar as they are not completely necessary for social reasons…

There’s more, including "you will stop talking to me if I request it." She accepted the conditions. He later wrote to her again to make sure she grasped that this was going to be all-business in the future, and that the "personal aspects must be reduced to a tiny remnant." And he vowed, "In return, I assure you of proper comportment on my part, such as I would exercise to any woman as a stranger." (Source)

And his son?

After the divorce, Einstein’s relationship with his oldest son, Hans Albert, turned rocky. Hans blamed his father for leaving Mileva, and after Einstein won the Nobel Prize and money, for giving Mileva access only to the interest rather than the principal sum of the award - thus making her life that much harder financially.

The row between the father and son was amplified when Einstein strongly objected to Hans Albert marrying Frieda Knecht:

In fact, Einstein opposed Hans’s bride in such a brutal way that it far surpassed the scene that Einstein’s own mother had made about Mileva. It was 1927, and Hans, at age 23, fell in love with an older and - to Einstein - unattractive woman. He damned the union, swearing that Hans’s bride was a scheming woman preying on his son. When all else failed, Einstein begged Hans to not have children, as it would only make the inevitable divorce harder. … (Source: Einstein A to Z by Karen C. Fox and Aries Keck, 2004)

Later, Hans Albert immigrated to the United States became a professor of Hydraulic Engineering at UC Berkeley. Even in the new country, the father and son were apart. There are some reports of this all over the web...but others state that he and Hans actually became closer and did travel with each other...in any event, Einstein really did love his son...and wrote to him constantly over the years. There letters to each other show...that he did indeed want communion with him.

Unfortunately the other son suffered so...with mental illness...that relationship would not be as well documented.

After Einstein divorced Mileva (his infidelity was listed as one of the reasons for the split), he soon married his cousin Elsa Lowenthal. Actually, Einstein also considered marrying Elsa’s daughter (from her first marriage) Ilse, but she demurred:

Before marrying Elsa, he had considered marrying her daughter, Ilse, instead. According to Overbye, “She (Ilse, who was 18 years younger than Einstein) was not attracted to Albert, she loved him as a father, and she had the good sense not to get involved. But it was Albert’s Woody Allen moment.” (Source)

Unlike Mileva, Elsa Einstein’s main concern was to take care of her famous husband. She undoubtedly knew about, and yet tolerated, Einstein’s infidelity and love affairs which were later revealed in his letters:

Previously released letters suggested his marriage in 1903 to his first wife Mileva Maric, mother of his two sons, was miserable. They divorced in 1919, and he soon married his cousin, Elsa. He cheated on her with his secretary, Betty Neumann.

Einstein described about six women with whom he spent time and from whom he received gifts while being married to Elsa.

Some of the women identified by Einstein include Estella, Ethel, Toni and his "Russian spy lover," Margarita. Others are referred to only by initials, like M. and L.

"It is true that M. followed me (to England) and her chasing after me is getting out of control," he wrote in a letter to Margot in 1931. "Out of all the dames, I am in fact attached only to Mrs. L., who is absolutely harmless and decent." (Source)
In the 1980s, Einstein’s private letters revealed something new about the genius: he had an illegitimate daughter with a fellow former student Mileva Marić (whom Einstein later married).

In 1902, a year before their marriage, Mileva gave birth to a daughter named Lieserl, whom Einstein never saw and whose fate remained unknown:

Mileva gave birth to a daughter at her parents’ home in Novi Sad. This was at the end of January, 1902 when Einstein was in Berne. It can be assumed from the content of the letters that birth was difficult. The girl was probably christianised. Her official first name is unknown. In the letters received only the name “Lieserl” can be found.

The further life of Lieserl is even today not totally clear. Michele Zackheim concludes in her book “Einstein’s daughter” that Lieserl was mentally challenged when she was born and lived with Mileva’s family. Furthermore she is convinced that Lieserl died as a result of an infection with scarlet fever in September 1903. From the letters mentioned above it can also be assumed that Lieserl was put up for adoption after her birth.

In a letter from Einstein to Mileva from September 19, 1903, Lieserl was mentioned for the last time. After that nobody knows anything about Lieserl Einstein-Maric. (Source)

This all is about the reality of peoples lives. Men of genius can and are complex...they require much in the way of relationships and are driven by quite different motivations...so how does one live with such a person?

Well...let's look at his first wife...

The Aftermath (1920-1955)
By the age of 45, Mileva had survived the loss of her daughter, her husband and her professional dreams. She had some cash from the divorce settlement, and earned a little more by taking in boarders and giving lessons in math and music. Life was tolerable.


But at the start of 1920, Mileva was called to Novi Sad. Her aging parents couldn't deal with Zorka's growing paranoia and hostility. Mileva stayed for three months. The autumn of 1922 found Mileva back in Serbia again: Zorka had incinerated a large sum of cash hidden in an empty stove. Events followed in rapid succession: Zorka suffered another psychotic break; Mileva's father, Milos, died of a stroke; Mileva had her sister legally certified as an incompetent - and Albert won the Nobel Prize.

Albert was on a lecture tour in the Far East when news of the Nobel Prize reached him. He couldn't attend the December ceremony. It was 1923 before a Swedish ambassador personally delivered the 1921 prize. Albert quietly routed the cash to Mileva. It was the smallest sum the Nobel Foundation had ever distributed, just 121,572 Swedish kronor (worth about $348,000 U.S. in 2003). Mileva invested in three properties, including an apartment house on Huttenstrasse, where she lived with her teenage sons.

The next year, Albert fell in love with a friend's niece. To keep her in Berlin, he hired her as a "secretary." Elsa permitted Albert to see his mistress twice a week, in exchange for keeping a low profile. Albert grew bored within a year. In April 1928, he hired a genuine secretary, Helen Dukas. She remained with Einstein until his death.

In 1929, Mileva was 53. Over the next 10 years, she would lose everything that mattered. First, Eduard was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Then Albert escaped the anti-Semitism of Nazi Berlin by emigrating to America with Elsa and his secretary. The following New Year's Day, Mileva's mother died. Three years later, Mileva went home for the last time, to bury Zorka. Then Hans Albert, his wife, and Mileva's two grandsons moved to the U.S., and within months her youngest grandchild was dead. By 1939, the world was in economic collapse, teetering on the brink of war.

Mileva asked Albert for help. She had sold two buildings, and faced foreclosure on the third. She couldn't pay for Eduard's care and maintain the Huttenstrasse apartments too. Albert took ownership of the property. After eight years, he abruptly sold it for 85,000 Swiss francs, on the condition that Mileva could stay. But on New Year's Eve, she received official notice that her lease was up. A friend attempted to get an extension and during the bureaucratic confusion, the buyer's 85,000 Swiss francs were accidentally paid to Mileva. Albert was livid. He threatened to cut Eduard out of his will if she didn't send the money to him instantly. But Mileva had a legal advantage: she held Albert's power of attorney in Switzerland, and she kept the money.

The following spring, Mileva collapsed during one of Eduard's violent episodes. She died in the hospital three months later and was buried in Zurich's Nordheim Cemetery. Her newspaper obituary didn't mention Albert. He was now a retired widower of 69. Johnny would outlive Dollie by seven years.

Not all things are understood in the universe and not all men are easy to deal with...some simply are good at work...and some are good at trying to have relationships. Some...simply leave others in their wake...never looking at what they left behind.

Does this negate his scientifc theories? No...but it does bring clarity...and one more thing...it makes him human...warts and all...and really that is all any of us are...completely flawed...just as God made us...remember. "God doesn't play dice."

Love,
The Lass



He was a flawed and complex man...who may have found people more complex than a little math equation E=MC2

Christmas Wishes from around the world

Sometimes we forget the real meaning of Peace and Love...so that we do not forget...and that we always remember the true meaning...give a little...it really does make you feel better...

Making a wish come true...now that is the stuff...to truly make your heart feel gladness...


Oh...THERE IS THIS...

counting your blessings

This is for a special peerson in my life...

Love,
The Lass

Big debate...touch vs sex in marriage...well here I go again.

About fifty years ago John Bowlby, author of Attachment, showed that we humans need something more than just food, water, oxygen, and physical shelter. He discovered that we could, as infants, receive all of those things and yet waste away without one other essential nurturing element: touch. Babies who were not cuddled sank into depressive states, quit eating, and died. And we never grow out of the desire and requirement for physical contact. Of course there are cultural and family differences as to how touch and affection are given, but the basic need persists.

Give me the touchers any day. My family are huggers and kiss and hug you into surrender. My nieces love to hug and like I said before...my fondest moments were spent cuddling Grace.

It’s no question that even “non-toucher” men are driven by another inner force: sex. The concept might be more solemnly expressed as a drive for procreation, but let’s face it, that usually has little to do with it. And that’s where the conflict arises. The need for touch and cuddling survives childhood but gets waylaid by testosterone in adolescent males, who never recover. Often I hear from my femaile friends, “I’d like for my husband to just hold me, but it will never stop there. Once he starts any touching, it’s going to end up in the bedroom.” (I would deny that emphatically. Lovemaking can happen on the couch in the living room, in the back seat of the car, or on the floor of the family room. A bed is not essential. I would say emphatically that it doesn’t take touch at all. Any look, sexy movement, or seductive dress is equally dangerous. A trench coat is deadly.)

Well, there you have it: There’s a real and healthy desire both sexes have for touch and affection not leading to intercourse and the real and healthy drive for the sexual release of orgasm. Are there any ways to satisfy both of these short of emasculation or deprivation? I hope so. Consider these alternatives.

When people with contrasting perceptions become polarized by differences, they become enemies fighting for their own point of view. Rather than considering each other, they entrench into defensive postures or express aggressive demands. Walls are built and distance develops. This can certainly happen in marriage over this issue of how affection is given.

I would propose that rather than negotiate from positions of “principles,” that parties discuss their conflict with an eye on their “interests.”

How so you ask?

Let’s say I want to have some cuddling from my husband without it leading to intercourse, but my husband thinks I am just looking for a way to deny his need for sexual release. If we approach each other on “principle” rather than with our interests in mind, I will feel uncared for by husband, who doesn’t seem to notice that I need to be held even when she may not feel up to making love. I can develop anger and resentment and refuse to come close to my husband at all. My husband may interpret my resistance as rejection and denial of his manhood. Giving in to my position may feel like giving up his manliness to have a relationship with me.

For us to look at the conflict from the position of our mutual “interest” we should discuss what we each want in our marriage. Our list would probably include words like intimacy, trust, caring, closeness, affection, respect, consideration, selflessness, and probably even sexual pleasure. Chances are once we shared our individual lists we would find we have many more common desires than differences. Realizing that can help us shift from being adversaries under attack to being allies working together. In all honesty we would probably discover that my husband likes loving touch (back rubs, a gentle hand running through his hair, holding hands, or cuddling on the couch watching TV) and that I enjoy the exciting release of orgasm when the time is right for me. Defining the parameters of our touching is no longer a win-lose proposition.

People are lousy mind readers. When we just assume we know what the other is thinking, feeling, or wanting, we’re often wrong no matter how long you know a person. How often do we hear couples describe disastrous results of playing guessing games with each other.

People do better at connecting with each other when we talk...actually saying words that reveal ourselves. One form of communication is what one might call “preambles.” You give each other a signal that you’ve got something important to say. You may even give each other a clear idea of the response you’d like to have.

Just talking to each other solves a lot of potential problems. The old way of hinting and guessing and assuming ends up with lots of frustration. And frustration is just something good for each other...period.

Any friendship is built on reciprocal giving to meet the other person’s needs. It’s the spiritual principle of reaping what you sow and it works in marriage as well as in other relationships. Because of our desire to meet one another’s needs.

So you fill your partner's emotional bank account through “non-sexual” touch and she responds with red hot lovin’.

Don't believe me?

Well...if you are having problems in this regard...why not try it? It may work...and then where will you be...in blissful fulfillment I would say...or at least for the moment...until you have to decide who will take out the garbage...now that one is a deal breaker.

Oh...and the Doors...



Touch me babe...well that works too.

or if you are trying to simply get the romance back...



You see...puts you in the mood doesn't it?

Yep...sure does...

Love,
The Lass

a little island...and time teaches us about love....

I don't know where this originated...or who wrote it. But it was given to me...by a very good friend. He died in September of 2006. I doubt if anyone who knew him, (with the exception of his wife) would ever believe he would be so touched by something, that he would simply have to share it. But share it he did...with me.

I spoke with my friend's wife tonight...(widow does not describe her) and I reminded her of this little story he shared with me. She misses him...and is feeling particularly lonely this Christmas...time has not healed the loss...

So tonight I shared with her my fondest memories of my friend...and also shared some of our flaws and foibles...and this little story. She said that she enjoyed talking about him...and I understood why...Why? Because I like to do so as well...

For a friend who has passed...and one who remains behind...still loving him...and that is a feeling I do understand.

The Island

Once upon a time there was an island where all the feelings lived, Happiness, Sadness, Knowledge and all the others, including Love.One day it was announced to all of the feelings that the island was going to sink to the bottom of the ocean. So, all the feelings prepared their boats to leave.Love was the only one that stayed. She wanted to preserve the island paradise until the very last possible moment.When the island was almost totally under water, Love decided it was time to leave. She began looking for someone to ask for help.Just then Richness was passing by in a grand boat. Love asked, "Richness, can I come with you on your boat?"Richness answered, "I am sorry, but there is a lot of silver and gold on my boat and there would be no room for you anywhere."Then Love decided to ask Vanity, who was passing in a beautiful vessel, for help. Love cried out "Vanity, help me please!""I can't help you," Vanity said, "You are all wet and will damage my beautiful boat."Next Love saw Sadness passing by. Love said, "Sadness please let me go with you."Sadness answered, "Love, I'm sorry, but, I just need to be alone now."Then, Love saw Happiness and cried out, "Happiness, please take me with you."But Happiness was so overjoyed that he didn't hear Love calling him.Love began to cry, then, she heard a voice say, "Come Love I will take you with me." It was an elder. Love felt so blessed and overjoyed that she forgot to ask the elder his name.When they arrived on land the elder went on his way. Love realized how much she owed the elder and when she met Knowledge she asked who it was that had helped her."It was Time", Knowledge answered. "But why did Time help me when no one else would?", Love asked.Knowledge smiled and with deep wisdom and sincerity, answered, "Because only Time is capable of understanding how great Love is."

If you are a visual person...well this is for you...




Oh...and one more thought...my friend's wife...well she is proof that only time is capable of understanding how great love is...

Love,
The Lass

Bells of St. Mary...and a theory of education...

I come from a family of educators...you know the type...PHD's in education...whew...hard to live with that kind of monkey on your back. Well...even my mother holds a Masters Degree in Education..Special Educator, I needed a little of that "special education". I digress.

Each Christmas we would gather around the TV set...no matter who was hosting the Christmas festivities and watch the film...Bells of St. Mary.

What's that? You never heard of the movie? My God...well, that is why I am here...my purpose in life...to help you with those things...

Bells of St. Mary...

The Bells of St. Mary's is a 1945 film which tells the story of a priest and a nun at a school who set out, despite their good-natured rivalry, to save the school from being shut down. It stars Bing Crosby, Ingrid Bergman, Henry Travers, William Gargan, Ruth Donnelly, Joan Carroll, Martha Sleeper, Rhys Williams, Richard Tyler and Una O'Connor.

The movie follows St. Mary's new pastor, Father Chuck O'Malley (Bing Crosby), who often finds himself at odds with Sister Benedict (Ingrid Bergman), the nun who oversees and teaches at the school. Their ups and downs play out in relation to two students: a boy (Dickie Tyler) who is being bullied (Sister Benedict teaches him how to box and defend himself), and a troubled girl (Joan Carroll) whose parents long ago separated (Father O'Malley attempts to reconcile the parents). The rundown school is in need of a new building--in fact, the school is fighting to stay open--and the nuns have their eyes on a modern new office building going up next door, hoping its owner, the crotchety Horace P. Bogardus (Henry Travers), will see the light and donate it as their new teaching facility. Meanwhile, Sister Benedict's deteriorating health leads to complications between her and O'Malley.

Now a little prank was played during the movie production...

The production was overseen by a Catholic priest who served as an advisor during the shooting. While the final farewell sequence was being filmed, Bing Crosby and Ingrid Bergman decided to play a prank on him. They asked director Leo McCarey to allow one more take, and, as "Father O'Malley" and "Sister Benedict" said their last goodbyes, they embraced in a passionate kiss, while the off screen priest-advisor jumped up roaring in protest.

Another fact...Leo McCarey was inspired to write the original story in tribute to his own aunt and childhood counselor Sister Mary Benedict, one of the Sisters who helped to build the Immaculate Heart Convent in Hollywood and who died in a typhoid fever epidemic.

So what does this have to do with theories of education? Thought I forgot, didn't you...

Well, like I was saying...my family is made up of educators...and when we gathered around the TV to view this wonderful Christmas movie...my grandfather would cringe...knowing the arguments would ensue...on the good Father's theory of education vs. the Sister's...now...me being me...well, can you guess whose side I took in the debate?


The Debate....



Well, I am not going to tell you...for that, well you would have to just come over, and sit and watch the movie with me....I do have my standards...and quite honestly it would be worth it...just to find out whose side I took...

The Lass...

Longfellow...and meanings...suffering and hope...

Though written 139 years ago, “Christmas Bells” has particular meaning. It is an expression of reborn faith in God during a period of doubt and dismay about a great war.

Longfellow - America’s first, great poet - was a devout Unitarian, a dedicated anti-slavery abolitionist and a devoted family man. Tragedies involving loved ones shook these foundations upon which the poet had built his life.

Tragedy

Early in 1861, Longfellow’s wife, Fanny, burned to death when she dropped a lighted match on her long dress. She was melting sealing wax onto envelopes for relatives.
The envelopes contained locks of “golden” hair from their youngest child -- five-year-old Edith.

Longfellow’s second son, Ernest, in later years rLelated how the five children were the inspiration of his father’s popular poem “The Children’s Hour.”

“While walking up an down with baby Edith in his arms, my father composed - and often sang to her - the lines sometimes attributed to Mother Goose.”

There was a little girl
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good,
She was ve-ry good,
But when she was bad
She was horrid.

Longfellow rushed to the aid of his screaming wife and tried to smother the flames by throwing his arms around her.
It was no use. Fanny died three hours later. Henry was badly burned and could not attend her funeral the next day. His face was so scarred after the ordeal he could not shave and so grew a beard.

Civil War

While still grieving his wife’s death, the Civil War started - and with it, Longfellow’s fervent hope for abolition of slavery by peaceful means.
Seventeen-year-old Charles Longfellow – oldest son of the famous poet - slipped away from home to join the Union Army.

He had shot off his left thumb in a hunting accident. This kept him out of the infantry which was his first choice. Instead, he was inducted as a Private and assigned to the First Massachusetts Artillery.

Charles proved to be a capable soldier and soon was commissioned a Second Lieutenant in the First Massachusetts Cavalry.

In this capacity he fought in the Mine Run Campaign at New Hope Church, Virginia, on Nov. 27, 1863. He was severely injured with a bullet wound in his shoulders, near his spine, and was evacuated to a hospital near Washington, D.C.
When father Longfellow was informed of this, he and son Ernest went to the hospital and was given permission to take Charles home to recuperate.

Faith Tested

During the long days and nights that his son hovered between life and death, Longfellow’s faith in God wavered. It seemed that his family was wasted, the war useless and God was dead..

In short, he suffered the same torment many folks do today when the birth of Jesus – Son of God – is challenged, and the conduct of the Iraq War doubted.
As Longfellow sat nursing his son through a long Christmas Eve, he reflected upon the meaning of life. At daybreak he was roused from his inner search by the sound of church bells announcing Christmas Day.

It was a symbolic call to Longfellow. He responded with the following poem in which you, too, may find inspiration for carrying on another Year.

---Lindsey Williams--

CHRISTMAS BELLS
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, goodwill to men!
And thought how, as day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, goodwill to men.
Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, goodwill to men!
Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, goodwill to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent.
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, goodwill to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
“And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, goodwill to men.”
Then pealed the bells loud and deep:
“God is not dead; nor doeth He sleep!
“The Wrong shall fail,
“The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, goodwill to men!”

Not many can suffer so much...and in response offer so much hope to others...but of course that is something for you to ponder while drinking your egg nog...me...well I think I do understand.


and...one more thing...



And now you know the rest of the story...you see...there is always the rest of the story...or I just think there is...

Love the Lass...

Oh...and one more thing...his first wife died during a miscarriage...Now ponder that...

Yes Virginia...there is a Santa Claus...and Quantum proves it...

I just love quantum theory. I do...it is a fact. And so it is that on this winter night...I went searching for proof that Santa is indeed alive and well...Why? Why you ask...how could you? Because silly...a little girl asked this question many years ago...

"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old. "Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. "Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.' "Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?"VIRGINIA O'HANLON."115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET.

"VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Well...here would be the response from a scientist...and a little theory of quantum thrown in...

Dear Virginia,
There is a Santa and Quantum mechanics proves that fact. The analysis about the death of Santa Claus, based on classical physics, is seriously flawed owing to its neglect of quantum phenomena that become significant in his particular case. As it happens, the terminal velocity of a reindeer in dry December air over the Northern Hemisphere (for example) is known with tremendous precision. The mass of Santa and his sleigh (since the number of children and their gifts is also known precisely, ahead of time, and the reindeer must weigh in minutes before the flight) is also known with tremendous precision. His direction of flight is, as you say, essentially east to west. All of that, when taken together, means that the momentum vector of Mr Claus and his cargo is known with incredible precision. An elementary application of Heisenberg's uncertainty principle yields the result that Santa's location, at any given moment on Christmas Eve, is highly imprecise. In other words, he is "smeared out" over the surface of the earth, analogous to the manner in which an electron is "smeared out" within a certain distance from the nucleus in an atom. Thus he can, quite literally, be everywhere at any given moment. In addition, the relativistic velocities which his reindeer can attain for brief moments make it possible for him, in certain cases, to arrive at some locations shortly before he left the North Pole. Santa, in other words, assumes for brief periods the characteristics of tachyons. I will admit that tachyons remain hypothetical, but then so do black holes, and who really doubts their existence anymore?

Now for those doubting Thomas' and you know who you are...here is one more irrefutable proof...




Virginia...now just let's think about this. Would the United States Government spend money on tracking Santa? Don't be silly.

Oh...and just in case you still don't believe...



In God We Trust...you see Virginia...faith alone...tells me there is a Santa...I hope that answers your question...

Santa Does Exist!!!! Whew...my work is done.

Love, Joy, and Peace on Earth...

The Lass...

Handel's...a Messiah...and God's universe is heard through the music.

When a nobleman once praised Handel as to how entertaining Messiah was, Handel replied, "My lord, I should be sorry if I only entertained them; I wished to make them better."

Oh...that there are times that a man sees God...and oh that such a vision would transport generations to sit at the side of their creator and for a moment know the face of God...

In a small London house on Brook Street, a servant sighs with resignation as he arranges a tray full of food he assumes will not be eaten. For more than a week, he has faithfully continued to wait on his employer, an eccentric composer, who spends hour after hour isolated in his own room. Morning, noon, and evening the servant delivers appealing meals to the composer and returns later to find the bowls and platters largely untouched.
Once again, he steels himself to go through the same routine, muttering under his breath about how oddly temperamental musicians can be. As he swings open the door to the composer’s room, the servant stops in his tracks.

The startled composer, tears streaming down his face, turns to his servant and cries out, “I did think I did see all Heaven before me, and the great God Himself.” George Frederic Handel had just finished writing a movement that would take its place in history as the Hallelujah Chorus.

We all have moments when we stumble...we fall. We are afterall imperfect...from a perfect creator...but...when I listen to this music...I feel the perfection of God's hand...and this hand is the one that is holding mine tonight...so join me in the love of music...and be transported with me...

Some Thoughts on Handel: Resilience

When reviewing the lives of great figures in history, it is tempting to focus only on the results of their lives, glossing over the periods between the masterpieces they produced. Because “the end of the story” is a matter of record, it may be difficult to appreciate the struggles that threatened to make the story far shorter. In Handel’s case especially, had he not possessed an amazing ability to bounce back from repeated disaster, such well-loved works as Messiah and the Royal Fireworks Music would have never been written.
How often Handel must have felt like giving up! What fits of depression his many failures would have caused an average composer. To a man who knew he had but one great talent, seeing that talent go unrewarded so often must have been profoundly perplexing. And to see other London composers, whom he knew to have less genius, enjoying the success that eluded him for so many years—must have driven Handel to extreme exasperation. Yet through al the frustrating years before his final successes, Handel simply refused to quit.
And, as if blows inflicted by his competitors were not painful enough, Handel suffered from an onslaught of attacks within his own camp. For a devoted Christian to have come under censure by the principal church of his time must have been bitterly distressing. Even after Messiah was becoming well known, as great a religious figure as John Newton (composer of the hymn “Amazing Grace”), preached every Sunday for over a year against the “secular” performances of this biblical oratorio. Yet Handel did not respond by counterattacking his Anglican brothers. Though he remained a Lutheran, he “would often speak of it as one of the great felicities of his life that he was settled in a country where no man suffers any molestation or inconvenience on account of his religious principles.”
Handel refused to be deterred by setbacks, attacks, illnesses, or even severe financial woes. It is a tribute to the faith and optimism Handel possessed, relying on God as he worked to overcome significant obstacles and to create music that is universally cherished today.

How wonderful it is...this season of love and peace.

A little song to get you in the mood...



There is so much to be thankful for...yes indeed...no matter what...for tonight we pray for what we know can be...

Here is hoping for everyone...may we all be thankful for...

My favorite Christmas story...thanks to O.Henry...

Of all the stories that really exemplify the love between a man and a woman...this little story tells the tale. I think it is because to me it represents how tenderly love can and does make for us a feast of little sacrifices...to give our love meaning...not in grand ways...but simple ones. In a day and age when sex seems to define relationships...I rather like to think about this story...one that truly makes sense of our earnest hope for happiness of those we love.

Thanks O. Henry...and there is this...

THE GIFT OF THE MAGI
by O. Henry

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."
The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?"
At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.


Now...you may think this story is a Western invention...Really? Well, I think this little story transends our Borders...and this is the reason...



You don't need to understand the language...to understand the meaning...

Oh....and Merry Christmas...and may your little gifts be born of such love and tenderness...

The Lass

A little Christmas story...from the Lass

When I remember Christmas past, vision of sugar plums do not dance in my head...but warm memories do. Today I discussed this with a man who purchased a bike for his son. He was so concerned about it being a surprise...how to wrap it...how to insure that the boy would open a gift...but how to disguise it....there was no box big enough...so we hatched a plan...but that is for later.

As we discussed the importance of the bike to the boy and the boy to the father...I mentioned the importance of certain things in life. I told him about my big wish...for a Pink Lady bike. This bike took on such meaning to me...that each night I would sit and look at a picture of it, torn from some magazine. I would envision myself riding this splendorous thing....pink...feminine...and just what I wanted. I could have wanted many things in my youth...but that bike just meant freedom...and a wonderful ride...something to transport me on my adventures....and I just knew...that my life would be made better by the bike.

Now my parents were not wealthy and truth be told...this bike was pricey...and I didn't really think that it would be possible. My mother kept telling me that there were children who were poor that would have no Christmas...so the bike should not represent too much...and not to be disappointed if I got a pair of jeans...Ok...so, I understood the poor children logic...and I understood the plight of my parents financial position at the time. I even understood that the Pink Lady was perhaps a little over the top...but one can dream.

So it was on Christmas morning that I awoke...very early. The house was bitter cold...and I put on my robe...slipped my feet into my fuzzy slippers and tip toed out into the living room. No box for a bike...but a nice little box under the tree...with my name...Jeans no doubt. I had a sudden tinge of disappointment...and then remembered what my mother had said...poor children would not have a Christmas at all...so...I decided to be grateful for whatever was in the box...and the Pink Lady...well that would still be a dream...

Then in the kitchen I heard my mother's voice singing softly...a Christmas tune...and my father finally woke up...and we were joined in the kitchen by my brother Tom...sis Jannine...still in the cabbage patch waiting for her turn at life...

Tom and I pleaded for the gift opening to begin...so we all went to the livingroom...to open gifts. I already had an idea of what mine was...so Tom opened his...no kidding folks...a BB gun...how Hollywood...Then it was my turn...so I gently unwrapped the paper making sure not to tear the paper...mom liked to recycle even then. I opened the box...and there was nothing there...but a picture...of a bike...Yikes...a picture? Then mom said..."Diana, looks like Santa was playing a joke..." What??? No gift??? Were we the poor children? No...Tom got a BB gun...

Then mom smiled and said...look outside...I think he left it there. And there it was in the driveway...a beautiful, shimmering, glorious...Pink Lady Bike...and it was all mine...I rushed outside...looked to heaven and for a moment felt a tinge of guilt for having so little faith in dreams...

Then I looked at my mother and knew...I will never know exactly what sacrifices she made to make this such a memorable Christmas...and if I am honest...I don't remember her having anything new that Christmas...but I do know this...whatever the sacrifice was...I am certain that she knew that I would be eternally grateful for the bike...and I was.

So it was that I told my little story to the man who was purchasing his son a bike...he smiled and said...I also got a BB gun...and a bike...and truth is...they both were important to me.

And how did we resolve the box thing? Well you are so smart...he took a page from the history of the Lass...and said...my son will be so surprised when he looks out the window...Yep...and as I walked the man out of the door of the store...I smiled and said...he will remember this you know...the man smiled back and said...you bet he will.

Merry Christmas everyone...and may you have a "bike" under the tree this year.










Modern version of the Pink Lady...and oh what adventures she and I shared...and a great memory of Christmas so long ago.

missing Grace.

A little imp...a little girl would cuddle with me each evening back in a day when I had family to warm my soul Grace, my little angel. My niece would snuggle up in my arms and lay there quietly drifting off to sleep. It seemed sometimes that she just thought she belonged there. Warm and safe in a place next to her aunt. I would look at her little face, sleeping softly and reflect on the miracle that was her.

A childless life I lived, then God gave me three nieces to spend some time with. They were and are such unique personalities. Each soul granted with such distinction, and such love that it gives me pause to think of them even now, separated by distance...but still close to my heart.

So it is at times like these, that I remember the cuddles with Grace...and her little angelic face...slumbering in the shallow of my harm...safe, warm...and sharing my world...if even for just a moment. I wonder if Grace will remember those moments when she cuddles her own children...will she look back? I hope so...and I hope that she is granted the blessing of having such a sweet moment with a child of her own...what will the future be for the three little women in my life? I know only this...they will always be loved, always be cherished by those of us who were blessed to have them in our lives....good night sweet ones. Didi loves and misses you. Sweet dreams.

Urantia...and other musings...

I met a man once who believed in the book of Urantia. What a strange little man he was. He actually was a friend of my boss...in a former life. He ran an ad agency, and thus, was our agent of choice...go figure.

But he gave me the book to read, and me being me obliged. And I read this huge undertaking from page to page...the story of angels...and us.

The Urantia Book, first published by Urantia Foundation in 1955, claims to have been presented by celestial beings as a revelation to our planet, Urantia. Many who have read it accept this assertion.

The writings in the Book instruct us on the genesis, history, and destiny of humanity and on our relationship with God the Father. They present a unique and compelling portrayal of the life and teachings of Jesus. They open new vistas of time and eternity to the human spirit, and offer new details of our ascending adventure in a friendly and carefully administered universe.

Where Did The Urantia Book Come From?

In the early 20th century, a physician practicing in Chicago became the head of a group known as the Contact Commission. This small group was the focal point for the production of, and the primary custodian for, the final text of The Urantia Book. They were sworn not to disclose details about the transactions in order to preclude future generations from venerating the participants. It was considered important that no individual might be exalted through their association with The Urantia Book. Because of its revelatory nature, the book must stand on its own merit.

As the contents of book were being transcribed, the papers were read to, and questions were requested from "The Forum," a group that had been meeting regularly for discussions at the doctor's house. The answers to these questions were then incorporated into the papers. These early readers formed the first core group of believers in the revelation and became committed to the mission of sharing the teachings of The Urantia Book with the world.


This is according to them...but I wonder...much as a wander through the world...I ponder words written and unwritten.

A skeptical view of the writing holds:
The UB Fellowship was founded in 1955 as the Urantia Brotherhood and is an association of people who say they have been inspired by the "transformative teachings" of the UB. According to the UBF, these "superhuman personalities" are from another world. They synthesized the work of more than 1,000 human authors in a variety of fields, including an "astronomical-cosmological organization of the universe" unknown to modern science and an elaborate extension (700 pages) on the life of Jesus. The UB also reveals that the "Universe is literally teeming with inhabited planets, evolving life, civilizations in various states of development, celestial spheres, and spirit personalities." In short, the UB is over 2,000 pages of "revelations" from superhuman beings which "correct" the errors and omissions of the Bible. "Urantia" is the name these alleged superhumans gave to our planet. According to these supermortal beings, Earth is the 606th planet in Satania which is in Norlatiadek which is in Nebadon which is in Orvonton which revolves around Havona, all of which revolves around the center of infinity where God dwells.

What got me to thinking about this book? Well I took a long walk tonight...and the stars were a comfort on a rather cool winters eve...and my thoughts went to the stars and my favorite place...space and time...interesting...and a long way from truth. I read this book cover to cover. And I remember discussing it with my sister...and I found one thing that I found most interesting...Adam and Eve...two primates without souls...were breathed into a soulful existence...and that is how we began...our journey...

Perhaps it happened that way...but the mystery of God, the universe and us, still compels us to ask questions...and that is what I did tonight. I looked into the sky and asked the quesion...and the only response I heard was the quiet breeze that brushed through the leaves remaining on the trees...a rustle of a sound...and then I knew...I remember because it is that time of year...Christmas...when all things become sacred...and all that is sacred becomes affirming.

So did I believe what was written on those pages? No...but I did read them...and now those words are part of many words, many thoughts laying deep in my wilderness...my wandering...and will remain there...until my soul is released...to find truth at last...or at least one can hope truth will be found at last.

It is warm in the apartment...and my fingers tap gently on the keyboard...another day gone by...in this holiest of seasons...quietly I am at peace...

From planet earth...or Urantia...or someplace in the universe...or at least one of them...

Oh...and one more thing...a Phd...looked at Urantia and Quantum...now that got my attention...maybe it will get yours too...http://www.humboldt.edu/~rwh2/TIMEandSPACE.html

Mary...I remember her well

The JFK assassination launched more than mere curiosity for a small Texas woman...it launched a lifetime pursuit of answers...Mary's quest for truth.

I knew Mary, as a friend. I visited her home, spent a Christmas with her family, and found her to be enigmatic. Mary had many sides...as we all do. Her life was complex and her inner life would be difficult to understand. I knew Mary as a mother of a friend of mine...she and Buck visited us in Alaska...Buck's dream...to visit Alaska.

Mary's home was filled with newspapers and files piled in some sort of chaotic organization, that only Mary understood. I listened to her talk about her computer...and the three by five cards that would be entered into a database...one that would launch a foundation...data...is not life.

Mary will always remain in my memory...as will my time spent with her, her family and her data..


I will remember you...

good deeds??? virtue or useful endeavor of the those lacking in virtue?

It is sometimes easy to publicly proclaim your volunteerism. I have often wondered why people do it? I worked for a non-profit whose volunteers rarely looked for public acknowledgement. One person was actually asked to accept an award as a volunteer of the year...but refused the honor...why? Because she knew the honor was in the opportunity to serve not in the recognition of others...the only people she cared to please...were those she generously gave her heart and her time to. My mother used to serve in many capacities...over the years I grew to understand my mother's need to give...to offer. But my mother would also shy away from public recognition for doing what came so naturally.

Unfortunately sometimes, those who claim good deeds,have other agendas...and those agendas are never good.

Disagree? Read on...

Doing Good Deeds and Accumulating Virtue is the Fountain of Good Fortune

In China's several thousand years of history, "Do good deeds to accumulate virtue" is a traditional code of conduct that has been valued until today.

In Shang Shu (also known as the Book of History), the author wrote: "Only virtue can move the heavens." In Han Shu (also called, History of the Early Han Dynasty): "Those who do good deeds secretly will be rewarded by heaven." Therefore, people taught their children not to do anything bad, but to do good deeds as much as they possible. Lesson One in how to be a human is to "plant a good seed, harvest a good fruit." In the Qing Dynasty, the children's book, Poems of Elementary School, stated, "Accumulating virtue leads to good fortune; dishonest conduct only makes your life more miserable."

A scholar of the Yi-Ching (The Book of Changes) in the Three Kingdom Era named Yao Xin wrote an article called "For my children to follow" in order to tell his own children to do good deeds and gain positive consequences as a result. The following is what he wrote:

"The ancients did not do good deeds to seek a good reputation, nor did they do it to comply with the requests of others. Their good deeds came from their own internal motivation. They believed that this is what human beings are supposed to do. Therefore, it didn't matter what their situations were, difficult or successful, their virtuous conduct would not change. They were always consistent. Their conduct met the standards of the gods, and it also conformed to everyday people's behaviour. Therefore, gods took care of them and people respected them. Naturally, their good reputation did spread and good fortune kept coming. It had to be that way.

Some people appeared to be moderate and humble, but they had hidden agendas. They pretended to be honest and sincere, but in reality they were tricky and selfish. When such a person heard praise, he could not hide his delight and his ego grew bigger. When he heard criticism, he immediately lost interest in doing good deeds. If his reputation or position were lost, the person became angry and wanted to slander and frame good people. But when he blamed another person, everyone disliked him; when he framed a good person, everyone hated him. So if he tried to get a promotion at someone else's expense, it did not work. He only brought more damage to himself.

It's impossible to hide the truth forever; praise and criticism cannot be arbitrarily twisted. If one can abandon one's hypocritical behaviour and is open to good suggestions, if one abandons subjective notions and focuses on other people's positive sides, then the person can be open to everything and has nothing to hide. If one can get rid of being overly confident and selfish, always think of other's interests and stay away from bad places and evil activities, one can have a safe and prosperous life and be on the way to being a great person.

People's social status is not fixed forever. Everything is caused by oneself. If one keeps doing good deeds, a commoner's son can become a royal official; if one doesn't do good deeds, then the son from a noble family can become a commoner. Once you realise these principles, how can you not remind yourself to do good deeds?"

Fortune, longevity, safety and all kinds of other good things are all based on virtue. This principle has been validated over and over by numerous people throughout history. Therefore, the ancient sages and ancestors not only taught their children to believe that "good deeds bring good rewards," they also repeatedly told their children how important it is to do good deeds and accumulate virtue.

It seems to me that there is such a wondrous thing that occurs when we give simply because we have the opportunity to do so. It is a trans-formative thing. It is affirming, and it is important to our humanity. My mother would say that it is divinely inspired...and I would agree. But we also should be aware that although it is good to recognize those who do good...the reason for humility is even greater...for it keeps the act consistent with the intent...

It is sometimes difficult to remember that we are all capable of compassion and the need for compassion. It is more difficult to be compassionate to those who wrong you...I know this lesson well. So, sometimes in the quiet of the night, I read through words on pages I have read so many times...looking for inspiration, and a little hope...tonight I looked and found this litte gem.

During my second year of nursing school our professor gave us a quiz. I breezed through the questions until I read the last one: "What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?" Surely this was a joke. I had seen the cleaning woman several times, but how would I know her name? I handed in my paper, leaving the last question blank. Before the class ended, one student asked if the last question would count toward our grade. "Absolutely," the professor said. "In your careers, you will meet many people. All are significant. They deserve your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say hello." I've never forgotten that lesson. I also learned her name was Dorothy. ~Joann C. Jones

Here are a few more...

A fellow who does things that count, doesn't usually stop to count them. ~Variation of a saying by Albert Einstein

When I was young, I admired clever people. Now that I am old, I admire kind people. ~Abraham Joshua Heschel

We sometimes learn about ourselves through the mirror of our actions...and deeds, but sometimes we are fooled into believing that the mirror is actually a reflection of the good in us...rather than the false agenda of merely "appearing good".

What is the truth of the good deed? Oh I don't know...but it is important to one person...that is the recipient...and that is all that matters...now isn't it?

One more thought...those who are truly kind...only want to do more...it is contagious. I think it is...just like a good smile.