"How Very Quickly Can A Pleasant Exchange Become A 'Rant'"

“ How Very Quickly Can A Pleasant Exchange Become A ‘Rant’”

06/20/12

To my very dearest, dearest friends, and ever loyal readers, perhaps I should try to explain myself; presently, I am still very ill with bronchitis and pneumonia, and my Primary, now, wants me to try a new antibiotic. Will this one work? Who knows…only, that I would rather be sick, stuck at home, than sick, trapped in some hospital.  With this in mind, I may have inadvertently increased the length of both my illnesses, and my utter frustration with them; and, as you know, dear ones, since I first fell ill with all this shit just before the end of May, it has just gone on and on.

In the Physician’s Desk Reference ( P.D.R.), which is now bigger than the bible, surely is there no anodyne, no palliative, no ever feeling better? I had sought to answer in a more pleasant tone, my friend ‘mimi’s’ thread, but I regret my ire got the better of me, and so to ‘mimi’; ‘jpooh’; and ‘damsel’, please, please accept my most sincere apologies.  It is my fondest hope that they ( and you ) will forgive me.

06/18/12

My dear friends, 'mimi', and ‘jpooh’, all my regards for the start of a wonderful week!

Mimi, I especially want to thank you for posing a most compelling question about 'safe zones'.

And while I am probably not alone in this, but my 'safe zones' change, expand or contract, due mostly to how I am feeling that day. I know that sounds simplistic, but as I seem to have inherited a bucketful of physical and psychological illnesses, these--in turn--greatly affect my 'sphere of influence'.

Part of the problem is that I no longer drive, nor do I have a car. That eliminates probably 90% of my opportunity to explore, more--gradually--at a time. I am very much dependent on neighbors to shop for me; or, failing that, pay the $30.00 delivery fee to a local grocery store that nonetheless is impossibly too far away to walk with portable oxygen, and a cane.

I can take the County cab/bus that conveys me to my doctor's appointments, but, nowhere else. So, to a degree, I am already trapped by circumstance.

And, if I have had a particularly bad night before, or am in pain, or feeling ill or depressed, there are days that pass during which I cannot even go out to my mailbox.

Living as I do in Florida, I could blame the heat, no sidewalks, limited public transportation, lack of a social network to go to movies, restaurants, etc.

It would also seem that I am adversely affected by the random movements of large numbers of people, which is why I will never go to the mall, for example.

And, sometimes, living alone with Daisy makes me less likely to engage in social discourse; many times, errant telephone calls just annoy me, and distract me, much less having unannounced visitors.

Not to mention--at 58--a fear factor of traffic, loud voices, crashes, unexpected hyper stimuli

which cause me to panic, and to be further agoraphobic.

Some days ( especially after having read disquieting or horribly shocking news ) my safe zone is measured by the inside of my house, as a lot of things just scare me now; I am afraid of robbery, assault, worse, because of my having opiate and narcotic medication in my possession. And on 'bad' days, I don't even bother to look out of my windows, nor open the blinds.

I am being as completely honest with you as I am able. Yes, sometimes my home is an admitted 'velvet prison' by choice, I suppose.

Any help or suggestions, or encouragement would be most welcome.

My dear friend, 'damsel',

At this time of a day which has been long, ( as I'm still most ill ), has proven to be one remarkably free of anything purposeful that I might otherwise have contemplated, and...maybe done. All I did--dear--was exist--which I guess beats the alternatives. But the question still begs an answer.

What do we as nominal personalities have to do to, in effect, earn our keep as so-called individuals with perhaps decrepit bodies, and clouded minds, but, still, with some idea to make of each day a day worthwhile?

Were we kind? Did we help another find his or her way? Did we comfort or feed a child, stop to assist someone elderly? Or, did we--instead--pass away the gloom of another long, long day, measured only by our ragged inhalations?

It is thus easy to confuse one day with the next, and...why not, as they begin to run together like a water color picture, but without the definition, or the clarity.

This is not an exciting life. It is, rather, an eat, bathroom, computer, eat, sleep cycle of monumental unimportance.

And--of course--I am in an assorted agony of pain, congestion, and lack of volition.

Often, I am most heartily ashamed to have to beg for services for which there is always NO money.

And, as afternoon passes into evening, into the inevitability of night, heralding yet another day too soon upon us, what have we to say for ourselves?

So subtle it is, my dear friend, how dreams unravel, and die. And--in consequence--how little we seem to care about it.

I DO have a quiet, little house, dear 'damsel', and since the volume on my computer is turned down, and Daisy is quiet, as is the neighborhood, I think that I---too--would like to dose up, don my best pajamas, and crawl gratefully into a freshly made bed, and would probably doze until the middle of the night. Should I--perhaps--lift dear Daisy into the bed with me; could she then get down without assistance?

Let us say that I am depressed, and miserable. Let us further say that I feel numb (except for pain), and so feel nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all.

I passed resentment, earlier, with my last, uncontrolled coughing fit. I feel both sweated and chilled.

I have no one to love me, nor could I expect such devotion to what now amounts to being old and ugly, and in more need of a nursemaid, than a true companion.

I often feel as if I'm sitting at a deli counter, holding a ticket upon which is written the 'sideways eight'...infinity.

No wonder I am sometimes afraid to go to bed at night, though my sometime afternoon naps produce no such nightmare, no such fear.

"Real-time" friends are so few; I'd have to Google-Earth them. And why not? They have their own lives, into which I have been most marginally scripted. But, funny...that's the way of it.

At least four times--today--I have dipped into the well of pain medications;; but they will not cure pneumonia, now of three week's duration. Nor, will they tidy-up a broken heart.

My SSDI is just a tease income; my $16.00 a month in food stamps just baffles me, for who can eat a seventeen cent meal? When did I gladly sacrifice fun for quiet, and reliable safety? Not even little goblins rattle my front door knob. And the mail was--as usual--an assemblage of junk, fliers, and bills I cannot pay.

Have I quite forgotten how to laugh?

My fourteen year old dog, Daisy, comes up to me to put her head on my knee; her brown eyes are so large, so inquiring. She cannot tell me where she hurts. I don’t know who needs consoling most. I love her frightfully, clinging to another life in the house.

We both ate Banquet spaghetti dinners, a buck a piece; I gave her all my meatballs save one.

Soon time to dose up again. There is a pain that NO medication will touch.

I used to be a person; now, every day is like being on 'house arrest'. Damn the Lupus. Damn the Fibro. Double damn with sugar on top, the Agoraphobia.

Yes, dearest 'damsel' the bed DOES have its allure, for I am tired, and...tired of it.

But shit...it was never my intention to invade your pleasant thread by pissing in the soup, and making of this a rant. I am so, so sorry, dear. For, if you cannot forgive, please forget. These typed kilobytes will all too soon pass away, as they should.

Heck, I'll probably use this someway in a diary post; nothing wasted. Nothing lost.

Please do take care, as two things will never change: 1) my gratitude for your having kindly befriended me, and 2) that I love all of you dearly,

‘Zahc’/Charles

"What Do We Seek? What Shall We Ask For? A Father's Day Tribute"

“What Do We Seek? What Shall We Ask For? What Can We Hope For? What Will We Live With?”

A Special Tribute To Father’s Day!

06/17/12

To my always dearest friends, and constant, loyal readers, remarked upon the calendar—today—is “Father’s Day”; and I can well-understand that, for too many, today is just another day.

You may have, in your experience, memories of drugged, or drunken, ‘fathers’, either abusive in the extreme…or absent, it merely shows that practically any male can father children.  And for you—my dear sweet friends—I wish for you a most quiet day, with all foul horrible thoughts expunged for the day.

For others, having had ‘step-fathers’ was either a joy or a torment, and for you—too—my heart goes out to you.  I most sincerely hope any gap was filled by some kinder male role model, who tried to provide you with a respectable, loving influence in your lives: it may have been an uncle, a neighbor, a family friend, minister, or guidance counselor.  Someone who might ably assist you through childhood, with values learned to last a lifetime.  And for you, on this day, I sincerely wish you peace, and that any scars remaining were not of your doing, nor, were they your fault.

Biologically, for any male, the biological act of making children is easy…sometimes I believe too easy, for it does not mandate any further involvement, or concern.  As the saying goes, “Any man can be a father.  It takes a special man to be a ‘dad’.

For many—today—whose fathers are still alive, and who loved you at birth, and love you still, these decent men fully deserve praise for having nurtured you, been ‘there’ for you, even in difficult times, and who—in general—delight in you, I would urge you please, do not let the day go unrecognized, for the very special place they occupy with your heart.

And, although it is ‘Father’s Day’, I most firmly believe a sincere regard of thanks must be paid to the mother who might have had to work two jobs, while still taking care of you and loving you. And…for that bond that should exist for having carried you through nine, long months; there is that unique bond between mother and child.

My father and mother were older when they married, and older, still, when they had me.  A boy who did not survive preceded me; and, when I was born, twenty-four weeks premature, and at slightly over two-and-a-half pounds, and very, gravely ill, my chances of living were reduced to a mere ‘coin toss’ of the Gods; and after I was born, my mother could no longer bear children.

So, while I will admit that—in caution, and fear—I was brought up most carefully, and knew, on some subconscious level that I was loved, neither did my father spare the discipline whenever I really needed it.

My father, having served his Country in WWII, and Korea, gave his health, and his all to promote our freedom, and after a five-year illness, which was terrible to behold, especially as it could not be undone, my dear father died in 1998 at the age of seventy-nine.

Who knows the chaos that attends fertilization?  Or what genes, and chromosomes will be passed along?  But when I was growing up, my father and I could not have been more different.  His hobbies and interests were not my hobbies or interests.

Yet, I knew who to go to whenever I was in trouble, lost, or simply needed direction.

Our, little family ‘unit’ consisted of just three people, and mom and dad were my whole world.  And I loved them completely.

When my mom died in 2008, at age 91, for the very first time, I felt what it is like to be truly alone.  When my Therapist asked me if I felt some degree of relief, I angrily told him no, but that I DID feel lost, without a centering, and infinitely empty.

After all, my mother and father had been there for me all my prior life; and, I must admit, for some time, I felt abandonment issues.  I had taken care of them as they became elderly and ill, for almost sixteen years.  I felt a certain terror, wondering who, now, would take care of me? The State?

Ho, Ho….I’ve seen the way the State works, with all of its abusive indifference.  And fully know that, if any time I become a problem, an interruption, or…as I have already seen, a relegate to some ill-though-out program, which makes no sense, compromises my wishes and/or my dignity, and has zero funding, besides…just how few telephone calls would it take to have me yanked from my home, my ‘assets garnished’, to find myself in some incredible cheap, nasty, hellhole of a nursing home, and there left to rot?

Dear friends, if you think me over melodramatic, I can in all truth tell you that such things happen every day.  And, things much worse than that, I assure you.

On yet another personal note, I cannot seem—as yet—to be rid of this pneumonia, whose infection is now spreading to my sinuses and left ear.  So I would most humbly ask for your continued kind, thoughtful, healing thoughts and prayers, my dearest, precious friends.

And so today, Sunday June 17^th is, in effect, my dad’s Day.  And on this hopeful, quiet day, I shall cast my many thoughts back, back over the years, and decades, to give my thanks, my gratitude, and all my love to my mom, AND to my dad, who was not just a father, but a friend; one I shall dearly miss as long as I exist.

And to all my dearest friends, about whom I so often think, I wish for you a quiet, peaceful day, one remarked by ‘no pain’, despair, mental, or physical anguish, but surrounded—instead—by those who truly love you.  May today be a true testament to your fathers, past and present.  And I most sincerely wish for you a day of joyous celebration, love, and healing.

Please always know that you remain securely in my heart,

‘Zahc’/Charles

" A Hearfelt Message To My Dearest Readers "

To my very, very dear friends, and constant, loyal readers,

It is among my dearest hopes, in writing my Blog, to make friends around the world, and to bring to you posts that I most sincerely hope will be worth reading.

I have--regrettably--read as my readership has fallen into a kind of abyss, which, in fact, is quite my own fault.

A dear friend of mine, who has a most successful Blog, kindly told me where I had been making my mistakes.

Although I think I may have 'content', I tend to post it so irradically, that no one will ever know when a new post will appear.  And for that, I am so very, very sorry.

I know my posts tend to run long...my first mistake; but another one I inadvertantly made, was in not posting with any regularity.

And so, in an attempt to try to win my dear readers back, I will endeavor to launch a new post every Wednesday, or Saturday without fail, and to not overload you with saved up, multiple posts.

And so--today--I have begun my new program of submitting Blog entries one at a time, today on Saturday.

As always, your comments are most welcome; and your readership brings me a singular joy.

So...dear friends, I would ask that you please check my Blog on Wednesdays or Saturdays for a new entry, which I hope you may find to be different, and...of interest.

Meanwhile, I wish you health, security, and a lasting sense of peace !

And, please always know, I love you dearly,

Charles/'Zahc'

" Well, 'Giddy-up, giddy-up, giddy-up go'...Who Me? "

“  Well, ‘Giddy-up, giddy-up, giddy-up go’…Who Me ?   “

06/13/12

To my dearest friends, and ever-constant, loyal readers,

Now…please don’t get me wrong.  In general, I really do like animals, especially dogs and cats, and pandas, and lemurs, and turtles…in fact, many animals, all of which look SO cute as babies, that sometimes—while yet so young—they evidence something that I can only describe as the  “A-w-w-w-w-w-w” factor.

That’s why baby tigers look so cute, as well—I suppose—as do baby bears, who, in becoming adults still retain their beauty, but that you wouldn’t necessarily want to hold one in your lap, and pet it.

However, there are many other so-called ‘God’s’ creatures, that I would not get near, even with a twenty foot pole; snakes and spiders come most readily to mind, yet some people swear by them as dubious pets.  I find no allure in spiders that might bite me, or pythons, who in an oily manner, move constantly about their owner’s shoulders, seeking to coil-around their throats I bet, looking for a convenient snack.

And…I do like horses; I think the baby foals are cute, as they flop-about, all tangled in legs that are yet too long, or, huddled with their mothers just adorable.  I think that horses are rather regal, with flowing manes and tails, and shiny coats, as they gambol-around the pasture.  One thinks of endless Springtime, flowers, and the intense greenness of paddocks.

My dear, agency nurse—herself—owns horses. And if you will most kindly recall, I very, nearly owned a pony of my own, a dark-chocolate-colored, gelding I had already named ‘Charlie Brown’.  That deal—alas—was not to be, and for a while, I was crushed.

One more than one occasion, my nurse has invited me out to see her horses; and for me, it might prove to be a most pleasant afternoon; carrying a pocketful of ‘horse treats’, and looking at each one.  Please do remember the word ‘looking’ as I will return to that again.

She even gave me a giant calendar for Christmas, with lots of room to write appointments on.  And every day is represented by a different horse, or set of horses.  I don’t know…are they then called ‘gangs’, or ‘groups’, or maybe, ‘herds’?  I usually just say a ‘bunch’ of horses.

And…they are, to a one, beautiful, and full of life, and yes, I might like to ( with greatest supervision and protection !), pet one of hers, or even proffer it some treats.  She currently has an absolutely gorgeous baby (?) stallion called, “Toby”, and from the pictures that I’ve seen on her cell telephone, it truly is a charmer, with, so far, a gentle disposition.

Sometimes, though, while looking at, or writing upon the calendar, my errant memories flow back through prior decades, just to remind me of my past relationship with horses.

I have been on horseback exactly twice in my life, in 1964, and 1968.  The first was with my late dad; we lived in Texas at the time, and on one weekend went to a fairly local ‘dude ranch’, that offered horseback rides.  I was ten years old, and the prospect thrilled me, though the reality was something different.  Isn’t it always?

My father, I, and a group of us were placed on older, bored, and tired horses; they had done this thing a million times, and so, we traced a well-worn path that ended back at the barn…the horse’s only desire was to just get it over with and call it a day.

The ranch DID have an authentic stagecoach there, and I must have climbed all over it from stem to stern.

So after the pre-arranged four-hour ‘walk’, the ‘pony ride’ was over, and dad and I went happily home, both smelling like horse; my mother stood guard at the backdoor, refusing to let us in and on her clean floor, until we had divested ourselves of shoes, socks, jeans, which my dear mom carried, held at arm’s distance, and two fingers on the other hand pinching her nose shut, as she dumped them in the washing machine.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with riding horses, that smell of ‘horsey’ clings, and will not go away.

And while the Jury still may be out, regarding whether fools—in fact—are born, or are they ‘made’, in 1968, when I was fourteen, while living, now in Alabama, I had a chance to go horseback rising again.  I had remembered it as being tolerably fun, if such a thing exists, and so, throwing caution to the wind, I told my friend at the time, “ Sure !, Yippy-Ki-Yay!”, while quite forgetting that that was the phrase American cowboys used to yell at cattle.

Now kindly remember please, that this was forty-four years ago, and I was young and strong, and completely ‘bone-headed’ (the latter charge may still apply, depending upon whom you ask).  But, even then, I did have some sense of self-preservation,

For upon our arrival, I purposely asked for their oldest, fattest, most highly-sedated mare, the kind whose name would be something like ‘Lulu Belle’, wearing a straw hat, with holes cut out for its ears, as it munched-away on a bag of oats.

As I waited, there arose a huge commotion from the stable, and out was brought (by two men holding on to ropes) was a giant, young, and evil stallion, whose Indian name would probably have translated to,” Devil Killer From Beyond Mars! “, but who—for convenience’s sake--was just referred to as, “ Hell-Fire “.

Years, and years later, I would read ( from my all-time, favorite humorist, S.J. Perleman ):

1)           Never eat at any place called ‘Mom’s’.

2)           Never play poker with anyone named ‘Doc’.

To which, I would gladly add a third:

3)           Never try to ride a horse called ‘Hell-Fire’.

This horse hated me, and hated everyone else.

As yet a third ‘ranch hand’ struggled to get under my ass to lever me up into a saddle that suddenly seemed twenty feet off the ground, I was surprised that they did not have those little, rolling stairs by which one boards an airplane.

Were  there any sense of Justice, ‘ Hell-Fire ‘ should, by rights, have come equipped like a car, with power steering, power brakes, and…seat belts.  For, although we had yet not gotten anywhere, even while still tethered to ropes strong-enough to hold an ocean liner, ‘Hell-Fire’ tensed, and jumped around, and chaffed against the bit, and I would gladly have paid extra for it to be given liberal shots of horse tranquilizers, with some, of course, for me.

At that point, my dearest friends, really all I wanted to do is just get off, while the various, idle cowpokes roared at me, and brush myself off, and go the hell home.  It would have been a secret known only to my friend, and I would have threatened death had he ratted on me for being such a ‘scaredy-cat’. No, no, dear friends, those sounds you hear are called ’survival instincts’.

For, in a trice, all the ropes were removed, as everybody scattered for cover, and ‘Hell-Fire’ rocketed-off, truly, as if it had had an Atlas missile up its kazoo.

As Einstein said, ‘speed is relative’, which is true, because with me at horse-level flying-though the pastures, the scenery blurred, and we must have been galloping along at better than eighty miles-per-hour.

Up and down, and all around we went; ‘Hell-Fire’s’ energy knew no bounds, and its only goal in life was to get me off its back.

Having lost my hat and sunglasses, I had long-before given up any notion of holding the reins, and opted—instead—to try to hold on to the saddle, and the pommel with all my might.

This was no ‘horsey ride’, nor petting zoo, and I wanted off.  I stopped yelling ‘whoa’, and ‘stop’, to ‘stop, Godammit !!!!!!!, stop!!!!!!!!!!’. Until I was finally just yelling hoarsely, ‘HELP!, somebody get me off of this thing!’.

And on this point, ‘Hell-Fire’ and I were in agreement; it ran me under tree limbs.  It ran me against fences, and right into the biggest pile of wasps I’ve ever seen.  And if you know your wasps, once you agitate them, they WILL chase you forever.

I think it was when, after a titanic leap, my feet slipped out of the stirrups, that I really knew the fear of imminent death.

Oh, and I forgot to mention, that on too many an occasion, the horse threw back its head, and tried to bite me.  Friends, now those are a lot of teeth!

By now, my horse had truly become insane, and began bucking high into the air.  On the second ‘buck’, the cinch holding the saddle to the horse broke, and off I flew in an inelegant ‘glissade’, high above the horse’s head, and arcing out; all I could see was sky, and tree tops, and landed, maybe eight feet from the horse, right on my keister.

It was a gargantuan landing that—should it have happened even twenty years ago—surely would have killed me.  For a l-o-n-g, l-o-n-g time I just sat there, accessing damages. ‘Hell-Fire’, mission complete just stood there, eyeing me in hatred and disgust.

As soon as I had more or less regained consciousness, I got up, hurting in a bazillion places, gave the horse the finger, and very slowly limped my way back to the office.

“Where’s your horse, son?” the manager said, with a smirk on his face.  To him, I in pain replied, “I don’t know…and, I don’t care.  How about the nearest glue factory?  You boys find him.  I’m going home!”

And with that I grabbed my friend, who had long since ended his kiddy ride, and called my dad to come and pick us up. I ached for days.  And that was in 1968, my friends.

Since then, I’ve had occasion to do more than my fair share of screwing up, and of doing stupid things.

However, one of them was not horseback riding, and I will NEVER, EVER try to ride one again.  Can you see it now? With my oxygen, and cane?  Plus, they’d need a derrick with which to lower my not-inconsiderable caboose gingerly down upon the saddle.

Besides….the horses look just fine on the calendar.

Oh, my dearest, dearest friends, I wish you wonderful days free of pain or despair.  I wish you comfort, and all the love your kind hearts can hold! I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’/Charles

"On, How Apparent Swings In Downward Spiral..."

“ On, How Apparent Swings In Downward Spiral, The Human Race “

06/10/12

To my ever most dear, and wonderful friends, and constant, loyal readers,

I first must admit to you my lasting naiveté, when—otherwise—at my time of life, I had considered I had seen so many aspects of life, and had ‘been around the block’ so many times, as to make my head spin.

I felt quite confident in my assumptions about life, and about people, and about how the two sometimes most curiously collide and combine. For in my working life, and now…my disabled one, I have seen true courage and selflessness in the face of eminent failure; I have witnessed love, that evidences no hidden agenda; and I saw people at their worst—I thought—who were genuinely evil-minded, and who spread discord, and disharmony wherever they could.

Very early on, and since, I felt I had clearly run the gamut from the truly naughty, to the truly nice.  I was exposed to blind hatred, and unexceptance, to warm, and giving natures, whose quiet brightness lighted up a room.

I learned that many individuals will fight to the death for wrong things, or right; or react in ‘slack-jawed’ ennui, for whom the most sensational was but a giant ‘yawner’.

All of my preconceived ideas were most effectively ripped from me after I was given my computer.

For anyone who spends anytime at the computer, ‘surfing’ the net, in time you will be exposed to some ethereal beauty, but, more—it seems, increasingly—to horrors that frankly make of fevered nightmare an unimportant thing.

In a way, without somehow filtering its content, or legislating its content, the atrocities that beggar the imagination spew forth their terror, and unbelievable must—perforce—be granted to one and all.  And I will be the first to say that censorship begins with the ‘delete’ key, but, if it is your choice to revel in such hellish stuff, that, of course, is your choice; and I remain a most ardent proponent of free speech.

Now, having said that, I certainly wish that much higher hopes were in the minds of those who developed the ‘Vocem Penitus’, the voice of the internet, and that, in order to be free, it has subsequently passed the ‘Wild West’ days, into something I find disquieting.

How often have I searched for some bit of humor, or information, or edification on the ‘web’, to find that I had been thrown to a place darker than the imagination.

A dear friend warned me of this. (He) said that there were such things in existence that he would not tell me about, for, I suppose, hurting my heart, and boggling my mind.  And, my dearest friends…he was completely correct.

And, although I do not seek these horrors out, they seem to spring at one quite unbidden, and yes, these things hurt my heart, boggle my mind, but also give me lasting ill and uncomfortable feelings.  For now, these make me afraid, for in truth, I had not been exposed to particular incidents, thus keeping my naiveté intact.  Perhaps I did not know, because I simply did not want to know.  Because they DO shock; they DO hurt: they DO offend; and, they DO make one most afraid.

My dearest, kindest friends and readers, I chose to not mention the majority of it.  You know its there.  And I imagine you too recoil at the depth and breadth of its inhumanity.  And our children have free access to this?  This scares me most of all, for eventually, in becoming numb to such things, hardness of heart, loss of innocence, and a kind of mean-spirited apathy surely must follow.

I hardly need mention all the ‘battle’ theme games that are out; and these certainly do not spare the bloodshed, the screaming, and the utter violence that passes now for entertainment.  This cannot help but make one immune to the everyday violence seen around the world.

I will, however, share one incident with you with which I hope to clarify my point.

Yesterday evening, I was roaming-around the Yahoo page, for some little news of interest or entertainment.  I finally found an article with a video, in which a 97 year old woman, finally got her High School diploma.

It was a sweet and touching story, and the woman, while made small with age and care, looked, nevertheless regal in her white cap and gown.

This was—for her—a lifetime achievement, and she touched the diploma haltingly, saying how proud her father would be of her.  And in a quavering, broken, hollow voice she began to cry. She was SO, SO happy at last, and to receive her diploma accompanied by three generations of her family; in fact, her grandson is also taking his degree a little later this year, from the same High School.

To hear her voice, and know her pride, and hear her rusty tears brought more than one lump to my throat, and I found my eyes had tears of joy in them, for her, for our society, as well as ourselves.  And it was but a brief, but beautiful story. Which—in truth—should have, for me, ended there, happy and warm.

But, as it was on Yahoo, as it is with many sites, there was a ‘comment’ section below, so that people could enter in their feelings, and their thoughts.

My friends, I never made it through even two pages of comments.  While about fifty-five% were warm, congratulatory, and life-affirming, too many were unparalleled in their vulgarity, most, as you might know, sexual in nature; or rude; or complaining.

My jaw hit the table in front of me.  How could anyone say such things?  And why?  And for what purpose?  To entertain? And why—please do excuse me—would any comment written, necessitate the mention of the word, ‘lube’?

It must, therefore, represent a few, important things:

1)           That, although that world is wide and large, the apparent number of unspeakable people abound in greater numbers than I could have possible imagined.

2)           I am then more naïve than I thought?

3)           That pernicious evil is everywhere, and since most people have video-recording cell telephones, they do not hesitate one second in sharing with the world their mindless, base brutality.

4)           In addition to being very, very ill, and agoraphobic, besides, now I am becoming more and more afraid, which makes me less likely to want to venture forth.

I fully realize that, particularly in these days, one cannot afford to keep one’s head in the sand, it does, in consequence make me want to barricade my doors, and try to stay (with dear Daisy), safely hidden within.

It also makes me sad, as I still don’t understand, except that being human isn’t all its cracked up to be.  And I sometimes wonder why a giant asteroid doesn’t just wipe the slate clean.

Just how very far HAVE we wandered from an Eden?

On a personal note, dear friends, my bronchitis has spread to become pneumonia.  With prayers said, and with luck, and rashers of medications, I hope—yet—to recover, and be well.  I do ask you, please, please forgive me if my future postings become every third day, instead of every other.  This will both allow me to rest, to better gather my thoughts, and with greater hopes to provide you, my special friends and readers with more that I most sincerely hope will be worth reading.

For YOU are the most important part of my equation; your mounting readership makes my heart happy, and helps me find my Voice.  And, to that end, I am—of course—open to your suggestions, as I value your opinions, even those contrary to mine, and for your readership.  Without them, I am truly alone.

I thank you humbly, for your befriending me, and for ever keeping me in your most kind thoughts, and wishes.

Please always know, I love you,

‘Zahc’/Charles