Beyond Capacity

A young man was walking along a mountain trail when suddenly the rocky ledge he was standing on gave way. Dusk was falling in on him as he began to slide and tumble down the mountain side. Twisting, turning, bumping and falling, the fearful hiker knew this could be his end. Finally, just before he slammed to the bottom of the ravine, his hands caught a small tree to which he clung with all his might. Though his feet were dangling in the air, he was safe for now as long as the little tree's roots would hold.

He began to cry out for help, but no one responded. He yelled all the louder, “Help! Help! Can anyone help me?” Still there was no answer. Finally he knew that he was nearly at his capacity for holding the branch any longer, and he knew his arms and hands would soon fail him. He cried out again, “Help! Help! Can anyone help me?” This time he heard a still small voice that appeared to be from heaven, “Let go my son. Let go.” Although the man acknowledged that the voice might be from above he yelled back, “Is there anyone else up there?”

That is the way it seems with some situations. People get themselves into or find themselves within problems that seem like they are falling down a mountainous ravine. Some are holding on for dear life to the only “little tree” that they can find. Some are hearing voices from above that simply say, “let go.” Whichever state he or she is in, a person with threatening troubles knows the anxiety and lack of capacity to handle the situations. There is a need for someone far beyond their own ability, and the search for him is well worth the investment. The key is in relationship. If this person who has genuine ability to help is well known, then there will be nothing at all to fear. If this person with great capacity to help is not known, then woe to the one who hangs.

By the way, after darkness crept in and the young man could find no solace in the voice above, his capacity to hold on to the little tree reached its limit. and he let go. He fell six inches to the valley floor and was completely safe.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Where the Tunnels Run

The term is called spelunking, and those who enjoy it know the adventure that lies beneath the surface of the earth. A little twist here, and another tight place there, a careful step here, and a long leap there are just normal parts of exploring deep within the earth's caverns. Sometimes the pathway is wide, and other times it is very narrow. Sometimes the dip is deep, and occasionally there will be places to duck. However, the exploration is worth the venture, and those who find the end of the path maintain a certain respect and accomplishment for finding where the tunnels run.

What about the human psyche? Where do the tunnels run there? One supposes psychologists and psychiatrist are spelunkers of sorts, but what about the person that one meets day by day. Maybe the person is known, and yet not known, and the caverns of his or her mind have bends and twists that are yet undiscovered and unexplored. One movie quotes that “a woman's heart is like the ocean” implying that there are depths that remain undiscovered, and who knows anyone that desires to venture there? “A man is a complicated being” another person shares as they wonder about the inclinations of men. The tunnels, oh the tunnels within each and every person run deep, are as tangled weavings, and run to an fro beyond the reach of human finding.

The tunnels of the heart are deceitful, and one does wonder who might ever be able to know them completely. Not even the person themselves will truly know the depths of the tunnels inside, and yet if these caverns are discovered, who would venture to go there, spend time there, and love there? Intimacy explores where no other will travel. Intimacy finds the the twists and curves. Intimacy cares to enjoy the exploration, and discovery drives intimacy to break through where angels fear to tread. Spelunk, and discover a world within people that others may never see.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Slicing Beyond the Absurd

Their feet are spread apart in a perpendicular line, and they are standing in a crouched position. Eye to eye and sword to sword they cast their arms in ready placement and await the beginning command. It's combat at it's greatest, and the pursuant is to shortly be revealed. Soon the weapons will fly in multitudes of directions, and the slicing will begin as absurdity becomes knowledge and blindness becomes revelation. Soon reason will replace ignorance, and justification shall rise to the level of sensibility. But alas, who shall engage in the battle? What shall be the endpoint of the war, and who will dare slice beyond the absurd?

“Tuck tail and run” the little boy said to the other as the conscientious boy began to avoid the conflict. “Be like a chicken” the bully cat-called as a battle decree, until the engagement avoiding opponent turned back and drew his plastic sword. “Battle” was the unavoidable opponent's cry, and immediately the slicing began. First, the sword flew to the right, then the sword swooshed to the left. Clash! Clash! Smack! Smack! Each contender swung with might toward his position. Reasons were yelled and justification was exemplified. Contention was validated as each boy drew back with greater and greater force until they both fell to the ground. Cause was worth it, and respect was earned. No longer would there be a place for avoidance, and no longer would there be a reconciliation desired. Truth prevailed, and relevance to relationship was now put to the side. There is a cause beyond being nice, and restoration would fall to the place of the mystical, rather than the forefront.

One indeed wonders at the engagements that are not unlike the little boys. Husband-wife, child-parent, boss-employee, employee-boss, political party-political party, candidate-candidate, news reporter-news reporter, commentator- commentator. All are engaging, and draw their swords, and the world wonders, “Why can't we all just get along?”

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Ninety Nine Percent Poison Free

A little boy was helping his grand-father work on a bicycle in the garage when he noticed a small bottle on an upper shelf. “Grandpa,” the curious boy asked, “what is stry-ro-chn-ine?” “Stry-ro-chi-nine?” the grand-father replied, “what are you trying to sound out?” The little boy pointed toward the lone bottle, and the grand-father said, “Oh, strychnine.” said the grand-father in a laughing tone and continued, “That's poison.” “Poison?”said the grandson inquisitively. “What do you use poison for grandpa?” “Killing rats” responded the grand-father. “Oh” said the boy as he began to ponder.

“What if we were to add water to the strychnine, grandpa, would it be okay then?” “No,” answered the grand-father, “That is very dangerous poison, and you must never touch or taste it.” The boy sat on a small stool near his grand-father and watched as he replaced a tire on the bicycle. “Grandpa,” the boy began again, “What if we were to have ninety nine percent water and only one percent strychnine? Would it be safe to drink then?” The grand-father stopped his work and began to wonder where his grandson was going with this idea. He responded, “No, son, that poison is not safe for anyone no matter how much we were to dilute it.” Then the grand-father asked, “what makes you so curious about the strychnine?” “Well, grandpa, on the news the other day the man said that there was only just a few people in our country that were like poison, and so I wondered what would happen to the rest of the country if only a little bit of poison is inside?” The grand-father marveled at his grandson's perception and said, “I suppose that is a result that I might never see, but you probably will.” And with that the bicycle was finished, and the grand-father said, “Go ride, son. Go ride.” “Thanks grandpa!” replied the boy happily as he jumped on the bike and took off down the driveway.

“Hmm,” mumbled the grand-father as he watched his grandson ride down the street, “only one percent. Wow is that a perceptive boy,” and the grand-father walked shaking his head as he went inside his house.

Refreshment Seen

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Recreation Seen

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Inspiration Seen

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Lavender Clothes and Minty Towels

Two ladies are overheard in the office during a sweltering hot summer day. “I just don't know what we are going to do about all this heat,” the one said to the other. “I know. I just wish there was a way to get cooled off in the middle of the day. I sit by this air conditioning, but there seems to be no way to be refreshed,” replied the other. “If we could just walk a little distance and get to an oasis like a smoothie bar or midday shower or just a get away from the office for a few minutes, I think it would help,” answered the first woman. “But there is no where downtown where we can do that,” replied the other woman who continued, “We would have to walk to our cars, drive several miles, stop in the place for just a few minutes, and have to find another parking space all within our lunch hour.” “Impossible,” said the first. “I just wish someone would come up with an idea for a place downtown other than a hotel where we could just be refreshed. You know like one of those places that offer cool lavender cloths or minty towels,” the second lady daydreamed. “Yes, yes,” answered the first lady, “Cool, cool lavender cloths and minty towels. Ah, just the thought of it makes me want to go.” Just then the boss walked in and the ladies' dreaming came back to reality, but they each smiled to one another before they returned to their work that if that place ever arrived, they would be there.

There is something to be said for having an oasis for refreshment in the middle of the day. Oh, the joy a person feels to be rejuvenated and made new during the middle of the day sometimes. There are indeed times where the pressures of the office are so intense that a great mid-day massage, or a small workout or relaxing lunch would be a haven for renewing motivation. If there was such a place in the middle of the city that was easily accessible would people be a part? If there was a club within walking distance that required no additional parking, had lunch and smoothies on the premises, and offered massages and free, cool minty towels and lavender cloths, would people join? One would think that people would jump at the chance.

What a concept, what a dream, what a reality it will be when the MRZ CENTRE Executive Fitness Club finally opens, and everyone within walking distance shares in the oasis in the middle of the city. Come. Be a part. There will be a refreshing cool cloth or towel waiting for you. www.mrzlc.com/executivefitnessclub

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Refreshment

The temperature is over 100 degrees outside, and the pavement and sidewalks are blistering hot. Heat radiates from the automobiles surrounding, and the sweltering weather can exhaust the most healthy. Then, suddenly, like an oasis in the desert, a place of refuge appears, a cold drink is just ahead, and the destination is within moments away. Air conditioning, cold smoothies, soothing showers, and a place to rest one's weary soul during the middle of the workday arises and now refreshment is finally known.

Is there a place like this anywhere? Is there a destination where one can find refuge and restoration in the middle of the city? If there was such refreshment offered would people actually enjoy a break in the middle of the day?

Picture this: It's the middle of the day, and the office has been and will be a grind. The heat is on as usual, and the deadlines are impossible. The mind is overwhelmed with details, and the expectations are beyond anyone's possibilities. Because the pressure is so high, the spirit continually looks for an outlet to relieve itself like a tea kettle that has the burner turned to high. There must be relief. There must be refreshment, or it's gonna blow.

Refreshment is coming, and when it does, recreation will be found, and inspiration will follow. Look for the refreshment, and feel renewed again. Look for the refreshment. It's closer than you think. Look for the refreshment, and find the rest of soul again.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Recreation

Most people know the meaning of TGIF – “Thank Goodness Its Friday”, and most of the time that is because Friday represents the final day of working for the week. The weekend is coming It's time for recreation. Ah, recreation, the idea of “Re-Creating”, being renewed, and becoming alive again is such a wonderful part of living, and most are addicted to it. However, what if a person didn't have to wait until the weekend? What if they could have recreation during the middle of each day? What if “Re-Creation” became a lifestyle rather than just a sporadic happenstance?

What if there was a place where a person was only minutes away from getting away from it all? Suppose there was an intense meeting planned for the afternoon and around noontime a person could go to an oasis just for a few minutes for a massage, a little physical activity or maybe a refreshing shower or smoothie? What if there was an environment that was conducive to in-week recreation where a person could be refreshed, motivated, and inspired?

Oh, wouldn't most people like to know where that place is? Wouldn't they like to go there? Wouldn't they be beating down the doors for the “recreation” during the week rather than just having to wait? Maybe, just maybe, someone will come up with the idea of where and when that place could exist. Maybe, just maybe, there will be ample time to make it known so that all who need the refreshing will be able to endure with Maybe, just maybe is almost here.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Inspiration

From whence does inspiration come? From a forest of trees? A lily filled hillside? Magnanimous mountains or desert starred nights? A sea bound fishing trip? From whence does inspiration come?

Does it come from books or children, or sports or elders? Does it make its arrival from mechanical wonders or technological contraptions? Maybe its from a refreshing workout or a relaxing spa, and then again, maybe its just from getting away from the office for just a few minutes? Inspiration comes from different places for different people, but there is one thing in common, in order for their to be success whether its in relaxing or working a task, there must be inspiration.

So, what inspires the reader? What is that nugget of motivation that leads he or she to take a leap, make an effort, decide a path or choose a decision? Maybe there needs to be recreation for motivation that will lead to inspiration, and the reader will find him or herself refreshed in their soul.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Loop, Swirl, Pull

A little girl sat and watched her grandmother crocheting. With a tiny hook and a huge ball of string, she took her place in the living room chair and began her work. With lightning speed her hands moved as though she was quickly kneading bread, and the tiny tot watched in amazement as the tabletop covering began to form. Every now and then the grandmother who worked so diligently would look down at her granddaughter and watch her facial reactions to her amazing work.

Finally, the grandmother stopped crocheting for a moment and asked the girl, “Would you like to know how I do this?” “Yes,” said the youngster excitedly. The grandmother put her work to the side for a moment, reached into a basket that was nearby, and pulled out a package of thick red yarn. She then lifted a large hook from one of her supplies and turned back to the boy. “Girl, it's about the basics,” said the grandmother as she began to demonstrate slowly her natural talent. “Tie a loop. Swirl. Pull. Swirl. Pull. Swirl. Pull, cross” the caring grandmother continued. “Now, you try,” she said.

The little girl tried over and over, but she just couldn't make the yard look anything like her grandmother's. Every time she tried, the string would end in a tangled mess. The grandmother cut the yard and demonstrated the process again. The girl watched closely as she tried to show her over and over again and repeated, “Girl, it's about the basics. Always go back to the basics. Tie a loop. Swirl. Pull.” Finally, the little girl began crocheting, and although the work wasn't as nicely done as her grandmother's, she was beginning to form a newly weaved piece of cloth.

Later in life when everything seemed to be tangled, the granddaughter never forgot her grandmother's words, and although her grandmother was no longer with her she could still hear her grandmother's echo, “Girl, it's about the basics. Tie a loop. Swirl. Pull. Swirl. Pull. Swirl. Pull.”

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

When the Tigers Come

They come in the middle of the night. Their names are thunderbolt and lightning otherwise known as fear and anxiety. Like flesh eating tigers they weigh upon the mind, and their relentless efforts surpass the greatest of sleep aids. No one can stop them, and their onslaught remains regardless of the valiant tries of the most noble of character. They attack and attack again. Who or what shall stop the tigers? Who shall refute their pernicious snarl, and who shall rescue from the darkness of their hour?

There must be one superior. There must be one greater than their vicious mangling. There must be one upon whom souls may call that can and will be a deliverer. Too many struggle with the tiger's uncaged roaming, and far too many know the visits of middle of the closing hours. Is there no one who has availability? Is there none who can defeat? Is there no one who will be victorious and put to rest the souls of those victimized by the beasts?

Come, oh come, oh one who is supreme. Rescue from vanquishing the restless minds of the nights, and put away the flipping from side to side. Put away the wetness upon the pillows, and put at ease those weary souls who wrestle with the tigers night after night after night. Tame the forces that bring fiery darts and raise shields to protect from prophetic bridge crossings that each one must encounter and each one must endure.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

The Rodent Pile

Shreds of it are everywhere. This part here. That part there. Piles over here, and piles over there. One piece then another, but then there must be this piece added. This color and that color with this area and then that. Cover this, and cover that, and when a person finally reaches here, then after making a few more adjustments, they can go here. Of course, that's only if the person has been in this area before they went to that area, otherwise they must repeat step three and begin the process all over again. Is anyone else just a little confused by this rodent pile? If not, just try making an application for a business, and watch the quivering conundrums reveal themselves and merit their value.

Sincerely, these micro-mammals must continue to make their piles, lest their uselessness and inadequacies be revealed. Far be it from any to bring along rodent repellant or program cutting or they should have to relocate to the more adventurous and unstable land of the private sector versus the public. No, in no wise should any remove their nest. Why that indeed would make the entire posse scamper, and who knows who might be cut or damaged in the process.

No, for now, the rodent nest is just fine, and should there be an opportunity to add a few more regulatory paddings to the comforts of the justificational home, they shall shred. They shall add, and they shall shred again. Be gone diligent ones! The nest is just fine.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Wildflowers and Wild Horses

They pop up everywhere. In the grass, on a hillside, over a bridge, sticking in a wall, hanging in a basket, almost everywhere one looks there are wildflowers. How do they get there, and who planted them? Or, look upon a fielded plane in the west within a mountainous area, and there they run, untamed, and trampling through life without reign or control. Mostly they are grouped together, but many run as though alone. Where have all those wild horses come from, and who put them there?

Is there any benefit other than beauty for the wildflowers and wild horses? Do they exist just for the propagation of future horses and flowers, or are they randomly awaiting a bouquet or saddling? Some of the most beautiful bouquets in the world are constructed with wildflowers, and some of the fastest race horses in the world are ones that are tamed? Are they worth picking? Are they worth breaking? Indeed.

Some children are like wildflowers and wild horses. Left to themselves they may or may not ever be seen as productive, but when they are managed properly, they excel; They thrive, and they become a benefit to many.

Perhaps the reader knows or is in control of a wildflower or wild horse? Their bent is different, and their exuberance for life might seem impossible at times. Keep in mind the race horse and the bouquet. As florist or trainer the one who manages the wildflower or wild horse dictates the outcome of the one in which they have to do.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Driving the Time Machine

The contraption is ostentatious. Parts are everywhere, and thing-a-ma-bobs and whatchamacallits surround. What's this? “What's that, and how does this work?” become the questions of the day. “What happens if I do this, or what happens if I go here?” adds to the excitement. There's no telling what that button does or what arises if it's turned this way or that. What in the world is it? The Time Machine – and the reader is driving it, or is he, or she?

When did the ride commence anyway, and who decided when it would start? Did any reader or writer for that matter determine when this ride called life would begin? Was there some personal forethought behind the idea of one's existence that caused a cataclysmic union between his or her parents that resulted in birth? Was there a non-visible influence from which one decided there should be a man child or a woman child born to enter the earthly stage? Whichever and whatever the predetermined or non-predetermined consciousness, the fact remains that the reader and writer do exist in this time continuum.

Now, what about the exit? When does this time machine venture end, and when does one exit the stage? How will that exit be, and who determines that? Certainly not the one who spent his time “assisting” any longer, for his ride is over, and to end the ride oneself is never so good. Although there are many methods for which the time machine ride ends, no one really knows when it shall be or what shall be the cause of it, or do they?

The key, rather than ponder what or when, is to have full understanding that the predetermined existence was not the writer's nor the reader's choice in the first place, nor shall it be his or her choice at the time when the time machine shuts down and the ride ends. Ride with the wisdom that one greater initiated this time machine, and until the ride is over. Ride with all the might possible.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Pushed Beyond the Limits

The line is drawn in the sand, and the opponent is told not to cross it. Face to face the encounter begins and the battle within enrages. Will he cross or will he obey? Will he cave in or move in? Lips purse, and faces snarl. Fist clinch, and muscles tense. Will there be a battle? Will there be a war? The tension escalates, and finally, the three year old backs away. At least this time, he wasn't pushed beyond the limits.

How is it that a tiny little creature who was privileged to be born to parents in this world can develop such a defiant demeanor? Who taught him or her to be this rebellious and to be such a challenge hearted child? Was there someone who sat down and said, “Now, when you're parents tell you to do something, you just stand your ground and tell them “No”? The sweetest environment for children can still produce a child that pushes far beyond the limits.

It's like the little boy whose mother told him to sit down repeatedly until she finally had to sit him down. His words? “I may be sitting on the outside, but I am still standing on the inside!” Where did he get that from? His daddy? His mommy? Maybe it was a grandmother or grandfather? Maybe it was from a church or synagogue? Or could it be that it was just born within him or her?

Nonetheless, today there will be children both older and younger who have the advantage of being in the world, living in the world, being provided for in the world, who will look their authorities in the eyes and say, “I'm not obeying you.” Hmmm...When it comes to being pushed beyond the limits, maybe the limits are not just related to children, unless those children have just never grown out of it.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

The Cause

Onlookers stand by and watch while an attacker accosts an older woman and takes her purse. A child is beaten by his mother while people stare and do nothing. Devaluation occurs between a husband and wife in public, and no one says a word. Political arguments rage, but this one will never even vote. “Get involved?” “Make a difference?” “Intervene?” Why should I?” “It's none of my business.” “I have enough to care for already,” are all pat answers that ring hollow in the ears of care. One question prevails, and one question rises to the top: “Is there not a cause?”

The saying goes, "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing,” which begs the questions, “Is evil triumphing today?” or at the very least “Is evil triumphing today more than it was ten, twenty, thirty years ago or more?” Maybe “evil” is being re-defined by some, and although they deem their evaluations appropriate, could it be that blindness or deception has been the veiling of evil's true intent? Perhaps tolerance for any and everything is the mode and direction rather than good men acting, but some think not. There is a cause, and though there are varying degrees of acceptable and unacceptable behavior depending upon which individual or group with which one speaks, evil is not variable upon what is right in one's own eyes.

There is a generation who sees no wrong, and there are those who are so blind that they cannot see. There is a generation who recognizes the cause and simply observe, and there is a generation who stands firm against the prevailing enemy. There are those among the quiet masses who when directed and motivated will make their mark, stand their ground, and be ready to wield the stone of adversity when the giants of evil step in to intrude.

There is a cause. Find it. Discover it, and wield away.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

During the Sullen Hour

Television is in off-mode, and scampering feet are absent. Only the sounds of tree crickets and an occasional frog are heard through the double paneled window panes. A clock tics nearby – tick, tock, tick tock, tick tock, and the hum of the refrigerator purrs in the kitchen just in the other room. It's the sullen hour during the middle of the night where activity nearly stops, and ideas manifest themselves like raindrops in a summer sunlit sky.

The sullen hour is the hour of peace, the hour of little expectation, and the hour of regathering. The sanctuary of the mind is given place to reveal itself, and the probability of new direction and inspiration brings itself to the forefront. Quiet prevails, and requirements are limited. Solace is often sought and rarely found until the sullen hour appears.

“But sleep is lost,” one may object, and “rest is squandered” another may chime, however, the squandered and lost weighs little in the scales of serenity. Direction and peace overwhelm the perceived deprivation, and the ability to function during the hours of demand is enhanced by the sullen hour.

Many desire to rest their minds but find no answer. Many wrestle with management of the status quo but find no solution, and many choose anxiety over peace simply because they take no advantage of the sullen hour to their own demise. Be still, and know who manages it all.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Another MRZ CENTRE Outreach Story - The Doctor

They're timid, and most of the time those who wait outside the MRZ CENTRE on each second and forth Saturday of the month are just a little shy about going to a doctor or medical help center. They know they cannot pay, and sometimes their attire makes them feel somewhat intimidated. However, from time to time, someone in the medical field will show up to volunteer at the MRZ CENTRE Outreaches.

One particular time a physician came who knew that his services had to be limited, so rather than come with his title, he came with his skills as a human being who simply reached out to help those who could not help themselves. Basic screenings and blood pressure could be taken, and his caring ear would listen to their ailments no matter how big or how small.

One particular lady spoke of a sore which had formed on her leg. After examining it for just a moment, the doctor knew that this wound was related to her diabetes. His care and compassion caused him to direct her immediately to the nearest emergency room because the wound left untreated could possibly lead to her demise. Basically, he gave her the urgency she needed to make the trip to the emergency room, and doing so probably saved her life.

Oh, there's other volunteers who touch people's lives at MRZ CENTRE, and they are so appreciated by those who receive. However, there is a noteworthy benchmark set by medical personnel who without charge share for an hour or so that with which they have been blessed just because they care about people.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Herkamer and Gertrude and The Inlaws Part 4

After hearing about her friend Sally's troubled marriage, Gertrude shared her dilemma with Brother Hadley who just happened to drop in and was eating some of Gertrude's beef stew with a banana in it for breakfast. He had just shared that he believed the problem to be an “in-law intrusion” problem which was related to not leaving his parents and cleaving to his wife. Brother Hadley continued...

“Unless this young man separates his relationship with his mother from his relationship with his wife, he is destined for a doomed marriage.” “Doomed marriage?” asked Gertrude with a little fear in her voice. “Yes ma'am.” Brother Hadley responded and kept sharing. “It happens all the time. People get married, violate the leave and cleave rule, never met or meet up to the in-laws expectations in the first place, are given more ammo to prove themselves right, nag the life out of the other spouse, and the other spouse gets so tired of it that he or she leaves. It's too much to ask anyone to tolerate.”

“So, that's why they fight all the time.” Gertrude looked away from Brother Hadley in a forlorn and thoughtful stare. “It could be.” Brother Hadley shared as Herkamer began to examine quietly to himself whether he had shared things about Gertrude that were not good with his parents. “This is the normal way it works: a spouse comes home after the wedding, and doesn't do or say something exactly like the other thought he or she should. It's upsetting, so who is the first person that most people go to when their upset?” Gertrude answered, “Mother”. “Exactly” continued Brother Hadley. “Then this suspicious and fearful in-law begins to take it out on the “victimizing” spouse, and eventually, it's over”

“So,” responded Gertrude, “the best policy would be to never share anything bad about your spouse with your mom or dad, or any in-law for that matter.” “Exactly” stated Brother Hadley. “You see, a spouse usually forgives, but in-laws generally hold it as a grudge.”

Brother Hadley scooped his last bite of the stew which consisted of a carrot and the final piece of banana. He stood to his feet and said, “Why thank you for that breakfast Gertrude” as he shook Herkamer's hand. “You two have such a perfect marriage, and I am so proud of you. Hope everything works out for your friend.” Without another word Brother Hadley walked out the front door and waved as he left.

Herkamer looked at Gertrude and said in a puzzled voice, “He is the most mysterious man.” “But he sure is wise.” Gertrude added as she shook her head and put Brother Hadley's bowl in the kitchen sink. “I think I'll call Sally,” Gertrude said softly, “And I think I'll call my mother.” said Herkamer with a teasing smile. Gertrude began to chase him around the house with a dishtowel laughing as she ran.

Stay tuned for more Herkamer and Gertrude stories in the future. Same blog time. Same blog spot. Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Herkamer and Gertrude and The Inlaws Part 3

Gertrude was troubled about her friend Sally's marriage. Since Sally's husband would tell his mother everything about their marriage, Sally was deeply distressed. After Sally and Gertrude ended their morning walk, Gertrude was about to tell her husband Herkamer about Sally when Brother Hadley drove into their driveway. After inviting himself in for a bite of stew and cutting a banana into the stew to eat, Gertrude began to tell Brother Hadley Sally's problem.

“Brother Hadley,” Gertrude started while Herkamer listened closely, “My friend Sally is having trouble in her marriage.” “Oh?” said Brother Hadley who was listening nonchalantly as he took another bite of banana and carrots. “Yes.” Gertrude continued, “She said that everything that she and her husband do becomes her husband's conversation with his mother. He tells his mother everything.” Brother Hadley stopped his spoon for a moment and looked deeply into Gertrude's eyes as she spoke. “Sally says that she cannot even go to the bathroom without his mother knowing about it.” Brother Hadley rubbed his chin and asked, “This really has you upset, Gerty, doesn't it?” Gertrude nodded and Herkamer began to rub Gertrude's back as she spoke.

Brother Hadley sat back in his chair, thought for a moment, and said, “Yep. This is the old In-law intrusion problem.” “In-law intrusion problem?” questioned Herkamer and Gertrude at the same time. Brother Hadley nodded and continued, “Yep. It's where the strings were never really cut when the couple became married. People never learn to “leave” and “cleave” after they get married. They are still so close or so controlled by their parents that they never leave that comfort.” Gertrude listened closely as Brother Hadley explained, and Herkamer just continued to rub Gertrude's back.

“So, you think the trouble is that Sally's husband has never really left his mother?” Gertrude asked. Brother Hadley nodded again and took another big bite of stew which included beef with the banana this time. “This boy's mother nursed him, wiped him, taught him, cared for him for years of his life, and along came this young new Sally into his world. In just a few short months or years, he had given his life to her and not his mother,” Brother Hadley continued, “and then after they were married...”

Stay tuned tomorrow for more of the story. Same blog time. Same blog place. Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Herkamer and Gertrude and The Inlaws Part 2

On their morning walk, Gertrude's friend Sally shared that she was having trouble in her marriage because of her in-laws. It seemed that everything that Sally and her husband did as a married couple, her husband felt the need to tell his mother. Of course, this caused great problems with Sally. Gertrude and Sally finished their walk, and Gertrude had just arrived home to find Herkamer working on their weed eater. Gertrude wanted to talk with Herkamer about the situation, but she waited until he was successful in repairing the lawn equipment, and had just walked out to the front porch to tell him about Sally.

“Herkamer,” Gertrude began, “It looks like you fixed the weed eater. Congratulations!” Herkamer was feeling proud of himself, smiled as he looked at the accomplishment, and said, “I did. Thank you.” “Can you help me fix something else?” Gertrude asked. “Why? What's broken now? I'm on a roll today. I think I can fix anything,” Herkamer said boastfully. “Great,” said Gertrude, “Because Sally and Dave are having trouble again.” “What?” asked Herkamer, “I thought they had everything worked out.” Herkamer now wanted to retract his words about “fixing anything” and said, “What is it this time?

Gertrude was about to answer him when an old dark blue 1967 Cadillac rolled up into their driveway. Herkamer and Gertrude immediately knew who was inside, and with a breath of relief, Herkamer knew that he would be alleviated of “fixing” Sally and Dave. The old relic automobile stopped, and the door opened. There stood Brother Hadley with a huge smile and saying, “Hey youngins'. I was just in the area and thought I'd stop by for some of Gertrude's pot belly stew.” Gertrude and Herkamer could never figure out how he knew when Gertrude made her stew, but just the evening before it was what she made for dinner.

They exchanged hugs and welcomes, and Herkamer invited Brother Hadley inside. Sally began to warm up the stew from the evening before as Herkamer made small talk about the weed eater and his success with repairing it. In a few minutes, Sally brought out a bowl of warm stew to Brother Hadley who always insisted on praying before he ate, did so, and then took a large spoonful of delicatessen. “Gertrude,” Brother Hadley began, “Do you have a banana?” Gertrude looked a little puzzled, but answered “yes” and went to the kitchen to retrieve one for him. When she gave it to him, Brother Hadley opened the banana and began cutting pieces of it into the stew. “There, there” Brother Hadley stated as he chopped. “This will make it just right.” Herkamer and Gertrude looked at each other as if to say, “What in the world?” when Brother Hadley said, “So, what's going on with Sally and Dave?”

Herkamer looked at Gertrude in amazement and mouthed “how did he know?”

Stay tuned tomorrow for more of the story. Same blog time. Same blog place. Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Herkamer and Gertrude and The Inlaws

“He tells his mother everything,” Sally said disparagingly to Gertrude. “Everywhere we go, everything we say, and everything we do, he always tells his mother!” she continued. Gertrude listened carefully as they ambled through their morning walk. “Is he just that close to his mother?” Gertrude asked. “No! That's just it. He's not that close to her, but it's like she is his sounding board for every little area in our marriage that goes a little off.” Sally continued, “I can't do anything that pleases him any more, and the more I try, it's like his mother's eyes are watching me constantly, and if we ever go over to her house, she gives me glares like she could stare right through me. It's horrible!”

Gertrude pondered Sally's statements as they approached the closing point of their walk and stopped just short of their normal finish. “Sally,” Gertrude began, “I'm not really sure what to tell you, but would you mind if I shared this with Herkamer? Sometimes he has some great insight into these things, and I think he might be helpful.” Sally put her hands in her face and cried. Through her tears she managed to nod her head and whisper, “I'm desperate. Please talk to him about it.”

Gertrude hugged Sally, and they finished their walk. As they approached their cars, Gertrude assured Sally that everything would work out, and they waved a simultaneous goodbye.

Gertrude drove home and found Herkamer working on a project on the front porch. It was the lawn weed eater again, and Gertrude knew that if he started working on that thing, everyone should stay clear. She waved and said “Good Morning” to him, but decided to wait until that project was over before she said anything about Sally.

Suddenly she heard the little motor running, and Herkamer say, “Yah-hoo!”. It seemed that this time there was favor when repairing the motor, and Gertrude knew this would now be a great opportunity to talk about Sally. She walked back to the porch, opened the front door and said, “Herky, can I talk with you about one of my friends for a moment?”

Stay tuned tomorrow for more of the story. Same blog time. Same blog place. Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Herkamer and Gertrude and The Inlaws

Wave after Wave

A little girl sat on the seashore with her grandfather while wave after wave came in from the ocean. At first the waves were fun and exciting as they rolled against the little child's body and rocked her back and forth, back and forth. Then, out of nowhere, came a more forceful wave that tossed the little tot harder to one side. Another followed, the another until the little girl could stand no more. She rose to her feet, put out her hands, spread out her fingers and yelled, “Stop! Stop! Stop!” However, the waves kept rolling in.

The little girl's grandfather enjoyed a deep chuckle as he watched his granddaughter's valiant efforts, and asked her with a laugh in his voice, “How's that working for you?” She looked him in the face and said determinately, “It's not! It's not!” to which the grandfather laughed again.

Sometimes it seems that the difficulties in life have a way of coming in waves. A wave of trouble here and another wave of trouble there, the relentless onslaught of the waters never stops. Sometimes the waves are not as big, but sometimes they are tidal in nature. As long as one continues to be in the water, the waves are destined to continue.

So what is one to do? How is one to respond? Expect them. Ride them, and expect them again. If a person learns to be a surfer, he or she will find the waves challenging, exhilarating, and sometimes fun, and when those waves come that are more destructive than normal, that same person will understand that even tidal waves crest and fall, crest and fall.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Whatcha Doin' 'Bout That?

Yippity Yak, and Clickity Clack. Listen to all the Chattery Chat. People talking here. People talking there. Everyone knows everything about anything there is, and still, very few are doing anything that helps. Very few walk out of their own life's self interest and sacrifice themselves for others. The conversations merit answers, and the circumstances beg for solutions, but in simplicity the question remains, “Whatcha “Doin “bout that?”

Is it merely talk, or is there a walk associated? Does fodder fill the conversations with “If I were...” or “They should let me...” isms? Is it not rather amazing that the answers are generally found around the water cooler or in the lounge or diner and not in the legislative halls? Maybe the chambers should be moved, or maybe the venue should be changed? What would the “debates” look like if there were a whole wheat on rye order interrupting the process? But then again, maybe that is already in place.

Movement and action speak much more loudly than the conversational wind, and radiant heat exhausted from an over zealous orifice rarely affects anything other than the climate. “Do” verses “Talk” changes things. “Do” versus hot air affects alteration. “Do” moves legislation, altars laws, and redirects people, while “Jibber Jabber” only serves to make twenty four hour news channels fill their allotments.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Goin' In A Washin'

Swimming in the ocean or a river wasn't always known as “swimming” to everyone. Some people from long ago used to call it, “Goin' in a washin”. Now, as strange as that may sound, there was some great validity to it because at that time there were no convenient shower or bath stalls within the houses. Why many didn't even have the luxury of indoor plumbing for that matter, but, nonetheless, the weekly or biweekly bath was deemed a necessary part of hygiene so people “washed” in the river or ocean.

Sometimes the filth and dirt from outdoors just clings to the body. Sometimes there seems to be grease and grunge that shows up from everywhere, and there is nothing like getting rid of that dirt and funky smell. Soaps and shampoos with a rugged man-like scent or a flowery fragrance invigorates, stimulates and enlivens the skanky body. However, there is another reason for “goin' in a washin”.

What about all the filth that one hears in a day? Gossip here, gossip there; fabrications here, fabrications there; dirty stories here; dirty stories there; backbiting, backstabbing, ridicule and strife; hatred, discrimination, prideful looks and fights; Could the list go on and on, a bit afraid I be. I think I'll go in a washin' now, I just turned off TV.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Wrestling Past the Barriers

Communication is sometimes difficult. It doesn't matter if the two parties are ambassadors representing countries or an every day husband and wife, understanding with clarity what is in another person's mind is a challenge. Sometimes the effort can seem useless, and other times the information may prevent war. Most of the time it is beneficial if a person will pursue discernment by wresting past the barriers that prevent one person from understanding another.

Previous hurts, disregard, neglect and indifference from others usually prevents good communication. Sometimes people have fears of rejection that are so deep within that they themselves do not even know they are there. The pain caused by someone they loved and trusted pushed the ability to truly communicate so deep into the subconscious that even their behavior reflects it without them knowing. “He's this way. She's that way,” are the normal appraisals, but many do not care enough to discover why these “ways” are there.

Future results in relationships are directly dependent upon present communication. If a person desires a fight, he or she doesn't have to look far, but if the same person will care enough to wrestle past differences, pursue understanding, and seek clarity, he or she may find a new best friend.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

Just Passing Through

The bold red letter sign read, “No Trespassing. Violators will be prosecuted!” The older man looked at the sign and proceeded to pass by the warning as though he never saw it. His eight year old grandson was with him and said, “Granddaddy, that sign said No Trespassing.” Why are we walking through anyhow?” The kindly grandfather looked at his grandson with care in his eyes and said, “Because I put up the sign, and we're simply passing through.”

There are some limitations within a person's life. Some are others imposed, and some are imposed by oneself. Some things are attempted, and other things are omitted. Some things will never be done because others will not allow, elect or permit, and some things will never be done because a person never attempts, undertakes or tries. Some realize that they are simply passing through, and others waste valuable time before they realize the walk is almost over.

One of the keys to moving beyond the norm and reaching forward to greater heights, greater depths and greater feats is to realize that each person is simply passing through. “No Trespassing” signs may be posted, but each person's answer is found when a he or she realizes that those self imposed signs are territories upon which he or she may walk and probably should.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?

The Long Ride

The little girls stood in line anxiously awaiting the amusement park ride called “The Twister.” As they waited they could hear the screams and yells of those who were already on the ride, and their reactions made the anticipation all the more exciting. Finally, it was their turn. Those who were previously on the ride left their spots, vacated their seats, and walked toward the exit. The little girls along found one of the empty seats and quickly buckled their seat-belts. Soon the ride would start. Soon the ride would begin, and soon there would be no turning back until the man at the controls stopped the long ride.

The ride began, and the carts began to whirl. Round and round and faster and faster the spinning couriers for humans spun. The world surrounding the little girls began to be a blur, and what was anticipated as being fun and exciting was now affecting internal organs. Soon the girl began to be dizzy and nausea set in, but the spinning and twirling of the ride was continuing to race forward in speed. Whirl, twist, yank, spin the metal cart that seemed such an excitement was now like a cage with no escape in sight. The once heartfelt desire to get on the ride was replaced with a passion for the ride to end.

Screaming, yelling, begging and pleading the little girls realized that the rantings and cheers of those who rode before them were actually people desiring for the ride to be over. “Let us off! Let us off! Stop the ride! Stop the ride!” the little girls yelled, but it was all to no avail. The ride continued, and the only one in control of the ride was the man at the controls.

Finally, when exasperation was at its maximum, the ride began to slow, the carts began to stop, and the ride was over. The little girls unbuckled their seat-belts, walked in a dizzy pattern toward the exit, and abandoned the ride. Their hearts were beating frantically, and their stomach were turning. Their heads were hurting, and their muscles were burning, but they survived. They were alive, and they promised one another to NEVER ride anything like that again.

Just then, they heard a carnival attendant say over a microphone, “Step right up! Hurry folks for one of the greatest rides ever to reach the theme park! The Scrambler! Yes, that's right. The Scrambler! Have more fun than you have ever had in your life when you step on The Scrambler!” The little girls looked at each other with a forlorn face and said, “You know, some rides are a lot easier to get on than they are to get off,” and they decided to go look at the animal exhibits.

Until tomorrow...Why Say More?