Homeless and Luckless, Piano Man Wows Internet and Gets New Start

…never too late…to live your best life…

………hugmamma.

The Feels

The city of Sarasota, Fla., has a project called “Sarasota Keys,” which installs lovely old upright pianos in public places where anyone can play. One day last week, a homeless man sat down at one of these sidewalk pianos at a public art exhibit and started playing the Styx’s “Come Sail Away.” Passersby took notice, pulling out smartphones to capture the moment and dollar bills to thank the musician.

Donald Gould, 51, a scrawny man of “cave man” appearance with scraggly hair and unkempt beard, kept his eyes on the keys and his music filled Main Street in downtown Sarasota, Fla.

Gould, or “Boone” as he is known around town, said he only wanted to earn a few bucks. A week later, video of his impromptu performance has been viewed more than 7.5 million times on YouTube and more than 5 million times on Facebook, with the videographer, Aroar Natasha,

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living her best life: #52…in it together

Today I text Pat…

Will post something today. Always thinking of you both, hoping you’re fine. God bless you for your strength and no nonsense ways. How are the boys? How’s Brad? How’s living been with others? I love you…

And  she text back…

I think the boys are fine…haven’t been up to texting them either. Doing okay…not great…passed out this morning in the shower so had to be admitted for observation. Prior to that I was doing pretty good. Just exhausted and constantly foggy. Thank God I have Brad with me.

Living with others has been great…it really does help both the patient and caregiver.

…God bless the mayo clinic…all the folks at gift of life transplant house

…and especially pat and brad.

………hugmamma.img_4416.jpg

living her best life…#26

As often happens in our lives, there can be hiccups along the way.

Recently, Pat had such a day…

News in Hawaii is that Kaiser-Hawaii employees are on strike!

My nurse had assured me that she would be here for me this week, and she was. Because Kaiser was short-staffed I had to wait a bit. In spite of that, Tara was as attentive as ever.

Additional blankets were ordered but because of shortages on all the floors, only a few were obtained. 

Brad said the cafeteria was closed.

I don’t know exactly who’s on strike but I guess it includes medical assistants, cafeteria workers, and lab techs/nurses who administer the blood tests…as well as the guys who do the laundry.

Some smaller clinics are closed altogether this week.

Supposedly, the strike should only last a week. However it might continue to occur intermittently thereafter.

 On Monday I had a blood test, and today I went in for chemotherapy treatment. Thankfully, I didn’t encounter any problems because of the strike.

I hope all other patients are getting the care they require. From what I could see while I was there for my treatment, everyone seemed to be receiving what they needed.

When I entered the room,  I sat next to a man who was already undergoing treatment. He was still there when I left.

On the other side of him was a woman who was in for her first treatment. She had family with her. I overheard the nurse explain what would take place, assuring the patient, as I had been, that she would be fine. Then the pharmacist, Richard, arrived to explain what drugs she would receive and how they would be administered. I remember how he’d done that for me on my first day.

Then there was another woman who was in for her last session. She sat and knitted while having her treatment. The nurses thanked her for the manapua…a bun filled with shredded, barbecued pork. A Chinese delicacy she’d brought them on previous occasions. The woman hugged them all when she left, saying she’d return to visit…but not to stay!

That woman inspired me even though it’s still early in my treatment. I wanted to reach out to reassure the woman who was just beginning…or perhaps her daughter.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to strike up a conversation with fellow patients.

Or maybe not.

It’s such a personal, anxious and scary thing for me. I’m sure it must be for the others as well.

While finishing up my treatment, Tara and I were laughing about something. The woman’s daughter…if, in fact, that’s who she was…glanced my way, smiling. I hope my conversation and laughter helped allay her fears…at least a little bit.

I’ll sign off now so I can go and eat something.

By the way…I gained 2 pounds! Yoohoo!!! Never thought I’d be celebrating that.

…we’ll talk again soon…

…love you all…always.

………pat.

 

 

journeying towards her best life…#17

Last night I had asked Pat if she preferred I not continue to blog her health journey. I thought it might be too difficult to share her thoughts, thereby baring her soul, as time went on. 

In no time, I received a reply.

Pat explained that if what she was going through could help others, than sharing news about her experience was worth it. She went on to say

“…writing about it helps me.”

Most of what I’ve sent [you] so far has been light, meant to make me (and, hopefully, others) laugh.

It wouldn’t be fair, however, if I led people to think that I’m breezing through this, although, luckily, so far it seems I have.

And although I really like all the doctors and nurses taking care of me, the reality is that after certain appointments, like today, I get just a little depressed.

I’m reminded “Yes. You are sick. And yes. It is serious.”

So when Brad asked if I was going to update the family, I said I would but that I needed to digest it all for myself first.

It takes a little while to get my mojo back.

It’s on its way back now.

I’ll pray. Reread your blog and the comments left. Listen to Hawaiian music and do whatever else I can that allows me to take a step back and ask myself…”How am I feeling right now? Because right now is all I have. And if in this moment, I feel good, then let’s celebrate!”

Worrying about things that may [or may not] occur means experiencing them many more times than necessary. In reality, I’ll only experience them when they actually occur. ( FYI…I’m not as smart as you might think. This came from a bible study passage I’d read on 1/16.)

Anyway, [hugmamma], I think you know where I’m coming from. I trust your judgment when it comes to blogging. 

So let’s blog on! 

I’m feeling better…can you tell?

…yes, pat…i can tell.

As a postscript, Pat added that since she couldn’t get a hold of her sister to wish her a Happy Birthday she did the next best thing. 

During today’s treatment, to take my mind off the shot I was getting, I sang “Happy Birthday” to her in my head. Corny. I know…but it helped.

…hugs and aloha…pat…

………and…hugmamma.

an act of kindness…warms our family’s heart

My hormones were raging today, the downside of hormone replacement therapy treatment…Wiley Protocol in my case.

How do I know? My tear ducts were working overtime today. 

I think it began with An Affair to Remember with Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr. No matter how often I see this tear jerker, I always weep in all the same places. 

When Grant returns to his grandmother’s home after she’s died, remembering when he was last there, Kerr at his side. In the background, the haunting melody is playing which starts my tears. And then, of course, when Grant learns Kerr had been in a car accident and was, therefore, unable to meet him at the top of the Empire State Building. That’s when the flood gates burst, and I was a blithering idiot.

After gathering my wits about me, I went about my day.

In the evening I paused intermittently to listen to a couple of the singers on The Voice. When each of the 5 remaining contestants returned to their home towns to thunderous applause, again I choked up. How proud to be recognized by one’s own community, and to represent it on the national stage. How proud, indeed!

Then my daughter phoned. She has a way of making me sentimental mush. No, I didn’t cry…not then.

After filling me in on all she’s been up to since we last talked, she told me a story which had me choking back my tears once again.

An elderly gentleman stopped at a Discount Tire store to have a tire repaired. Upon looking it over, the young salesman informed the customer that, in fact, all of the tires on the old truck needed replacing. The man explained he only had enough money to make repairs, that he was doing it for his daughter. He paid the bill, indicating that she would return the next day to pick up her truck.

When the 17-year-old returned with her boyfriend, the salesman told her what he’d said to her father the day before. Again she reiterated that she had no money to buy new tires. She went on to say she had been accepted into veterinary school which took all the money her family had to spare.

The Discount Tire rep happened to be the Senior Assistant to the store manager. Making an executive decision, he authorized his technicians to replace all the tires with new ones. Noticing what they were doing through one of the store windows, the young woman was understandably upset and asked what they were doing. The young man, a 25-year-old, assured her that his concern was for her safety. He was probably also thinking about the safety of others she might encounter on the road, driving alongside her. She cried as he wished her a happy holiday season, inviting her father to make whatever payments he could…whenever he could…if he was so inclined. 

A Good Samaritan story for which I was not prepared. I cried when my daughter told it, and again when I retold it to my husband. It brought tears to his eyes as well.

The personal blessing for our family? The Good Samaritan is…

…our daughter’s boyfriend.

………hugmamma.

 

nurturing thursdays: loving is…living

You might wonder why my limited writings of late have been as entries on blogger Becca Given’sNurturing Thursdays.

Two reasons.

Thursdays suit me well. Having run errands and done chores earlier in the week, I reward myself with a short stint at my laptop doing what I do for sheer pleasure…writing.

More importantly, however, is Becca’s invitation to share words that help us feel good about ourselves. God bless her for giving contributors a platform which encourages us to have compassion for ourselves and others.

While other writers contribute more regularly, I’m grateful that my entries are accepted when I am able to snatch a few moments here and there. Perhaps if I limited myself to a few inspirational words, I’d do better. And yet, I can only think to share a little slice of my own life. If it inspires then I am blest. Mostly though, it’s just me trying to figure out…life.

The passing of my beloved Mocha recently coincided with my husband’s casual announcement that he was retiring sooner than expected. Instead of 2016, his last workday will be January…2015!

After the dust settled in my brain, gone musty as an empty-nester these last 12 years, I listened as hubby revealed the whys, hows, and wherefores of what had transpired. Suffice it to say, he’s come out on top. Although retired, he’ll continue as a consultant for another year.

All I’ve ever wanted of my marriage since day one…was my husband.

IMG_4079I’ve waited 44 years to spend more than a few hours a week with my best friend in the whole, wide world. I’ve only had a taste of what his coworkers have always shared with me when we’ve met at office functions.

Among the many compliments were my husband’s fairness…his calm in the midst of turmoil…his patience…his generosity in sharing the limelight…his integrity…his humility…his willingness to mentor others…his loyalty and dedication…his work ethic…his tireless efforts in always seeking the truth…and his willingness to go the extra mile on behalf of others.

Yes. My husband’s a saint. I called him that once when we were first married. His retort was that it was an unkind remark. Only my husband would take offense at being held up on a pedestal.

My husband loved our little Mocha as much as I did. He wasn’t as demonstrative toward her as I was, not given to hugging and smooshing ad nauseum like me. Nonetheless, Mocha always knew she could depend upon him for a walk anytime of the day or night. With me, there could be resistance depending upon the weather and what hour of the night it was. My arthritis doesn’t do well in the wet and cold, and I’m deathly afraid of encountering a bear or cougar in the dark.

IMG_2145When Mocha left us I couldn’t help but feel she did so knowing my husband and I would have more time for one another…one less family member who needed our care and attention. Especially with all she required the last months of her life. Feline siblings, Sitka and Juneau, are now happy to get more cuddle time with me. Although I think they miss their little pal as well.IMG_4810

In reflecting upon Mocha’s life and my husband’s retirement, I couldn’t help but think that those we love the most live on through us who remain. We are their legacy. We continue to tell their story long after their physical presence is gone. We attest to their having been here.

Sad then, those who die unloved.

Who will speak of them? Who will testify to what they did…their dreams…their passions…their accomplishments…their failures? Who will say “We played softball together on the weekends.” Or “She loved doing things with her children.”

Perhaps when we care for others we, in some small way, acknowledge their reality. They live because we think about them…even if only for a moment. All those with whom we engage as we go about our daily lives…the waiter…the supermarket cashier…the dry cleaning clerk…the pet groomer…the landscape worker…our furry family members.

We matter to others. Probably more than we know.

Mocha’s still with me as I go about my day. Reminding me that as long as we’re here, she’ll be with hubby and me…

…enjoying our retirement years.

………hugmamma. 

(Enjoy other inspirational writers at  https://beccagivens.wordpress.com/2014/11/20/nurturing-thurs-next-time/                                                                                                                                            

 

Imported Photos 00137

nurturing thursdays: their problem…not yours

A mother’s comment led me to repostBelieve at https://hugmamma.com/2014/09/24/believe-2/, something I’d written a few years ago. Having read the original post only a couple of days ago, she left these words…

“Thank you for your beautiful poem! I just sent it in a card (with you credited of course) to a homesick son away at boot camp.”

I could only think how inspiring this mother is to take her son’s preparation for the difficult road ahead…with such grace. I thought “I should thank her,” and I did.

At the time I wrote Believe, I was experiencing self-doubt.

I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve, diving into situations with a typically hugmamma attitude. Not quite Pollyana, since I do have a cynical side…partly because I was raised by a single-parent…and partly, because I was a New Yorker for 10 years.

Without going into details, I was totally blind-sided to discover that my good intentions of many years were probably not received as they were offered…unconditionally and without reservation. Instead, criticism withheld for who knows how long seeped in. Like molten lava…hot to the touch…becoming solid rock over time.

After much soul-searching and loving support from my own family, I moved on finding renewed faith in myself. I awoke early one morning and wrote Believe.

Compassion for others begins with compassion for myself.

As I reflect once more upon what I’d written, I’m reminded of what I told my daughter when she was too young to understand why others could be so unkind.

When others said or did something hurtful to my child, I told her she wasn’t responsible for what they said or did. Their words and deeds were coming from within themselves. The problem was theirs, not my daughter’s.

We are not the focal point of others’ lives. We should not think we are. Once we accept this fact, we can be free of the chaos we create for ourselves. We needn’t be bound by the ill-placed actions of those with an axe to grind.

Everyone lives their own lives the best they can. No one is exempt from life’s dark side. While I try very hard not to pass judgment on others…only God can do that…I prefer to thrive in the company of those who are generous in thought and deed. They keep me grounded in who I am and want to be…

…a person of compassion.

………hugmamma.

ENJOY other inspirational pieces at http://beccagivens.wordpress.com/2014/09/25/nurturing-thurs-that-one-person/

three dimensional…

Just like my writing, I think of myself as a three-dimensional person. 

I’m compassionate and I’m edgy. Those who have followed along with my blog since its inception in 2010 have probably gathered as much.

Humor, of which mine is the tongue-in-cheek variety, lightens the stresses of everyday life.

To always dwell in the softness of clouds is not my life, and therefore not my writing.

I leave sweetness to those who handle it more deftly.

Others perceive what they will from what I write.

I myself tread lightly when looking into their souls.

For I know not from where they have evolved.

As they know not from whence I came.

Veils lift…shadows give way.

Accept what’s there,

…as it is offered.

………hugmamma.

The Next Generation of Care Providers

Bless medical providers like Dr. Washington who are helping provide us with the next generation of physicians. Fortunate we are when they are not only taught the necessary skills, but also the compassion and concern to help their patients through the medical process.

Hugs, Dr. Washington…for all you do.

………hugmamma.

A Family Doctor's Reflection

Every month that I post the latest update from “The Ladder” I smile at the amount of fun the kids are having. They are being introduced to physical exam and radiological tests I did not see until  I went to medical school.  They are smiling and I was terrified. I can only hope that some of the kids go on to become health care professionals. They are the future doctor, nurse, physician’s assistant or radiology technician. Medical schools are expensive in the United States. So a physician’s assistant (PA) or a nurse practitioner can be a rewarding career with less long-term student loan debt. The first hurdle is to stay in school. They need the encouragement to struggle through math and science and not get discouraged.
Recently I had an opportunity to refer one of my patients to a former resident. He has a sports medicine practice. I remember the first and last day…

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nurturing thursdays: we are the result…

…of our upbringing. “That’s the unvarnished truth,” as some literary folk might say. Plain…yet not so simple.

Biographies, for me, are a treasure trove of personal information. It’s like mining for gold that I’m never prepared to find. I always know I’ll glean greater understanding of the human spirit, but I’m like a child opening that unexpected gift on Christmas morning when I find buried among the pages of someone else’s life a particular truth that resonates within myself.

One weekend morning as I sat at my mom’s feet clipping her toenails, a ritual begun at her behest, she casually informed me that I had been unwanted…a mistake. I was probably 9 or 10 at the time. I’m pretty sure my reaction was mild, more one of curiosity than anything else. She told me she didn’t want a ninth child so she did what she could to abort me naturally. Naively, she thought spending hours in the ocean would somehow rid her of my fetus. And perhaps more on the mark, she’d down lots of soy sauce in the hopes I wouldn’t survive.

As you can see, I’m still alive. However, the seed of self doubt was probably planted within my psyche that sunny day, long ago.

Parenting is like a magic trick. If done right, we are applauded for our skill at making something so difficult look…so easy. If we go awry, eyebrows are raised, tongues click and refrains of “she’s a bad parent” are doled out mercilessly.

Because of my own childhood experience, I’m particularly sensitive to the influence of parents upon those whose biographies I read. And as you might guess, not one of them leaves home without taking some of their parents’ baggage along with them.

Gary Cooper, whose biography I’m currently reading, was forever devoted to his mother. Trying to please her and keep her happy meant juggling her high opinion of him, while being romantically involved with scores of women his entire life. Of the dozens who met mama, only one or two scored a home run. Unfortunately, they didn’t last long with a man who was enamored of all women, and felt sexually empowered to bed the lot of them.

Mary Astor, never one of my favorites, was a particularly interesting read. Her immigrant, German father, a stage parent if there ever was one, railroaded her acting career from its inception. Her beauty and fledgling talent inspired him to quit his job and move with his wife and daughter, first to Chicago and then to New York, in search of his dream to be rich. Eventually he struck gold in Hollywood where he set up house entirely at his daughter’s expense, both economically and emotionally. She became an alcoholic, fell in and out of abusive relationships, weathered financial ruin, and hit “rock bottom” many times. Discovering God later in life helped Astor out of the hell that had been her life until then.

John Kennedy could have been so much more, in my estimation, had his parents been less self-absorbed. Joseph Kennedy, Sr. was a man driven to overcome his humble beginnings. His natural savvy for besting the next man would bring him wealth, and with that, power in high places. He bought the presidency for his son, and the perfect wife to be First Lady. What the senior Kennedy could never fully render however, was the approval his presidential son had sought ever since he was born into the shadow of older brother, Joseph Kennedy, Jr. What was meant for him only fell to JFK upon his brother’s death.

And what of Kennedy’s mother, Rose? Not allowed to divorce her husband, notorious for his philandering, she complied with the mandates of her mayoral father and her Catholic faith by devoting herself to God, while neglecting the emotional needs of her many offspring. She had a small cottage built towards the back of the main house on the family’s Hyannisport compound. There, the mother would often retreat to find comfort in God. It was also a common practice of both parents to be away from their children, each one going his and her separate way to find pleasure. Rose shopped abroad; Joe Sr. caroused with Hollywood starlets, most famously with Gloria Swanson. She was even amazed at his wife’s tolerance when he invited Swanson along on a European vacation cruise.

It was Richard Nixon’s Quaker mother who instilled in her son the ambition to excel…always. And as history can attest, he never, ever lost that desire to drive the political conversation…much to the chagrin of his wife, Pat. Resigning the presidency before his second term even got underway was a hard lesson learned. Nixon’s resiliency, however, brought him a modicum of success in his comeback as an elder statesman on the world stage.

 I could go on, but you get my drift.

What I continue to learn through these biographies is that parents were children once who thrived, and suffered, at the hands of their parents. We’re really no different from any other species in that we’re all just trying to survive in an alien world. We use whatever resources are available to eke out a life for ourselves as best we can. For humans, those resources include psychogenic ones instilled through the generations. Parents beget children who become…parents who beget children…and so on…and so on. 

So where does the blame lie when children lead miserable lives? Nowhere really. It’s so easy to point a finger, but it’s just as fitting to turn that finger toward oneself.

We don’t have to continue on within the confines of the lives in which we were swaddled since birth. We can change out our “soiled linens” for fresh ones that have been aired out in the sunshine and smells of the scent of a new day. It’s up to us to make up a new bed…

…in which we can rest peacefully…and happily.

………hugmamma.

Nurture Yourself – with Love and Compassion

This speaks beautifully to my life as the youngest child born to a single mom herself struggling to survive. Compassion for others has become the cornerstone of my own life, founded upon having compassion for myself first…
………hugmamma.

Inside the Mind of Isadora


The greatest degree of inner tranquility comes from the development of love and compassion. The more we care for the happiness of others, the greater is our sense of well-being.
Tenzin Gyatso-the 3rd Dalai Lama

ANGEL - Purple FlowersWhat is compassion?

It’s a feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another who is stricken by misfortune, accompanied by a strong desire to alleviate the suffering. info marion dictionary

From birth, we are part of a community called family. The bond is our connection to security and survival. There are situations where our biological family does not serve that well. We become the sufferers due to horrific acts such as child abuse and abandonment. The lack of love and compassion leaves us lost. It heightens stress because we feel loneliness and isolation. Our ability to be compassionate to others fails as we have no guideline. Sometimes, the compassion comes from somewhere else such…

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nurturing thursdays: shine the light…on the devil

I’m getting ahead of myself publishing a post for next week’s Nurturing Thursdays. However something has occurred which I’d like to write about now, while it’s still fresh on my mind.

A young woman committed suicide.

Alone in a big city.

Illness.

Cancer.

Incurable.

Like a death knell, she took the news hard. She holed up, alone, in her apartment for a week. And then she threw herself out the window onto the sidewalk below. Barely missing a person who’d just walked by. Traumatic for that person; the end of life for another. 

Family and friends kept reaching out, trying to keep in touch. But having suffered depression before, the young woman was still caught in its stranglehold.

Depression is the devil. Not to be toyed with. Not to be entertained, even fleetingly. The devil doesn’t play games; neither does depression.

Don’t go there. 

Hang on for dear life, with all the strength you can muster.

Surround yourself with only positive influences. 

There’s no place in your life for negativity. 

Say “no” to negativity…that’s a positive step forward…and upward.

Bask in the sunshine…even if you have to switch on all the lights in the house. I do…

A high electrical bill is way better than a hospital bill…or a funeral.

Fight to live the one life you’ve been given.

Despite the darkness you encounter without…and within…the light is your friend.

Let it in…let it in…please, let it in.

…you matter…because i care…

………hugmamma.

 

 

 

 

nurturing thursdays: 3 words…i love you

Those three words…I love you... can work wonders when told to someone who’s in pain…who’s hurting.

Those three words…I love you… needn’t be reserved for family, sweethearts or close friends.

Those three words…I love you… shouldn’t be secreted away…only to be displayed on special occasions.

Those three words…I love you… isn’t just for lovers on Valentine’s Day.February 2011 00068

Those three words…I love you… takes only seconds to say.

Those three words…I love you…can make someone’s day.

Those three words…I love you…bridges the distance between two hearts.

Those three words…I love you…is a hug traveling on a cloud.

Yesterday I was sad to learn that my cat-sitter, China Rose, has been spending her nights alongside her mom in the hospital. Since June she has been dealing with throat cancer. 

China Rose is a sweetheart who adores cats. She has 9. Most are strays which she has adopted. Not only does China mother her own, but she does the same for those at the local vet where we take our cats. In addition, she cares for cats whose families are away.

When I asked after her mom, China choked back tears. I know first-hand that when someone shows compassion, it’s difficult to remain stoic.

I told China I wished I could hug her…that she felt like a daughter to me. And the next three words flowed easily …I love you.

China responded…I love you too.

I could see her smile…knowing that…I really do love her. 

…those three words…i love you…from me to you…

………hugmamma.

English: On Valentine's Day , the words of Jim...

please…take care…

Saturday Morning: Cartoons' Greatest Hits

Saturday Morning: Cartoons’ Greatest Hits (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s Saturday morning!

What got me out of bed so bright and early?

Another post…what else!

Before I go there however, I’d like to explain why my flaws are often the jumping off point for my writing.

It’s because I’d really like to help you learn from my mistakes or inaction…if possible.

So back to the story at hand.

My previous piece…“Wellness”…got me thinking about my mom.

Raising a large family as a widow meant we lived from paycheck to paycheck. As a result my mom’s needs came last.

I never remember her visiting the doctor. She could barely afford to take us. We were lucky to have a kind physician minister to our health problems. Dr. Fleming never pressed my mom for payment, allowing her to pay what she could…when she could.

My mom suffered greatly from arthritis, especially in her knees.

Her sorrowful groans would awaken me in the early morning hours. The floor boards creaked as she paced back and forth. Until the pain subsided, she could not sleep.

I’d lay quietly, praying for God’s help, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Not even her arthritis could keep my mom from going to work, an hour’s drive from home.

She was the laundress for a Catholic orphanage…The Children’s Home. She often helped in the kitchen, and sometimes chaperoned the older kids, driving them to school functions on the weekends.

It’s difficult to understand how my mom dealt with her health issues, including high blood pressure and diabetes, without the help of doctors. As sole breadwinner, she had no time for self-pity. My mom took care of herself, and us, as best she could.

Comparing our lives would be like comparing apples and oranges.

I’m extremely fortunate to have my husband of 42 years by my side. His generosity has been a blessing for my daughter and me. We are truly grateful for his loving care and support.

Whenever I think of my mom it is with deep regret that she could not have enjoyed a better life. One that included a lifelong companion.

Someone of her own to love…and love her.

Someone who would have helped shoulder the burdens…and kiss away her tears.

Someone with whom she might have shared secrets…and belly laughs.

My mom might have been spared much of the physical and mental anguish she suffered throughout her life…had she someone to help pay for her medical care.

Alzheimer’s stole whatever remained of my mom’s indomitable spirit…when she died at 86.IMG_4143

It’s never too late…

…to look to your own well-being…and that of a loved one…whatever their age…

………hugmamma.

…not for the faint of heart…

My previous post on ad trickery has given rise to this one.

NASA

NASA (Photo credit: Luke Bryant)

After navigating the inroads of the internet, more specifically WordPress, for approximately 2 years I don’t feel as knowing as one might assume. I’m always behind the proverbial 8-ball. Metaphorically speaking, I’m like the astronaut gripping onto the tail of a rocket as it blasts off into space. Following the instructions to the letter, my companions hopped aboard while I was still finding my way through the maze that is NASA.

Just when I thought I’d mastered my little corner of the WordPress universe, I find it’s been remodeled. Tweaks and twinges here and there have streamlined the process, making it more convenient, more glitzy. God bless the staff who are always looking after our best interests. It’s like big government. We cotton to whatever it is they decide…regardless of party affiliation. Conservatives and liberals alike are always pushing and pulling us where they want us to go.

As in life, blogging requires a firm forcus on what it is I’m about. Regardless of the environment in which I write, I strive to hold fast to my values, my purpose. Accumulating an empire of readers looms large. It’s like winning the Powerball Lottery. Who wouldn’t want that?!

Establishing popularity as a goal…fails in life…and in blogging…with integrity. Better to have a few true believers…than a hoard of yes-men and women. 

I’ve visited a number of blogs that are gems waiting to be discovered. My compassion is always for the underdog, so I’ve gone out of my way to help bring them along by mentioning them in posts, hoping that others will turn their attention to the less popular…but just as deserving.

Blogging is not an easy undertaking, but fun can be had by all if we remember that it is fun. And that everyone has something worthwhile to contribute. So jump on in…

Jumping in the pool

Jumping in the pool (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

…to the shallow end…or the deep end…the water’s fine!

………hugmamma.     🙂