Sometimes, I am just driving along, singing a song….  and something will catch my eye.  It could be anything really.

A tree branch.  A hubcap.  A barn, a bakery sign, or a broken window.

And I have to turn the car around, pull over, and get out and shoot it.

Today…. it was a water tower.

I guess I am thankful for this indescribable behavior.

Sometimes…. I try to fight the feeling…  especially if I have just enough time….. to be on time…. wherever it is I am going.

“Do not stop this car Polly.  Do not.”  But then, before you know it…. I am a mile down the road… and now I REALLY have to turn around and go back.

So there it is.  That’s what happens to me.  On more days than not.

And today it happened once again.  It was a water tower in West Carrollton.  I have hundreds of these photos on hard drives… that most people will never see.

But I saw it.  And for some reason, I had to capture that moment… that thing… just as it was when it caught my eye.  Well, my mind’s eye.

I don’t really have much to say tonight about anything, other than I wonder if other people are like me.  If my friends have a mind’s eyes…. things that give you pause.  That make you stop.  And pull you in.

I love when the mouse takes the cheese.  I do.

I think it started a long time ago.  I was probably 6 years old.  We lived in a city, and weren’t allowed to have pets (much to my chagrin).

Anyway, one warm and sunny day, I found a little mouse in the grass.  Something was terribly wrong though.  It didn’t run or scurry.  It just laid.  It didn’t look hurt from the outside.  But I knew it was in trouble.

So, like a million other little kids in the world, I went inside, absconded an old shoe box for a make shift mousey hospital, and back outside I went.

I furnished it well.  Lots of torn up grass, a couple of twigs and a little plastic dish with water.  But the mouse just laid there…. wide eyed… and breathing hard.

Back inside.  Mom…. can I have some cheese?  So she cut a couple of slices from the brick of Velveeta which could ALWAYS be found in our fridge.  I ate most of it… because even at six… I knew that was WAY too much Velveeta for a mouse that size.

But the mouse would not take the cheese.

Back in.  This time to ask for some of Dad’s Cheddar Cheese.  Mom commented about me turning into a mouse if I kept eating so much cheese.  I’m sure I got as wide-eyed as my little friend outside in the box.

But, I must have kept it hidden…. because I went back to the mouse… this time with an offering of Sharp Cheddar.

Again.  The mouse would not take the cheese.

I sat cross legged there, in front of the box, not knowing how to help the mouse.  It wasn’t long until it died.  I was crushed.  I cried and cried and cried.  I went in and told my Mom about the mouse.  (She wasn’t mad about my ulterior motives with the aforementioned cheese.)

Instead, she suggested that I give the mouse a proper burial.  Which I did.  All the way behind the garage by the cement brick wall.

And I never forgot that afternoon, of caring for that little being.

To this day, I root for the mouse.  Whenever I see a mouse trap, I want the mouse to take the cheese.  I want him to beat the odds.  To clear the trap.

I don’t like it when people set traps for one another, either.  And by this… I mean people traps.    I don’t know many people who actually do this… but some folks are pretty good at being passive-aggressive, or using other measures … to get a desired and beneficial outcome for themselves.  They manipulate.  They deceive.

They put the cheese in the trap.

Now I think it better…. that we should share the cheese.  But even if someone wants to keep all the cheese for themselves… I don’t think it is a good idea to break someone else in half… just because sharing wasn’t an option for them.

That’s what we think.  Me, and the mouse in my pocket.

“I feel the capacity to care is the thing which gives life its deepest significance.”  —  Pablo Casals

Time.  Now that is something isn’t it? We all have it…. at least… for some time.

Most people are pretty concerned with it.  What time is this or that happening?  How much time will this take?  When was the last time you did that?

Time, time, time.    We measure it.  We kill it.  We give it away.  It always cracks me up, when some says… “Hey buddy.  You got the time?”  “Well of course I have the time.  Everyone has the time.  The question is… Time for WHAT?”

Time for what.  Some people try to save it.  Like it can be put in a little “Time Piggy Bank.”

There is an entire marketing blur of Time Savers.  New and improved products to save us time.  Again, I have to wonder… just a bit…. when someone says… “blah, blah, blah saved me five minutes.”  And then they tell eight people how they saved five minutes…. only to have used an additional 40 minutes in the process of boasting about saving the time in the first place.

People spend a lot of time clipping coupons to buy time savers.  Little bit of a quandary, yes?

But we have what we have.  Using it well is a pretty dang big deal, I think.  What do we want to fill our time with?  Eating Cookie Dough Icecream with Peanut Butter Chocolate Fudge, or playing Yahtzee, or riding a roller coaster?   Well, yes.  In the case of most people…. we want our time to be happy.  Good.  Satisfying.

But one truth about life…. at least my life… is this.  Happiness isn’t a non-stop-thing.  Happiness comes in moments.

Moments of happiness….like a lot of other emotions…… pass before us all the time.

If we want to enjoy those happy moments…. it is truly up to each of us.  If we can recognize them… when they are happening…. and soak them in…. we have it.  Even for a minute.

They pop up… those experiences… and sometimes they feel boundless.

But… as with everything that hinges on time…. it changes.  It passes.  And turns into something else.

Yes…. it all changes… every moment.   Exactly, when it is time.

“There is only one you for all time. Fearlessly be yourself.” – Anthony Rapp

It is no secret that I love photography.  But one thing I really enjoy is old photography.  So much, in fact, that I  buy old photographic images on Ebay.  It doesn’t matter that I don’t know the people.  I just love to see their lives from so long ago.  Their stories.

I like to see the look in their eyes.

But every once in a while, a photograph will come with a story all bundled up with it.

Tonight, I’d like to tell you about  Carlotta and Maybelle.  They were best of friends as early on as they could remember.  They met when they were three years of age, in a small town, called Cranston, Wisconsin.

There was a brewery in Cranston.  Nearly everyone in the town worked at Havermaele and Sons Brewery, including Carlotta and Maybelle’s fathers.

So from the time they were three, they grew up together on Kensington Street.   Their houses were catty-corner.

Unfortunately, Maybelle’s father drank too much.  And he was mean.  Mean as sin.  He used to hit Maybelle on a regular basis, for no good reason at all.  This made her terribly sad.

But the one bright spot in her life, was Carlotta.  And they were glad it was that way.  There she found refuge, kindness, peace.  And of course, plenty of fun.

They called each other Carly and May.  And there wasn’t a day that passed when they weren’t together.  Until they turned 12.

It was that year the Great Depression hit.  Times got hard, and the brewery closed.  Maybelle’s father decided to move the family out of Cranston, and away they went.  There was no word of where they were going, and Carly never heard from May again.

When Carly turned 21, she decided to move from Cranston to a bigger city, with better chances.  Chicago it was.  The only job she could find was a waitress gig, at the Golby’s Famous Diner….  Home of The Big Golby Burger.  Three months into her job, on a Sunday morning, she went over to wait on table three.  And who was sitting there….. but May.

They hugged and laughed and felt joy right down to their toes.  And right back to being the best of friends… they flashed there in a second.  It was like they never left each other’s side.  Soul mates, true and true.

Carly and May shared this beautiful friendship, this gift, until the day Carly died.  She was 87.  And after she passed, May found a way… to go to the cemetery every Sunday…  and leave a single dime  on her grave.  It was their inside joke.  It was the tip she never left for her lunch the day they reunited…. and it something they had laughed about often.

May died three years later.  She was buried next to Carly.  They were lucky enough to have found a home.  A home of friendship.  A home of shared hearts.

So yes, this photo came with all sorts of information…. a story packed right in.

It could have come in the box from Ebay, or maybe it came from my imagination….

But either way…. most every person comes with a great story all wrapped up inside…. just waiting to be told.

“Strange as it may seem, my life is based on a true story”  —   Ashleigh Brilliant

People call it what they will.  Some are troubled.  Others get anxious….agonize, overthink, brood, or panic.  There are those who lose sleep, get worked up, stress to the max….. or just plain old  get in a state.  Some never, ever do it at all.

But… no matter what you will call it… my name for it is…. worry.

Many of you may or may not know this…. but I do a great deal of worrying.  I did a whole big bunch today.

And it all depends.  It could be anything from how long to cook the chicken eggs, or…my brother’s house sliding down a hill, or something like being concerned for the well-being of a friend.

I get it naturally.  My Mom was a big ball of anxiety… and my Dad was a closet worrier.  So as you can see… I am built to last in this department.

I’ve done a lot of work on it too.  Meditation, prayer, exercise, education, talking to people, talking to myself…. talking to Sock Monkeys….. BUT…. to no avail.  It seems like my brain is wired this way.

You see, intellectually, I know it does absolutely no good.  When the creek is rising and the rain is falling, worrying isn’t going to make the clouds stop pouring.

When the bases are loaded and the number four hitter is coming up to the plate…. worrying is not going to change the outcome.

It serves no good purpose.  Yet still…. I keep it with me like a trusty sidekick.  Always there… right by my side.

I am convinced that WORRY is the worst of the four letter words… but it has a Y stuck on the end of it.  Why.  Why.  Why.

I DO change it up a little bit.  When I am hungry, and worrying… I stew.  OR when I am playing the guitar, and worrying… I fret.  Around a big family or clan, and worrying…. I brood.

And now you know it.   I’ve shared yet another personal pitfall of mine… with all of you.  And dang it… that worries me.  Just joking.  I trust you.  ALL of you.  I mean…. what are you going to do?   Post this on Facebook?

 “There is nothing that wastes the body like worry, and one who has any faith in God should be ashamed to worry about anything whatsoever”  —  Mahatma Gandhi

(Is anyone else worried that Gandhi said this…..?)

If you want me to tell you the future… I can only tell you this.  History repeats itself.  So then.  Let’s talk about this day of ours.   This April 5th.  A couple of my friends were born on this day.  These two guys are as different as night and day.   Happy Birthday, you Aries’ Boys.

But back to April 5.  What a day in history.    Now.. not so long ago… many of you were knocking back Green Beer to celebrate the day that St. Paddy drove those snakes out of Ireland.  Well low and behold.  What goes up, must come down.  Today is the day that St. Patrick returned to Ireland as a missionary bishop.  The year was 456.  I think that means he started wearing one of those big hats on his head.

And… speaking of Big Heads.  On this day, in 1722 – Jacob Roggeveen discovered Easter Island.   Now those are some big stone heads.  Mysterious heads.  Out in the middle of nowhere…. heads.

Seventy years later…. The first W stamped a big No Can Do.  Yep.  In 1792 , George Washington cast first presidential veto.  I’m not sure what he didn’t approve of… but he did not.

Since we are on the letter W.  She traced it again and again on Helen Keller’s hand.  Of course… it was  Anne Sullivan in 1887, who taught  “water” to a blind, deaf, mute woman.  Wonderful.  And then she said…. “Can you hear me now?”

Not so very long ago…. we said…..Roll ‘Em….  In 1923 …. those rubber heads at the Firestone Company finally put their inflatable tires into production.  They cushioned your car ride… less shaking and bumping.

And… speaking of shaking and bumping … The year was 1954…. and Elvis Presley recorded his debut single “That’s All Right”…..  back when he was cute.  And looked good shaking and bumping.

So as you can see… April 5th is a busy dang day on the history slate.  I’m not sure how these things could ever repeat themselves…. but stranger things have happened I’ll tell you.  Look at Easter Island.

“History doesn’t repeat itself – at best it sometimes rhymes” – Mark Twain

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Little Timmy Mouse snuck into church every Tuesday evening.  He would scurry around from pew to pew…. and finally… in frustration…. he would leave.

But Young Tim was like clockwork.  Every Tuesday night… he come back and make his way all around the church.  Yet each time, he would leave with a huff of exasperation.

(You see… it was always Tuesday…. because….  Monday night he had soccer; Wednesday was Mouse Scouts;  Thursday was band practice;  Friday nights he always had a game; Saturday night was Drug the Cat Night; and Sundays the church was too busy.  So. Tuesdays.)

Anyway.  One night, Sister Margaret Eloise caught Timmy in the church.

“Little Timmy…. what on earth are you doing here on a Tuesday night?”

He replied… “Welllllll….. on Monday’s I have soccer…. on Wednesdays…”  …. and on an on.

“No Timmy.  Why exactly are you here?”
“Because my Grandma told me I could find Baby Cheeses if I went to church.  And I love Baby Cheeses.”

So Sister Margaret Eloise went to the Church Snack Bar… and got him some  Baby Swiss.  And a side of French Fries with Ketchup.

Timmy, was…. eternally grateful.
And he knew… deep down… that Grandma was always right.  Heck… she ALWAYS won at Bingo after all.

And good old Sister Maggie Ella.  She was as kind as they came.

I was thinking about all the people that we come in contact with on any given day.  There is a range of folks, from far and wide.

Now my day started with an electrician, who was replacing a few canned lights in our house.   He was very nice, thorough, diligent, and seemed happy to be working through the tasks at hand .

But the job was before him.  Those lights have been here for 18 years, since we built the place. They were quite gnarly when he pulled them from their ceiling sockets.

And that got me thinking about lightbulbs.  Stay with me here.  I mean. Holy crapamoly.  There are a LOT of different kinds of lightbulbs in the world.

There are incandescents, halogens, and fluorescents.  New fangled CFLs, and LEDs.

We have bulbs that come out only once a year, and twinkle on Christmas trees.  There are flashbulbs, and big floodlights for the skies.  Bright and flashy neon lights… which buzz all the time.  So many lights… all different sizes, shapes, connections, and purposes.

Take our “for instance” here at the house.  Those old canned lights were  incandescent.  They used 65 watts of energy at a time, and could get very hot while they were in use.  Not so efficient.  But the new ones… the LEDs use only 10 watts, don’t get hot, and give off a beautiful white light.  Seemlessly.

Lots of bulbs with ways and purposes.  A kazillion different kinds… but in the end… they all have the same end in mind.  They  produce light.

And then I thought…. lightbulbs are….  just like people.  I think we might all just be here to shine our light. In some way or another.   To be good stewards of energy, and  share our individual brilliance with others.

Some people seem to do it better than others.  Some folks seem to be hot all the time, some are inefficient, or flashy, or twinkly.  A few are pretty dim.  Some though, are efficient, and steady.  Some people give off beautiful white light.  Seemlessly.

Our lives…. our light.  Each in our own way.

Now the next person I ran in to today, was the plumber.  I won’t really step in to that analogy tonight.

“You must enshrine in your hearts the spiritual urge towards light and love, Wisdom and Bliss!”  — Sri Sathya Sai Baba

And tonight…. a brief break from 30473 with a message from our sponsors.

See Dick.
See Dick cavorting with his prairie dog friends in our prairie field.

See Dick light a match.

See our prairie field on fire.

See Prairie Dog Dick and his friends run. (Well….. more like a run-waddle.)

Prairie Dogs named Dick probably should not play with matches in their prairies.

But dogs will be dogs.  And by the courageous nightlights, they found refuge in the Notorious Amen Break.

Tonight’s program sponsored by the American Society for the Preservation of Prairie Dogs.

“The goal of life is to make your heartbeat match the beat of the universe, to match your nature with Nature.” – Joseph Campbell

I would be remiss if I did not speak to fact that today was April Fool’s Day.   I used to really love this little “holiday”…. if you can call it that.  Playing practical jokes was my forte.  Oh boy.  Left and right.

It started a long time ago.  Not for me.  But for the world….

The history of April Fool’s Day is thought to have started way, way back in 1582.

And wouldn’t you know?  Leave it to the French.   There was a reform of the calendar under Charles IX.

King Chucky Nine introduced The Gregorian Calendar.  And just stir things up a bit… they moved New Year’s Day from April 1 to January 1.  (They had a whole New’s Year WEEK in the old calendar… from  March 25  to April 1.  Talk about a party.)

ANYWAY.

So long ago…. in 1582…. communication traveled slowly.  Slower than dial-up internet, I’ll tell you.    Some people were only informed of the change several years later.

And of course… there were the more stubborn and rebellious types who refused to acknowledge the change.  They kept their party hats for April 1 only.

Hence.  These people were labeled “fools” by the general populace.   Yeppers.  They were subject to ridicule and had practical jokes played upon them.

This harassment evolved over time…. and that good old prank-playing continue on the first day of April.

(A little sidebar here.  What makes a joke practical…. as opposed to impractical?  Is it like having practical shoes?)  Okay.  Back to the deal.

So here we are now.  April Fools Day.   It got to the U.S. eventually.  The tradition spread to Britain and Scotland in the 18th century.   And finally, it crossed the big blue and was introduced to the American colonies by the English and the French.

But I digress.  Sort of.  I didn’t mean to go on about the history… but about how I used to love playing a good joke.

Telling my Mom I was pregnant when I was 17….  well….let’s just say….. that one didn’t go over so great.  Right before she passed out…. she said… “And I thought you were gay.”

When she came to, I said…  “You were right about that one Mom.”

These days… I can’t come up with too many good April Fool’s jokes.  It appears that my real life is much stranger than fiction…. so it seems rather pointless now.  But I still like the day.  Once a fool, always a fool….. I suppose.

“Every man is a fool in some man’s opinion” – Spanish Proverb