I am beginning to think our big purpose here in life, is simply to help one another. That might be our whole shebang. It seems like all the big-thinking-peace makers thought that way.

Mother Teresa once noted… “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”

We belong to each other.

And it was Albert Schweitzer who said… “The purpose of human life is to serve, and to show compassion and the will to help others.”

If that weren’t enough… the Dalai Lama so aptly remarked…“Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.”

These are just a few. Yep.  Seems to me we probably could be….  should be….  helping one another.

We know…..  once we have done something with good in our hearts for someone else, selflessly, it feels good to our inner being. It just does. When something feels that good, it must be right.

But helping others can be tricky business. It doesn’t seem like it ought to be… but it is. There are times when we just don’t feel like it. Not one little iota. And there are other times when we have reached out to someone, time and again, and gotten our little noses smacked.

I am not sure how or when we differentiate, other than, learning and growing from past experiences.

I think I DO know…. that it is important to keep trying. Even Ronny Reagan was on board with this one. He wisely gave this advice: “We can’t help everyone, but everyone can help someone.”

Maybe that is the deal. We don’t need to save the ENTIRE world… just one little bit of it…. at a time.

There is no higher religion than human service. To work for the common good is the greatest creed.  – Woodrow Wilson

I feel I would be remiss if I didn’t talk about St. Patrick’s Day.  I mean, it was March 17th all day today.  People everywhere, dressed in green, wearing funny shamrock hats, and “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” pins, drinking green beer, and such.  Entire cities pouring green dye into their rivers, in the celebration.  It really is a pretty big festivity.   It seems to be teaming with magic, wonder and excitement.

Now…… .. what all of that pomp and circumstance has to do with St. Patrick, I am not sure.  Known as the “Apostle of Ireland,” he is the primary patron saint of Ireland.

And so it happened…when he was about 16…  about the time he should have been learning to drive a car… and not snakes….. , he was captured by Irish pirates from his home in Britain.  From there he was taken as a slave to Ireland.  Not for long though.   He was in Ireland six years before escaping and returning to his family.

Irish Pirates.  Now there is one for you.  Were they little Leprechaun looking fellows in a boat… wearing knickers?  Would they sail around endlessly, looking for the end of the rainbow and their little pots of gold?  I can only wonder, but I am off topic.

It just hit me that no other Ethnic Group in America has such a day…  here in the U.S…. like the Irish do.  Not the Polish, the French, or the Italians.  Not Germans or Russians…. nadda.   Sure there are festivals, like Oktoberfest.   But nothing like this.

I do not have a drop of Irish in me.  Not as far back as I have researched, on both my Dad and my Mom’s lines.  We are German, German, German.. …. and uhhhhnnnn….. German.  I bet most people reading this don’t even know who the Patron Saint of Germany is.

For those who don’t…. it is St. Boniface.  He was a pretty big dude when it came to the establishment of the first organized Christianity in many parts of Germany and Europe.     But like all good Saints… he pretty much died a horrible death.  He was on a missionary trip, and got ransacked by a bunch of traveling burglars.   They killed him dead.  And 52 others who were with him.

I think it might have been the Irish Pirates…. but I can’t say for sure.  The “burglars” were looking for treasure.  Again… I speculate it was those little fellas after those pots of Gold.

But the whole St. Boniface Day thing never caught on in the U.S.  It could be good, I am telling you.  Not that I drink, but I am pretty sure the Germans have better beer…. and a LOT better food than the Irish.  And we wouldn’t be dying everything green.

So… I am starting a movement.  Let us lay down our Shamrocks, and pick up our Oak Trees, one-eyed cats, and BMWs, Volkswagens,  Porsches and Audis.

Weinerschnitzel for everyone.  Lasst die Spiele beginnen.  Das ist gut.

Yet.  The bottom line is this.  It doesn’t really matter how you decided to celebrate March 17th.    What matters.. ….. is that you made a decision to celebrate something.

A lot of time, life just seems like the old “Day In. Day Out” to us.  But, we should be able to find something, anything….. to celebrate… each and every day.    Today I found cause in a lot of things… from someone to making me smile with a comment about how my name-spelling went…. to being blessed  enough to have fresh chicken eggs in the morning.

No matter what the cause… we should take the time to celebrate the magic and the wonder in life’s little gifts.   Our little pots of gold.  Minus the mean green Irish Pirates.

We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. ~Thornton Wilder

He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has. ~Epictetus

Names.

They sure can complicate things.  I think most people don’t like their names when they are young.  Kids can find anything to make fun of in a name.  But most of the time, as we get older, somehow we grow in to our names… and accept them.  Heck….. even LIKE them.

They say if you live in a glass house you shouldn’t throw stones.  Well, I can tell you… with a name like Polly Cecile Constance Kronenberger…. I better never cast a stone.  But I mostly like my name now.  Except when I have to sign a whole bunch of legal documents, or checks.  THEN, it becomes a little cumbersome.

But when it comes down to it, some names are just better than others.  Some, are downright awesome.  A few of my favorites include….

Wink Martindale
Weeb Ewbank
Greta Garbo
Fuzzy Zoeller
Babe Deidrickson
Boris Karloff
Bo Diddley
Tiki Barber
Red Skelton

Names pop into my head all the time… out of the clear blue.  I mean, I’ll be eating dinner, and right in the middle of a forkful of coleslaw… I will think… Maria Shriver.  Or Jay Leno. Or Christopher Lloyd.  Or whatever.  And I just shake my head and say “What the holy crap.  Now what the heck does that mean….?”   And then there are … some names I don’t care for at all.  It is probably more the person, than the name.

But our names can be a mixed bag.  I am glad to have a unique name, I think.  I don’t know that I would especially care for being a Mary Smith, or something.  Not than anything is wrong with either of those names, but I imagine it might complicate life on some levels.  Like there are probably 50 people named Mike Jones who have an account with Time Warner.  Maybe more.   The biggest hurdle I have when I call in about my accounts is spelling Kronenberger 4 or 5 times.

Hey….. Do you think Cavemen had names for one another?

Names… I’ll tell you.  Some names give certain people the one-up.  Like a guy who goes in to interview for the head of some IT Department somewhere.  If his name is Stephen Gates, he is probably going to have a better chance than Freddy Fadoozle.  But the long and short of it is this.  Our names shouldn’t matter in how we are treated…. no matter what might be attached to the “name”….

The old …. … you can’t judge a book by its cover… should go for names to.  There shouldn’t be any prejudgements, just because your name is associated with a certain family, or group, or region.

We should be seen for who we are.  Not the name on our label.

Now, “Name Calling” is an entirely different matter, which we will go into some other night.  But just for the record, I wish you all would quit calling me Big Dweeb.  I’m starting to act like one….

You just never know who is going to show up at the party, now do you?  Oh sure….. you think you do.  But DO YOU?

Take this for example.  We decided to put out a Deer Trough at the beginning of this nearly-past Winter.  We filled it with whole corn, every day.  And the deer came.   They ate.  They were happy.  Heck, WE were happy.

We would smile and wave at them, and they would raise a hoof back.  Like a long-distance “Hoof Bump.”  Ssss’all Good Baby.

But wait.  What is happening here?  The next thing you know, every Tom, Dick, and Harry decides they can come to the Banquet too.  Of course we had birds of all designs.  But raccoons, possum, chipmunks, squirrels… you name it… we had it.

When it is colder than a well-digger’s booty… well… I guess everybody needs a good frozen corn meal.

Yes.  We had some guests we didn’t really intend on having.  In fact… the party was out of control.

But this is just yet another example of the bigger picture, if you ask me.

In life, in general, we simply can’t control everything.  A lot of times… we can’t control most things.

Our intentions may be good and we may have constructed a well-mapped out plan.  But much to our dismay, at times, things just don’t “pan out” the way we thought they would.

Your daughter marries that guy that’s been divorced twice, and has five kids from another marriage.  Your cat pees on your dinner guest’s shoes…. right during the main course.   You get sick the night before  you go on vacation.   The chocolate soufle’ just collapsed in the over.

We may have planned…. even prepared…. for these things to go much differently,  Yet.  When it comes right down to it… life’s events unfold and evolve however they dang well please.

One little tickity tock at a time.
So what do we do?

Well, in the case of our trough, we could have simply quit putting corn out there.  That would have stopped the raccoons, and the possum, and the squirrels alright.  But it would have stopped the deer too.  And that was our original purpose and intention.  Our good measure would have been curtailed.

No… I don’t think we should ever lose sight of what is in our good hearts to begin with. We just have to accept that the goodness  in our hearts still is very much there…. it is just taking form in some other way.    Maybe what is getting in the way… is what is in our heads.

All of this may sound a bit corny…  but… if you ever want to talk more about any of this…. I will certainly lend you an ear.

The smallest deed is better than the greatest intention.  —  John Burroughs

I have some super-duper friends, I’ll tell you.  They are as good as gold… as sweet as pie.

One of my good friends mentioned today…. that she hopes I write about pie tonight.  I think this is my first request for a topic.  So pie she will have.  By the slice or even the whole of it.

Of course I have to mention that I used to love pie when I was a kid.   Like it was some kind of drug.   I had two favorites.  Butterscotch…. and Pecan.  Oh my goodness, my Grandma Jeanette K passed on some crazy-good recipes when it came to those gems.  And it really helped that my Mom and my brother could bake like crazy.  Especially my big brother Ed.  Mmm, how I loved that pie.   But I wouldn’t eat just one slice.  I always at 3.14 slices.   Just for good measure.

But when did all this madness begin?  Well I’ll tell you.  Where almost everything else seemed to originate.  Back with those ancient Egyptians.   Early pies were in the form of flat, round crusty cakes.    They were called galettes.  The crusts were made up of ground oats, and wheats, and such.  But the yummy treat inside was honey.   Yes, my honey pie.

And get this..  …. . to revisit the age-old  question of which came first, the chicken or the egg..  Well perhaps it was the pie.  Sometime before 2000 BC, a recipe for chicken pie was written on a tablet in Sumer (that’s in Egypt).   Ooooh.  I got to get  ME some Chicken Pie.

But hold the phone here.  Maybe my friend wanted to know about pi…. and not pie.  You know today is March 14…. in the year 2015.   And looky there at the first digits of the mathematical pi.    It is 3.1415.  THAT Pi.

If you really wanted to celebrate with the big math-dogs….  take it out a few more places….. and you should have clicked your heels at 9:26:53 a.m. (3.141592653).   I know I did!  Those nine digits are more than enough for most applications requiring pi.

The first calculation of pi was done by Archimedes of Syracuse (287–212 BC), one of the greatest mathematicians of the ancient world. Archimedes approximated the area of a circle by using the Pythagorean Theorem.  I like to call him Arch-ey and the Pythags.   Like a Rock Group… only smarter.

So what is Pi?  Well… basically…. Pi is an infinite, non repeating decimal.  Pi (π) is the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter.   And…. as I mentioned….. that good old tasty Pi is a constant number.  That means that for all circles of any size, Pi will be the same.  3.14.

In other words…. If you cut a Pecan Pie …. from edge to edge… right across the center…..  it will take your knife 3.14 times that exact distance…. to go ALL the way around the outside of the pie.  But don’t cut that crust off yet.  That would be a crummy thing to do.

And if your pie comes up missing… do you know what would Archey and Jeanette say about such a thing……   perhaps…..

Let pie-gones be pie-gones.  OR maybe….

If at first you don’t succeed, pi, pi again.

I’ll take the Pi Road, you take the low road.

Live and Let Pie.

Pie for a Pie, Tooth for a Tooth.

Oh… thanks for putting up with all of this.   But if you are tired of reading my meanderings, perhaps you might enjoy something else… like….
J.D. Salivator’s A Catcher in the Pie

Luck.

Does it exist?  Is luck real?

Or is everything going according to some great predetermined master plan.  Has it all been mapped out with some predestination of the universe, or written in a Golden Book somewhere, scribed in Golden Letters?

People seem to believe in luck, or lack there of.  So many take heed on Friday the 13th, sidestep a ladder on the sidewalk, or the black cat walking.

The good luck side of it is just as strong.  Take Las Vegas for example.  Now the people who OWN Las Vegas bank on the odds.  But the people GOING to Las Vegas are putting their belief in Good-Luckiness.  Same with the Lottery.  The folk’s popping the balls from the hopper are well-aware of the probability ratio. The one’s holding tickets have their faith in good luck.

But is it real?

I can’t say for sure.  I tend to believe it is true.  I mean, some people “seem” luckier than others.  Yet, could it be that mapped out plan just taking its course?  It complicates things either way.

Stephen Hawking once noted, “I have noticed even people who claim everything is predestined, and that we can do nothing to change it, look before they cross the road.”

See what I mean…?  But it gets even stickier… I’ll tell you.

Chris Pine said…. “I believe in luck and fate and I believe in karma, that the energy you put out in the world comes back to meet you.”

Either way.   The answer is this.  In our very limited human brains, we will probably never know one way or the other.  Has our life been determined since the Big-Bang-Kaboomed?    What if we find a penny face up on the sidewalk… or step on a crack while we are strolling down that same sidewalk…. is it going to figure into the way the rest of the day plays out?

I couldn’t say for sure.

I do know this.  Most of the time… when someone asks you to “Wish Them Luck”… they are preparing to take an unnecessary risk.  Like going over the Niagara Falls in a barrel.  Or jumping from a plane with a parachute on.

Here is the thing though….There is a lot to be said for good old common sense.  A good solid decision based on former experience or knowledge.    Maybe we have been asking for the wrong thing… all along?  Perhaps instead of saying… “Wish me luck.” …. we should say… “Wish me Good Sense.”

We’ve all lost something.  Often times, it is something as simple as your car keys.  You may want to check the refrigerator, right next to the  Cheese Whiz Jar.  OR….. following that same line of thought…  maybe you’ve lost your entire car.  Chances are you are just a little turned around in the parking garage.  Third floor, not second.

I am not too crazy about losing things.  I sort of live by that old phrase… “A place for everything, and everything in its place.”  That’s how I grew up.  And it stuck.

But the truth of it is…. most of the time… things aren’t truly lost.  They are merely misplaced.

So, when you are freaking out, up and down, because you can’t find the remote control for the TV… and Dancing with the Stars starts in five minutes….  it might be best to just take a deep breath, relax, and try to remember what was going on the last time you were watching TV…. you know…… all those reruns of Hee Haw.

Alright… segue here.  I am not going to fault you for watching Hee Haw, or for eating Cheese Whiz right out of the jar.  I have my guilty pleasures too.  Okay, back to it.

Losing things.  And finding them.  They are simply misplaced.

But sometimes, we experience a loss which is much more significant than the cap for the toothpaste tube.

We lose a person.

Yes.  We lose someone very near, and very dear to us.  What then?

Losing someone or something you love is undoubtedly….. very painful.  We might experience all kinds of difficult emotions.   There are times when it may feel like the pain and sadness will never ease off.

This happens to all of us.  We might be depressed, angry, afraid, or even in a state of denial, or guilt.  These are normal reactions to a significant loss. And of course, we are all different.  There are no right or wrong ways to grieve.  But…. There are a ton of “coping” mechanisms out there for us to explore.  I won’t go in to all of that here.  That is better left for the one’s with training and degrees on the walls.

But I will ask this.  Like our keys, or the remote control…  are the people we lose… really lost?  OR are they just misplaced from our ability as humans to perceive them?

I know, they are gone from our lives, as we know it.  They have physically passed.  We can’t hold them, or kiss them, or scruff up the hair on the tops of their heads.  In that way they are gone.

But possibly, they are with us, in different ways.  Their energy, their spirit, their legacy, and all the gifts they gave to us during life.  Maybe not physical gifts, but emotional and spiritual gifts.  In all sorts of directions.  Love. Kindness. Compassion.  Companionship.  Faith in Goodness.  Hope.

Maybe to find them, we just have to take a deep breath, relax, and start remembering, and looking in the places where it never occurred to us to look.

No, you probably won’t find  your sister Mimi in the fridge, next to the Cheese Whiz Jar… unless of course… she is still alive… like my sister Mimi…. and she has this total “thing” for Cheese Whiz by the tablespoon.  In that case… keep an eye on the Ritz Crackers too.  And the bacon.

But.  Loss can deal us a tremendous blow.  It can knock us off our feet, our game, and even off of our lives.   My guess is… if we feel so much pain and sadness about our loss, that person must have been pretty incredible.

And I bet that incredible person would want us to live in the light, and not the dark.  That person probably taught us a lot about the true essence of life…. and we could honor them… by living it well.  That is what I am guessing.

Live it well.

…. and the milkweeds were tired.  It had been a long, cold winter.  It snowed, iced, froze and blew…. in the grandest of proportions.  A bitter season had long been upon them.

Their little milkweed hairs were matted to their little milkweed faces.  Their twigs were brittle.   As the pre-Spring sun began to warm their husks… they started to awaken…

“Holy Crap Nermal.  You still hanging in there buddy?”

“Oh yeah, Floyd.  I’m still here… although I feel more like a Stink Weed right now.  Crappy dang winter.”

“You can say that again.  That was crappy for sure.  Are you doing okay Nermal?”

“I am not sure I have the energy to go on Floyd.  I’m thinking about just dropping off the stem.”

“No, No Nermal  YOU mustn’t.  Nermal, there is so much to look forward to.  We are going to get our Fluffy Whites back… and then the Monarchs will come.  What other plant is visited every year by The Royals?  Just think about it Nermal.   Remember how much we love the Monarchs’ visits….?”

“It is too far away.  I’m tired Floyd.  I’m letting go of the stem now…”

“Wait Nerm.  Look up!   Look up!”

… and both of the milkweeds looked to the sky above them.  They saw The Magnificent Ball Tree.  It was still here too… with more orblets than ever. Thousands and thousands of sphericals.  Somehow… it made them happy inside.  It made them feel better.

So they rejoiced and… together… they waited for Spring.   And Nermal clung tightly to the stem….with his friend….   … ….his good friend Floyd.

'‘'‘'‘'

I was just thinking earlier, that each one of us makes a difference to someone.  No matter how small or how large…  there are times when we help others…. and we don’t even know it.  People help me all the time, and I am constantly amazed at the kindness of those people.

At some point during each day….    maybe all we need to do is look up….  or maybe left, or right…  but somewhere around us… we might catch a glimpse of the magnificent.  And there we will be… sharing the magnificent with someone who needs it.  And it will make us happy inside.

Gray.  It really is a good color.  Suits.  Certain nun’s habits.    Yet sometimes… a good color gets a bad name.

The Scarlet Letter… for one.  Black Sunday.  Blue Lagoon.  The Red Dragon.   Now whenever I hear Gray, one of the first things that comes to mind is the recent color association in literature….  “50 Shades of Gray”

I haven’t read the book, “50 Shades of Gray” and I have not seen the movie.  I don’t much plan on either.  It simply does not appeal to me…

Critical reception of Fifty Shades of Grey has been generally negative…. with most critics noting poor literary qualities of the work.   Sir Salman Rushdie said about the book: “I’ve never read anything so badly written that got published. It made Twilight look like War and Peace.” Maureen Dowd described the book in The New York Times as being written “like a Bronte devoid of talent,” and said it was “dull and poorly written.”

So, beside the bad reviews…. it is not a big priority of mine to learn about other’s escapades.  At least those kind.

I mean, I always dislike when I see two people slobbering all over one another in public.  That old PDA…. Public Display of Affection.   Sidebar here:   I think displaying affection is just fine in public.  I think having the next closest thing to intercourse… right there on the corner of 5th & Elm… is not so okay.  Just my little opinion.  There is no right or wrong here.

And holy smokes … THAT was my whole point when I started writing.  Gray.  That entire middle value between black and white.  If fact, I think there are WAY more than 50 shades.

For any topic, subject, controversy, or opinion under the sun…  there is a big  gray area.  No Black.  No White.  That’s what I think, at least.

I think once people quit drawing lines in the sand, once they quit seeing things as this way OR that…  we might have a big chance of living on this ball all together… . as humans first… and everything else to follow.

But …. we all seem to be right.  It is clear cut.  Black and White.   And therein lies the problem.  I am right for sure.  Oh….  and so are you.  Until YOU think you are right about something that doesn’t jive with MY right thing.    And there goes that stinking line in the sand.

The Planetary “Big Agreement” is…. of course… some sort of Utopian Dream State.  It will most likely never happen without the entire human race experiencing some sort of elevated enlightened awareness.

But until then… perhaps… all of us can take the time to see a little more gray.  More than 50 shades.    All it takes is shining a little more light on the subject…. and from all different sides.  You will see amazing shadows… amazing shades of gray… but also tremendous highlights.

Or… you could just go see the movie.

.

I am blaming on Sweet Polly Pure Bread, and Lois Lane, and Snow White.

Stay with me here for a minute.  You see… today is the Anniversary of The Barbie Doll.

Barbie is a fashion doll manufactured by the American toy-company Mattel, Inc. and launched on March  9, 1959. American businesswoman Ruth Handler is credited with the creation of the doll.

Barbie’s full name is Barbara Millicent Roberts….. AND….  her parents’ names are given as George and Margaret Roberts … if you can EVEN imagine what they might look like.  They haled from the fictional town of Willows, Wisconsin.

So there you have it.  Now why am I blaming the likes of Sweet Polly Pure Bread, et al?  Well, I’ll tell you right dang now.  Those characters ALWAYS needed saving.  They were constantly getting in a big pot of hot water, and some hero would have to swoop in and save the day.

I wanted no part of that, I’ll tell you right now.  Nope.  I wanted to be on the team of the Heroes.  So I never played with Barbies.  I think I associated her as being the kind of gal who would fall for the antics of Snidely Whiplash.  And then she would be tied to the train tracks.  And then someone would have to save the day… or there would be big boobs splattered all over the B&O Railroad Tracks.

GI Joes.  Now I had a ton of them.  My sister and I used to play GI Joe’s for hours on end.  Until we grew out of that phase… sometime before college. 🙂

I am sure I wasn’t the norm.  Most little girls loved to play with baby dolls and Barbies.  I remember the first time I let the cat out of the bag with a bunch of little girlfriends.  They laughed and said… “YOU play with GI JOES????”  And there it was.

Of course now I know that neither one was right or wrong.   To play with Barbies or not to play with Barbies.  They are simply different.

I think the world is getting better at accepting differences.  But we have to teach our children early on.  We have to let them know that people who are different from us are simply different .  And that is all.  Like some people like mustard on their ham sandwiches… and others prefer mayonnaise.  Neither ham sandwich is wrong.   WHOOPS.  BIG apology to The Pig.  My bad.

At any rate, you must be getting my point here.  Accepting that which is distinct, divergent, or unalike in our lives.  We owe it to our fellow human beings to offer them respect for their choices.

We all can’t be right… all the time.  Or wrong.  But we can all be different…. every single minute of our lives.  And everything is right with that.