Session July 13, 2019

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When the cash was gone, it was gone, so I had to spend very carefully.

By RMAF

When my cash was gone, it was gone, so I had to spend what I had left very carefully. There was no great inheritance money for me from anybody. 

Although my late father was adventuresome and an avid hiker and climber who left me his gear and trip journal in which I have read over and over and memorized, I realized my inheritance was having a good Dad.

I had to spend what little money I had very carefully. I bought many plastic bottles of purified water and dozens of healthy dried fruit and nut energy bars and stuffed them along with my father’s trip journal and ashes into my father’s backpack and began our father and son journey into the Mysterious Mountains of Meandering Souls, Spirits and Minds. There, I will join my beloved Dad.

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There is no escaping the Barbarians

By TNT

There were many Chinese Emperors – some more ambitious than others. It was a mistake to give Marco Polo fireworks (gunpowder). It  was like selling nuclear bombs to Iran or North Korea (which the West probably have). The Ancient Chinese had Confucius and other wise and happy Buddha types to remind the Chinese of their ethics and duty. Of course there is no escaping the Barbarians. The Western Barbarians in particular. But I have heard of persecution of Tibet and they have killer smog in China, too. Emulating the Western Barbarians wasn’t the best idea. 

I rather liked the Maoists who made the rich plow fields and do the peasant jobs. I think we should emulate the Maoists and make the Koch Brothers and big CEOs of Corporations, Banks and other industrialists with salaries 200 times their workers to support their families on minimum wage flipping burgers and serving beer to their people. The Governors and the government, Senators, Congressmen, etc. could do with a healthy dose of hard work. Then they would be a little more in touch with reality.

And Presidents should have standards and ethics and a background in Land Management, Farming, and ecological knowledge. No more ignorant illiterate Presidents who have no ethics or standards of behavior. Presidents who are bought by corporations put shame on all Americans – Foreign and Native. 

Why don’t they elect a Native American like the Bolivian president? Or Chief Crazy Horse or someone else Native). The immigrants are the White People!

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Death is not the end, but a new beginning.

By MD

I never believed in reincarnation. The idea seemed too outlandish, too extreme. My philosophy in all things in those days was “once and done.” It seemed much more logical, more embraceable, even, to live life and get it over with. Who in their right mind would want to keep coming back, over and over, trying to correct mistakes and reconcile omissions from former existences? Certainly not me. Or it is “I?” That’s my point….one lifetime is enough to deal with the questions of grammar and who would want to have to relearn all that?

Well, if you haven’t guessed already, I’m writing this to tell you, dear Reader, I was wrong. My former existence was a tormented, painful time when I sought to end it all and good riddance. But now, in this new life, I know only beauty and joy. Look at my photo above. No, I’m not the bride or groom, so lovingly kissing by the shore. I’m a flower in the bride’s bouquet. Are you surprised, dear Reader, that I’m sentient? That I can write? Me too. And although my presence in this bouquet means that this new life of mine will shortly end, I now know for sure that death is not the end, but a new beginning. And I can’t wait to see what comes next.

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He lost her, eventually, about half-way along the bazaar’s alley.

By CC

It was hot in Alexandria, despite being on the water. His hat shaded his eyes as he looked around the parking lot. No, she hadn’t come back to the car. He’d had a bad feeling about this day ever since they woke up that morning. He couldn’t shake the dream of enormous sunflowers staring at him, an endless field of them under a hazy sun. And now Marjorie had wandered off again. 

This wasn’t new. She tended to explore, but now they were in a foreign country, a land with an exotic undercurrent, a dangerous subterranean tow. She was a slender, attractive foreigner in the eyes of Alexandrians, and that meant, to them, that she was probably wealthy. He headed back to the shops where they began their day. He'd lost her, eventually, about half way along the bazaar’s alley, but he wanted to retrace their steps from the beginning. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure just when he had lost her, or how.

Later that day he called the police and the American embassy, hoping he was just over-reacting, and maybe she had made new friends, or realized she was lost and was taking taxis all over town trying to find the hotel again. But, he sighed, that wasn’t likely. He didn’t want to leave the hotel in case she came back, but he couldn’t afford to stay much longer. 

He had fallen into the kingdom of uncertainty and confusion, where his only guides now would be his dreams. He forced himself to stay up many hours before succumbing to sleep, and whatever he would discover therein.

 

Session June 15, 2019

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It was just a flat stretch of road beside a row of small Dutch-style commercial buildings.

By BG

It was just a flat stretch of road beside a row of small Dutch-style commercial buildings. How the hell was I going to find this symbol written somewhere. It was a Sunday morning, nothing was open. All those places were locked up tighter than a drum at this time, and of course on a day when no one did business down here at all. The road was totally devoid of markings. There was no signage along the way either. What was I thinking, signing up for a cruise of the Caribbean with the Scavenger Hunt Club from our local area. It seemed like such fun at the time, a great way to meet other people and an activity that would give a different twist to exploring the islands. All went well on the first hunt which was on the ship. I checked that item off my list easily. This first island hunt was gonna be much more challenging. I traversed the area diligently to no avail. 

Along with finding nothing on the street, all the buildings were devoid of markings. So I sat down on a grassy spot on the opposite side of the road from the buildings. I then laid back looking up at the tops of them all. And wow, they were all ornately decorated up there past street level and I found my symbol up at the top of the building directly across from me. If I had only taken the time to lay down on the grassy spot and “daydream” right at the beginning, as the symbol said! I would have found it right off. There is definitely more challenge to scavenger hunts than I thought.

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He looks at it lovingly ,as if he were admiring its beauty.

By CC

It had bothered him for years, but he felt there was nothing to be done about it except change his attitude.  

So now he looks at it lovingly, as if he were admiring its beauty. But the key simply doesn’t work.

He carries it in his pocket on his commute, throughout the daily drudgery of his job, to the bar afterwards, and then sets it on his nightstand at night. 

The key, though it doesn’t work, seems to possess a totemic power that prevents him from just tossing it away. It means something to him. 

Eventually, he realizes that every day of his ordinary life is some kind of escape, though he isn’t sure what he’s escaping from. Then he learns what that is, and becomes enlightened. 

After becoming enlightened, he no longer cares about the key, and eventually it passes on to others, who may or may not be similarly affected.

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All paid bills should have been recorded in your actual spending envelope.

By TNT

Dear Ian,

I just saw a fishing boat and I thought you would like this. I know your last boat was lost when you had to go to the hospital with cancer. You survived, but your boat was lost. You told me it cost $3,000 to store it Did you have to pay for all your medical bills? How long were you in the hospital? You are better now, and I know how much you miss fishing. Personally, I hate fishing and get terminally sea-sick but this boat “Nordic Spirit” looks perfect for you. 

All your paid bills should have been recorded in your actual spending envelope. You could get a tax refund. A substantial tax refund! Then you wouldn’t be broke. I wouldn’t have to go to swap meets with you to sell my things to help you out. I didn’t have fun yesterday recycling and suffocating in your car while you try to get money from people who owe you. I’m like, why did I get rid of Joe – who bought me propane and cat food – for you? You have made a big mess just like he did. I’m not able to keep myself and someone else too. Thanks for fixing the toilet and septic (not a nice job) but I bought the parts at Home Depot for it. 

Yours truly,

TNT

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Supermarkets do everything they can to make us buy more than we need.

By RMAF

I love to go shopping. Antique stores, new stores, swap meets, thrift stores. Supermarkets do everything they can to make us buy more than we need – and I fall for their tricks every time I go shopping. I go in the store to buy about ten items on my list, and I go up to the cashier with a hundred times that. 90 of them I really could do without. But it is so much fun shopping! I love it! So I shop until I drop. Oh my aching credit card bills. 

May 18 2019 Session

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He felt too ill to drive to work that day.

By MD

Let’s face it. When Harry adopted Attila, he wasn’t too wise in the ways of the feline. The sturdy black cat, with the long, Michael Jordan-like legs, had appeared on his doorstep one morning and darted inside when Harry opened the door to discover the source of the interminable aggressive yowling which had awakened him from a sound sleep. It never occurred to him to name the feisty animal anything other than Attila – surely such ferocity deserved the appropriate, fear-inducing masculine name. And Attila seemed to settle into the name with ease.

You can imagine Harry’s surprise, then, when he awoke one morning a few days later to discover that Attila had given birth to two slimy kittens. As he watched his pet lick off the glistening goo, he felt too ill to drive to work that day. And he felt betrayed, as well. “Attila, you nasty animal, how did you let this happen?” The cat ignored him, as cats will do, and continued ministering to her newborn kits. So Harry poured himself a cup of coffee and, under Attila’s loud protestations, deposited each kitten in spare mugs as he pronounced gravely, “Attila, no matter your sexual proclivities, I’m not changing your name. I named you Attila, and Attila you’ll stay. And,” Harry gestured to the two mewling kittens, “your little black offspring I’m naming Genghis and the white one is Godzilla. Deal with it.”

And actually, the animals did. They grew and flourished in Harry’s home and soon exhibited the same tyrannical bellicosity as their namesakes. Harry lost his job but he enjoyed his life at home, catering to the dictatorial demands of his feline family.

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I feel that the language of recipes should reflect the visceral nature of cooking.

By CC

My name is Barquelus. My title is Chef for the Central Council of Penguins. My job, so far, has consisted of providing raw fish and raw crab cakes with seaweed garnish to the Council; so far this seems to have pleased them.

But I feel that the language of recipes should reflect the visceral nature of cooking. And one day a strange creature wandered in that could bring my philosophy to life!  I looked at the thing standing before me and thought – Humanus Gluteus Soufflé! Or, even more of a delicacy, Rack of Hand!

Clearly this kind of meal would impress the Council. But how to accomplish it without fire? Poking around the creature, which it seemed to find humorous, I located a lighter in one of its pockets. Good. I could get the clothes burning first, then one could only hope the fat would catch. 

But how to kill it first? I looked into the eyes shielded behind plastic goggles. My beak was long and sharp. If I could pierce the glass and then deep into the brain behind the eye, well, dinner would be on the table in a few hours!

The act took but a few minutes, as I had the advantage of surprise. I started the fire right then, but suddenly other humans came rushing over and started hitting us with cameras and their shoes. There were 7 of them, too many for us to take down.

In a rash move I snipped both its hands off and waddled away with them without being noticed in the general fracas. My plan could still work. Most of the Council had fled the scene and would appreciate a well presented and tasty Rack of Hand later, raw or cooked.

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Her mother’s eyes were blue, the same blue as her own. 

By CT

Teressa was an unusual bear. Her mother’s eyes were blue, the same blue as her own. Other bears mocked her, but she ignored them. She was special and she knew it. Her mother had passed on another quirky trait. Teressa enjoyed human companionship. Her favorite human was Josh. Whenever she saw him, she lumbered to him and covered his face with happy bear kisses. 

Josh secretly enjoyed the attention until the day she accidentally bit him and discovered he tasted like meat. He got away just in time. 

Teressa mourned Josh’s loss. Then Matt came along. Oops.

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This is a play performed for our benefit,

By BG

Madge was thrilled. She threw her arms open wide and pranced around the front yard like a school girl. Ever since she’d moved from the city, which had been a couple of decades now, she had not had her fill of cultural activities. She had missed them so terribly. Art exhibits, museums, symphony concerts and all sorts of theatrical events. Falling in love with Howard and accompanying him back to his middle of nowhere ranch was never to be regretted. Their marriage had been a wonderful fulfilling adventure together with really no time for the cultural stuff while Howard was still with her, but now it was different. He was gone and she was left alone in the sticks with very little to occupy her time. Her happy demeanor had begun to wane. Her family came to the rescue today as she received their news. A traveling theater company would arrive in the afternoon to set up for a performance. Madge’s son had let her know just now by phone: “This is a play performed for our benefit.”

Session April 20, 2019

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The Colonel did not merely dive backwards, but performed a somersault, entering the water head first.

By CC

He wasn’t a Colonel by rank, but by nickname, as the other Lemurs liked to poke fun at his pompous, pedantic habits. He was always the superior, always knew best. For example, at the pool the Colonel did not merely dive backwards, but performed a somersault, entering the water head first. 

Rufus decided to teach him a lesson. One day the Colonel approached the pool a bit earlier than usual; Rufus had already begun to drain it but now had to distract him while the last of the water siphoned away. “Relax,” he told the Colonel. “We’re all crazy. It’s not a competition.” 

“You little upstart,” shouted the Colonel, as he picked up Rufus and threw him in the now drained pool. 

The other Lemurs arrested the Colonel and he was tried in Lemur Court for lemurslaughter. However, the Colonel acted In Pro Per, arguing that Rufus had been plotting the Colonel’s death first, and won his case, throwing the entire community into an uproar.

The Colonel was shunned for a few weeks but eventually returned to his position in society. The other Lemurs stopped calling him Colonel, though. His name was just Burleigh henceforth. And they had an image of Rufus screen printed on T-shirts with his famous last words. The sale proceeds went to support Rufus’s small family.

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He carried the postcards around with him in his coat pockets.

By MD

Philately was too intense for Martin Van Der Peck, so he abandoned that hobby and started a postcard collection instead. At first, he asked the few friends in his social circle to send him postcards as they traveled. He soon realized that was a futile request, as his friends were just like Martin himself – mostly inert couch potatoes who never left home. 

“I’ll have to take matters into my own hands if I’m ever to acquire a respectable postcard collection,” Martin said to himself. “I think I’ll start by visiting Bala Cynwood.” It so happened that Bala Cynwood was simply the town bordering his own hometown of Gladwyne, but he was pleased to find a drugstore carrying postcards proclaiming in bold print “Welcome to Bala Cynwood, storm drain capital of the U.S.”

Martin Van Der Peck made it his goal to collect postcards from every small town in the United States. Middletown, Gladwyne, Wyomissing, Frontenac, Big Gap, Campo, El Cajon… he carried the post cards around with him in his pockets. 

Eventually, he invented specialized spectacles which enabled him to read the fine print captioning the back of each postcard. 

Unfortunately, as his postcard collection grew, Martin’s assembly of friends dwindled. You see, Martin Van Der Peck was an insufferable bore. The distinctive glasses made him immediately recognizable and avoidable, so Martin lived out his lonely existence, his coat pockets weighed down with postcards but no one to show them to.

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It was not until 1772 that the courts stepped in to question whether these little books violated the company’s monopoly.

By RMAF

In the mid 1700s, a book publishing company named Truth As We Perceive It had a monopoly on the series of supposedly non-fiction books Me and My Pet Dinosaur. Other book companies, jealous of their financial success, complained that the books were not true. They took them to court for fibbing, lying and duping the readers. This cut into the company’s monopoly and profits. 

What do you think? Could these tales of mobile, skeletal walker be true? Or were we readers just duped?

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He had become a rumor in the city, and no longer quite real: a figure one might hope to see only in the middle distance, in the hazes of heat.

By CT

Ronald strolled the length of the walkway. The ocean stretched to the horizon before him. The sandy beach twisted in the offshore breeze. He entered the Martello tower at the end of the walk and locked the door. 

Inside he arranged his things in precise order. He had everything he needed to leave the busy-ness of society and the city behind…except for food, of course. He formed the habit of walking to the village grocery in the evening, just before closing time. 

During the day, he meandered the shore line, seldom seen.

He had become a rumor in the city, and no longer quite real: a figure one might hope to see only in the middle distance, in the hazes of heat.

He liked it that way.

Session February 23, 2019

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I’ve lived most of my life in places that have a lot of wind.

By MD

When the boiler exploded on the Neptune and fire spread to the neighboring Poseidon, I wasn’t surprised. I’ve lived most of my life in places that have a lot of wind. What was surprising, though, was the way the Neptune’s captain lingered on the foredeck, surveying the smoke and the flames as firemen rushed to the boats cannoning water at the conflagration. I mean, the command that the captain must go down with the ship is well known, but that generally applied to a boat that is sinking, not burning up. And even though the gusting wind hadn’t quite spread the flames to the Poseidon, it was obvious the captain and crew were wisely in the process of departing.

“What about the captain standing on the deck there?” I shouted over the wind to a passing firefighter. “Shouldn’t he be ordered to leave?”

The firefighter didn’t break stride but yelled as he ran by. “That he is a she. The Mongolian Navy’s first female captain. She doesn’t speak English and doesn’t know she doesn’t have to go down with the ship.”

“Oh,” I said. I was gasping as I ran along beside him. “Stupid bitch. Isn’t that just like a woman. She probably feels it's what the man would do, and she’s making her statement for equality.”

We all watched as the captain caught fire from a blowing ember and was quickly consumed by the flames. 

“Well, at least she did her part for the women’s lib movement,” the fireman remarked. I had to agree.

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A keen ornithologist and egg collector, he watched birds in his free time.

By BG

Frankie grew up in a neighborhood right next to the airport. He spent hours laying in a chaise lounge on the roof of his apartment building staring up at the sky watching everything that flew by. 

Most folks figured he would become a pilot or maybe an air traffic controller. His family was very proud when he was accepted and went off to college. Life was very good. Frankie was an excellent student. He applied himself and got several degrees. Everyone in the neighborhood thought he’d never move back. He was destined for a career far, far away. What could he do in the city next to the airport with all those degrees? 

Everyone was so surprised one day when Frankie appeared on the news. He was introduced by the newscaster as a keen ornithologist and egg collector, he watched birds in his free time, and he was back in the area to save the birds from the airplanes. Oh, my!

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A yellow Labrador puppy ran out from under the cedars.

By CC

Jeremiah hated being called Jerry. The cataclysmic tantrums he threw if anyone made the error of using his nickname were the first sign of his dangerous temper. As he grew, incidents multiplied. He was written up countless times at school, sent to see counselors, therapists and pediatricians. Later he was prescribed medicine by psychiatrists.  

His favorite psychiatrist had a secret, embarrassing passion: He was an amateur parapsychologist. He had started with hypnotic regressions and ESP testing and moved on, by the time Jeremiah became his patient, to direct communication with the dead through a Ouija board. Jeremiah knew none of this. 

In a strange synchronicity, Jeremiah’s own oracle had begun coming to life. Three doll’s heads he had severed from his sisters toys and set on his dresser had begun to speak. At first they seemed to mutter amongst themselves, a sound he often confused with muted voices from the living room or kitchen. Occasionally he thought he could see eyelids moving up and down. Later he distinctly heard them conversing, asking questions of one another. He thought he heard, “His sister sure doesn’t think much of him.” and “A yellow Labrador puppy ran out from under the cedars!” and “He ought to kill that psychiatrist.”  Once they even said “Jerry is a jerk!” He punched his pillow one hundred times after that, but the doll’s heads were too fascinating to damage. Yet.

On his next visit with his psychiatrist, Jeremiah asked the doctor  “Why should you continue to live?” The implied threat flew right over the doctor’s head; it seemed congruent with such a disturbed young man’s diagnosis. He just smiled at Jeremiah while thinking with pleasure about asking his spirit guide what to make of it when he got home that night. Having received such an unsatisfyingly ambiguous response, Jeremiah pulled out his handgun and shot the psychiatrist. The sound was enormous in the small room. He got up and walked out.

At home, he went into his bedroom and shut the door. One of the dolls said, “That was stupid, Jerry.” Then he shot the dolls. Life would go on for him, but not them. And that was OK with Jeremiah.

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It was that midway point in the afternoon when there is a hiatus, a blank spot in time.

By JS

It was that midway point in the afternoon, when there is a hiatus, a blank spot in time. The words were not coming to me and my editor was expecting my first draft this evening. 

My daughter had been trying to persuade me to update to a computer and I was trying my best, but the words just didn’t flow when I stared at all that blank screen. 

And then there was “auto correct,” jumping about “correcting” words that didn’t need it, supplying unsuitable words that ruined my train of thought.

“But Mom,” my daughter argued, “it takes you forever to erase on that old Royal. And they don’t make carbon paper any more!”  Ha. Maybe it was no longer manufactured, but I know of several second-hand stores where boxes of carbon paper could be purchased – and cheaply.

Besides the rhythm of hammering those keys and throwing that carriage provided a rhythm for my novels. Except today. With the deadline almost here and the task of erasing yet another error – crumbs falling down into the keys – no wonder the keys kept jamming, ruining my concentration.

I gave up. Forget the editor. Forget the book. The ancient Royal and I would be on hiatus…a really, really long blank spot in time.

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She had always wanted a duck pond in he back yard.

By CT

When Hortensia moved to Samoa, she found a lovely home with an atoll-incased pond behind the house.

She had always wanted a duck pond in the back yard. The very next day, she thrilled at the sight of seabirds floating on the water.

One morning she stood amazed as she watched an orca breech the waters playfully. 

“Mmmmm,” she thought, perhaps my dream was too small. I now have a whale pond.

Session January 26, 2019

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It is night and there is a full moon looking out over a landscape by the water.

By BG

We are sitting in our little boat ever so patiently hoping for a fish to tug at our fishing lines. It was kind of cool being out fishing with our night vision goggles. We had just  bought them on Amazon and wanted to try them out. The Salton Sea was maybe not the best place to fish but I had heard that the fish and game department did stock it with some kind of fish so there was hopefully something out there for us to hook into. I imagine nothing too big or challenging to reel in. Every thing looked so strange with night vision sort of like an eerie, odd-colored daylight from another dimension. We decided to move since we had no bites yet. Maybe another spot would be better. We drifted slowly, then we putt-puttered over closer to shore so we could fish and take a closer look at what was happening along the shore. We dropped anchor, threw in our lines and the boat drifted around so we had a good view of the beach.

We all gasped. We could not believe our eyes. We all knew there were areas of the Imperial Valley where you could see strange stuff but who knew there was a section hidden away that was right out of Jurassic Park. Two dinosaurs right in front of our eyes. Yow! We wondered how many more were around. 

We weighed anchor very, very quietly and drifted off. The Salton Sea isn’t very deep. They wouldn’t even have to swim. They could wade out and get us. As soon as we were much farther out we revved up the motor and hightailed it back to the launching sight on the other side of the sea. The night vision fishing expedition had ended and we lived to tell the tale. No fish however. 

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Many health practitioners recommend dry skin brushing.

By CC

After the accident, I was a mess at first. The worst of it was economic: I was out of work for months since both my workshop and my truck were decimated in the explosion, even though it had occurred many miles away. 

I did have insurance, though. After the head frame and tibial torsion braces were off, and a week before my reconstructive maxilliofacial surgery began, I was able to drag myself around on a walker and peruse the Internet for tips on healing. 

I learned that many health practitioners recommend dry skin brushing. I was intrigued. I obtained a dry skin brush and began to brush every place on my body that I could reach with the arm that remained. In time I learned how to hold the brush with my teeth and treat that arm, too. Within one year of diligent dry skin brushing, I grew back my missing limb, my face healed without surgery, I lost 50 pounds and toned my abs. 

The next photograph will show my trainer and detail how she fell in love with me. We own a chain of dry brushing salons with which I’m sure you are all familiar by now. This dry brushing experience has been an eye opener for sure. I’m offering a substantial 15% membership discount to all your readers. You won’t regret it, folks. It will change your life.

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As long as a memory is inaccessible, the mind is unable to change it.

By CT

Kathleen slumped in her wheelchair in the nursing home. To all appearances, she seemed unresponsive and lost in her own world.

Her mind, however, flitted from memory to memory, and relished each one. 

She saw herself as a young girl, wearing a lace-trimmed dress, as she admired a plot of sunflowers. She faced into the wind, which tangled and tousled her hair. 

“Ah,” she thought, “That was a wondrous day!”

Her doctor and his assistant observed her from a few feet away.

“What does she think about?” the assistant, young and a bit over-confident, asked her superior.

The doctor said, “Only she knows. She doesn’t recognize her daughters; they’re lost in her memories. As long as a memory is inaccessible, the mind is unable to change it. She’s just marking time now.”

“Wrong,” Kathleen thought. “I’m making time to remember!”

https://bethleintz.typepad.com/.a/6a00d8345159d669e2017615993a84970c-800wi

It has a lot of similarities to what was called cold fusion.

By MD

Muriel’s antique bottle collection was something she took pride in. It was too small, to be sure – only six bottles – but she displayed them proudly on her kitchen windowsill, right under her grandmother’s hand-crocheted lace valance. It seemed only natural, then, that when she created her dating profile for “OurTime.com” that she would mention her love of all things which had stood the test of time. “Just like me,” she murmured to herself as she hit the submit button. 

Every day Muriel checked in to see if there was an e-mailed response to her dating foray, but each day, to her dismay, there was nothing. After several weeks of diligent checking, she gave up and shut her computer down. “I guess there’s no one interested in lovely antiques…of which I suppose I am one,” Muriel stated aloud to herself. One day, however, after almost a year since her original post, Muriel fired up her computer and was surprised and pleased to find an inquiry from a retired high school physics teacher. The post was already several months old, but Muriel gathered her courage and responded to his inquiry.

I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long to hear from me,” she wrote in her email. “As a former physics teacher, I’m sure you understand my tardy response. It has a lot of similarities to what was called cold fusion.”

Taking a deep breath, Muriel hit the send key. Almost immediately, there was a response from Harvey, her potential suitor. Correspondence proceeded fast and furiously for the next week, and the two decided to meet.

Muriel and Harvey married the day after they met. For a wedding present, Harvey presented Muriel with an antique glass beaker, which she placed proudly on the windowsill alongside her bottle collection. 

“Thank you, Harvey darling,” she said. “This whirlwind romance also has a lot of similarities to what was called cold fusion.”

“Of course, Muriel,” Harvey replied, as he swept her into his arms for a loving kiss.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/pbox.php?url=http://www.washingtonpost.com/ex

I encouraged Maria to keep focusing on her breath.

By JS

Maria’s husband had left her for a younger woman. She was devastated to the point that she was not sleeping. Her appetite fell off and she lost almost 50 pounds, leaving the already slender woman a mere skeleton. Actually she woke up one day to realize she was on the point of death. Her ex had wiped out her finances and taken both children.

The realization that she herself was dying from stress - panic attacks making her a prisoner in the rented bedroom, which she would soon be kicked out of for non-payment – coupled with the thought of her dear children being brought up by THAT woman drove her to action. 

Maria did the only thing she had the thought and resources for. Struggling out of bed one morning, she walked unsteadily the half mile through the woods, adjusted the outside gas line at her old house and, after an appropriate wait, threw in a match. 

Maria walked slowly away, but was gone long before the emergency vehicles arrived. She came to live with me a couple of days later. Her panic attacks continue, and I encourage Maria to sit by the window and keep focusing on her breath.