Dank: (adj)  unpleasantly moist or humid; damp and, often, chilly:

Although many enthusiastic pilgrims insist that adventures bring the spice to life, that same spiciness often generates emotional indigestion.

I like a good turn of affairs—but my body, my being, my feelings and soul do not always concur.

Just once—a single time—hopefully never to be repeated—I found myself trapped in a house, trying to outlast a hurricane.

The storm itself was not particularly terrifying.

For the answer, my friend, was just blowing in the wind.

The struggle came when the electricity went out along with all the accoutrements afforded by such a charge.

Especially air conditioning.

Also, you can’t open the windows because of the hurricane, so you’re in an old-fashioned hot box, doing your best imitation of a TV dinner.

I sweat. Then I sweat some more. I got tired of drinking since there was no ice, but I still kept sweating.

Trying to sleep was a bit futile.

I must admit, I’m a creature of habit who deeply enjoys sleeping ice-cold. Instead, I lay naked on my bed, perspiring, with my brain gradually twisting like an exotic pretzel.

Yes, for me that kind of heat and sweat and dank surroundings were mind-altering.

I started feeling an itch in my brain that I could not scratch. It was inaccessible to me without the inclusion of air conditioning and ice.

I grew grumpy.

I was fussy.

I couldn’t sit still—but moving around seemed to be a heinous flaw.

There was a point when the air felt so heavy that I wasn’t sure I could actually breathe it. It was like I needed to cut it out of the space in the room—chop it up—before it could pass through my lungs.

I had always prided myself on being adjustable, but suddenly I was at the mercy of a deep, dark, dank hole in my universe, that was anything but chilly.

Rather, it was sweaty and tropical.

Fortunately for me, just about the time that I was ready to scream out my disapproval, the shutters were lifted, the windows opened, the generator turned on and I sat in front of a fan, blowing hot air into my face.

It was enlightening.

I always felt that in all circumstances I could find contentment.

Instead, I discovered a glaring exception.



Concept: (n) an idea

Discovering the central theme and focus of life on Earth is similar to realizing that the hurricane has passed through your town and your house is the only one that still has electricity.

If you don’t understand the concept, it is easy to fall for the decept–or deception.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Once you grasp the concept and don’t limit it to education or religion, entertainment or commerce, you gain a confidence that makes you humble instead of obnoxious.

The concept is not difficult.

It appears to have three parts, but they work together so beautifully that they actually weave into one magical motion.

Be fruitful, multiply and replenish the Earth.

Fruitful–take what you are able to do and use it to bring you success, satisfaction and hopefully benefit others.

Multiply–increase what you have, whether it’s emotional security, children or finance

And replenish the Earth–since you are so satisfied and well-off, spread the love around and take care of Mother Nature.

Everything else which is promoted and thrust into our faces is a mere attempt to prevent us from embracing the responsibility that ushers in true joy.


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Mr. Kringle's Tales...26 Stories 'Til Christmas

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Colonist: (n) a settler in or inhabitant of a colony

I like to believe I’m tough. In other words, able to handle challenges.

Recently, when I found myself stowed away during a hurricane, I was surprised at what a dependent, selfish and fussy child I could become just through inconvenience.

It was hot, confined and the food was a post-Apocalyptic menu. I nearly cried.

So when I think about the colonists who settled the United States, I am baffled. The ignorance, self-righteousness, arrogance and short-sightedness they brought with them in settling the New World is mind-boggling.

Didn’t they realize they were starting all over again and there would be huge changes? That big black-rimmed hats and dark, heavy woolen clothes might not be
ideal for the climate.

They also brought over a religion suited for parlor talk, now being tested in the dungeons of challenge.

And then I think to myself, they were really pretty brave.

How would I have been any different?

Would I have landed on the shore, walked around for a couple of weeks and concluded that I was going to have to pursue a completely different lifestyle, or else I would die from exposure–or even a common cold. Yes, the colonists had few remedies for sickness, and the ones they had were notorious for making you sicker.

Actually, it is quite remarkable and magnificent that they were able to muster enough flexibility and common sense to push on through.

It’s not easy being a colonist.

I occasionally discover that I am marooned in a new situation, very grateful that I’m not alone–that I at least have one or two buddies with me to help me survive all the frightening surprises.

Yes, all of us are really colonists–pitching our tents here on Earth for less than a century. We will be replaced quite soon–and truthfully, it won’t be that hard.


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Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Aeschylus: (c. 390 – 314 BC) Greek dramatist, best known for his tragedies Agamemnon, Choephoroe and Eumenides. Considered to be the father of the Greek tragedy.

Not only the father of the Greek tragedy, but also seemingly the parent of prime-time television and the movie industry of our present day.

After all, if we don’t insert some tragedy into the stories we tell, we risk some critic dubbing our tale “saccharine, cloying,” or worse yet–“family fare.”

There is a common aversion in today’s social strata against sharing a story with ups, downs, ins and outs, which ends up with a realistic conclusion instead of a Hollywood ending. Matter of fact, I think it would be impossible for the 24-hour news cycle to report anything that isn’t either sensational or able to be sensationalized.

And let me offer a tidbit of opinion which will probably grind the teeth of some of my readers: when there is a shooting at a school or a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico, and we begin to hear the phrase, “death toll” introduced into the storyline, even though our better selves hope that people will not be killed, we sometimes might be a little disappointed when this running death toll does NOT rise.

We have geared the American public to be thirsty for blood–as long as it’s not their own. If their little angel sons and daughters have a small prick on the finger, they ready to rush them to the emergency room. But we will watch with a mixture of horror and intrigue as the offspring in Haiti wallow in mud, disease and death.

We are a tragic clump of clods, who honor Aeschylus by perusing the Internet for even MORE of the bizarre.

And if anyone such as myself would dare to object to the onslaught of the macabre, we have prepared speeches decrying these idealistic fools as “sappy”–or worse yet, “religious.”

To reach a point where we can stand tall and pursue our dreams, we will need to reject the fallacy of failure as being inevitable in the human experience. Not everything has to come up roses.

But why in the hell would we plant just thorns?