Words of Inspiration

I received this from my friend Jean.
It’s a reprint from a Dear Abby column.

I believe that love conquers all. The worldwide coronavirus is teaching us we are all one in body, but not yet in spirit. Every day may not be good, but there is good in every day. Don’t count the days—make the days count by throwing a kiss, sharing a smile with others, and waving a hand of greeting to them.

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Drink a refreshing glass of lemonade and make a toast: “To our health, God willing. Never give up!” And remember, the best medicine is a dose of laughter.

As President Kennedy said, our most common link is that, “We all inhabit this small planet. We all breathe the same air. We all cherish our children’s future, and we are all mortal.”

Pause daily to reflect, think positively and affirm the conviction that we, as a nation will overcome this challenge as we have so many others before? Be agents for globalizing hope. Do good for others. The greatest joy in life comes from giving.

Sending love and hope to all. 

CARMELLA LaSPADA, FOUNDER, NO GREATER LOVE, INC.

 

 

Oh Dear

 

Oh dear, the world has gone crazy. Why do they hoard toilet paper? I went shopping last month and found all the paper product shelves empty. Now I can understand hoarding canned goods, rice and beans, you know…non-perishables, but toilet paper!

Back in the 50’s during the cold war when everyone feared the atom bomb and built shelters in the back yard, they stocked them with foodstuffs and water. The grocery stores never ran out of anything, much less toilet paper.

After checking with all the local stores for toilet paper and finding them bereft of that necessity, I went on line with my search. I finally hit upon Amazon.com. Voila! I found a box of 12 roll double ply for $50. What??? Talk about price gouging.

When it arrived, they delivered it to the wrong apartment.

That resident rang my bell. “There’s a package for you at my apartment. I would have brought it up to you but it’s too heavy to lift”.

How heavy can toilet paper be? I thought but said “Thanks, I’ll bring my cart and pick it up.”

When I tried to lift it, I understood what she meant. I had to lower my cart to the floor and slide the box into it. I took it home, and dragged it out onto the balcony to air out overnight.

The next day, when I opened the box to reveal the contents, I understood why they charged $50. Amazon sent twelve huge rolls of industrial toilet paper. You know…the kind you find in public rest rooms. No wonder it felt too heavy to lift. The rolls are so big, I could never fit one on the holder. I placed one on the back of the toilet. Then I had to find space to store the rest. No easy task in my small apartment. I finally moved some towels to stock my cache of toilet paper.

I have enough toilet paper to last at least a year. I hope the virus doesn’t last that long. I’d have to reorder.

 

What's So

During these Covid-19 stress full times, a friend sent me this.

What's So

By Werner Erhard

What's so is always just what's so. What's so doesn't care what you think, feel, intend or wish; it will not bend. You can be freaked out or driven over what's so, and it won't change what's so. If you're late for an appointment, getting freaked out about it won't have you arrive any earlier. If you're having a bad day, being freaked out won't change what's so.

That which you seek will not bring you satisfaction — aligning with what's so will.

When you're upset, you're never upset over what's so. What's so is just what's so, and you're upset.

If your house burns down and you get upset, does it bring your house back?

What's so doesn't care if you're upset; it's up to you how you handle what's so. There is no confusion in what's so. When you don't know you just don't know — there is no confusion there.

There's nothing right or wrong about what's so. What's so is always open to different interpretations. There's always just what's so, and then you have an interpretation.

What scares you isn't what's so, it's your interpretation. The interpretation is never true; what's so is real, the interpretation is not.

Who you're being is just who you're being, and what's so doesn't care if you're happy with it or not, so why should you? When you're not being with what's so, that's also just what's so. Why should you concern yourself?

Other people should always be the way they're being; if you think they shouldn't, that's your interpretation. Bring yourself back to what's so about them. Until you can be with what's so, you can't be with anything or anyone. You may have control over other people's what's so, but none over their interpretation — give it up.

If you take action or not, it's still just what's so. If it works out well or not, it's still just what's so. You can never make a right or wrong decision or take a right or wrong action.

Whatever you do will always bring you more of what's so, and then you have an interpretation about it. Whatever you don't have, so what? Whatever you've done or thought in the past, again so what? Whatever happens in the future is not to be feared. It's just going to be more of what's so.

The challenge is to spend as much time in what's so as you can. The chatter in your head is more interpretation, and it has nothing to do with what's so. There's nothing wrong with the chatter, it's just you listening to a fantasy.

The thought that there is something wrong is an illusion; there is nothing wrong, there is only what's so.

Notice when you're comparing what's so to some fantasy of how it should be. Bring yourself back to what's so and it will be O.K.

Ask yourself what's so and align with that. Align with what's so and it will not matter. That is the foundation of transformation and satisfaction.

Not aligning with what's so is the only thing that will ever bring you hardship or suffering. Life in what's so witl bring you harmony, grace, and balance.

The other side of what's so is so what.

Let's Go Home



 

“Look at this.” I thrust the paper into Henry’s hands.

          “Look at what?” he asked.

          “This,”my lacquered fingernail pointed to the Tribune article.

          Wheel mobile coming to Cal Poly

          “They’re looking for contestants for Wheel of Fortune,” I said. “Let’s go”

          After much coaxing, Henry agreed to come with me. The following Saturday, after driving the aisles of a zillion cars at Cal Poly, we found a parking space in the farthest lane of the farthest lot. Oceans of people walking in all directions gave no clue to where we had to sign up, but a line snaking around the campus indicated the way.

          “There are too many people here,” Henry said “Let’s go home.”

          “We’ve come this far, let’s stay,” I begged.

          We made our way to the end of the line. “Is this where you sign up for Wheel of Fortune?” I asked.

“Yup”.

          I noticed some people with yellow pieces of paper.

          “What’s that?”

“You have to fill out one of these forms.”

“Where do you get them?”

          “At the head of the line”

          “Let’s go home,” Henry said.

          “No, wait here, I’ll get us the forms to fill out.”

          Surprisingly, the line moved quickly. After filling out the forms and depositing them into a large drum, the crew led us to a building that looked like a warehouse; high ceiling, concrete floors, no furniture, not even a ledge to rest your butt against. 

          “Let’s go home,” Henry said.

          “Let’s stay. At least it’s cooler inside away from the eighty-five degree heat of the day,” I coaxed

          We stood around with hundreds of others waiting for someone to call our names for a chance to play a game and get interviewed by the contestant searchers. They called name after name and mostly Cal Poly students got to play a game. Fifteen minutes went by, then thirty. After an hour. Henry said.“Let’s go home.”

          “Okay,” I sighed. “We might as well. There are so many students here, we probably don’t stand a chance.” And so we left and forgot about Wheel of Fortune.    

          Two weeks later, I received a letter in the mail inviting me to try out again at an Avila Beach location. I arrived on time to see about one hundred other hopefuls waiting. The contestant searchers for Wheel of Fortune conducted tryouts all day and all week, one hundred people at a time. They ushered us into a room with tables and chairs and gave us a “fill in the blanks” test that looked like the game board on the show. We had 15 minutes to complete it. I thought I failed miserably. I only finished about half in the allotted time. The people in charge instructed us to have some refreshments and the crew would return shortly with results.

          When they returned, one announced “I will call twelve names who will stay and the rest can go home. Thank you for trying.”  I guess I can forget about Wheel of Fortune I said to myself. Much to my surprise, he called my name.

          They divided the twelve of us into groups of three to play mock games. I knew I had to project an enthusiastic demeanor, smile and clap a lot. After we all played a game the crew said that they  will interview three people and the rest can go home. Much to my surprised they called my name as one of the three. They interviewed us one by one, thanked us and told us to go home and wait for notification by mail.  I thought the other two looked much younger and more interesting. Again I guessed I had no chance and forgot about it. Two weeks later, I received a phone call inviting me to go down to the studio as a contestant on Wheel of Fortune.

          Henry, my son and my daughter accompanied me to Culver City the night before the taping. I had to show up at the studio by 9 AM with twenty other contestants plus two alternates. We had numerous papers to read and sign releasing the studio from liability, income tax forms in case I won and general rules and regulations. Every one treated us very well. We had coffee and pastries throughout the morning and they took us to the commissary for a complimentary lunch. The studio tapes seven shows in one day and they pick your name from a hat to determine the order of taping. Bad luck for me, they picked my name last. I didn’t get taped until 7 PM.

          They forbade us to communicate with family for the entire day. I guess they feared we could get answers to the puzzles. I felt happy with my incommunicado status because I didn’t want to hear Henry complain “Let’s go home,” since he had to wait all day in the audience through the taping of six other shows before my chance came. Finally I took my place in front of Pat Sajak and Vanna White. So tired by then, I felt brain dead, but I mustered my enthusiasm and played the game as best I could.

          I won $3,650. and with the money, took Henry on a cruise to celebrate his birthday.

While on the ship, he never once said “Let’s go home.”

 

First Kiss

 

We called ourselves “the crowd”. It sounded more sophisticated than “the gang”. As most teens of the 1950’s, we conducted our lives in tune to pop music. Everywhere we went, music came along as our constant companion. Our core group of fifteen included popular Sally Cahill who stood tall and thin with a small cupids face surrounded by glistening brown curls. Her one imperfection of a crooked front tooth gave her speech a slight lisp. But even this flaw added to her charm. Sally’s family lived in a brownstone house on Garfield Place in Brooklyn where we had parties every Friday night. We usually started the party on the ground floor that housed the kitchen and family room. Punch and cookies fueled our dancing to the record player. Later in the evening, we gravitated to the upstairs parlor where Sally played the upright piano and we gathered around to sing all the old standards.

          I received my first kiss from Matt Brady, an older, seventeen to my fourteen, tall and good looking boy. Matt kissed me in the darkened parlor of Sally’s home during a gathering of couples similarly engaged in entwined arms and mouths. We had been sitting close together on the couch talking in hushed voices when he put his arm around me, drew me closer and brought his lips to mine. My heart did a somersault hitting my rib cage, and my underarms showered sweat into my new blouse. I had played kissing games at parties but those kisses looked furtive and reticent. Matt gave me a grown up kiss. Stampeding thoughts galloped through my brain.  Now what do I do? Do I just leave my lips neutral or do I pucker? I knew I had to close my eyes. I’ve seen that in the movies. But where do the noses go? And do I hold my breath or let my air in and out on his face? Suppose my snot ran out on his cheek? How embarrassing that would be.

          Matt went steady with my girlfriend Barbara who had gone away on vacation with her family. I knew the unwritten code of girlfriends…hands off their boyfriends.  So I had my first kiss tinged with a sense of guilt.

         

When Barbara returned from her vacation, she let me know in no uncertain terms that I had overstepped my boundaries. I wondered who snitched on me. I apologized and promised to never kiss Matt again. (Actually, I didn’t kiss him, he kissed me!))

Matt had a younger brother named Francis. Soon Fran and I became an item until I met Dick McSweeney. On the afternoon of my first date with Dick, I read in the local Brooklyn Eagle that Fran was arrested for burglary and sent to Elmira Reformatory.

Oh well. Out with the old, in with the new.