“People tell me, “You’re such an optimist”. Am I an optimist? An optimist says the glass is half full. A pessimist says the glass is half empty. A survivalist is practical. He says, “Call it what you want, but just fill the glass.” I believe in filling the glass.” – Author: Louis Zamperini

I had occasion to deal with negativity this weekend. Usually elements of humor surface in these displays and the vitriol can be chalked up to a bad day or a passing fluke. Chronic, on-going negativity is a different story. It becomes as grating as fingernails on a blackboard and, when you are a captive audience, you have to grin and bear it – at least for a while. I’ve never accepted the half full-half empty concept when it comes to world or life views. I know all major industrial countries have expressions for it in their languages, but it’s an awfully simplistic way to determine how one sees the world.

Not all of us share Annie’s belief that “the sun will come out tomorrow.” We have, however, learned to make our dissatisfaction known without constantly harping on the negative. We have also learned to save the negative for things that really matter. Continue reading “Half Full Half Empty” →

Tell me the tales that to me were so dear… I was born to the green, but it’s been years since my family fussed about St. Patrick’s Day. Our celebrations ended when my grandmother, Maude, passed away. She was the grandchild of famine Irish, and was born in an American community 30 years after the Great Hunger ended. That community was so insular that, despite never setting foot in Ireland, her speech mirrored the soft lilting brogue of those born to the sod. She also retained that curious fusion of religion and superstition that some immigrants never put behind them, and, perhaps by osmosis, absorbed that community’s absolute contempt for all things British. Until the day she died, Maude could never bring herself to speak kindly of the English and, had it been in her power, would have pinned the death of all the martyrs in the “Lives of the Saints” on them.

Like many Irish widows she attended daily Mass and thought the aforementioned book, with it’s graphic depictions of martyrdom, was Continue reading “The River of My Childhood Ran Green” →

Petals don’t ask where to land, they simply fall with grace.

Sheniz Janmohamed

It’s snowing in the mountains while here in the valley petals, camouflaged as snow flakes, fall in waves as wind passes through blossom laden trees. The flowers of our magnolia and pear trees have begun to drop and soon the spent blossoms of their blushing cousins, the apple and cherry trees, will join them. When soft winds blow, their petals will fall and blanket the ground like a light winter snow. Proof we can’t always believe what we see.

At this time of year, Pacific storms push cloud formations behind existing ridges where they rise behind the Coburg Hills, creating a vision that looks for all the world like Himalayan peaks that have been thrust from the valley floor. In other places and other worlds, mirages

Continue reading “Petals Fall Like Snow” →

“I believe in everything until it’s disproved. So I believe in fairies, myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it’s in your mind. Who’s to say that dreams and nightmares aren’t as real as the here and now?”

– John Lennon.

I was a fanciful child and at a young age fell in love with words that could be woven into heroic or tragic tales. I was abetted in this folly by an Irish grandmother who had the gift of gab and a tongue of purest gold. As I wept at the fate of “The Little Match Girl”, she’d comfort me with her very Catholic interpretation of the fairy tale. “Ah, child, can’t you see she’s in a better place. She’s with the angels now.”

Maude’s telling of a story would put most actresses to shame, but as good as she was with the words of others, her telling of her own stories was worthy of an ovation at the Abbey Theater. She had a soft

Continue reading “Come Down the Primrose Path With Me” →