Sorry, Mom.

My son, after reading my last blog post:

“You sound like a nun.”

“Well, I mean, I’m NOT. I mean, maybe in some ways, but…”

“But you sound like one.”

I concede that my last two posts were skeined with the literary theological/philosophical. But let’s not get the wrong idea. And if you have never read As a Man Thinketh by James Allen, I mean, that’s your problem.

Just what are you waiting for?

So here’s a humor post for you. My sons have been sending me a lot of “Sorry, Mom”s. You know, alarming texts after lengthy delays. I’m not clingy or overprotective, but I don’t like lengthy texting delays from my sons OR missed phone calls. I envision mangled cars overturned in deep ditches. Sudden heart failure from poison-laced Tylenol. Body parts trapped under cranes downed by heavy winds. That ilk. All moms do. Don’t make us wait too long when we call or text, please.

These have not been altered, and are in no particular order.

Boy: “Sorry, Mom, I was in court, and the judge didn’t allow cell phones.”

Me: “EXCUSE ME?”

Boy: “Sorry, Mom, there is a monkey hissing at me outside my cabana.”

Me: “Wait, what monkey?”

Boy: “Sorry, Mom, I was looking at motorcycles.”

Me: “No. Just no.”

Boy: “Sorry, Mom, I just finished giving a guy CPR.”

Me: “WHAT?”

Boy: “Sorry, Mom, I was driving. Do you believe tolls in DC are $12 twice a day, five days a week? Lucky we have EZ-Pass.”

Me: “Yeah. MINE.”

Boy: “Sorry, Mom, the cops just left.”

Me: “Does this have to do with court?”

Boy: “Sorry, Mom, just talking to the tattoo artist.”

Me: “Please don’t.”

Boy: “Sorry, Mom, the ER was packed.”

Me: “Call me NOW.”

Boy: “Sorry, Mom, I was busy in this third world country buying a ridiculously overpriced leather jacket that I will lug home and through customs then never wear again, because I live at the beach, and no one needs a ridiculously overpriced leather jacket at the beach.”

Fine, the last one was mine.

As a Man Thinketh

I followed happiness to make her mine,

Past towering oak and swinging ivy vine.

She fled, I chased, o’er slanting hill and dale,

O’er fields and meadows, in the purpling vale.

Pursuing rapidly o’er dashing stream,

I scaled the dizzy cliffs where the eagles scream;

I traversed swiftly every land and sea,

But always happiness eluded me.

Exhausted, fainting, I pursued no more,

But sank to rest upon a barren shore.

One came and asked for food, and one for alms;

I placed the bread and gold in bony palms;

One came for sympathy, and one for rest;

I shared with every needy one my best;

When lo! sweet Happiness, with form divine,

Stood by me, whispering softly, “I am thine.”

These beautiful lines of Burleigh’s express the secret of all abounding happiness. Sacrifice the personal and transient, and you rise at once into the impersonal and permanent. Give up that narrow cramped self that seeks to render all things subservient to its own petty interests, and you will enter into the company of the angels, into the very heart and essence of universal love. Forget yourself entirely in the sorrows of others and in ministering to others, and divine happiness will emancipate you from all sorrow and suffering.

As a Man Thinketh, James Allen

The Water Hyacinth

Ever wonder whether the small things you do every day make a difference? Read this story:

The Water Hyacinth

Once there was a little water hyacinth that grew near the edge of a big pond. It had dreams of seeing the other side of the pond, but when it murmured to itself about these dreams, the water just laughed and laughed and lapped at it dismissively. The other side indeed…for a tiny plant that couldn’t even move? Impossible!

The water hyacinth is a beautiful plant that can typically be found floating on the surface of ponds in warm climates. This particular plant was a perfect specimen: very beautiful, very small, and very delicate.

However- and this was something the water didn’t know- the water hyacinth is also one of the most productive plants on earth, with a reproductive rate that astonishes botanists and ecologists. A single plant can produce as many as five thousand seeds, but its preferred method for colonizing a new area is not to cast its seeds willy nilly, but instead to grow by doubling itself, sending out short runner stems that become “daughter plants.”

The first day this little water hyacinth appeared, nobody but the water even noticed it was there. Nobody noticed it on the second day either, as it doubled, not on the third or the fourth, as it doubled again and then once more. It was so insignificant, in fact, that for the first two weeks, even though it doubled in size every day, you would have had to search hard to see it at all.

By day 15 it had reproduced to cover barely one square foot of water, a tiny dollop of lavender-pink dotting the pond’s glassy green surface. On day 20, two-thirds of the way through the month, one person passing by the pond noticed the little patch of foliage floating off to the side, but mistook it for a lost bath towel or perhaps a discarded piece of wrapping paper.

More than a week later, on day 29, half the pond’s surface was still open water. And on day 30, just twenty-four hours later, the water’s surface had totally disappeared. The entire pond had been overtaken by a rich blanket of purple-pink hyacinth.

The take-away? Keep going. What you’re doing is working, even if you can’t see it right away. There’s no telling when it’ll all come together.

*Story compliments of The Slight Edge by Jeff Olson.

Soop

Since I’m fairly certain the only person who knows I have resumed posting is my website manager, er, hi Jenn!

Don’t overthink the fact that I took six months off. Overthinking is my job, remember? It’s just that I made a promise that I wouldn’t post until I found a way to fund my blog, so here I am. There’s just a point where you have to stop doing what you love and what you’re good at for free.

Right?

For me 2022 was the Year of Erma and TED, and it looks like 2023 is the year of Chicken Soup for the Soul. Strangely enough, I was re-reading some old blogs, and I came upon a post in which I mentioned that I do NOT read Chicken Soup for the Soul books. And now I will be published in two so far this year, and hopefully three or four that I’m still waiting to hear about. It is very strange how things work out.

So if you’re in a bookstore, or perusing Amazon, feel free to pick up a Well, That Was Funny Chicken Soup book. I have an essay in it entitled “To Bee or Not To Bee.” I will be featured in the Miracles edition in the fall as well, as well as some very prominent magazines I have yet to announce.

So if anyone else is reading this, welcome back.