The stars glittered above my head like shattered glass sprinkled over the heavens, providing the only light my soul could bear for miles and miles. I had strayed far away from camp, unable to take in the lively music and dancing fire, the smiling faces of comrades and kin. The lonely night made a much more understanding companion.

I let the wind whip at my bare shoulders and neck, content to shiver in its embrace. The grass tickled at my feet, the occasional rock burying its head into my soles, the dirt caking itself onto my skin. I sighed, happy to know I could still feel, and that I made some sort of impact on the world.

There was no moon to cast so many shadows; instead the world was one giant shadow, and I was in its depths, skulking. A hoot owl made known its presence off in the branches to my right. I silently nodded to it, like an affirmation that I was not in charge of this nighttime domain. I was merely a guest in his kingdom, a traveler passing by to nowhere in particular. To my left a snake slithered hurriedly through the tall grass, he traveling just as I. In my mind I pictured a toe sack hitched over his shoulder, bunched up in a wad, as he marched low to the ground, a hobo with no place to go, and I allowed a faint smile to ghost its way across my lips.

The night air smelled of moss and dirt, and of nature, untouched by civilization. Cicadas roared their symphony, their timbre changing slightly as the owl surely picked down performers one by one.

And I walked, my feet carrying me where I pleased, down the hill, through the briars, up the rocks and boulders, through the stream which bogged me down to my knees. For the first time, I was not running from anything, nor toward anything. I walked to walk, alone to be alone, pensive, melancholy, severe, wandering, but not lost.

A sigh found its way from my lungs and rode the cool midnight air in a cloud of fog, drifting over the tops of the trees and losing itself among the stars. It was here that I became one with his majesty, the mountain woods, the sand, the pebbles, the thorns, the land without a path. I melded into the night, a wanderer without a cause.

Felicity stepped into a small diner, the air warm and welcoming from the frigid outdoors. Her hands slowly thawed as she waited for someone to seat her. She blew on her red fingers and rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them. Finally, a hostess arrived. “Hello,” She greeted Felicity.

“Hi, table for one please.” Her teeth chattered as someone else opened the door and a blast of icy wind blew inside.

“Follow me.” The hostess led her to a table holding two seatings. She placed the menu in front of Felicity, flashing a smile. “Someone will come take your order.” The woman hurried off.

Felicity grabbed the menu, her fingers tingling as they warmed. Her coat was still snug on her body and her scarf was still set in place around her neck. Her blue eyes scanned the list of foods that filled the menu.

A middle aged man came up with a notepad in his hand. His blonde hair was smoothed back neatly and his green eyes studied her intently. “Hi, I will be taking your order tonight.” He murmured. A flicker of recognition seemed to spark in his eyes. “You look like you could use a hot chocolate, Fe-Miss.”

Felicity’s face grew warm, “That sounds good. Thanks.” Her heart picked up as he turned to get her a hot chocolate. She was sure he almost said her name, but how could this waiter possibly know her? The line he had said also sounded familiar, yet she couldn't place why. Felicity hadn’t been to this small town in years, everyone had moved on with their lives. Several people she ran into didn’t recognize her.

The waiter arrived with a small napkin and a mug with steaming hot chocolate. Felicity had slipped of her coat and shed her scarf and gratefully accepted the steaming hot drink. The napkin slipped to the table and she placed her mug on it.

“What would you like to eat?” He pulled out his notepad again. His green eyes looked at her expectantly, something hid in them, a warning of some sort.

“Uhm, I’ll have the turkey club, please.” She handed him the menu. His fingers brushed hers, sending tingles up and down her arm. Felicity released the menu quickly and pulled her hand into her lap.

After the waiter left Felicity grabbed her hot chocolate and slowly sipped the warm liquid. It soothed her dry throat and helped her shivers to stop. The napkin floated onto her plate from the bottom of the mug. She set her mug down and picked up the small, flimsy napkin.

As she turned it around and around anxiously, her eyes caught a scrawled word on the napkin. She stopped, straightened it, and then smoothed the napkin. Her eyes squinted at the small writing in the corner, she studied it several seconds. Finally, she was able to comprehend what it was. Her heart raced as she stared at the little scrawled name. "Lawrence." The words caught in her throat as she whispered them.

An image of the waiter standing before her flashed to her mind. His eyes seemed to hold an urgency, a warning. She abruptly stood, her chair toppled over. Several spectators watched as the chair fell to the ground with a thud. Felicity fished in her jeans pocket to grab a few dollars and placed them on the table. She rushed to the door of the building, forgetting her coat and scarf. Her hand grabbed the door and she swung it open, pushing herself into the cold winter air.

Felicity rounded the building to an alley and hid in the shadows. If the waiter was right, then there was a man named Lawrence sitting inside the diner. The bitter wind cut around Felicity, she shivered hard and stood in the shadows. The diner door jingled open and then shut, footsteps sounded her direction. "She couldn't have gotten far." A gruff male voice spoke.

"I'm sure she's somewhere sir." Another masculine voice piped up.

Footsteps sounded towards where Felicity hid. Her body shook as she tried to stay still and her eyes peered into the darkening night. Heavy winter boots clomped in front of her then slowly seemed to grow more distant.

She held her breath as their voices drifted away. Someone touched her shoulder from behind. Felicity jumped and muffled a scream.

"Shhh!" A soft male voice warned. "It's just me." He turned her around gently.

"Oh." Felicity shivered harder than before, her teeth chattered. It was the waiter who took her order. He handed her the coat and scarf she left inside. "Thanks." She slipped them on.

"Here's your turkey club." A small smile formed on his lips. "I hope you enjoy it, Felicity."

Once he said her name, the memories rushed into Felicity's mind. "Travis?" Her heart pounded hard.

"Yeah." He rubbed her shoulders helping warm her. "Since you didn't pick up on my warning line, the only way I could let you know Lawrence was there was by discreetly writing it on a napkin to you."

She smiled. "Thanks for that." She clutched the box with her food.

"Stay safe, Felicity." His voice grew serious. "You know how bad Lawrence is and what he's after."

Her smile faded. "I know." She turned and walked into the night. "Thanks." She whispered. The name written on the napkin might have just saved her, for now.

Johnstown, Pennsylvania

June 1889

Corpses. Lifeless things. Pale. And cold.

Until then, the morning mist had wrapped the gruesome sights beneath its haze like a blanket. But when the sun emerged beyond the hills, the images were left naked for the eyes to behold. Yet another day in history chronicled how the selfishness of a few crooked men could lay waste to hundreds of innocent lives. Little cottages brought down, children wailing for their mothers, mothers mourning for their children- it was no less than a battlefront with the combats ceased. After all, the dams would never have submitted to the reigns of chaos and anarchy. But the influence of the rich was too powerful to resist, and they never once fretted about the feeble lives living underneath their citadels.

But no, they would still walk free. The rich neither had a penalty for the crime nor held the least of repentance. The lifeless forms could no longer be of protest, and their voices will never rise again. The lands were left barren to take over, and no hands would ever rise to prevent them. Their visions began here, but no one will ever know how many dreams laid six feet beneath, never to come true.

It was not that Frank Birchard Kincade had not seen deaths before. He had seen far more horrendous and terrifying seas of lifeless frames, but somehow, this particular day felt different. The clouds were constantly competing with the sun, striving to shield it from the horrors of humankind. The water had seeped down back into the streams, but the marshy terrains clung on to one's feet as if threatening to drag them into their darkness. The daybreak seemed like twilight, and the downpour waited, aching to uncover its grief over this forsaken land.

Frank stood there, feeling more and more hopeless every moment in finding another soul alive. His crew was the closest to the incident, and being trained for something contrary was not enough of a reason to keep them away. Lives needed saving, but they all purposefully forgot that they could have saved them when they were alive.

But Frank was feeling weaker the longer he stood. His eyes blinked faster; his breath felt louder; his knees felt heavier. He had questions that needed answering, but then, he could not recall the questions. He had tasks left to do, but then, he could not recount his instincts. He felt a void growing heavier and darker within his mind. Suddenly, a single puzzle arose in his mind, sweeping everything else off like a whirlwind, "Where am I?"

Frank glanced around, but he could not recollect where he was or how he arrived there. The uncertainty tore him apart from the insides. The wails of the children seemed to reverberate within the chambers of his mind. He sealed his ears with his palms, but the voices prevailed. The eyes of the dead pierced right into his soul and invaded his memories like a plague. How did I reach here? Where is this place? What happened to all these people?

"Captain! Captain, are you alright?" The voice took Frank back to his reality if there ever was one. Captain? He was gradually able to recollect bits of his past that were caught in the mist. Am I losing my memories like my mother? But he soon realised that he could not even remember her face.

Galena, Illinois

December 1889

"Seems like everyone wants a piece of this chap." William uttered as he abandoned the newspaper back on the couch. Cora had previously scanned through the articles that morning. Nearly all the states had raised demands for the remains of their late President, Jefferson Davis. She held neither love nor hatred towards that man, but she could not fathom why they were all so compulsive to have his remains.

"Cora, there is something in my mind. It might sound absurd, but it hurts me not to ask." Since the two was alone on the couch for what seemed like an eternity, Cora had no idea what her uncle yearned to know. They never shared such a close bond, but she could not even imagine making them upset on their visit after such a long time. And she had absolutely no idea where her brothers were in the midst of all this. And unsurprisingly, her husband was missing as well.

"Ask away, Uncle William. Why would you even hesitate?" Cora ensured that her grin covered most of her face and attempted her best not to make it feel artificial. Though she found her grin was quite reassuring, her uncle gazed away for a moment as if pondering how to present his dilemma in the best way he could, "What does the S stand for? Harry What Truman?"

Though she had no specific answer to the question, Cora felt relieved that the response was not something that she had to develop from scratch. It was not the first time she encountered this inquiry, but she did remember that she never could provide a satisfying reply until then, "Oh, it's complicated." Cora let out a little giggle before commencing her little monologue, "John fancied his middle name to be Schipp like his father. But I really coveted it to be Solomon."

"But who is Solomon?" Although Cora did notice that question approaching from a distance, somehow, she could never convince anyone with her justifications. How could she possibly say that she loved that name so much that she aspired her husband to be of that name? And when that ended up different, she ensured that her son will be of that name, but John's parents were so desperate to name him Harry. All I am asking is for, at least, a middle name. Don't I deserve that? I am his mother.

But none of her outcries made it out of her mind, and her uncle remained in his uncertain posture. In the end, Cora gave up seeking to obtain a more plausible reason and chose to let out what she felt, "I really love that name." But before William could laugh out loud or fill the upcoming silence, she went on to describe the rest of the events, "But John and I ended up disagreeing, and it was so difficult to find common ground. So,"

From his face, it was evident that William was not impressed- not in the least- with her defence. But he did succeed in concealing his laughter and presented her with a much comforting response, "That's great! You are leaving him the privilege of choosing his own identity! He can name himself anything he wants with a S, like,"

"Shit!" It was John who proclaimed the wrong thing at the wrong time right then. He appeared at the doorway, drenched, "I am sorry. It was Harry. He made a bit of a mess." John must be feeling embarrassed from every single thing that is going on, Cora chuckled. But she never skipped her duties as a partner, though her health was not at its very best. Yes, it had been a month since Harry came out to the world, but the causes of her sickness were not solely physical.

Cora rose up from the couch, ready to take her turn in managing the infant. But before she could make it all the way to her room, inaudibly mocking her husband with her cutest gestures, her beloved uncle stood up to the cause, "Cora, you deserve a rest. I can handle one of these. I have a fair share of experience." William winked, assuring his niece that he was capable of the task.

As the two left their separate ways, Cora, once again, found herself all alone in a house that brimmed with people. The loneliness shook her every once in a while. Spending a whole forenoon on the couch beside her uncle with little to no talking helped her preserve her sanity, but the moment no one was around, Cora discovered herself beneath the dark clouds again. Ever since Harry's birth, the clouds pursued her like prey.

At times, Cora wondered why she held no intimacy with her son as any mother should. Even when she attempted to stay closer to him, she sensed a distance from her lifeblood. John might have discerned that from the beginning. He regularly found more time with his son whenever he caught Cora lost in her thoughts. She was unaware of anything that transpired around her.

As Cora made her way upstairs, she could still hear the heavy rain pattering against the weak ceiling. She needed some space, or so she believed. Cora hopelessly wanted someone to hold on to, but something told her that it was absurd, even though she was surrounded by souls who sincerely cared about her. But when she arrived at the garden on the terrace to take in a splendid view of the downpour, she noticed something way more beautiful.

Cora could see, at the other end, her mother and adopted brother sharing a tranquil moment. The two relaxed there, watching the rain- Jeremy on the rug with his mother conveniently lying back on her wooden chair. He was not even her real son, yet, he was always there for Azalea when she needed a shoulder. He dropped his Masters in Science solely because he knew his mother would feel alone with the loss of her husband. He deserved her more than any of them did.

"He does a better job than the both of us, doesn't he?" Cora was startled by the voice behind her. In such a climate when the lunchtime resembled a dreary night, her fears were not misplaced. The blues of the hanging clouds blended right in with the greens of nature- the sight beyond them was as artistic as someone could ask for. But none of it hindered her from being brought back to reality with a jumpscare from her twisted sibling, "A thousand times have I told you not to, and yet, you never change." Cora embraced her elder brother in a tight hug that prolonged forever. She could feel the void inside her shrinking the longer she squished her brother within her arms.

"Hasn't Randy returned from the stores yet?" Charles stretched himself out of the hug since there was no other way it could have come to an end. He must have very well known that Randolph might not have carried an umbrella with him and might have been waiting somewhere for the rains to come to a halt. And though she realised, Cora returned him with the exact response that he had on his mind. They stood there by the window, ensuring that their sounds never bothered the ones on the terrace.

It was only later that Cora noticed Uncle William and her husband involved in a conversation near the entrance. Storms had a peculiar way of bringing people together. John had reacquired his authority over Harry. He held him in his arms, patting his back in a way that would even shove the viewers to sleep. "What do you think those two are doing down below?" Cora asked her brother, breaking the momentary silence between them.

"Ah, it gives me enough reasons to believe that your uncle is assessing your husband." Charles replied with a giggle, impressed by his own retort. And Cora kept no reluctance at the moment to admit that his joke was not that poor, unlike their usual sibling melodrama, "Ooh, what do you think happens if he fails?" She returned with a playful smirk, one that she had not worn for a while.

"I don't know. Are you satisfied with your married life, Ms Cora? Because if you aren't, I could totally use an extra hand with chores." Charles' raised eyebrows and convincing posture precisely represented what he intended to do, and Cora was not a fool not to realise it. He had done the same ever since she could remember, and Cora was not planning to fall for his trick this time around, "Chores? I am sincerely satisfied with his care!"

The two burst out into laughter that drowned in the loudness of the rain, but the growing graveness that occupied her brother's features was something he failed to conceal, "Are you, Cora," Charles waited for a moment before proceeding, "satisfied with his care?" Having seen her brother for years on end, Cora knew in an instant that he was not joking around anymore. Did he notice what I am feeling too? But this was never about John. Even I am unable to understand what this is about.

"I am. John understands. And he loves me. Like a lot!" Cora beamed at her elder brother, and soon enough, she could perceive that he was still concerned about her. She wanted to make him feel better as much as she desired to open up, but she was still uncertain what was altered within her, "You know, if it wasn't for the rains, I would have loved to visit all our old places." She gazed away into the woods, memorising all the fun times they had together with Jeremy.

"I don't see why we still cannot." Cora had detected that tone in her brother's voice before, and it never ended up good for the siblings. But when she returned her glance towards him, she was already assured that the end of the day would be rather memorable, "You really are the worst brother." Together, they sneaked off through the kitchen doors, and sure, they required no umbrellas anymore.

Lander, Wyoming

July 1890

The storms never came to a halt that day, and the Kincades were equally turmoiled in their insides. Another Brimford will walk the Earth in no less than an hour, and the entire family anxiously anticipated the arrival of Arthur Jr. The pangs Fiona had passed through that day had no boundaries that even Arthur felt a bit abashed of his childish desperation. If it was not for his longing for a younger variant of himself, Fiona would not have to go through all these again. But again, no one could swim against the tides of time, and the greater purpose of a new life acquitted his mind off the guilt for then.

Soon, they heard footsteps from the space where Fiona was taken into. The clinic, though the single one in the region, never possessed an overflowing crowd. And in the middle of the night, the family was fortunate to find a physician down there. But when the female doctor in her whites emerged from the doorway, it gave birth to a second of excitement followed closely by a hush of anticipation, "It's a beautiful baby girl."

But the adorable chuckle of the gentlewoman was undermined by the tremendous roar of an aching father, "What?!" And hence, Arthur Brimford possibly declared the worst statement a father could likely deliver upon the most delightful moment of childbirth. No matter how many times Chadlynn replayed the incident in her mind, the end always made her laugh out loud wherever she was. History always tends to repeat itself, she thought to herself, recalling back to her time of birth.

"My dear cousin, are you losing your mind?" It was Fiona who appeared by the door, her entire frame leaning against the wall. It had been a few minutes since Chadlynn escaped the kitchenette, affirming Fiona of her immediate return. But here she was, laughing her brains out on the front porch with no apparent reason, "I am sure there must be a logical explanation behind that hysterical laughter, and I am more than willing to lend my ears for that." Fiona proceeded, a slight sneer then occupying her features.

However, before Fiona could sit down for once on that tiresome day, the latest entry in their family commenced her celebrations with a piercing shriek. They had all came to an agreement at the last supper that Little Artemis might be their fiercest symbol of girl power in their family, solely based on her determined outcries, "Sometimes, I just want to throw that little woman against a wall." Fiona winked, preparing for the conflict she was about to endure.

Dinners were often the times when the family embraced their love for each other. Their conversations would vary anywhere from the shallow neighbourhood gossips to enormous political controversies and philosophical confrontations. Chadlynn still remembered last night when the topics began with Artie's clamours to even the freshest Sherman Anti-Trust Act. None of them even had an actual comprehension of the subject, but the possibilities they went on to discuss seemed endless.

If Arthur and Sam returned home from their evening stroll along with all the little ones, they could have had their dinner by then. But again, Chadlynn suspected that it might have been their laziness to partake in the dinner preparations that made them late. These irresponsible men, she let out a big sigh just before she noticed her mother on the other end of their yard.

Chadlynn rose up from her father's old armchair and walked up to Etta. Her mother seemed to watch the sunset from the exterior, but Chadlynn very well knew when she looked like that- Something is troubling her mind, "I hate to break it to you, mother. But if you are staring to prevent the sun from going beneath the horizon, you probably won't be able to do that."

Etta gave out a little laughter, but Chadlynn knew that laugh very well too. "In a way, I am, Lynnie." Etta spoke after a while, "My life is approaching its sunset too." Chadlynn could see her smile, but every time she saw that smile on her mother's face, she knew that the forthcoming words could be hurtful. "And you are right. I can't stop the sun from going down its path, but if I could, I would love to revisit the best parts of the day once again."

Etta then looked at her daughter in the eyes. She told her everything she wanted to without telling her anything she prepared to. Chadlynn knew that her mother was not requesting her permission but rather letting her know her intentions. She was like the sunset- neither the words she could say nor the actions she could take would hinder her mother from going down the path. She was the most resolved lady that Chadlynn had ever come across in her life, "But mother, you are in no condition. Are you sure about this?"

Chadlynn knew her words were only worth a try, but it would have hurt her not to ask that one last time. Etta looked beautiful even at the dawn of her life; the evening sun seemed to enhance her youthfulness. The mother placed her hands below her daughter's ears, shoving her free strands of hair behind them. Etta came closer until their foreheads met each other, "You are a grown woman now. It's time to let me go. I have given you everything I can, and that part of me will always live through you. I will always be proud of you, my little fairy queen."

Chadlynn propelled herself tighter into her mother's arms, feeling her warmth as much as she could. Tears never ceased caressing her cheeks, but her arms clung around her mother like a toddler. She was never ready to let go of her, no matter how old she grew up to be. And now that she had to, she was not intending to regret any of the last moments she could spend with her. The two agreed on keeping this a secret and retired to the comfort of their home for one last supper.

#fiction

Pick Strawberries Day

Be A Millionaire Day

National Rescue Dog Day

Three good ones I would say and so I begin.

Pick Strawberries Day

I love strawberries. Picked them from the fields when I had summer vacations here in North Carolina. Used for a variety of things – strawberry shortcake, strawberry pie, ice-cream, and strawberries or just strawberries on their own.

If your mom or dad ever took you picking fresh strawberries, you have a wonderful childhood memory. That memory is what will draw you to enjoy today with your own kids or grandkids. If you've never picked fresh strawberries, you've missed out on the fun. Many of those tasty berries never make it out of the field they go straight to the mouth, to the belly.

For those who have picked strawberries before, get out today and pick some. For those who have never picked them in the field, start a new tradition. What are you waiting for? GO!

Women will never be equal to men until the can walk down the street

with a bald head and a beer gut, and still think they're sexy.

Be A Millionaire Day

Do you play the lottery? Do you dream of what it would be like to have a million dollars and what all you could do with that much cash?

Okay, so a million bucks ain't what it used to be. But it is still a lot of money. I have no doubt everyone reading this would like to join the Millionaire's Club. Then, after reaching it, you can work on your qualifications for the Billionaire's Club.

Here are a few ways to participate in Be a Millionaire Day:

Review your investments. Look for ways to improve them.

Review your investment portfolio with a trusted investment or financial planner.

Increase your deposits to your savings accounts.

Start or add to your 401K. This is always a good starting point.

Review your spending. Many Millionaires get there by a combination hard work, sound investment, and frugal spending.

Go to a casino.

When all else fails, buy a lottery ticket—just one.

Now this is interesting:

The height of a stack of 1,000 one dollar bills measures 4.3 inches. The height of a stack of 1,000,000 one dollar bills measures 4,300 inches or 358 feet. That is about the height of a 30 to 35 story building. The height of a stack of 100,000,000 (one hundred million) one dollar bills measures 35,851 feet or 6.79 miles.

"All I ask is for a chance to prove that

money doesn't buy happiness"—Author unknown.

National Rescue Dog Day

In a broad sense, today allows a four-legged canine to adopt you into their immeasurably lovable life.

According to the ASPCA, approximately 3.3 million dogs enter shelters every year. When these abandoned and abused animals find their way to a shelter, each one needs a forever home and their potential is limitless. They’re rescue dogs.

No matter their size, color, or breed, dogs will find a way to nuzzle, fetch, or beg their way into your heart. You will find it hard not to scratch one behind the ear.

Rescue dogs often overcome extreme obstacles. And yet, they provide comfort, security, and friendship as family pets. Rescue dogs are also capable of much more.

With training, they contribute to the independence of people with disabilities as service animals and give comfort to the elderly. In these circumstances, they become our eyes, ears, or legs as well as our best friend.

Rescue dogs provide a variety of therapeutic benefits, too. Children, teens, and adults with autism may benefit from services provided by trained rescue dogs. As emotional support companions, rescue dogs help to relieve anxiety, depression, and PTSD among the military or those who suffer from mental illness.

They make excellent teachers, too. Rescue dogs show children about caring and kindness. Rescue dogs can even be trained to rescue us from dangerous situations or help to investigate the cause of a fire.

When it comes to four-legged friends, they improve the human condition by leaps and bounds, barks, and yips. It is hard to imagine a more helpful, worthy companion. It’s time to give them a treat!

“We could have bought a small yacht with what we spent on our dog

and all the things he destroyed. Then again,

how many yachts wait by the door all day for your return?”—Josh Grogan

More Strange Holidays Coming!

World Plant A Vegetable Garden Day

Boy’s Club Day

May Ray Day

National Devil’s Food Cake Day

Maybe it’s just me and I love chocolate as much as the next person, but to have the word food between Devil’s and Cake just seems wrong. Cake is a sweet. Cake is a calorie adder. Food is things like steak, roast beef, spaghetti, and so forth. Okay, my rant is done and I’m off to do two of these.

May Ray Day

According to meteorologists, the month of May is the last month of spring in the Northern Hemisphere. It is when the temperatures start raising and the anticipation of summer is evident all around us; in stores with summer clothing and agricultural produce, in nature with summer flowers and plants getting ready to bloom, and in our schools where students are getting ready for the upcoming summer vacations. This makes it the best time of the year to get some sunshine and enjoy the Sun before it gets too hot.

In the Southern Hemisphere, May is the last month of fall (autumn). If you live below the Equator, then celebrate May Ray Day by spending some time under the Sun before the temperatures fall.

A little tidbit for you: The month of May is named after Maia, the Greek goddess.

In Greek mythology, she is the eldest of the 7 Pleiades and the mother of Hermes.

World Plant A Vegetable Garden Day

“Give a man some vegetables, and you feed him for a day.

Teach a man how to grow a vegetable garden,

and you feed his whole family for life!"

We live in a hungry world. Famine affects millions upon millions of people. If everyone had even a small garden, there would be far fewer people suffering from starvation. For the average person, having a vegetable garden, helps to ease the family food budget, too. In addition, people who grow some or all of their own vegetables often do so organically, or at least with less of those harmful chemical insecticides, herbicides, and fertilizers. This means healthier food. This alone is a great reason to start a vegetable garden.

Thinking/looking for ideas on where to plant your first garden? Millions upon millions of people are already gardening in some amazing places. Backyard gardens are what normally comes to mind. Urban community gardens also flourish. In urban environments, vacant lots are often used (seek permission from the owner first).

People grow gardens in containers and pots on balconies, decks, and patios.

Apartment rooftops can be a great place for your new garden. For those who are space constrained, vertical gardens can be the solution.

Participation is fun and easy. Join the hobby of gardening. Simply start a vegetable (or flower or herb) garden. If you are already a gardener, encourage and help someone to start their very first garden. Start small, making it easy to handle and less like a chore. Chances are, you will make your garden larger in future years, as you grow your gardening expertise.

"Old Gardeners never die.

They just spade away then throw in the trowel"—H.V. Prochnow, Sr.

More Strange Holidays Coming!

I am not hungry. Why do I eat? Why not? Food is the answer. I eat when I am happy, sad, alone, discouraged. When I am down, at least there is the pleasure of food, my drug of choice. And is it not a drug? It sustains me, lifts me up momentarily, until I come crashing down in desperate need of it again. I want it even when I do not need it. The weight of it adds up. I am fat. Alone. Unloved...except by food. My drug of choice. Food comforts me until it can't anymore. Until I am so low that nothing matters anymore. Then, nothing matters. There is nothing. I am nothing. Not even food seems necessary. No drug can fix the hole in my heart.

#nothungry #drugofchoice #foodisadrug #depression

Someday..

You will return.

Someday..

I will see your smile again.

Someday..

We will get to hug.

Someday..

I will feel your arms holding me tight.

Someday..

I will feel love.

Someday..

I hope to hear you whisper three words of truth and love into my ear.

Yet..

You being gone, someday is only a dream. So, someday may never come.

International Museum Day

Visit Your Relatives Day

No Dirty Dishes Day

National HIV Vaccine Awareness Day

If some of you are like me, it would take more than a day to visit my relatives as they live either in Texas, Virginia, and Florida, and one in Stockholm, Sweden. For me, perhaps to Skype them would solve the problem verses all the traveling. And to be blatantly honest—over half of them I have no desire to see or be around but that’s a story not to be told.

Okay, moving along …

National HIV Vaccine Awareness Day

Even with Covid-19 staring us in the face daily, this day recognizes thousands of volunteers, community members, health professionals, and scientists who work together to find a safe and effective HIV vaccine.

Today also promotes continued awareness and education concerning HIV vaccine research. Over 30 years have passed since HIV was identified as the cause of AIDS. However, researchers continue in their mission to develop a vaccine. While treatments and preventative measures exist to help those impacted by HIV and AIDS, a viable vaccine is still the only means to prevent its spread.

Around the world, 37.9 million people are living with HIV/AIDS. Additionally, the virus seems to spread the most in the poorest and most underprivileged communities in the world. They have the least access to educational information, preventative measures, and medical treatment.

This observance focuses on the continued need to develop a successful vaccine for HIV.

In 1984, Dr. Robert Gallo co-discovered HIV as the cause of AIDS, then went on to pioneer the blood test that detects the virus.

International Museum Day

This one portion is rather lengthy, but felt it to be important.

Few places in our world are more educational than museums. After all, where else could we hope to see so many pieces of actual history that tell so many stories about our ancestors? From prehistoric spears to Egyptian mummies, from ancient Greek sculptures to medieval armor, and from the first radio to the first planes used in war during WWI, museums have it all. Unfortunately, there are millions of people with direct access to museums that have never even visited one.

There are many possible reasons for this–perhaps they think just looking at old things would be boring, or perhaps they are unaware just how different the world was in the past and see no reason to take an interest. Whatever the reason for not taking advantage of the incredible amount of tangible knowledge museums offer, and regardless of age, Museum Day is the time to invest in education in its most fascinating form.

Many people may ask why they would invest in something like Museum Day when modern technology can give them all the answers that they may need. Well, to answer that fairly, all you need to do is a little Google search.

Nowadays, if you need to find an answer to something, you can surely just jump online and get it right? Well, yes, but what you need to realize is that the answer you get is quite possibly wrong.

A study conducted in 2016 on how many of the historical facts you find online were true, had some shocking results. It seems as of November 2016, over 48% of all available historical facts available online are inaccurate or downright wrong. So, taking this into account, you may want to place your fair elsewhere.

The truth is, education is important, so days like Museum Day should be something to get yourself and your young ones excited for; after all, while there will be children filling their heads with nonsense, you have the ability to fill your children with knowledgeable goodness.

The International Council of Museums (ICOM) created International Museum Day in 1977. The organization chooses a different theme for the day and coordinates every year. Some of the themes include globalization, indigenous peoples, bridging cultural gaps, and caring for the environment.

Every year since 1977, all of the museums in the world are invited to participate in this day to promote the role of museums around the world, by organizing enjoyable and free activities around the year’s theme.

International Museum Day has become steadily more popular since its creation, with International Museum Day 2009 being participated in by 20,000 museums in over 90 countries. In 2012, the number of participating museums had jumped to 30,000 in 129 countries.

As the years have gone by, we have been blessed to live in a society where while technology seems to want to take over, there have been certain things that are now considered cool that were once reserved for a very target demographic.

While the numbers of participants were slowly climbing almost a decade ago, over the last five years, the numbers are climbing at an even more rapid rate. When we look at this, we may ask ourselves why, and the truth is simple, history is now something that is classed as cool.

Yes, we may live in a technology-driven society, but it seems that the more technology has reigned over the world, people have started to gravitate towards the things that connect them to a world they are scared of losing.

Today, there are more visitors to museums all over the world than ever before, and more than this, there are now more people studying history at degree level than at any point in history.

Now, it may be possible that this is just a point where geek chic is in, and students want to seem more cultural and in touch with the world, but if we stop for a brief moment, could it not be possible that Museum Day has played a small role in helping entire new generations fall in love with history once again?

The truth may, in fact, be both, but one thing we must remember is that While it may not be as popular as some days, Museum Day is something that should be held in high importance.

The further we move forward, the more we leave behind, and with all of the things that are now long behind us, we need something to help us remember where we have been, that way, we can take the journey ahead of us with more confidence.

“Never follow in anyone else's path,

unless you're in the woods and you're lost."—Ellen DeGeneres

No Dirty Dishes Day

Today, yolu get a reprieve from the daily pile of dishes to wash and dry. Day after day, we do the daily chore of washing and drying dishes, then put them away in various cabinets and drawers. We perform this task after each and every meal, and often after snacks. Even putting them in and out of the dishwasher and running it, can be a chore.

You deserve a break from this routine. And today is that day. The objective is to have no dirty dishes. It is not intended to pile them up until tomorrow.

I can think of two ways to avoid dirty dishes today:

Use disposable plates, cups and silverware for all meals and snacks, and take the family out to eat all three meals. Then for snack, go out for ice cream.

Do not pile up the dishes to do tomorrow. This defeats the purpose of today.

You can fool some of the people all of the time,

you can fool some of the people at different times,

and those are the ones you want to concentrate on.

More Strange Holidays Coming!

Hush, for if you’re listening

you will hear the voice within,

Look, for if you’re watching

you will see the signs appearing,

Pause, for when waters are slowing

a whole picture starts emerging,

So, if you’re quiet,

calm and

you pray,

you may hear empyrean whispers

sotto voce.

Recitations

Zelda had revisited the Prose & Wine café several times – well, twelve times to be exact – over the last four months. And it was all purely motivated by the opportunity to hear him read just one more time. She couldn’t remember ever hearing a lovelier recitation of any piece of classical work. She was sure that his voice, laced with a lilting and beautiful English accent, was a gift from the Gods, derived in ancient times. She still did not know his real name, since he was known only as The Eloquent Englishman when he read.

Was there anyone on the face of the earth who could read Shakespeare, Chaucer, Byron, Keats, or Milton with such stirring abandon? So enthralled was she by his rendering of any piece of prose, she knew he could have read a children’s book, and she would have still been enraptured by the melodic timbre of his voice. Of course, it did help just a wee bit that he was also quite appealing in his appearance. In fact, it helped a great deal and only added to the allure of his amazing voice.

Zelda herself wanted to write, and she wanted to badly. She wanted to write with passion, and she wanted it to be something that someone would want to reread again and again, because it was either so moving or enjoyable, they could not help but do so. And she wanted to write something like he would want to read aloud. Thus, she justified her repeated appearances at the Prose & Wine to see and listen to him by telling herself she was receiving the necessary inspiration to do just that. However, truth be told, she’d fallen, and she’d fallen hard for this man who read from the Classics so hauntingly, and yet, so beautifully, too.

Tonight, he was reading from Sir Walter Scott’s Lady of the Lake, and Zelda was so excited that she could scarce stand it. Sitting alone with a glass of French Merlot on her small table, she impatiently twirled and shook her foot as it hung draped across her slender leg. There were only about sixteen others here tonight, mostly couples. All the better, she thought to herself. She secretly and selfishly wished no one else had bothered to come so she could have enjoyed the evening with him solo. Picking up the wine glass, she took a long swallow of the burgundy Merlot, hoping it would help to quell her impatience and anticipation as she waited.

The lights in the tiny café grew dimmer with the exception of the one light focused on the makeshift stage area. Zelda immediately placed her wine glass back on the table and drew herself straighter in the chair, perched on the edge of her seat. He walked out from the back of the establishment and took a seat in the lone mahogany Mission Style chair after a casual nod and greeting for his small audience.

“Good evening. Tonight, we start with an excerpt from the Canto Fourth, Lady of the Lake by Sir Walter Scott, first published in 1810,” he said before he began to read.

“The rose is fairest when ’t is budding new,

And hope is brightest when it downs from fears;

The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew

And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears.”

Zelda listened intently to the words wrap fluidly around his eloquent tongue and spill forth into the still of the room. Despite the silliness of it, all her mind could seem to think upon was the “swooning” that was often detailed in Romance novels. She was fairly certain at this moment in time that she might swoon and faint fast away upon the floor of the Prose & Wine, so overcome was she by his recitation of the lovely prose. Fleeting thoughts of him bent over her lifeless body, attempting to resuscitate her lingered pleasantly in the back of her mind until she focused once again on the beautiful words and timbre of his voice.

And thus, the night ensued with various readings from Sir Walter Scott’s famous poem. Zelda did not think she stirred once during the entire night. So moved was she by the lovely poetry that she occasionally lifted a finger to wipe at a stray tear that fell upon her cheek. Ah, but she could live life in such a way, listening to such beautiful recitations by such a one as he.

As soon as he closed the book, the waiter made the rounds, replenishing everyone’s drink, including Zelda’s. As he poured a new glass of Merlot for her and stepped away, Zelda gasped. He was standing there, directly in front of her small table.

“Good evening,” he said and smiled. “Did you enjoy the reading tonight?”

Zelda was unsure from where she found her voice and the ability to return his smile, but she managed to do so without stammering like a timid schoolgirl.

“Yes, immensely. It was beautiful.” You are beautiful, she thought to herself.

“Excellent,” he said. “I’m so pleased you liked it.” He looked about the room for a minute before his gaze found hers again, and he continued. “I’ve noticed that you’ve managed to attend all my readings.”

Zelda felt a blush creep across her cheeks. “Yes,” she said. “I enjoy hearing you read.”

For mere moments, the two stared at one another, seemingly frozen in time. Blue eyes met green ones, and in the skip of a heartbeat, connected.

“May I?” he gestured to the chair.

“Oh, yes, certainly! Forgive my lack of manners,” Zelda said as she quickly moved her wine glass and the copy of Lady of the Lake she’d brought with her so that he could take a seat beside her. He motioned to the waiter so that he could order a drink. Zelda watched him, fairly certain she was in a dream. A wonderful dream, albeit, but still a dream.

“I’ll have whatever she’s having,” he said, motioning to her glass of Merlot.

Zelda was suddenly very self-conscious as the waiter brought her companion’s wine. Her slim, woolen skirt seemed shorter by the minute, and the burgundy turtle neck she’d worn seemed to bind her chest tightly, preventing an adequate flow of air. Nervously, she fidgeted with the stem of the wine glass, glancing up at him through her thick lashes to ensure he was, in fact, still there.

“You like Merlot then?” she asked, and then mentally kicked herself. Of course he liked Merlot. He had ordered it, hadn’t he? Stupid, silly question, she chided herself.

“Yes, I do,” he smiled, and a big dimple grew in his left cheek. “Such an approachable wine. Full-bodied and elegant while it goes with nearly every kind of food but also stands alone quite well. I like the sleek softness of it - fruity, velvety, and rich,” he added as he took a sip of the wine the waiter had placed before him.

And softly sensual, especially the way you partake of it, Zelda could not help but mentally note, watching his throat as he swallowed. My God, but had anyone ever been able to describe the deliciousness of a glass of Merlot in such a way? She was sure not. Indeed, the enunciation and the beauty in the description, rhythm, and flow of his words were like the velvety, rich smoothness of the wine personified.

He looked at her and extended his hand, “I’m Gawain.”

She responded, captivated by his beautiful smile, with one of her own. “Zelda,” she said as she felt the strength in his firm handshake.

“What a lovely name,” he said. “Quite different.”

She nodded. “Mother was a huge fan of Fitzgerald.”

“Ah, yes. Well, it certainly suits you. My mother was obviously a fan of the Arthurian legends.” He watched her closely, as if attempting to determine what she was thinking.

Knowing exactly what she’d been thinking about the soft sensuality of the wine he’d drunk, and the way in which he’d described it made Zelda blush again as she looked down into her own glass.

“Are you from New Orleans?” he asked.

“I am,” Zelda nodded. “Thoroughly Southern,” she laughed softly.

“A magnolia in full bloom, I would say. Or perhaps, better yet, a lovely Camellia,” he responded in earnest.

Zelda looked at him, disbelieving that he would think her as lovely as a Southern bloom when he was such a stunning specimen of his own. His green eyes watched her as she returned the intensity in them with her blue ones.

“Thank you. Where are you from?” she asked while pretending to remove an invisible piece of lint from the table.

“Across the pond. Cornwall,” he said. “But I like it here. I think I might stay for a while.”

Zelda looked up as she heard the humor that laced his comment. His green eyes continued to gaze at her as if she were the only person in the room, gaging her reaction.

She suddenly, though still a little nervous, grew more comfortable and gave him her best smile. “That would be wonderful. I’m your number one fan, I assure you. I could listen to you read for years. Your voice – it’s so lovely.”

At her words, he cocked his head a bit, and his brow rose in question. “Years? You might regret that one, I fear.”

Realizing what he was inferring, Zelda blushed, mentally cursing herself for doing so yet again while also silently contradicting him. Tire of that sensuous, velvety voice of yours? Not in a million years!

He took note of the lovely edition of Lady of the Lake that she’d brought with her to his reading and then glanced up to study her a bit more before he said, “Why do I feel as if I already know you, Zelda?”

Zelda emitted a faint, somewhat nervous laugh and quickly took a sip of her wine before she said, “Quite possibly because I’ve been at all of your readings, hanging on to each and every word. I adore the Classics and the way in which you read them.” And I adore you, too.

“Yes, quite possibly, but still….one has to wonder,” he said as he reached across the table to lightly touch her hand with his own.

Zelda’s breath caught in her throat, and she shivered at his light touch. Her blue eyes grew suddenly serious as she returned his gaze. In the briefest heartbeat, Zelda felt the connection between them grow by leaps and bounds. It gained a momentum of its own, like a bottle of Merlot being opened and exposed to the air, thereby allowing it to breathe while enhancing the fullness embodied therein with every second that it rests. Yes, she was surely dreaming, but if that was the case, she hoped never to awaken. She smiled, and, in turn, he smiled, too.

“Shall we do this again?” he asked.

“Yes, most assuredly,” Zelda replied.

“Well,” he began, but then momentarily diverted his green gaze to the glass of Merlot before continuing. It occurred to her, quite surprisingly, that he was slightly unsure of his next words and the response she would offer. “Perhaps then we should consider this to be our first date?”

Suddenly exuding in confidence she knew not from where it came, Zelda lifted her hand so that her slender fingers lay atop his strong hand and lightly caressed it. Her smile said it all as she answered him.

“Nothing would please me more, Gawain. As first dates go, this one may go down in history as a classic of its own. Would you not agree?”