Posted in Holidays and Seasonal Changes, Uncategorized

The Other Side of Thanksgiving

I love Thanksgiving!

I always have. It is so wonderful for our nation to have a special day set aside for GRATITUDE.

Except …

What we often forget (or at least try to forget) (or refuse to even believe) is that the traditional First Thanksgiving Day taught in grade school and fixed in our individual and national consciousness is a Disney-fied mythology.

Here’s a terrifically sobering post from a wonderful blog, “Esperational.” The You Tube video is eye- (and heart-) opening. Please take a moment to read the short post and watch the short video.


It has been my tradition on Thanksgiving to honor the other side of the story. For members of the first nations of this country this is a day of …

The Other Side of Thanksgiving


Difficult truths …

Why is Truth so often Difficult?!

I don’t think this means I can’t celebrate Thanksgiving Day, as long as I recognize that the mythologized beginning is historically inaccurate.

Maybe I should celebrate … Happy THANKS-giving.

Posted in Uncategorized

The Liars Club — Some Republican Senators

A blog category briefly showcasing the “my-goal-is-to-destroy-democracy” lies of the president of the Liars Club, Donald Trump and his blind and groveling cronies.

Vanity Fair

Rubio’s comment that there is no threat to same-sex marriage in America is a boldfaced lie.

There is horrendous threat.

Right-wing extremist Associate Justice Clarence Thomas made the threat imminent and visceral when he recently made it clear that he supports revisiting Obergefell vs Hodges.

Marco Rubio is a liar. And of course he knows it.

Posted in Uncategorized

Five Friday Happy Bringers 4/29/22

1. The continuing saga of HR stopping our morning walks to take “important pictures.” This time of a caterpillar on a prickly plant.

See it?

Believe it or not, Robert actually VIDEOED the little bug making its way down the spike. (The caterpillar was the only one of us getting his steps in.)

2. A bucket of little umbrellas at the bar at Zunzi’s near us.

3. Our hands! Hold one of yours out in front of you.

Look at it. Make a fist, in and out. Isn’t that really such an amazing blessing?! Pick something up. Your hands enable you to do it!

4. Ladyfingers with fresh strawberries for breakfast.

And a little nutmeg on top.

5. Making a poster for grandson Jack, who’s about to graduate from Savannah Country Day School.

Here’s Jack at the end of the senior class traditional bike ride to campus event.


Hope you all graduate to a beautiful weekend ahead!


P.S. You don’t believe me that HR videoed the caterpillar? Okay, I don’t blame you, I wouldn’t either if I didn’t have the proof. Here’s the … riveting film. I call it “Slowing Down the Walk.”

Posted in Uncategorized

Neal’s Post from the Past: “The Viewing & The Circle of Life”

Here’s a post from a decade ago dealing with the death of my father-in-law and my young grandson Daniel’s struggle to understand.


My father-in-law passed away earlier this week. Death, of course, is difficult for anyone to cope with, but perhaps especially so for young children. Because they are still so close to birth, little beings of the morning, and because their life experience has been with newness and fresh discovery, with joy and giggles, death must seem unfathomable, foreign, outside of understanding.

But like most kids, my four-year-old grandson Daniel likes to understand: “Abu, why can’t I sit on top of your car? I could see a whole lot better.” “Abu, my teacher won’t let me bring my sword to school and fight like the blue Power Ranger. Why not?” “Why can’t I say potty words?” “Why do we have to wear clothes when it’s hot?” “Why?” “Why?” “Why?”

When his parents arrived at the funeral home north of Atlanta the other evening, they told me that Daniel had, as usual, been plying them with questions about the current subject which went beyond his grasp–his great-grandfather’s death. “But if Papa is in heaven, why will everyone be sad?” “Where IS Papa?”

I played with Daniel and his little brother Gabriel in the large kitchen area of the funeral home, where friends had brought mounds of food. Their mom and dad, Amy and Orte, walked through large white windowed doors and down a narrow hall that eventually led to a sitting room where the family received guests who came to pay their respect and offer condolences. Papa looked pre-cancerous in a striking gray suit, snow-white shirt, and brown and gray tie patterned with tiny crosses. He had been a Methodist minister in the North Georgia Conference. A large United States flag, achingly resplendent in red, white and blue liveliness, lay across the unopened lower half of the coffin. Papa was retired Air Force.

Every few minutes, Daniel ran over to tiptoe and peer through the windows of the white doors, gazing down that long hallway which twisted and turned but allowed no view of Papa. “Where are Mama and Daddy? I want to go too.” A few minutes later: “Why can’t I go in?” “Is Papa in there? Where?” “Let’s go in there, Abu.”

A while later, when we were eating lasagna in the kitchen, Daniel was still asking, asking. I made a decision, a decision you may not have made. I asked Daniel’s mom and dad if I could take him in to see Papa. They agreed, mainly (I think) because they trust me, and they know how much I love D.

I picked Daniel up and asked him if he knew what had happened to Papa. “He died,” came the quick answer. I told him that yes Papa had died. “And he’s in heaven,” Daniel added. His confusion centered on who or what was down that hall that everyone kept traversing. He wanted understanding, answers. He wanted to walk down that hall.

So we did.

The kitchen had been noisy with visitors loudly talking, eating, reminiscing, and occasionally laughing at the past. Its tiled floor amplified the clicks of my boot heels as we walked, Daniel in my arms, toward those doors, dividing doors which in my grandson’s mind led to answers. As we passed through them, my heels, like everything and everyone on that other side, grew quieter on the deep carpet.

We entered the viewing room, and walked past adults talking in hushed tones. Daniel kissed his Nana (Donna is the oldest of the four daughters of Papa), then his Great-Grandma, who sat regally next to the coffin. But his eyes were looking, searching.

Not expecting Papa to be lying down (why didn’t I think to tell him that detail?), Daniel finally found his great-grandfather.

He looked for a while, and finally asked quietly (Daniel doesn’t usually do “quiet” very well), “Is Papa sleeping?”

“No, not really sleeping. He died, remember?”

We stood there for about a minute, Daniel growing heavy in my arms.

“Are you ready to go, baby?”


Other folks waited patiently for their turn behind us. Daniel started to lean over toward the coffin, paused and looked at me for permission (and like “quiet,” D doesn’t always do “permission” well). I nodded, and Daniel touched the white satin edges of the liner and then Papa’s right arm.

Giggling just a bit, Daniel said, “It tickles.” I smiled.

“You ready now?”


We walked back through the hall, toward the kitchen. When we got to the doors, I saw through the windows my daughter Amy and Orte, waiting. I put Daniel down, and he pushed open the door. His dad asked him, “Are you okay, Daniel?”

But he was already off, running on the noisy tile, chasing his little brother. Doing “loud” once again.


With Daniel back in 2012
And now. (Seriously?)