For some, birthdays represent just another trip this planet has travelled around the sun since their birth.  Others look upon them as a sign of age and decline.  Some birthdays are regarded as life’s milestones.  Remember when you added a second digit to your age or became a teen?  The number twenty-one became magic!  Fifty took on significance when you realized that was halfway to one-hundred!!!  One hundred marked a celebration!

                Human lives seen short compared to some countries.  Iran and Egypt date back since before 3000 BC, as well as India and Mexico.  Many countries have been around well over a thousand years and are still major movers and shakers.  Here we are, the United States of America, making a huge deal of celebrating our two-hundred and fiftieth birthday!  How brash and immature! 

                America has, for its rather short time in existence, made a name for itself as a country populated with an exceedingly diverse and opinionated people.  We don’t seem to care what others think of us, we make a stand and go forward.  Some may remember the famous lines of Admiral David Farragut in 1864 during the Civil War Battle of Mobile Bay, when he gave the order, “Damn the torpedoes!  Full speed ahead!”   That pretty much sums up the American spirit.  

                In terms of age, our country is experiencing its teenage years, full of experimentation and discovery.  We learn through our mistakes and hopefully try to do better.  We don’t like to be pushed and if we are, we push back.  We have our moments of utter stupidity and our moments of sheer genius. We can’t all live together and we can’t live without each other. 

                We celebrated this important day because of the guts and bravery and sheer determination of those who came before us.  They saw what this country could become and were willing to stake their lives on its citizens and future citizens to keep their dream alive. 

                America may not be the oldest country or the most genteel.  We may be a bit reckless at times and may not show proper respect to our elders but, we sure know how to throw a hell of a great Birthday party!!!  Just imagine what we can accomplish in the next 250 years!  Let's work to make it happen.

Sharon

I just finished reading, The RIDE Paul Revere and the Night That Saved America, by Kostya Kennedy.  The author details the events leading up to Revere’s famous ride, warning colonists that British troops were advancing from Boston to Concord, seeking to destroy Patriot resistance to the Crown.  I can honestly say that I learned much more than I had expected.  Did I sleep through my American History class?

            Those of us from a certain age may have gotten early knowledge of the Revolutionary War and our fight for freedom from British rule, from reading Johnny Tremain by Esther Forbes or, from watching the 1957 Disney movie of the same name.  Some have read Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s account of that historical incident, “Paul Revere’s Ride,” written eighty-seven years later.  Exciting as these references are, you and I know that historical accuracy and poetic license do not always go hand in hand. This was a story much larger than that of one man.

IT TOOK

            The Redcoats kept a close eye on the goings of known Patriots living in Boston.  The town was in a virtual lockdown with soldiers patrolling the roads.  By the same token, all eyes were on the comings and goings of the soldiers, and word made it back to those who needed to strategize the Patriot’s next step.  A farmer or blacksmith might listen in to solders talking amongst themselves at the local tavern or on a street corner.  A wife might hear of an impending raid while serving dinner to some high-ranking military men quartered in their home.  Locals kept watch on ships entering the harbor and the number of soldiers it carried as well as the armament.

IT TOOK

            Two young men made their way to the Old North Church, one waited below while the other made the precarious climb up to the church’s tower, two lanterns strapped over his neck.  Soldiers were everywhere, ready to arrest anyone on the streets during curfew.  If the signal shone more than a few moments, the enemy would surely respond. 

IT TOOK

            Revere was not the only rider sent to warn of the coming of the British troops.  Other riders took to the back roads and main thoroughfares to notify others in the area.  Revere did not make it all the way to Concord, having been captured by British troops but another rider, Doctor Prescott makes it to Concord and beyond.  Men, probably women as well, on horseback and on foot, sounded the alarm and hundreds of citizens stood their ground, carrying guns and pitchforks.  The British realized that the Patriots were not about to give up their freedom but would fight.  War was imminent.

            When asked about his famous ride of April 18, 1875, Revere was quick to acknowledge the many people involved.  The effort took the skills and determination, and courage of so many individuals.  As we get close to our country’s 250^th Anniversary, I can’t help but think of that one spark of rebellion that ignited the birth of our nation.

            Let’s ride together!

BTW  Did you know that Paul Revere practiced dentistry?

BTW  A popular drink served at local taverns at that time consisted of Rum, Beer, Molasses, and Egg. This was than imbibed warm.  Uggggggg

Sharon

I admit I'm a research nerd.  Term papers and book reports were my favorite assignments.  Creating our novels gave me the opportunity to travel through time and history via encyclopedias and other research materials.  It was an adventure tracking down people who had knowledge we needed to make our stories as accurate as possible. A missionary who spent twenty-five years living along the Amazon River, a young man versed in the ways of the Voodoo culture, and engineers who designed submarines and diving equipment, were but some of the interesting people whose brains we picked to add substance to our stories.  Now, so much information can be found by just tapping a few keys on the computer but, I don't find it nearly as much fun.

Going back to the book I'm reading, I have discovered that none of the people involved really had any idea what they were doing!  The basic premise for the canal was that the city of New York was growing but could grow so much more, if their goods could travel northward. Job opportunities brought the masses to the citiy who never left, and the goods produced helped to sustain the westward movement and make New York the commercial capital of America.

The canal's history is filled with rich stories of the people.  The early 1800s brought together various religious beliefs, exploration, and a willingness to imagine new ways of getting things done.  Oh, and let's not forget creative politics!  Some might think that digging a trench 360 miles long through the wilderness sounds boring, but I'm finding it rather interesting.  BTW, the name of the book is Heaven's Ditch  God, Gold and Murder by Jack Kelly.

Have you heard that the mass market paperback books will soon be no longer?  Starting around 1939, these four inch by seven inch books gave readers the opportunity to have access to inexpensive novels that fit into your purse or back pocket.  I remember in the 1960s, going to the local drugstore and purchasing my next read for thirty-five cents.  Riding public transportation to work, other than those passengers who slept, people were either reading the Chicago Sun Times or paperback books.  Your didn't have to check out the best seller list to know what was popular. You could just look over the shoulder of your fellow passengers.

Think of all the writers who made a living, or close to it, writing for the mass market. Authors such as Mickey Spillane and Louis L`Amour became household names.  Ian Fleming was on the books racks and shelves alongside Ernest Hemingway. The racks were filled with adventure, science fiction and tales of romantic places where lust and love rose to breathtaking highs and crushing depths.  As the demand for those little books grew, so did the publishing houses. Art departments conveyed powerful messages with their cover art, luring us to pick up the book and read the exciting synopsis of the adventure waiting within the pages.  All was good!

Alas, starting in the 1980s, trade size paperbacks started to appear.  These books, usually around six inches by nine inches were usually too large to fit on the shelving in many bookstores.  They were left on tables or laid flat on the shelves, or put in with the hardcovers.  There was nothing wrong with them, they just didn't fit as well.  Over the years, the larger books became more abundant and booksellers adjusted shelving to fit them, making them easy to locate.  According to Publishers Weekly, unit sales of mass market paperbacks dropped eighty-four per cent between 2004 and 2024, Distribution of these books will gradually cease.  The books that made reading affordable for the masses is going the way of the dinosour.

  Whatever type of book or article you read, hardcover or softcover, big or little, or seen on a computer screen, read!  Books bring us pleasure, information, and are good for our brains.  Plus, you can tell your friends all about them.

Sharon

            The show featured music from the fifties and early sixties sung by some of the artists who made those songs popular.  It was a great program with many outstanding performances, showing that age doesn’t necessarily slow down everyone.  Or maybe it is true that music keeps you young. Occasionally, the camera would pan the audience and you’d see seniors grinning, eyes pointed to the person seated next to them.  Some were with young people, probably grandkids, but many seated next to significant others.

            A lot of the older couples were holding hands, grins spread across their faces, and eyes that shone.  A few hankies were visible. They were not sharing music, they were sharing their lives and their long ago dreams.  It didn’t take much to picture these couples slow dancing to Sarah Vaughan’s EMBRACEABLE YOU, snuggling close to UNCHAINED MELODY, or looking into each other’s eyes as Elvis serenaded them with LOVE ME TENDER.  Jerry and I related to the Everly Brothers ‘song, WAKE UP LITTLE SUSIE, after falling asleep at a drive-in movie theater and trying to explain to my parents why we were hours late getting me home. 

            Some time memories of certain songs had different meanings to us.  Take for example; I’M SO LONELY I COULD CRY and HEARTBRAKE HOTEL.  Neither song would encourage smiles but I’m sure many would be a story to tell.  JAILHOUSE ROCK might bring up some interesting recollections.  I have this picture in my head of an older man, a grandfather, who is a retired executive, living well off his pension and investments. He laughs when he hears Harry Belafonte’s BANANA BOAT SONG, remembering that he felt the same way when he was so young, doing the bottom of the ladder grunt work for the company he eventually ran.

            We may not always remember where we placed our glasses a few moments ago, but we have a tendency to remember our first kiss, our first attempt at riding a bicycle without the training wheels, or maybe, our first real friend. Memories may not always be good ones but they all have a place in our lives.  Our past impacts our future.  Today’s decisions may be based on decisions we’ve made in our past.  Do we repeat those decisions or, have maturity and experience taught us to learn from our mistakes? 

            Live today to the fullest but don’t be afraid to look back.  Remember that by tomorrow, today will be already a memory.  Make some good ones!!!

All the best for a happy and exciting New Year

Sharon

            Take for example, The Survivalist series.  Jerry and I had begun seriously considering the basic story while we still lived in Chicago.  We knew John Rourke had a survival plan and a retreat all set up for the bad days that would eventually come, but we hadn’t really fleshed out the details.  We knew it would have to be structurally sound, lasting for hundreds of years, while keeping everyone safe.  Fast forward and we are now living in Northeast Georgia.  Out on a joyride, exploring a highway we had never been on before, we reached a highpoint and before us, off in the distance, loomed Mt. Yonah.  I pulled out my camera and took a few shots and copied down the location as best as we could tell.  When we got the photos back from the lab –yes, this was the early 80s and cameras used film -- locals recognized the mountain and gave us information on some of its history.  We ran with it and gave the Rourke clan bedrooms, a full kitchen, plenty of bathrooms, a greenhouse and a greatroom complete with a waterfall.

            Driving home from a business trip in Tennessee, we pulled over to watch a large group of kayakers and tubers waiting for a dam to open, causing a rush of water to flow down the river.  The water indeed rushed down, and everyone headed in for a wild ride as they twisted and turned to prevent crashing into craggy obstacles, and each other.  The shore on both sides was mostly rocky and the entire area looked like a canyon scene in a movie western.  We both immediately agreed that it would be a great place to have a fight scene.  Again, out came the camera.  A few books later in the Survivalist, we fashioned a huge fight scene with characters climbing up the rocky slopes and some falling to their death.  Guns blazoning, hand to hand combat and bodies floating down the rapids came out pretty well, if I do say so myself.

            Sometimes, an article of clothing can help a story or become part of a character.  When we traveled, I would switch from my regular purse to one quite a bit larger so that we could keep some things closer at hand.  Jerry was one of those men who, rather than carry a lot of stuff in his pockets, would assume I would have plenty of room in my purse.  That would mean that beyond my items, my purse was the repository for extra knives, guns, handkerchiefs, and notepads.  Also business cards and extra cigarettes would be dumped in and any other items picked up along the way.  I’m sure there are plenty of women who can understand.

            Mary Francis Mulrooney carried my purse every day.  She and Culhane traveled the world with her always finding the right thing needed to save the day, somewhere, hidden in that purse.  The hardest thing for her to find was her lipstick.  The Takers were able to defeat aliens, warrior Amazon women, zombies and Blackbeard the pirate, as well as other bad dudes, so I guess I can’t begrudge them the use of my purse.

            Most times you have a pretty good idea of what your main characters look like, and are able to layer in their particular personalities and peculiarities, but secondary characters might come to you differently.  Imagine stopping off for a quick burger at your local fast food joint and as you casually glance around the room, you spy a middle-age man, sitting alone, with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in front of him. At first glance he seems normal, but then you notice he’s wearing a rather heavy, bulky-looking coat on a hot and humid afternoon.  Is he concealing something?  Could he be armed?  But maybe he’s an undercover cop!  Could he be wearing a bomb, ready to blow up the place and scatter the greasy fries and onion rings to the four winds?  There’s always the possibility that he has nothing on underneath the coat and this is all part of a dare.  But why does he keep looking out the window as if he’s waiting for someone or something?

            While you are still trying to decipher the overdressed man, you home in on a screeching bird sound emanating from a tall, skinny woman, up at the counter. She’s complaining about her order and the young girl behind the counter is trying to be understanding and polite.  The woman is tall and thin, wearing large framed glasses resting precariously on the tip of her rather pointed nose.  She would be hilarious in a comic short story about an unpleasant, stupid, ostrich, flapping her beak and wings and getting nowhere.

            The next time you’re out in public and you see some stranger staring at you, it may be because of your fantastic good looks, or, it might be something entirely beyond your comprehension.  Remember not to pick your nose!  You may become part of someone’s newest adventure.

Sharon

            Jerry and I had rather diverse tastes in music.  I was into The Animals and Gerry and the Pacemakers, and Jerry was a Frank Sinatra fan as well as Bing Crosby.  We could agree on Mel Torme and Neil Diamond, but Jerry couldn’t stand it when I put on a Rod McKuen album, and I left the room when he sang along with Robert Goulet.  Remembering these songs brought back the good old days of the sixties. 

            The Beatles invaded our shores and encouraged other tuneful groups to follow, causing musical mayhem and long, shaggy hair among the boys.  We girls shortened our skirts to where lady-like sitting had to be practiced in front of a mirror.  Woodstock and “hippies” became popular conversation items, and many of us went to the corner store to buy “ciggies.” 

            The Civil Rights Act was signed by President Dwight Eisenhower, although not everyone was thrilled, and not everyone felt protected.   Protests and marches were common.  Women were still fighting for equal rights.  In some cases, we still are.  I remember going to a local bank in the 1980s and asked if my husband knew I was making a withdrawal!  The birth control pill was approved by the US Food and Drug Administration in 1960.

            Let’s not forget that the 1960s is when Ken became enamored with Barbie and they became a forever couple.  I’m not sure what Ken was doing while Barbie kept changing jobs.  I mean, she was a stewardess one day and a veterinarian the next, etc.  Did she become an astronaut before or after Neil Armstrong landed on the moon?  Charlie Brown’s Christmas premiered, and Sesame Street characters became household friends.

            Dr. No, the first James Bond film, premiered, and ABC begins color telecasts for a few hours each week.  The musical Hair becomes a hit, and the US Senate debated a report accusing folk music of promoting Communism.  President Kennedy established the Peace Corps. Spider Man was introduced in 1962 by Marvel Comics, and four years later, he had his own television show.

            On the practical side, pull tabs on cans were introduced, LSD was declared illegal, and seat belts become standard on Studebakers.  Medicare was established, and postage stamps were raised to the outrageous price of six cents. 

            The Sixties were also an explosive time in history.  Our country became involved in the war in Vietnam, and a draft lottery is held.  Many young men were sent far from home to fight a war they didn’t understand. Agent Orange became a popular item to reduce vegetation in the war-stricken areas of Vietnam, but we didn’t learn until later that vegetation wasn’t all it killed. The Cuban Missile Crisis got us close to the brink of the Cold War, and bomb shelters became popular backyard additions. 

            College campuses became hotbeds for political unrest, and protests were common.   We watched on television young people being dragged away by police when demonstrations got out of hand.  Many people watching saw this as police brutality. 

            President John Kennedy was shot dead by an assassin.  The debate goes on about whether there was more than one shooter involved.  The known assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald, was then shot and killed by Jack Ruby.  We watched this live on television.  According to his killer, Robert Kennedy was assassinated because of his pro-Israeli sympathies. Martin Luther King Jr., a social activist who spearheaded the civil rights movement, was shot and killed in Memphis, Tennessee.  The list could go on, but I think you get my drift.

            Do you ever think that maybe the 2020s are looking a lot like the 1960s?  We have renewed interest in Space exploration.  Barbie and Ken have their own movie.  We’re entering another Cold War.  Women’s rights are still debatable in some areas.  Television programming is virtually unlimited, but whether or not there’s something worth watching is questionable.  Today’s music is just as eclectic as it was in the 60s, and James Bond is still out there saving the world from bad guys along with Spider Man and the Hulk.

            Let’s also remember that terrorism is still out there and a new generation of political dissidents and crazy people who want nothing more than to kill for their twisted beliefs or for the thrill.  Only sick minds want to kill children or think that shooting a person will change our political beliefs.  Gun control is not the answer; common sense and responsibility are.  Will people reminisce about the 2020s in 2060?

Sharon

            My favorite section of the store holds craft items.  If I’m lucky, I’ll discover some yarn.  If I’m really lucky, I’ll discover more than one skein of the same color and weight yarn.  Sometimes the yarn will still be encased in its wrapper.  Other times, it may be rolled into a ball as if it had been readied for a project.  I might find material, perhaps left over from a drapery or upholstering project.  Sometimes the material will only be a yard or less.  Sometimes, I’ve hit the bonanza and found enough yardage to make a pair of drapes or redo several worn-out chair seats.  There may be a plastic box with discarded lengths of ribbon or lacey edgings. Sadly, you come across half finished or half started, depending on the way you look at it, holiday decorations or quilts or crocheted items; a blanket, doll clothing, or a silly, squishy animal that never had its limbs attached..

            Why are these items on these shelves and bins?  Did the owner buy too much material or yarn for their project?  I hope that’s the answer.  Did they just give up because the project became too burdensome or time-consuming?  Well, you bring your stash up to the counter and pluck down a few dollar bills, and walk out, 

            Home, you spend a few quiet moments taking your finds out of the plastic bag and sorting them, deciding what potential project you see before you.  That large ball of pink yarn catches your eye, and you unroll a yard or so and stop!  A red dot, no, more than one dot!  Could this be blood?  Another skein of a different color has a crochet hook nestled inside.  This ordinarily is not uncommon, but paired with what you definitely think is a bloodied skein of yarn, is looking pretty suspicious.  Was the hook used to stab the crocheter, or did the crocheter use it against someone else?  Why is Santa’s head missing from the unfinished Christmas tree skirt?  Is it a clue?  Why is the name Anne embroidered into a quilt patch?  Was that perfectly good crockpot used to simmer a poisonous substance?

            After all items are examined, you put them away for the time being.  Eventually, you’ll find something to do with your newly acquired craft items, but first, you need to sit down and start writing the story of the murdered or murderous crocheter. 

                        Maybe change the yarn. Pink is kinda sissy.

                        Would a steel knitting needle work better?

                        Who the heck is Anne?

Did I really need that crock pot?

   Fiction writing can be challenging but crafty.

   Sharon

            Bike riding was the number one sport in our neighborhood.  I remember staring out the window watching kids race past my house, a veritable blur of reds and blues.  The cool kids customized their rides with balloons or baseball cards wedged in the spokes of the wheels, making a sputtering, racecar sound.  I wanted to be out there!  I knew I could ride just as fast and be a racer to be reckoned with!

            Hinting, suggesting, out and out begging didn’t work with my mother.  “You’ll hurt yourself,” she said.  Do you see any other girls out there?”  The only other girl in the neighborhood was a dweeb who recreated by sitting on her porch steps, watching the cars go by.  We finally got to a “maybe when you’re older” response.  Magically, on Christmas day, a blue girl’s Schwinn bicycle, with training wheels, was nestled next to the tree.  Dreams do come true!

            Unfortunately, December, January, February, etc., usually coincides with lots of snow in Chicago. My brand new hot rod transportation remained in the living room until enough snow melted or got blown away for my mother to allow my lessons to commence.  After a few shaky starts, I got the hang of it and was ready to travel on my own.  Then my mom laid down the rule that I couldn’t go further than my house and the one next door.  That was about as good as driving a Ferrari the length of a swimming pool!!!  My dad intervened and was able to negotiate a deal where I could go to the end of our street, if I was careful.

            Needless to say, the training wheels soon came off and I steadily expanded my territory.  My Schwinn and I roared through the neighborhood, baseball cards clicking and my hair blowing in the wind.  Yes, I did end up crashing into a tree and rearranging the handlebars and bike chain, as well as dinging up the metal and my knees. Was it worth it?  YES.

                A few years later, my boyfriend, Jerry, confessed that he had never ridden a bicycle.  That was a memorable summer, full of laughs and life threatening moments.  Our neighbors never understood why their garage doors had scratches and dents or why their garbage cans were moved.  Somehow, they missed hearing the screams and occasional expletives coming from the alleyways behind their houses. 

            For a final test, I took him to the neighborhood park and let him ride on the pathways.  He started going downhill a little too fast and I found him, bike under him, feet planted on the ground, right at the edge of the lagoon.  We gave up his lessons for a while.  It might have been a problem if he had fallen into the lagoon since he didn’t know how to swim either.  He eventually did get the hang of bike riding and we both looked back on that summer as one of the really best of “the good old days.” 

            I wonder what the writers of the Declaration of Independence would think about their country now that it’s all grown up.  Would they be surprised at what we have become or dismayed?  Regardless, we are a multifaceted people, coming from places unknown in their time, with challenges and aspirations unfamiliar and or similar to theirs.  I personally think Benjamin Franklin, with his scientific mind, and broad sense of humor, would chuckle a bit.  The rest of the signers, I don’t know how they would take us.  All I know for sure is that they gave up a lot for us to be here today.  Five of those signers were captured by the British, tortured and killed. Twelve signers had their homes burned to the ground.  Two signers had sons killed in the Revolutionary War and two signers had sons captured.  Nine signers fought in the war and died for us. 

            These fifty-six men who drafted and signed the Declaration of Independence gave much of their lives so that we can remember our “Good Old Days.” Let us hope that our children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren will have good memories to pass on, and will remember that our freedom was not and will never be free,

Sharon

            My dad was a seasonal guy.  There was Baseball season, Hockey season, and a season for all other games like Roller Derby, Wrestling, and Boxing. Ice Hockey was my favorite.  The action was non-stop as the players darted from one side of the rink to the other, pushing, pulling, slapping, and hurtling the tiny black puck hopefully into the opponent’s net. In those days, faceguards and helmets were not normally part of the uniform, so occasionally the puck ended up in someone’s face. Concussions were prevalent as well. Sometimes your eyes hurt from trying to get in all the action shown on the small tv screen as you waited for the announcer’s, “A shot and a goal by…”

            My team was the Chicago Blackhawks and my favorite player was Bobby Hull.  Dubbed the ‘Golden Jet," he was a Canadian-born skater who played in over one thousand NHL games during his tenure.  He could skate twenty-nine mph and his slapshot was once clocked at 118 mph.  He could pass, he could score, and could he fight!  There was always a reason to raise up the sticks and pound on each other in a free-for-all! 

            I was working in downtown Chicago and I heard Bobby Hull was going to be at a Florsheim shoe store on Dearborn Street, signing autographs during the noon hour.  I managed to duck out of the office and hike my way over to the store to stand in line for what seemed forever.  Suddenly, there I was, standing across from the “Golden Jet” himself.  Our eyes met.  Well, actually mine were looking further down, admiring his false front teeth.  He smiled, asked my name, which luckily I remembered, and we exchanged pleasantries which I don’t remember.  I walked out of the store clutching my autographed photo and walked slowly back to work.  That evening I showed Jerry my prize.  He never really got into Hockey much but he always understood where I came from with it.

            A year or so after I snagged my Bobby Hull photo, I received one of the nicest gifts ever.  I think it was Valentine’s Day and Jerry had been out working late on his second job.  He walked in with something large wrapped in plastic bags and told me to close my eyes. He told me that he loved me and had wanted to get me a fantastic gift but the stores were closed and he hoped this would be ok with me.  First, he reached into his pocket and gave me a silly, children’s card that he had drawn all over.  Then, out came a Snicker’s bar.  The plastic bag-wrapped gift was handed over and I couldn’t help but laugh.  I tore off the plastic and grabbed my very own Chicago Blackhawk authorized, wooden Hockey stick that he had found in our local convenience store.  That was the sweetest, nicest, most wonderful, most romantic gift a girl could ever wish for!

            I’ve had Bobby Hull’s photo and the Hockey stick both for over fifty years.  The photo is on the office wall and the stick is in my closet.  The stick may have never played in a game but I can imagine the announcer saying “A shot and a goal by Jerry Ahern”.

Sharon

I had some more thoughts about what is going on in our universe today and I wanted to share these thoughts with you to see if any of this concerns you.  If not, I totally understand; maybe I just need a life!

      A big concern right now is the price of eggs.  They have gone from being an inexpensive source of protein to a product you might expect to find on the black market. It's gotten to the point where I've heard some small neighborhood stores are selling them individually.  There isn't much the consumer can do except wait out the bird flu epidemic and hope for a healthy generation of layers to start producing soon.

            While we wait, which is no time soon, we are importing eggs from Canada, Turkey, and Brazil.  Something I found interesting is that forty-two percent of foreign eggs came to us from Canada in 2023.  One of the reasons we were not importing a large amount of eggs before bird flu was we felt other country's eggs were more likely to be contaminated.  Guess what?  Prices aren't going to return to normal for a while but nothing beats scrambled eggs while you yearn for some comfort food.  

            Just as an aside, did you know most commercial egg-laying chickens get taken away to processing plants at the ripe old age of eighteen months?  There they will be turned into ingredients for dog or cat food, frozen dinners, or soup.

            Remember years ago when the words orange juice had FLORIDA in front of them?  Growing up, I watched singer, Bing Crosby, on television shows promoting Minute Maid frozen orange juice, extolling its virtues as a delicious, healthy drink. Of course, he was a stockholder in the company.  He later sold his 20,000 shares for a considerable amount and bought into another similar company.

            I still enjoy a glass each morning and appreciate the convenience of carrying home small cans of frozen concentrate as opposed to lugging heavy jugs of prewatered-down juice.  Have you noticed that there's a slight difference in taste from one container to another? Much of our orange juice is coming in from other countries nowadays since Florida's orange groves are declining.  We get about twelve percent from Brazil and nine percent from Mexico.  Other countries like Chile, Argentina, and South Africa add to the mix.  It seems like our American breakfasts come to us with a little help from our foreign friends.

            My local library has diverse activities every day for bouncing babies to seniors; book clubs to gaming, knitting to gardening, yoga to painting, and Bingo!  Let’s not forget lots of books!  I was surprised to see that they were including classes on cursive writing.  Cursive fell from grace when Common Core Standards removed it in 2010 from curriculum requirements.  Sure, we all use computers for the majority of our correspondence now but, can young people sign their names on a document or read something written before this century?  I thought we were going to keep this information a secret, just like driving with a manual transmission!

            Speaking of libraries, check out INGENIOUS A Biography of Benjamin Franklin, Scientist.  Unlike many of his biographies, this one dwells on his accomplishments as a scientist and his observations over his eight-four years.  Franklin had very little formal education but he had an almost childlike curiosity about the world around him.  We associate him with kite flying and electricity but he was so much more.  He was able to parlay his scientific genius and the respect he achieved in both France and England as well, of course, in our emerging nation, to negotiate funding and military support to help us win our independence.  He was an eloquent speaker and negotiator, a jack of all trades, and well loved by the ladies.  And, as we all know, in 1731 Benjamin Franklin started the first subscription library in Philadelphia. Thanks, Ben.

Sharon