Mardi was here to visit her sister, Gloria. We all had dinner at Kendall’s in Noble, OK, where even the half-sized chicken-fried steak is so big that it doesn’t really fit on the plate, and the cinnamon rolls served with every meal are extremely delicious.

When Mardi’s son Alex and my daughter Jamie were young, Mardi & I usually saw each other twice a year—once in Pittsburgh and once in Norman, OK. We readjusted our visits once our children started kindergarten in their respective cities. Fortunately, her parents would drive to Oklahoma every summer, bringing Mardi & Alex with them, rest for a few days, then drive to Nevada to visit Mardi’s paternal uncle. After staying out there for a while, they would return to Oklahoma to rest again for a few days, then all the Pittsburghers would head home.

Even before Mardi & I had children, we had so many adventures together, ranging from happiness to terror to oddities. We traveled all over the country, singing along to our guitars, even once singing for our supper in a Quonset hut that had been turned into a bar in south Texas. We played at parks, college campuses, really wherever we wanted to entertain. We were the original flash mob of two before that term even existed.

We were terrified when a serial killer tried to get us into his car, but we declined, then outsmarted him by crossing the street when we saw him making a U-Turn to come back to snatch us. Not a hair on our heads was hurt. When we saw his photo on TV later, we realized our lives had been at stake.

At Springlake Amusement Park on Mardi’s Dad’s Westinghouse Family Fun Day, we screamed in fright while riding The Wild Mouse, a wooden two-seater roller coaster with unexpected hairpin curves that made it feel like you were flying off the track. We thought we were crying in extreme fear, but later a photo of Mardi & me on that coaster appeared on the cover of the in-house Westinghouse newsletter, with a quote about us laughing our way through the ride. The photo seemed to prove the laughter, but that is certainly not what we were feeling.

In the dog world, Mardi & I accidentally harbored what was supposed to be a German Shepherd but turned out to be a coyote we named “Whatever It Looks Like.”

In Dravosburg, PA, a small borough of Pittsburgh where Mardi & I shared an apartment for a short time, we once crawled out of crank windows to avoid a real dog foaming at the mouth, which looked like rabies but was actually distemper. Also, in Dravosburg, we (along with our two boyfriends at the time who were also best friends with each other) got kicked out of a local street fair because Mardi’s boyfriend, a tall, athletically built guy, decided to jump in the bounce house.

That wasn’t the end of our troubles in Dravosburg. When my Mom, at my request, sent me my guitar in its case, the Post Office called the police, with claims that I had been sent a machine gun. I was a flower child, all about peace & love. I’m pretty sure a guitar case looks nothing like a machine gun case.

I had to show the police that nothing more than a guitar was in the case, but the police used any chance to harass us, even going so far as to falsely charge us at one time. This helped me to decide on a career in criminal law because I realized that not all formal accusations are true.

In South Dakota, a police officer used his headlights on Mount Rushmore so we could see it in the middle of the night. On that same trip, Mardi pushed me out of the way of a speeding car and saved my life. Thanks, Mardi. I am forever indebted.

Wherever we went, people would tell Mardi she looked like Ingrid Bergman, known as one of the most beautiful women in the world. Mardi looked so much like Ingrid that I once featured her as Ingrid on a cover of a newsletter I was producing. On the other hand, people would tell me that I looked like Mick Jagger. Though I think he’s a good-looking guy, it’s a face for a male, not a female.

For years, we went to the Mardi Gras in New Orleans, obtaining more string beads than any person should ever own. We were playing our guitars and singing in a park, when someone shouted, “Bob Dylan is over at the town square!” Everybody jumped up and ran there (including us), but it was a false rumor.

This is a small sampling of our experiences. There are so many more that I could fill a book, which I might do someday.

In 2023, Mardi’s adult son died unexpectedly. Since that time, Mardi, usually one of the happiest people I know, has been extremely sad. I cannot fully understand the depths of such a severe loss because that never happened with my child, but I know why she is sad.

While Mardi was here, I had both a group rehearsal and a performance for Solar Flares, the singing-and-signing quarter I am part of. I invited Mardi to attend rehearsals to sing with us and even perform with us at the Vets’ Home.

Mardi is an amazing singer, and she would have done well, but she responded, “I don’t sing anymore.” She had always loved music, and this statement only underscored her despair, making my heart sink at the sadness of it all.

When Mardi wasn’t visiting her sister, we watched some comedians on streaming services (Jim Gaffigan, Lee Ann Morgan, Joe Machi, Michael McIntyre, Joe Machi, and Ryan Reynolds), and Mardi laughed a few times. Whenever we were in the car, I played a few songs on Spotify that Mardi liked, and she sang along a bit.

As I drove her back to the airport, Mardi said, “Be sure to read the message I left you on the dry-erase board with your photo of the creature with the Peace sign.” When I returned, I found this message:

Even in her sorrow, Mardi left a message that brought me joy. Because that’s what best friends do.

No one, including Doug, knew how sick he was. By the time he arrived at the hospital, his kidneys, lungs, pancreas, and liver were already failing due to his heart condition. A heart transplant was not an option because of his condition.

In a text to me on that Monday, Doug explained that he was suffering from atrial fibrillation (Afib) because his heart was beating too rapidly, plus there was fluid in his lungs. He wasn’t responding well to medication, so the plan was to shock his heart back to a normal rhythm the next morning.

I asked if he wanted company. He said, “You don’t need to come.”

The next morning, enough fluid had been drained from his lungs for his heartbeat to return to normal. Tests were going to be run, but Doug texted, “I may be coming home tomorrow.”

By Wednesday, the outlook had turned what Doug described as “somewhat negative.” He said he might need me to take care of some things. My response was, “Of course.”

On Thursday, per Doug’s request via cell phone, I went to the hospital to retrieve his mailbox key. Besides getting his mail, he also asked me to pick up all the newspapers in his yard. During the cell phone call, he was trying to say something else, but I couldn’t understand him. I later found out that his sister, Linda, had also been unable to understand him on the phone.

When I arrived at the hospital, a nurse named Stephanie asked, “Are you family?”

I responded, “No, I’m just a friend.”

Doug opened his eyes and looked at me, then tried to speak through his oxygen tube. Again, his words could not be understood.

“We are taking him for a CAT scan,” Stephanie said, but you can wait here until he gets back if you want.”

I stood next to Doug’s hospital bed and said, “Please don’t try to speak. Just nod yes or no. Do you want me to wait to get your mailbox key?” He responded with a thumbs-up.

Before he returned from the CAT scan, the cardiologist entered the room. “Are you family?” He asked.

“No,” I said, “I’m his friend.”

“Please call his family to tell them how urgent the heart situation is.” I then spoke by phone to both his sisters, Linda and Carol. They were suffering from serious health issues of their own and were unable to drive from Columbia, Missouri, to Oklahoma City.

Doug was returned to the room, and I asked him to point to his mailbox key. It was in a little leather case with numerous other keys. I handed them to him, and he tried to remove the mailbox key, but his hands fumbled. I said, “Let me try.” He handed me the keys, but I could not remove the key either. I asked, “Can I just take the whole case?” He nodded yes.

Doug was obviously in a lot of pain and tired, but Stephanie said, “Doug, we can’t let you fall asleep right now, and we can’t give you anything for pain because we want you to keep breathing on your own. We don’t want you to be on a respirator.”

“He’s breathing on his own?” I asked, gesturing toward the tube in his mouth.

“Yes,” Stephanie said. “That is an oxygen that works like a super-empowered C-Pap machine, but he is taking his own breaths.”

I went to Doug’s house to take the requested action, then I returned to the hospital. By this time, Doug was on a respirator. He kept trying to rip out all the cords surrounding him, including those anchoring the respirator. Stephanie explained that the medicines he had been given caused him to be in a twilight, dream-like state, and he probably didn’t understand where he was or why he had constraints surrounding him. He opened his eyes a few times, but his eyes looked like those of a sleepwalker. The fun-loving Doug I knew was missing.

I had to help Stephanie hold back his hands when he was trying to remove the equipment. He fought it, only knowing our efforts were yet another constraint. I remarked, “He is incredibly strong.”

Stephanie responded, “Yes, when he first came here, he was a real fighter.” She ended up tying his hands to the bed rails to stop him from fighting the equipment.

Stephanie had used the past tense, which was disturbing. Still, I held on to hope for his survival.

The night nurse, Sam (short for Samantha), arrived. By this time, Doug appeared to be resting comfortably. When I asked when Doug would be better, Sam answered, “He is in very serious condition, but I am unable to tell you when or if he is going to die.”

Not much later, Sam said, “I am going to contact his sister Linda to see if she wants to choose comfort care.”

“What’s comfort care?” I asked.

“Comfort care is removing all the medications and equipment,” Sam said.

“Why?” I asked, naively adding, “He looks like he is fine.”

“He may be in extreme pain, though,” Sam replied. Then, she added, despite her earlier comment that same evening, “He is going to die.” Apparently, something about Doug’s condition contradicted her inability to predict the final outcome of his illness.

I left the room while Sam called Linda. I appreciated not having to make such a difficult decision. When I returned, Sam said, “Comfort care was chosen. I will step out of the room so you can give him your last words.”

“Can he hear me?” I asked. I heard my voice shaking when I asked this. I didn’t even want my voice to tremble, lest Doug could hear me. Despite the unforgiving circumstances, if Doug could hear me, he should know that I wanted him to stay alive.

Sam said, “I like to think so.”

Doug had been by my side through the deaths of my mom, my niece (who died while five months pregnant), one of my younger sisters, my older brother, one of my beloved aunts, plus my best friend’s parents and her son. I had been by his side through the death of his mother and one of his sisters. I once told Doug that whenever the day came that I knew I was dying, my last words to him (or anyone who was there) would be, “See you on the flip side.”

Despite the use of the word ‘flip,’ I didn’t mean this flippantly in any way whatsoever. I truly believe we will again someday see our loved ones who left this earth before us. My faith gets me through. I don’t understand why death on earth exists when John 3:16 promises believers everlasting life. Still, I am comforted by the words of the classic hymn “Farther Along” (with words credited to Reverend William B. Stevens). The lyrics state:

Farther along, we'll know all about it,
Farther along, we'll understand why.

The hymn also references our own deaths, stating that after we have hear the final trumpet:

Then, we will meet those gone on before us
And we shall know and understand why.

Matthew 5:4 states, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Even so, any time someone you love dies, a piece of your heart is broken off that can never be repaired. We have to learn to live with that truth.

1 Thessalonians 4:13 - 14 states, “Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in Him.”

I will keep private the last words I said to Doug, but I did not say to him, “See you on the flip side.” He was still alive at the time, so the words were not appropriate. And I was certainly not on my own deathbed, and I prayed that he was not on his. I had no right to presume that Death would come for him. I said what I wanted to believe were not my last words, then left the hospital.

Linda called me around 2:00 in the morning to let me know that Doug had died. Despite extreme sadness, I want to concentrate on the good memories.

Doug and I both loved to play eight-ball, and I saw his generosity in action when he bought me a cue stick like the one he had bought for himself. Whenever we played pool, we both won several games in our series, but he usually won the most. We created a saying that regardless of the win-loss scores, if you won the last game of the series, “You went out on a high note.”

The last time Doug and I shot pool, he won every game. Previously, there had never been a shutout between us. I looked forward to playing again, but that will never happen on this earth. As regards playing pool, Doug forever went out on a high note.

Speaking of winning every game, Doug also usually beat me when we played Jeopardy! I recorded the daily games, and when he came over, we would play along, but we would only give ourselves a point if none of the players knew the answer. Even so, Doug knew almost all of the answers. He was extremely intelligent, one of the smartest people I have ever met.

He was kind to me in big and little ways alike. We both loved Milano cookies, but he preferred the milk chocolate ones, and I preferred the dark chocolate ones. He would bring the dark chocolate ones to my house for us to share.

Whenever he was making a grocery order, he texted me to ask if I needed anything. The only thing I needed was him in my life.

Doug rarely allowed photos of himself to be taken, so I treasure all the pictures I have of him and with him.

Doug was buried in a graveside service in Missouri. Now, with the utmost respect for someone who was such a beloved and wonderful person in my life, as well as in the lives of all who knew him, I say reverently, “Doug, I’ll see you on the flip side.” Rest in peace, my friend. Rest in peace.

https://www.dignitymemorial.com/obituaries/columbia-mo/douglas-botner-12899759

I love a Lifetime movie as long as it involves a crime that’s solved in the last few minutes. Even so, I have two problems with these movies.

First, there are lots of Lifetime daughter/mother movies, but the daughters and mothers look the same age. Botox/fillers/face lifts must play a part in this. I feel anyone who wants to improve their face, however they want, is free to do so. But I get easily confused when the ages don’t look right.

The second problem is casting so many actors who look alike in the same movie. I find it hard to follow the plot when I don’t know if the wife or the neighbor is the bad person because they look identical. Or it could be the husband and gardener who look alike. Or the child and his friend. You get the point.

Of course, I was so sick that following the plot didn’t really matter because I never made it through an entire movie without falling asleep. It isn’t that the movies aren’t interesting. They are. It was that my body was healing through slumber. Besides, somehow, the Lifetime movies can be both confusing and relaxing at the same time. Go figure.

Also, I have never seen so much eavesdropping in my life as what happens in a Lifetime movie. Usually, this serves to move the plot forward, but it is becoming quite a trope.

And when something happens that goes off the rails, I think of a family tradition. If my siblings and I watched a movie and somebody did something ridiculous, one of us would inevitably say, “Why would they do that?” Then, someone would always reply, “It’s in the script.” We had a trope of our own.

Overall, I respect Lifetime movies in the same way I respect any movie. That is knowing that someone had to write it in the first place. As a writer, I can appreciate the effort. What do you think of Lifetime movies? Let me know in the comments.

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Not true! Happy April Fools’ Day!

Just kidding! HAPPY APRIL FOOLS’ DAY!

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In Alaska, the weather is even a curated experience. So, of course, I had to go into the room that was 40 degrees below. You only stay in there for a short time because the people running the place don’t want the participants to get hypothermia.

I think I was so cold in that room that I was numb, because it didn’t feel all that cold. When I saw the photo of me snapped in the room, I realized I had been so cold that my stick-straight hair frizzled and my bottom lip started to fall off my face.

At least, exiting the room after the allotted time kept me safe, my hair remained frazzled, but my bottom lip reappeared in the proper place as I appeared in the next photo opportunity at the tourist place.

There are occasionally severe winter storms in Oklahoma. Once, my entire neighborhood was left without electricity for more than a week due to the havoc of a winter storm. I don’t have a generator, so there were times when I had to get my car out of the garage, then turn on the heater to get warm while I sat in my car without going anywhere. The streets were still too icy to drive anywhere.

Now, the weather today (March 29, 2026) is expected to reach 80 degrees. How’s the weather where you are? Please let me know in the comments.

There are certainly more important things in life to ignite fear. And one of those is murder, which I saw up a little too often up close and personal so many times as an appellate criminal defense attorney and (sadly) as a second victim when my beloved niece was murdered.

Many people share an interest in murder (as I do), and these are good people who would never hurt anyone. The interest may stem from curiosity about people who are unlike us. Perhaps that is my motive for writing in the genres of true crime and crime fiction.

I was thrilled to get the opportunity to join a group of writers who publish Friday the 13th stories. These stories come out on the Friday the 13th dates in each year. Last year, I published Outnumbered. The ebook is only $0.99 on Amazon.com or free if you have Kindle Unlimited.

Also, my book, coming out on February 13, 2026, is available for preorder. Here’s the link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0G6SPPRXV.

Now that I have completed my shameless self-promotion, I am off to face my trypanophobia. Say a prayer!

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Instead of waiting for a parking place (every single spot was taken), I came to my senses and decided …

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I am grateful to be part of several musical groups, and I love all of them, as well as our performances, which bring joy to so many. I can say the same thing about being one of the McFarlin Line Dancers.

I am happy to be a part of Toastmasters and blessed to have won first place in the Club and Area contests, plus second place in the District contest.

I am grateful for all the wonderful writing clubs that I am a part of, as well as for being published in a Route 66 anthology.

I am thankful for my church, McFarlin Methodist, which offers so much in the way of love and giving to others.

I am thankful for both longtime friends throughout my life and new friends who came into my life this year. I am also grateful to my family, including those who are now in Heaven, for enriching my life along the way.

The list goes on and on, but most of all, I am grateful for the forgiveness of my sins through Jesus Christ, my Savior. The good news for everyone can be found in John 3:16, which states, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.”

Initially, I had packed a small suitcase, but then I discovered a larger one in my laundry room, so I repacked using the bigger bag for the two-week trip. I had guessed incorrectly that the suitcase belonged to my daughter. Later, when I asked her about it, she said, “I saw that suitcase in the laundry room last time I was in Oklahoma, but I thought it was yours.” This mystery has not been solved.

Before I left on my trip (which I took with my friend Mary), I was compelled to take a photo of the outside and insides of the suitcase, something I had never done before when traveling. I also purchased an Apple Air Tag, which I placed in the luggage.

Mary and I experienced three airline delays and reschedulings, one of which led to an unexpected overnight stay at the airline-provided Motel 6 in Dallas. This delay meant that we had to pay for a now unused hotel night in Edinburgh to keep the reservation.

Things got worse when I realized I had lost my phone at DFW, which I also never got back until after the trip. Also, my credit cards were in a holder on the back of the phone. Yikes! Fortunately, Mary had her phone and credit card, and she graciously allowed me to temporarily charge purchases to her card. I paid her back as soon as we got back.

Before all that happened, however, we arrived in Edinburgh after all the rescheduling, hoping our luggage would arrive, too. We watched the luggage carousel slowly spin around . . . and around. . . and around until there were no more suitcases coming through. There was no luggage for Mary and me!

There was a baggage claim office right across from the luggage carousel. The problem was that the office was not open.

People who worked at the airport had no explanation for why the office was closed and were unsure what Mary and I should do. Finally, we decided to go to our hotel. We had already paid for one night we didn’t spend at the hotel. We didn’t want to spend the night at the airport waiting for luggage that might not arrive, which would mean missing another night at the hotel.

Fortunately, I had placed my computer in a carry-on bag, so I checked the Find My site to see where my luggage was. First, nothing happened. I kept checking. I contacted the airline’s lost luggage department, and the first thing they asked for was the Lost Luggage Claim number.

I had to explain that we had no number because the Claims Office was closed. Lost Luggage Life would have been easier if I had thought to use Mary’s phone to take a photo of the closed office.

The first time my AirTag tracking worked, the luggage was still shown to be at the Dallas airport, even though we were already in Edinburgh. That’s a long way away. Now, Mary and I knew we had to buy carry-on suitcases and clothes to get through the rest of our trip.

We arrived home on a Friday night. We went to the lost baggage office at the OKC Airport. Initially, they misunderstood us, thinking we were reporting luggage that hadn't arrived with us. We had to tell them to listen carefully as we explained that our luggage was lost at the beginning of our trip.

The manager asked, “May I see your Lost Baggage Claim?”

“We couldn’t get one because the Lost Luggage Baggage Claim in Edinburgh was closed when we arrived.”

“I need to see your airline ticket, then,” she said.

I showed her my return ticket, the only ticket I still had.

The manager started inputting this information into the computer. She looked puzzled, so I offered, “I have an AirTag in that bag, but I don't have my phone. I can use my computer.”

“Please do,” she said.

I got out my computer, and we found out that my luggage had just arrived in Edinburgh.

The manager said, “We will get this routed back to you.”

“How long will this take?” I asked.

“You should have your suitcases tomorrow. We will contact you when they arrive. Then, you can come get them.”

“Can you send them to our home addresses?” I asked.

“No,” she said, “because you did not file a Lost Baggage Claim.” Grrrrr!

The baggage claim office in OKC for this particular airline does not provide a contact number for customers. They don’t want upset customers calling them.

The airline at DFW had located and mailed my iPhone to my home address while we were still overseas. My friend had retrieved it for me. I was thankful for that.

On Saturday, I checked my AirTag again, which was much easier to do on my iPhone than on my computer. My suitcase was in Philadelphia. Maybe my suitcase wanted to see the Liberty Bell.

There was no use in going to the airport, plus I hadn’t heard anything from the manager.

On Sunday, I checked again. Now, my suitcase was in Des Plaines, IL. Maybe my luggage wanted to see the Des Plaines River.

Finally, my AirTag showed that my luggage arrived in OKC that Sunday night. My best friend (male category) took me to pick up what I thought would be both Mary’s luggage and mine. (She had given me permission to get hers, too).

At the OKC airport, I saw my luggage through the window of the office as soon as I approached. I went inside, pointed at the luggage, and said, “That’s my suitcase, and I came to pick it up.”

“Okay, can you show me your Lost Baggage Claim?”

Ugh! Here we go again. I explained the reason why I didn’t have a claim, but she still seemed reluctant to let me take the luggage. I had attached a name tag before we had left, but apparently, it had fallen off somewhere in transit.

I remembered that I had a photo of the luggage on my iPhone. I showed her the photo. I even showed her the photo of the inside of the luggage in case she was compelled to open the luggage to check it out. I had also brought the flight ticket with me, so I showed her that, too. She began typing furiously into her computer, then said, “Okay, I see that it is your lost luggage. You can take it.”

“My friend Mary gave me permission to pick up her luggage, too,” I said, then described the luggage to her.

After typing in her computer again, she said, “That bag has not arrived yet. It is still in St. Louis.”

Wow, our suitcases didn’t even both come back by the same route! I guess Mary’s suitcase wanted to see The Gateway Arch.

Here is what I learned from the lost luggage incident.

1. Technology is amazing. Get an AirTag or its equivalent.

2. Take a photo of your luggage before you leave.

3. Make sure that your luggage tag on your bag is secure.

4. You can get by with much less stuff than you think. Whenever possible, fly with only a carry-on.

5. Don’t lose your phone. The tickets were on my phone, so as the airline kept changing our routes, we had to get the old-fashioned paper tickets each time. Actually, however, this proved to be quite useful in the long run.

6. Get an Apple Watch. If I had one, I could have still used my own credit card through Wallet. (By the way, I don’t work for Apple in any way whatsoever, but I do like my iPhone and the Wallet app).

7. Even if you don’t get your checked luggage during a trip, you can still have a wonderful time. Mary and I both loved visiting Scotland and Ireland.

Therefore, I wish you Happy Holidays! The End.

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Before we got to Edinburgh, we had three delays and just as many reroutings. We finally arrived in Edinburgh. Our luggage did not. In fact, our suitcases were not seen again until two weeks later, when we were back in the USA. The Edinburgh Baggage Claim was closed, so we weren’t able to file a lost or delayed luggage claim. I needed to use my photo of my luggage to get it back.

We made the best of having no luggage as we traveled through 2 countries. Now that we are back, we are still waiting for fair compensation from AA. Unfortunately for me, I also lost my phone in the Dallas Airport, although the phone was found and sent to my house in Oklahoma. My phone has a card holder on the back that carries all my credit cards, so I had none available while on my trip, nor did I have a camera with me. Mary graciously allowed me to use her camera and credit card, and I paid her back as soon as we arrived home.

We had to buy clothing and suitcases to travel with those clothes. This was a necessity, as I’m pretty sure there are laws against public nudity in Scotland and Ireland. I came across so many cobblestone streets that I also had to buy a cane.

While we were waiting for our Hop On Hop Off bus to arrive, I posed with a statue of Molly Malone, a character from an Irish folk song.

We also saw the Anna Livia statue in the River Liffey, which is nicknamed “The Floozie in the Jacuzzi” by Dubliners. There’s even a bluer name for the statue, but you will have to Google that, as being a Christian woman, I should not say it. Smile.

We went to Belfast to see the Titanic Exhibit, where the exhibit (unlike the ones I have seen in the US) focuses on the building of the Titanic. There were several interactive exhibits, a few holograms along the way, and a prow for two people to pose like Jack and Rose did in the movie.

Our tour guide provided a history of the Irish seeking independence from England, and he pointed out the bullet holes that still remain in buildings and statues from the violence of the Easter uprising. For further reading about that event, see: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Easter_Rising.

The guide also talked about the movie Michael Collins, who is a hero in Ireland. I had never seen the movie, so I watched it when I was back in the US. The movie was filmed in London, and I got to see the General Post Office in the movie, as well as the Dublin Castle. There is some enmity that still exists, as this sign in Galway portrays:

We saw so many castles that I can’t keep them all straight, but we did go to Dublin Castle and Blarney Castle.

When we arrived at Blarney Castle, people who saw me with a cane urged me to forego kissing the Blarney Stone. There were even signs mentioning that the stairs to the Stone were an arduous trek. I didn’t go all the way to Blarney Castle not to partake in the tradition, so I actually completed the task. After I was finished, several people commented, “You were so brave!” My response was, “Or stupid.” Everyone laughed. The signs were not wrong. And the photo below is my proof:

In Galway, we went to the Cliffs of Moher. The walkways were quite steep, but my cane got Mary and me a ride on a golf cart.

We shopped after we came down from the cliffs. Mary bought three adorable Irish dolls for her granddaughters. We both bought claddagh rings.

In Ireland, all the signs are in both Irish and English. I also found an Irish newspaper at one of our hotels. I don’t speak Irish, but according to Google Translate, the headline reads, “A Historic Day in Cork (which relates to a sports victory), and under the photo is written, “Wikimedia workers in Ireland prepare new Irish language strategy.”

Speaking of sports, there was a reminder of the US in this sign:

Overall, we did so much, and the trip was amazing, despite not having our luggage, no clothes, and I had no phone or credit cards. After I retired, I was determined to take one big trip each year (and various day trips). I love traveling!

THE END

There was a lot of talk about Irish hero Michael Collins on all the bus tours, so I w…

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After my editor read “Outnumbered,” he said, “This all-too-evil story hits the mark but makes me question the mentality of the author.”

Here’s a short excerpt from the story:

Damien enjoyed that the first fortune cookie contained two numbers that dealt with superstition. First, there was his beloved personal favorite number, 13. Then, there was the four sandwiched between the two 13s.

He had researched Japanese superstitions in Japan before arriving. Damien knew that in Japan, the number four was deemed unlucky. This was because ‘shi’ was the Japanese word for four and death.

Just another example of bizarre thinking, Damien thought. What did it matter anyway? Damien’s obsession centered around the number 13, and he was not drawn to any other number as a favorite, even though he liked the absurdity of a superstition about a number correlating with death.

If you care to read “Outnumbered,” you can be the judge of my editor’s remark.

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I grew up in and now live not too far from OKC, and at the OKC bombing, the Red Cross arrived within minutes to provide care to victims, first responders, and families.

Official site of the OKC National Memorial Musuem: https://memorialmuseum.com/experience/the-memorial/

My daughter currently lives in NYC. The Red Cross leaped into action immediately when the planes flew into buildings to provide much-needed first aid.

Official site of the 911 Memorial and Museum: https://www.911memorial.org/.

My elementary school had a health class that taught us students how the internal organs, tissues, and blood in our bodies all work together to maintain life. My mind would become tortured by so many inner body-related images and functions that my breathing would increase rapidly, my stomach would begin doing flip-flops, and my face would turn green. Without fail, I would be sent to the office nurse during each health class. Then, my nausea increased, wondering if the nurse’s treatment might involve a needle of some sort. Of course, there never was a needle involved, but my mind couldn’t help racing in that direction. UGH!

I could never and would never be in the medical field in any capacity, but this truth causes me to have the deepest respect for those who do work in that area, including Red Cross volunteers. The Red Cross shows up to assist bloodied, hurt people. If I showed up at disaster sites, I would hamper, not help, the efforts of the Red Cross. I would add to the chaos by being an unnecessary person who needs medical attention.

What I can do, however, is swim. For June, the Red Cross is hosting an event where I have signed up to swim 15 miles to help raise funds for the Red Cross. I am already swimming a mile to a half-mile daily for exercise, so why not join the cause? Here is my fundraising page: https://www.facebook.com/donate/2318704808527117/#.

Usually, I am not fond of anything that requires me to ask others for money. When I was in the Camp Fire Girls and discovered that there was a time of year when we were supposed to sell candy, I quit the group before I could be dishonorably discharged for failing to promote the product. I believe so strongly in everything the Red Cross does, however, that I am swimming for charity.

If you feel moved to contribute, please remember that no amount is too small. This isn’t the type of fundraiser where you have to pledge by the mile. Open your heart and wallet to provide aid to those who truly need it. Thank you and have a great day!

P.S.: Please do not unsubscribe because I am seeking donations.

P.S.S.: I am officially a wimp—a swimming wimp—but still a wimp.

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This was my Facebook teaser:

The incredibly talented Alicia Dean designed this teaser for me. Isn’t it great? She is a writer, editor, and publisher, and she really knows what she is doing.

To be involved in the group of 13 writers, I had to adhere to strict deadlines. Sometimes, deadlines are just what I need to motivate me. I guess deadlines are love ‘em or hate ‘em. How do you feel about deadlines? Please let me know in the comments.

Being a part of this group is so much fun! I look forward to all the Friday 13ths and to reading all of the group’s stories.

Happy writing! THE END.