1940 MEMORIES

Good morning dear friend! I feel happy and energetic today and I have been remembering my life during the 1940's.

Mom and dad stayed in Iowa until after VE (Victory in Europe) Day. In short order all of the German soldiers were returned home and the prisoner of war camp was closed. On VE Day, everyone was dancing in the streets and kissing and hugging each other. The joy was palpable and even as a toddler I joined in the dancing. Shortly thereafter daddy was transferred back to San Diego and we were on the Greyhound bus again.

Home life was so much different from today. The things that amused and tantalized me were several rather strange rituals that occurred on a daily basis. We didn't have butter yet and its substitute was a tough plastic bag that held lard and a magic yellow capsule. To make your "margarine" you smashed open the little capsule and mixed (massaged) the yellow dye inside of it with the lard until it turned an even yellow color. I remember that it tasted alright but had sort of an aftertaste.

Our morning meal always consisted of oatmeal mixed with raisins and molasses. Believe me, it was an acquired taste but one that left me with a longing for a spoon of molasses every once in a while. Another curse was the teaspoon of cod liver oil that we had to take after the oatmeal. Mom was very strict about the use of sugar and would not let us have candy or cookies or anything else sweet except for the holidays. At that time she would bake and bake beautiful cookies, cakes, and always fruit cakes. She made the best fruitcake and she would wrap them well and place them in a big 5-gallon tin with a lid. My brother, Charley, and I would sneak into the cans and eat that fruit cake every chance we got. Making the fruit cakes was a several-day process that marked the beginning of the holiday season. We loved those holidays because we could indulge in sugar, but it all backfired on us in our later lives as we had learned early that sugar equaled family fun and was so emotionally satisfying and as we grew older we would do anything to get sugar into our systems; even to stealing candy bars from the grocery store when we were five and six. All through my life I have turned to sugar when I was sad or stressed and I had become an addict to its call.

Cleaning house was incredibly hard work. To clean the floors you always had to get down on your knees, hopefully you had a folded towel to use as a pad for your knees but that was not always available. We used hot water, Fels Naptha soap-a rectangle of hard soap that smelled funny-and a scrub brush. The first step was to wash the floors, then when they were dry, you got back on your knees and applied a coat, or two, of a hard wax that you applied in a circular motion; by now your back would be breaking, but after the wax was applied and dried on the floor, you were down on your knees again with soft rags to polish the floors and make them shine. Charley and I were expected to do this job from the time we were five years old.

At five, I was taught to cook and do the dishes; Charley also received this training. Every week we washed the windows and window sills, scrubbed down the walls, and cleaned all of the knick-knacks that my mother accumulated. When we were about seven years old we were taught to do the laundry which meant filling the washer with hot water and soap. Anything stained would have to be scrubbed first on a washboard-a board that came in many sizes and in either metal or glass and was covered with horizontal ribs that took the flesh right off of your knuckles as you scrubbed the clothes. After going through a wash cycle, the clothes were individually put through a wringer (two heavy rolling cylinders that could break a finger if you got caught up in it) to extract most of the water from the clothes. The washer tub was then drained after all of the clothes were washed and rung out and refilled with plain hot water. The clothes had to be rinsed and then rung out at least twice. Then you emptied the washer and moved on to hanging up the clothes on the clothesline outside. Washing was started very early in the morning so that they could hang out long enough to get dry. Still your job was not done, for the next morning would be ironing day. Everyone did their homemaking jobs on certain days of the week. Monday was wash day, Tuesday was for ironing. Monday night you would slightly dampen the clothes that needed ironing (almost everything for my mother including the napkins (linen) and all of the sheets) and place them in a basket with a towel over it for the night. The next morning you put up the ironing board and placed the iron on the stove to heat up. Ironing took hours and my mom would always put on the radio and listen to the soap operas when she did the ironing. It was one of the jobs that she trained me for by the time I was six. I hated ironing. One thing I remember was the gossiping that the neighbor women would partake in about who had got their wash on the line the earliest, and who hadn't got their wash done at all. It was a major stigma if you didn't follow the pack and get your wash up early.

Very early in life I observed that all people were not treated the same. For some reason that I could not understand certain people were ostracized and treated terribly by the adults around me. They were the "darkies" and the Jews. Neither group could live in your neighborhood. Black people were required to live in one certain area in town and had no choice whatever as to where they would live. They could not eat in the same restaurants and could not use white bathrooms or drink from white water fountains. There were no black children in my schools and we were never allowed to play with any person of color. My mother, who was raised in Minnesota, referred to black people as "darkies" and their children as "pickaninnies". She never used the "N" word, but she managed to get her point of view across by treating any person of color as if they were little children with very little intellect and all of them were considered to be thieves of anything left unguarded. My father on the other hand had been born in Arkansas where there were often hangings and beatings and all manner of atrocities against black people. Somehow, my dad could never conceive of why they were so hated and he was outspoken about their treatment. He loved every person he met and saw all people on the same level as himself. He gave this attitude to me and Charley and so we were overjoyed when my mother hired Annabelle Smith (we called her Annabelle zeezo) to take care of us and the home. Annabelle was about 19 years old. She was slightly plump and smelled of apples and cinnamon. She became our mother and it was to her arms that we fled for comfort and love. Annabelle sang as she worked and taught us such old songs as, "Mammy's Little Baby Loves Shortening Bread", and many beautiful spirituals. She told us stories about Uncle Remus and Breir Rabbit and never, ever, did she get cross with us or scold us. Mother treated her as if she was her personal slave. Annabelle could never do anything right in her eyes and many times she made Annabelle redo the washing and waxing of the floors until she got it "right". She accused Annabelle of having many affairs with many boyfriends and ragged her unmercifully. Annabelle never spoke back or disobeyed her but Charley and I could tell that she was really hurt. Daddy tried to step in and make her life easier. He called her Zeezo (which was Charley's way of pronouncing her name) and made sure that she got extra pay and a lot of praise. This of course put up a red flag to mother and she treated Annabelle with even more disdain and had no feeling that she might be tired or hungry so she would just pile on more work for her to do, and then criticize her work and make her redo it. I remember losing respect for my mother and determining that I would always follow my father's path.

I remember clearly the day that a Jewish family moved into our neighborhood. They were expected to stay in their own area of town and when the real estate man sold them the house in our neighborhood he was tarred and feathered and then all of the neighbors brought all of their garbage and dumped it on to the lawn of the Jewish home. There were men and women that would throw the garbage at the house and call out racial slurs and threats about what would happen if they did not move out of the neighborhood. Their children were beaten up as they walked to school and it did not take long before the family put the house back up for sale and moved out of the neighborhood; where their "place" was. I never understood where that place might be, but I pondered how they could be "God's Chosen People"-as the minister was constantly talking about-and yet treated as if they were the scum of the world. Even at five years old I remember talking back to the preacher in my mind when what he said did not reflect what he practiced.

I hope you have a very good day and I shall be back with more memories of a time before there were modern technologies and when people's minds were extremely narrow and unforgiving. We could never have imagined a black President being elected. We could never have imagined a woman able to own property in her own name or having her own bank account. We could never have imagined letting Jews into our "sacred" colleges, and we could never have imagined a world where women could be anything they dreamed to be. Women could only hope to become teachers, nurses, or house wives. I wanted to be a veterinarian but it was out of the question at the time for a woman.

THE 1940's CULTURE & HISTORY AS OBSERVED BY A CHILD

Happy New Year my dear friends! It has been two years since we started this blog and your continued support has given me a lot of encouragement to keep writing. It has certainly been up and down this last year and I would like to have a more positive blog for you to read during this year.

Right now, I would like to reminisce about the culture of the 1940's, 1950's, and 1960's, when I was a little girl and the world was a much different place to be.

1944 was the start of my memories. My first memories were about God. I was aware of loving Him and from when I was about 9 months old my memories were of a dialogue with Heavenly Father that soothed me and gave me the strength to hope for the best in my future.

I was living in an orphanage in downtown San Diego, just off of Market Street. My mother was going through hell because she had been thrown out of her family's house when she became pregnant with me. She was a married woman whose husband was stationed on Hawaii during World War II. He had been overseas for about two years when my mother was raped by a man that she had met at an USO dance. I was the result. Her parents disowned her and sent her to San Diego-from the State of Washington-to have me and then get rid of me. Poor mother was in so much emotional pain. She had to face having her child in a city that she knew nothing about, she was missing her husband desperately, and she had very little income to buy baby supplies or create a home for us. But she loved me and could not give me up for adoption. She kept me in her rented room for six weeks, but she had so little income that she could not afford to keep me there any longer. She had been going to the Brethren Church which was located at the beginning of El Cajon Blvd and she met there a woman who ran an orphanage not far from where mom lived. A few days later found my mother carrying me and all of my belongings to that orphanage. I did not like that place. In those days people raised children much differently than today and the rules of the orphanage disallowed holding a baby for any reason but to give her a bath or put her on a pot in a playpen as soon as she could sit up alone and force potty training upon her. I have a picture of myself sitting on that pot at four months old. You were not held to be fed a bottle, but were placed in our cribs and the bottle propped up by a stuffed duck with a strap on it that held the bottle for us.

Mother would come every day after her work and she held me and played with me. Then, when I was about 10 months old, she heard from her husband and he invited her to move to Hawaii with him. The government had lifted the ban on dependents being on the islands and he wanted her to move to be with him. This caused very mixed feelings for mom. She desperately wanted to join her husband, but she had never told him about me, nor did she intend to. Yet, she loved me and did not want to give me up. Finally she went to the Church and asked the members if they knew anyone who might like to adopt a baby. Ralph and Lucile Pearson were members of the church who were stationed in Iowa. Ralph was a mess sergeant at a prisoner of war camp in Clarinda, Iowa and Lucile was a nurse in the hospital at the camp. They had been praying for a baby girl and when the Church members wrote to them about me, they immediately answered "yes". They got on a Greyhound bus and came to San Diego. When they arrived at the orphanage I was 11 months old and all of us babies were dressed up and sitting in little chairs around the room. Ralph came into the room and looked around at all of us. Then he pointed straight at me and said, "Spizarenctum (Ralph's nickname for Lucile, it was a patent medicine that was touted for being able to cure all that ails you, and Ralph said that Lucile cured all that ailed him), that's the one for us!" And so my new parents chose me, went to court and adopted me, and then we all returned to Iowa on another Greyhound bus.

My mother came to say good-bye to me and meet my new parents. Then she left again and when she left I was inconsolable. It took mom and dad several days of patience and love to distract me, and then we were off to Iowa. I never forgot my mother and cry for her even today.

Mom (Lucile) loved me very much and treated me very well. She introduced me to Classical music and the opera. Dad was so proud of me and when he got off of work he would put me in a stroller and walk the blocks with me. I had not spoken much up to that point but dad would introduce me to the people he met as his daughter, Davalene. I was not at all used to that given name as my birth name was Ruby Lee. One day as we were out for our walk, I spoke up loud and said, "My name is not Davalene, my name is Dee Dee." Do not know where I picked up Dee Dee from, but dad stopped the stroller and asked me what I had said. I repeated it, and he said that he was sorry and from that point on he would call me Dee Dee.  It became my nickname from that day on.

Tomorrow we remember the end of war in Europe and later in Japan and how all of that affected our lives. We also will talk about the world of prejudice that remained virulent in our country...even up to today.

Have a lovely day and I will see you again tomorrow.

IMMIGRATION AND THE NIGHT VISITORS (A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE)

We huddled around the little wood stove; so close that you could smell our trousers beginning to burn. We wore triple layers of clothes and two jackets to protect us from the 17 degree weather. Outside, the wolves were howling and it was deathly still as all of nature waited for the snowfall to begin. It had been a slow year financially and we had barely been able to put another coat of tar on the roof. Now, it was Christmas Eve and under the little "tree" we had made out of two branches from the bottom of a pine tree and a single string of lights, were the two little presents we had managed to get for Jared and Brucie. I felt like I had failed as a parent because I could not provide more for the boys. The boys worked so hard every day, before and after school. It was hard work digging in the tunnel and taking wheelbarrows full of rocks out to the dump. Then there was always the struggle to bring water home and fill the barrels on the roof so that we could have "running" water in the kitchen sink. The boys had to use an outhouse which was located about 200 feet away from the house and up a dark hill which was always slippery with ice at this time of year. While they were gone, I got the blues and wondered why I had ever thought it would be good for us to move to the gold mine and scrabble out a living from the rugged mountains. We lived on the Chariot Canyon Truck Trail (part of the Pacific Crest Trail) in Julian, California. Our nearest neighbor, and phone, was four miles away. The road was not kept up and so it had deep ruts and was not navigable without four wheel drive. It took 45 minutes to go those four miles and if it started to snow you could not leave the house because vehicles tended to slide off the road and into the deep canyons next to them.

The boys came back from the outhouse and we decided that it was time to turn off the generator. It was after midnight and the rocks had been in the stove getting hot, ready to stick in the foot of our beds to keep us warm at night. We sat in the semi-dark and were loath to leave our little patch of warmth and go into the ice cold bedrooms.

"Hola! Hola!"

We all tensed up. Who, or what, was outside of our home? Bruce Sr. was still wearing his enormous 6-shooter on his hip, as he always did except when in bed, but who could be out in this freezing night, on Christmas Eve, and what could he (they) want? Bruce got up and, telling us to remain in our seats, he went outside to see who was here and what they needed. Bruce could speak quite a bit of Spanish because we lived so close to the border with Mexico and he had deep feelings for the poor souls who walked all the way from the border, through the desert and the steep mountains in order to hope for more opportunity for their families. Living on the Pacific Crest Trail we had many (5 or 6) visitors a year who were heading for Canada. We also saw small groups of Mexicans as they made their tortured path to freedom and a new lease on life. We, as did many who lived out here in the wilderness, put out gallons of water and packets of canned foods with a can opener and marked the spot with a monument so that it could be found by anyone needing the basics for survival.

"Hola!" shouted Bruce as he held up a rifle pointed at the road.

"Hola, senior!" a voice answered from the darkness.

Then there was a short exchange of words that I did not understand, but I heard the tone of Bruce's voice, and I could tell that whoever it was, they were in trouble.

Bruce came back inside and began to give instructions. There was a very large family group outside who had walked for days and were exhausted and ill. There were two pregnant women, mothers with small children, and three elderly family members. There were also eight men who were the fathers and husbands and sons of this little group. Bruce had invited all of the family to come inside and get something to eat and drink and take a rest before continuing back down the trail to the Banner Grade and cars that would take them into Los Angeles. If, indeed, the cars ever came, and if they did not meet up with the Border Patrol who watched the Truck Trail knowing that it was an artery for the immigrants to enter the U.S. The Border Patrol was hated and feared because they knew no compassion and would shoot to kill if anyone tried to run away from them or resist.

Bruce put the generator back on and the little family straggled up the hill to our home and the women and children came inside. Except for checking out the interior first, the men stayed outside throughout the long visit and Bruce stayed with them and reassured them that we would not tell the authorities of their visit. The boys and I found chairs for everyone to sit on and began to serve them water, milk, beans and tortillas, and fruit. The women were silent except to say "Gracias" for everything we brought to them. When they were served, I sat and observed these incredibly strong women and their children. Some of them did not have adequate jackets and most of their shoes were in tatters. The elderly visitors were in pain from walking all of those miles over rough ground and without food or water. The poor pregnant women were totally exhausted and desperation was etched in their faces. The little ones stared at the little Christmas tree in awe and the boys decided that they should have one of their gifts apiece. We had a few stocking stuffers for Santa to leave the boys and we just gave something to every child instead. We had extra coats and jackets and we gave one to each of those without jackets. Then we filled a pillowcase with canned food, water, bread, tortillas, and a can opener.

 As suddenly as they had come, the men called for the women to come out and resume their trek. I could hear the creaking of joints as the women and the elderly slowly stood up and walked outside. But I also saw faces full of love and joy and thanksgiving that could not have been expressed in words anyway, but spoke clearly to the human heart.

We never learned whether they reached safety and Los Angeles, but they have never left our hearts and memories. We never went to bed that night but spent the rest of the night talking about our new friends and realizing how blessed we were to live in the country and have our warm little home and plenty to eat and drink. The boys were happy without presents and were so glad that they had had something to share with the little children. I do believe that it was the finest Christmas that we ever experienced. We knew that we had witnessed the strength and determination of a fine people who were willing to give up life itself in order for their family to have a small chance of making it into American society and all of the opportunities that we so take for granted. It was a holy and blessed Christmas and we had witnessed a Christmas miracle.

God bless each and every one of you on this most blessed day of the year. May you have a Christmas miracle in your own lives and may we all thank the Holy One for all of the blessings that He has given to us throughout this past year and on this day.

P.S. I love you forever.

BI-POLAR BLUES AND THE HOLIDAYS

Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanza, Happy New Years, and a blessing on all of the holidays you may be celebrating. I think that none of us really know what to expect in the next couple of months with the extension of unemployment up for a vote in a practically useless Congress, new health laws to take effect in about three weeks, and no word on receiving any extra increase in our Social Security. Overall, a tense time of year and a little hesitancy about our plans for the future make this a cautious time for spending money on a lot of gifts. I think we are all watching our pennies.

As those of you who read this blog know, I have been practically out of commission for the last two to three months. I have been drowning in a sea of regrets and feelings of grave inadequacy. At this time of the year I dream of being near to my children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. However, 90% of them are very far away across this country and hold their own holiday parties with their immediate families. Sometimes I will hear a word from them on Christmas day, or New Years, but I feel scared and alone on the holidays. I constantly re-live the years when all of the children were young and we would have such boisterous good times as they tore through the packages, then dressed quickly and went outside to play with their new toys. I long for a living room full of crumpled papers and ribbons dangling from the ceiling, and then the production of THE DINNER. It was so much fun cooking for them all and the food tasted so good; it was a great joy to be a mother. Now, my wonderful son does the cooking and cleaning and he is an excellent cook; much better than I. I sit and watch him and enjoy watching the babies play with their toys and help the older ones put together their crafts and cars. A delightful job, but then they are gone outside too fast and I have to hope that one of them will want to sit and talk to me instead; but I never mention it. Let them have their day and enjoy it.

I have been having a great melt-down emotionally. I have been unable to do more than take care of myself physically. There seemed to be such struggles just to get the initiative to take a bath or wash the clothes, but it got done in short phases. And now I am swinging back again into a happier climate. I hope to be able to maintain this joy and love of living into the new year and be able to once again write interesting blogs. My second book got started and was moving along nicely when suddenly I hit a wall when I realized that I was not making good logic and had to start all over again. I have a beautiful, strong, hate-filled Satan who has determined to make another bid to take over Heaven and this time destroy God and all of His angels and followers. He wants to take over the Throne of Heaven and depose God, destroy all of His children who love Him, and turn Heaven into a place where there is no Freedom of Choice or Free Will. He would then raise up children of his own who naturally tend to be very negative and coerce them to obey his every commandment-all of which would leave them helplessly in his clutches. He desires to re-create the Cosmos and revel in all of the evil and pain that he can create. His greatest desire is to break the heart and will of God and leave God on one barren planet without any powers. He would change all the laws of nature and science in his redistribution of power. Hate and malevolency would reign supreme, BUT God knows his plan and prepares one true soul to stand against Satan; to stand up for righteousness and freedom of choice. And thus the second war in Heaven begins.

I feel really badly for letting you, my readers, down by not writing my blog more regularly. Bi-polar Disorder is insidious and pins you to the ground with great black clouds obstructing any beauty or hope. Feelings of longing for death overcome you and it is hard to eat or exercise or relate to others in a positive manner. But, thank the good Lord, He never gives up on you and finally He lifts you out of your stupor and shows you the little joys of life again.. And so, here I am struggling to overcome and begin to use my mind again. My goal is to write two or three blogs a week and I hope that they will be sufficiently interesting to make up for the past void.

My prayer is that you will enjoy your holidays and the family gathering around and that this will be the best Christmas and New Years, and Kwanza that you have ever experienced. God bless us; each and every one!

BLACK FRIDAY & OTHER THANKSGIVING DAY ANOMALIES

Hello my dear friends! I want to wish you a very happy Thanksgiving day and the early date (on the Julian calendar) for Channukah this year of 5774.

I first would like to thank you for your continuing support and understanding throughout this past year. It has really been an up and down year for me with the positive news of publishing my first book and the more negative times of deep depressions and writer's block. Altogether, the year has been a great one with the birth of two great-grandchildren that are both doing very well and also receiving my first royalty check for the book. I have been blessed with the outline and first five chapters of my new book, THE GOD GAMES: Satan's Challenge. This book will focus on the history of Satan challenging God (ONE) for the right to rule Heaven and is about a second challenge to ONE, and His power, that stakes Satan against Thomas (Tom) Boyle (one of the energynauts from Legend of Kor) in a to-the-death struggle with the winner (if it is Satan)  taking control of Heaven and the Throne of ONE. There is time travel, teleportation, and shape-shifting  involved as the two combatants visit Vlad the Impaler, the Black Death, and other desperate times on Earth and in the Cosmos.

I particularly want to thank the Holy One for preserving William's life this year and for bringing him to a good state of health; a time of normality for both William, his Uncle David, myself, and the rest of the family. I also thank Him for giving me a return to good health and the ability to walk for a mile or two and take the bus to and from doctor's appointments, all things it has been 3 years since I was able to do.

Recovering health has been due to a dramatic change in my diet. I began eating the Paleo lifestyle (a back-to-basics plan that removes grains, dairy (except for butter), all sugars and sweeteners, and all processed food from my diet and replaces it with a diet that is composed of eating only meat, fish, eggs, fruits, vegetables, olive oil, and nuts. my blood sugars have dropped as has the amount of insulin I need to keep my blood sugars level. My high blood pressure and diabetic neuropathy pain have decreased and my stamina and energy has improved by 100%. Now I need to improve my exercise routine during this coming year and the weight will come off much faster.

I have found a new outlet for my writing skills with Zerys.com, a company that hires writers for freelance writing assignments on subjects with which they have some personal experience. It is my hope that I can gain some income to do marketing for my books and to support the writing process, i.e. adequate food and office supplies. It looks very promising and I recommend this company if you are a writer and need to make some money using the internet. There are so many gimmics and false leads for trying to make money on-line that I will keep you updated on this new prospect. When I have actually received a PayPal check for my writing then I will let you know for sure that this is a valid route.

Across America, on Thursday, we celebrate a special time to eat a huge meal and give thanks for all of the blessings that have been happening in our lives and the lives of all of those that we love. The traditional food includes a Turkey with stuffing, cranberries, potatoes, vegetables, salads, and a raft of luscious desserts beginning with Pumpkin pie and other pies and cakes and cookies. It is the one day that most Americans can eat a well-rounded meal. Social organizations such as the Salvation Army and the Red Cross provide food for millions, and most people donate food and personal items to help out those less fortunate. It is a quiet family day that is rudely destroyed in the evening by most retail stores holding what they call a Black Friday which begins in some stores on Thanksgiving evening and in others about 5:00 a.m., or even earlier, on Friday morning. The stores discount many items by 60% or more and there is such a crowd that gathers for the first moment of opening that there is always someone, or many, who are crushed by the mobs as they all try to push through the door at the same moment. I have never been to a Black Friday because it sounds too scary for me, but I must admit that the bargains are awesome. Black Friday signals the beginning of the Christmas rush for buying gifts and services and for a lot of people it signals the time to break out the old Christmas tree and begin to decorate the house and yard for Christmas. I am an early bird for decorating and put up my Christmas decorations last week so that the grandchildren can enjoy it on Thanksgiving day.

Happy Thanksgiving, and if you are Jewish, Happy Channukah (which begins tomorrow evening at sundown)! I am going to be baking and cooking tomorrow so this will probably be my last blog until Friday morning when I will let you know how everything turns out for our family. I hope Thursday will be special for each one of you and that you will have family and friends to share the day with. God bless each one of you and your family and friends.

ADDRESSING THE 70s

Hello again my dear friends. I have been struggling with skin cancer, two surgeries, and a profound writer's block this month. I am so sorry for dropping the ball. I have been thinking of you during this time and felt as though I had nothing more to add, but at the same time kicking myself because I could not think of anything worthy of your time to write about. Since you are here today I want to apologize for my lapse into self-centeredness and begin all over anew.

To catch you up with life, all three of my daughter, Debby's, children have found the loves of their lives during this last two months. I think it is the very first time that I have seen my granddaughter, Laura's, face lit up with joy. Sheera seems so positive and happy, and James has found a lady who makes him truly ecstatic. I begin to see that Debby's life is also in a period of great change as she has filed for Disability and is getting good treatment for her Rheumatoid Arthritis and Fibromyalgia.

William's health continues to improve; he is growing up so fast and soon will be totally off of the cortizone and the anti-immunity medication.

The e-book, THE GOD GAMES: Legend of Kor, has not been moving too well lately, but it is going on sale at Amazon.com on November 25, 2013 and will be on sale for $ .99 (a 67% discount); until November 28th when it will be on sale for $1.99 (a 34% discount); and will remain on sale at this price until December 1st, 2013. The print copy of the book is also on sale at Amazon.com at a much-reduced price for the Holiday Season.

Currently, I am working on two books. The second book in the trilogy, THE GOD GAMES: Satan's Challenge is in the rough draft stage and consumes most of my time, and the third book in the trilogy, THE GOD GAMES: Heaven & Hell, is in rough-draft form, has been edited, and is now in the revision and re-write stages. At the beginning of this process Heaven & Hell was to be the first book published, but at the advisement of my editor it is to be the last book of the trilogy.

I am contemplating my approaching 70th birthday in July. What a profound place in life. You have had many experiences and adventures: love and pain; new births and the death of so many family members and friends; I have acted with honor quite often, but I have also been extremely negative and often destructive to myself and others. What a mixed bag my life has been and I contemplate living to be 100 years old, or more. I finally have an answer to my diet problems and am living the paleo lifestyle which has caused my blood pressure to improve and bringing my AC1 (a measurement of your average blood glucose levels over a several-month span) down to 6.3 which is getting very close to normal levels. I believe that 5.0 is non-diabetic so that is my goal.

I still have not conquered my horrible habit of judging too quickly, but now when I make those snap-judgments I am aware of making them and so I stop myself and re-think my first impressions. I realize that the person I am judging may just turn out to become my best friend forever so I force myself to slow down and throw out first impressions and replace them with all of the good points that I see in the person. Usually the people I judge the harshest turn out to be absolutely excellent human beings, whereas the person I judge quickly to be of excellent quality turns out to be a really negative person under pressure. I have a hard time with gullibility and naivete and still spend too much time chasing rainbows that evaporate upon closer inspection.

This next six months I will be examining my life and sharing with you some of my thought processes as I continue to age and experience the positive and the negative that life can throw at you. One of the positive things happening in my heart is that I have come to a new appreciation of my adopted mom and all that she taught and instilled in me over the years. I realize that although the past had some really hard moments in it that I have been blessed to have learned about life at her knee for it is those hard-won lessons that have enabled me to reach 70 years of age and still have a positive view of life.

I will be back tomorrow and begin talking about the Holiday plans this year and also William is fast approaching his bar mitzvah and we will be planning what we will be teaching him so that he is aware of his responsibilities to God and can take his role as a man in Israel. Have a great day and know that you are very appreciated in my life and I am very thankful that you continue to return to this blog.                                                                                                                                                                                                   

PASSION OF THE PUERTO RICAN SOUL

No, I am not suddenly Puerto Rican but I would be honored to be able to say that I was.

My love affair with the Puerto Rican people started in 2005 when I came to live in New Jersey and met my new son-in-law who is Puerto Rican. But meeting Alex did not end there, he came with a wonderful family attached to him and as the years have passed they have become my family, my people, my heart. My son, David, and Alex broke up a couple of years ago, but our relationship is still as close as ever to him and to "our" family.

The holidays, the parties, the barbecues, the football games, the family from Grandma Isabel to the grand and great-grand children who run and play under such loving, protective love that they are truly free and chase each other and play video games...and sit near to the elders, or in their arms, and listen to the stories of family, friends, and great ideas and ideals.

I cherish the members of this family who have gone out of their way to honor and respect me and gave me the greatest gift of all...to be a member of their family. From my beloved sister, Marie, to my dear brother, Steve-who has been such a support and helped me to complete many ideas that are in my book-each member of the family has welcomed me in their own loving way and I would count myself lost if I could not spend some time with them. They allow me to soak up the love which permeates this family and then I go home and write like mad because they have inspired me to write about love and loyalty.

Am I saying that they do not have problems, challenges, or anger issues? No. They have the same rate of problems as any of us do, it is just that the strong web of family is like a trapeze-artist's safety-net beneath them, and leaves them free to fly as far as they can go and know that they will be supported every step along the way.  A very rich family are they; in love and loyalty.

Into this wonderful mixture that is my family, came baby Malachi, my great-grandson. Malachi's mother is from Puerto Rico and she has the same wonderful loving family structure as Alex's family. They opened up their arms to us and brought us into the family and now I have another sister, in Lula's (Malachi's mother's) mother and I am rejoicing that now I have a blood connection to Puerto Rico.

From my viewpoint, the great passion of the Puerto Rican soul is Family. Each Family member is deeply loved and their relationships are cherished and watered well. This is reflected in the music of Puerto Rico and the rhythms that inflame your very being. The second greatest passion is FOOD, and it is running neck to neck with Family. The food is to die for and is unique to the Island. Great bowls and trays of food are constantly refilled and every guest is treated with honor and respect. Lula and her mother prepared a feast to celebrate her upcoming baby and our first visit to their home. There were so many dishes of food, each one better than the last, and we stuffed ourselves and enjoyed every moment of it.

Thank you Puerto Rico for your people who have made us family, addicted us to their cuisine, and love us unconditionally. We love you!