Podcasts about griping

Life isn't fair. So when you fight back, fight dirty. In 2 parts, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I married young, and had two perfect daughters, but my marriage was far from perfect. We had been young and in love. I was entering the community college and Denise was starting her senior year when we decided to tie the knot. Her family's ready acceptance of me was a huge factor - the family I'd never had, making me feel like a real member of theirs. I can admit it now; I probably loved being a part of the family as much as I loved Denise. Our split up was inevitable, two teenagers who knew nothing about life thinking their infatuation with each other would make everything else workout. I wasn't an all-star, super jock, Rhodes Scholar with a 12" swinging cock. I was just your average student, A and B grades, spending some bench time on the football team to get my letter, and losing my virginity at 18 to the girl I'd eventually marry. When times got rough, we didn't know how to handle it, and struck out at each other. Her family often stepped in and helped out when they could, but time after time, the great sex wasn't enough to make up for the difference in our wants, needs and ambitions. In the end, we gave up. Sometimes I think it's a miracle we made it through 5 years. Our devotion to our children allowed us to finally see past our own issues, and work out a remarkably amiable truce, with our girls at the center. Even though Denise and I couldn't live together, it turned out we got along a lot better divorced. We shared our daughters' time, lived only one neighborhood apart, and worked together as a team to make our personal differences have as little impact on our girls as possible. I had initially shared an apartment uptown, but eventually bought one of the smallest houses in the same school district, just to make things easier. It was a lot more than I needed most of the time, but when the girls stayed with me it felt like a home. And we only lived a couple of miles apart. The neighborhood was nice, predominantly younger families, in older, smallish homes. Most of the people were cordial, kept up their property, and after a few years I knew many by name and would exchange greetings at the grocery store, or when out shopping. I had become suburbanized. This was our fourth Christmas since the divorce. Denise was living with Eric, who I wish I could despise, but he was a decent guy with a great job and lousy taste in sports teams. He doted on my girls without trying to take my place. It had taken a while, but we'd developed a friendship, which wasn't a bad thing. My child support was pegged at just over $1500, with the kids on my health insurance. Even though we weren't married long enough for alimony to kick in, I was paying another $500 a month just to make the kids' lives better. And for me, that was all that really mattered. The expense had been rough at first, but with little to concentrate on other than work, my performance skyrocketed. Two promotions in three years had made the financial aspect much less problematic, but increased travel had made the ability to be available for the girls less guaranteed. Denise was good about it, and worked with me. In return I picked up some more of the girls' expenses, including music lessons and a piano. At Least we still had Christmas Christmas was special. We celebrated Christmas as an extended family. I'd come over early, and we'd have a big family breakfast and open all the presents together. I really went all out to make sure the girls got their favorite items. At six and eight years old, they were still young enough to have simple wants, and the magic of Christmas was as real as it gets. The in-laws would come over in the afternoon with more presents and we'd have a good old fashioned Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. It was nice to be part of something. I got a Christmas shut-down at work and Denise didn't, so we agreed that they'd stay with me from Christmas to New Year's, and any time she could get off, we'd usually work out something to get her time with the kids. It was understood that I wouldn't leave town, at least not for more than a day. Summer was great with the 2 weeks I got to spend with them, and we'd usually spend it on the beach. Christmas was still different. Christmas was magical. I always was given the girl's wish list, but I'd also start my shopping in late November for the must have items of the season. And I wasn't stingy; I'd buy them all up, just to make sure I didn't miss any. Stores, online auctions, Craigslist, I'd use any way possible to get my hands on the hottest presents. The first two years I'd caught hell from Denise for buying everything on the list, leaving nothing for them to get. Now I received a separate list of things I wasn't allowed to buy. So it was that I had just finished wrapping my forty-fourth present, all in glitter Barbie paper for Briana, and in Hannah Montana paper for Allora. December 5th, my earliest date so far to finish the bulk of my shopping. Sure, I'd pick up a few more things, including something for Denise and Eric, but my girls were taken care of. The presents were carefully spread around my living room, where they'd remain on display until just before Christmas, when I'd bring them over to Denise's in a big ceremony. The call came from Denise's mother, Sharon. It took me 11 minutes flat to get to the hospital. I was still too late. Denise and Briana had both died en-route. Eric had passed away only ten minutes before I'd arrived. But Allora, my perfect little Allora, was fighting for her life, in critical condition. She'd always been a fighter, would never back down from any challenge. She'd beat this too, I just knew it. It was a freak accident, with a car dodging out of the way to miss a coyote on the road. An 18 wheeler behind the car did his best to avoid the car in front of him, but ended up fishtailing, and taking out a suburban in the next lane over. That vehicle crossed the median and hit my ex-wife's family van head-on. Six dead already and one little girl still fighting hard for her dear life. Sharon and I kept a vigil over the little towhead, and when the doctors came out after 6 hours and declared the worst was over and she was in stable condition, we fell into each other's arms and cried like children. We stayed by her side, one of us always present, and Sharon called me when my baby woke up and spoke. For three long days we watched her slowly heal in the hospital, the worst of her bruises, cuts and contusions blossoming on the second day, and only just starting to fade again. I'm not a religious guy by nature, but I found myself on my knees beside her bed, praying to God to take care of her, and giving thanks for pulling her through this horrendous disaster. At 4:18 pm on December 7th, she passed away. No warning, no reason, she was there, and then she wasn't. The doctors suspected a clot. I suspected incompetence. I finally understood how a person could get so down on themselves that life might not even feel worth living. I went home and shut myself off from the world. After a while I took the phone off the hook. Hell, let's be honest, I ripped the fucking wires out of the wall so I didn't have to listen to one more bleeding heart tell me they were “sorry for my loss”. The cell phone was easier. I just turned it off. Several people from work came by and assured me that I could take as much time as I needed. They'd bring me food, and news, and would leave as soon as they felt they'd spent the minimum time required socially by the situation. Denise's family took care of the funeral arrangements. They attempted to call, and even stopped by for my input. I gave them a check for $10,000 to take care of the girls, nearly wiping out my savings. What was I going to spend it on now? I couldn't bring myself to go to the showing but I did take a shower and put on a suit for the funeral. It was a bleak day, gray skies, 20 mile an hour winds threatening to tear the top off of the outdoor tent. The ground was soggy from rain the previous night. Just perfect. "Thanks, God. Piss on a guy when he's down. Well, fuck You too." I shook the required hands, and kissed the offered cheeks until I just couldn't take it any longer. All these fake people. Fake emotions. Tell me how sorry they were then go home to their perfect little families and eat meatloaf. Fuck'em. Fuck'em all. Fourteen days. Two solid weeks in that dark house. I wouldn't turn on any lights. No TV. I didn't bathe, I didn't shave. I sat in my chair or I lay in my bed and wallowed. I had a few visitors after the first couple of days, but I'd rarely let them in, and before long they had the decency to stop showing up. Only Cathy from next door wouldn't let me sink into complete oblivion. Every day, at least 3 times a day, she'd check in on me. I wouldn't have let her in, but she had a key to the back door for emergencies and wasn't afraid to use it. She'd open the windows a crack, and goad me into getting out of bed and at least sit in the living room. She'd bring food, which she'd set in front of me, and refused to leave until I at least tried it. I insisted on getting my key back, and she handed it over willingly enough. And showed up again the next day. She'd made copies. Meddlesome bitch. Again, she badgered me into eating her breakfast. And she'd talk. God, how that woman could talk! I got tired just listening. All the neighborhood gossip, town gossip, political gossip, school gossip - she was plugged in everywhere and knew it all. Who was doing what, or whom. Griping about people who still had Thanksgiving decorations up, or had Christmas blowups in their front yard. Church fiascos and neighborhood vendettas, she would sit there, drink her tea (or bourbon and coke if the sun had set) and fill me in. I didn't care. It had been two weeks since the accident. I'd lost more than 10 pounds, and really just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But Cathy wouldn't let me. She made it her personal mission to cheer me up, get me to respond, bring me back to life. Then one day she let me have it with both barrels. She walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard. "Damn it Alex! Snap out of it! Life is hard. And it isn't fair, but as bad as you have it, there's always someone who has it worse. Often in your own backyard if you have the eyes to see it." "What do you know about it?" I snapped viciously. "I notice your kids are alive." "I know my mother died when I was six, and my father left when I was thirteen, leaving Mike to raise my sister and me. He was seventeen years old. But he manned-up and did the job the best he could. That's what I know. Life is hard." "Life is hard. Life's a bitch and then you die. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When God closes a door he opens a window. If I hear one more God-damned cliché I swear I'll kill something," I growled. "Alex, you got a raw deal. You had two perfect little girls, and now they're gone. Your past is shattered. Your little bit of immortality is lost. And as bad as you've got it, I'd remind you others have it worse, and they just press on. You need to as well," Cathy told me, kneeling beside me and holding my hands. The woman barely knew me. A middle-aged mother of three with grown kids, and a workaholic husband. Her life was her home, keeping it immaculate and decorated for every holiday and season. Now it seemed I was her newest project. Why should I matter that much to her? Couldn't she see I didn't want her help? "Sure, starving Ethiopians, children in Nigeria dying of aids, Tibetan monks martyred, it's a tough world. Boo hoo." "You don't have to look as far as Ethiopia or Tibet. There are people right here, right on your own block that are really struggling. Open your eyes. If you don't like the unfairness do something about it. Even up the odds a bit. Make a difference somewhere. Get back to living." Something she said must have gnawed its way down to my subconscious. I spent my usual 14 hours or so in bed, but when I awoke I was thinking about her constant comments about someone in my own backyard that had it worse. I cataloged each person on my block, in my head, and nobody really had it that bad. Sure, Neil, three doors down had lost his job, but his wife was still working, and he was looking. The Harris's on the corner had a boy in Iraq, but as far as I could tell he was still Ok, and they had three more at home. The Martins, one down from the corner, fought all the time, and even had the cops called in on them once but they were still together. What did Cathy mean? I expanded the radius of consideration to include the blocks surrounding us. Then it hit me. Across the alley in back, two houses past Cathy's own. Six months ago. Barry Morrison had driven into an empty field behind the local middle school and eaten a bullet. I didn't know much about the family - I just knew there was one. When Cathy came over, I had showered off the top two layers of grime and sweat, and was drinking a Coke in the living room. "Good morning, Alex, beautiful day outside. Why don't we go out on the porch?" "The Morrisons. Tell me about them." She placed her mug of tea in the microwave, warming it up, then walked out my front door and sat in one of my rocking chairs out front. Irritated, I followed, and sat in the chair beside her. "The Morrisons?" "Sandy and her daughter Erica. You won't see much of her; she's working two jobs trying to keep the house over their heads. They're still fighting with the insurance company over payment. Suicide clause won't pay under two years. He had insurance for years, but just around two years ago he changed the terms. She's been trying to sell the house, but it's underwater, and nobody's buying." "How's the little one?" "Erica's not doing so well. She's seeing a counselor twice a week, and hardly speaks anymore. The school's talking about holding her back," Cathy explained. She sounded sad. "Do we know anything more about why he did it?" "No crimes, he wasn't fired, no embezzling, it's not clear what it was about. Apparently he'd been depressed for quite a while, but the underlying situation is still a blank as far as I know." "Harsh on the family, going out like that," I told her, finding the whole idea hard to grasp. "To say the least. The poor woman is worn to a frazzle." "And how does this all matter to me?" I asked. "It doesn't. It doesn't have to matter to anybody. They're on their own. Alone." "No family help?" "Not that I know of. If they're around, we don't see much of them, that's for sure." "Cathy, how the hell do you know all this stuff?" I had to ask. "People just like to talk to me. I'm a very good listener," she told me with a big smile. We sat quietly enjoying the crisp air, finishing our drinks. "You're a good neighbor too, Cathy. Thanks," I said softly. "That's what neighbors are for," she said, reaching out and patting me on my arm. That's what neighbors are for. Cathy brought me dinner again and I realized I was starving. She beamed at me when I finished the whole platter. "Let's go for a walk, Alex. You could use a stretch of the legs." It had gotten chilly, and we bundled up a bit. She took the lead and we walked down the block and turned up the neighborhood. We headed back up the next block and she regaled me with the entire history and habits of the inhabitants of each place we passed. She might have been a good listener, but I had to wonder when she ever was quiet long enough to hear anything. It was obvious when we got to Sandy Morrison's place. The "For Sale" sign was a dead giveaway. The unkempt yard and overgrown bushes indicated a lack of care for months. It couldn't help with the sales prospects. The door paint was faded, and there were no Christmas lights or decorations set up. I thought the Realtor wasn't earning their commission, letting the place show like this. Through the window I could see a desktop Christmas tree, maybe two feet tall, lit up all in white. Strangely, Cathy stopped speaking before we got to the house, and didn't speak again until the end of the block. "Sad," was all she said. We took a round-about path back to my house, and our conversation had returned to the safety of weather concerns, community issues, and such, carefully skirting any discussion of the Morrisons. I was feeling the chill after the walk, and invited Cathy in for a cup of coffee, Irish fortified if she so desired. We drank our coffee in front of my gas fireplace, warming our old bones. Damn that neighbor of mine, and her good intentions! She'd not only gotten me to think of something other than my own misery, and the unfairness of it all, but she had me thinking about those poor girls behind me, and what they must be going through. Damn it! It wasn't fair. I guess I still wasn't ready for pleasant company. Angry at the world, I threw my mug at the wall, shattering it, and leaned over with my head in my hands, doing my best to hold back the tears. Big boys don't cry. Cathy stood and ran her fingers through my hair for just a moment before leaving out the back door. Kind enough to leave me alone to wallow in my misery a little longer. December 22nd. Just three days until Christmas. When Cathy came over that morning, I was already up and dressed. I had my working duds on and coffee and bagels ready. "You're up early," she commented, helping herself to the java. "It's almost 10," I reminded her. "Not so awfully early." She laughed. "Seems to me anything before noon is quite early as of late. Got plans?" I nodded. "Thought I'd head over to the Morrison's and see what I can do about the outside of the house. Clean it up a bit. Make it a little more presentable if they're really planning on selling it." "That's mighty neighborly of you." "It'll give me something to do. I need to get out of this damned house." After our coffee, she walked with me across the alley, all my yard-work gear in a wheelbarrow. The grass was dormant, but long, and the bushes were out of control. I didn't notice when Cathy left, but she returned in a few hours with some sandwiches for lunch, insisting I take a break. I'd finished the bush trimming and had mowed the lawn, bagging the trimmings. I was just finishing the edging when she appeared. I took a break, and listened to her chatter about the neighborhood activities, and how sad it was that in the past few months nobody had offered to do as much as I had. "I guess we victims of fate need to stick together." "It already looks 100% better. If you want to work in the backyard, I have a key to the gate." "It figures you would." "What is that supposed to mean?" she asked. "It just doesn't surprise me. I bet you've been helping out when you could." She sighed. "Not too much. She's too damn proud. Doesn't want any help from anybody." I shook my head. "Now you tell me. She'll probably call the police on me." "So what if she does? You know you're doing the right thing. I'll bail you out if need be." I let her unlock the back gate, and saw I had my work cut out for me. The back yard was worse than the front. The fence needed work as well, some boards were broken and loose, and one whole section was sagging. Luckily, my tools were only a couple of hundred feet away, across the alley, and I was soon at work, determined to finish before the residents arrived home. The biggest problem was one of the fence posts which had rotted out at the bottom. A new post and some quick-setting cement, solved that problem. Within an hour I'd be able to reattach the fence crossbeams to the new 4x4. I turned to see a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, watching me from the porch. Crap. "Just thought I'd fix your fence, before it falls down. I hope you don't mind." She just shook her head. She stood there watching me, and I felt ill at ease. I was a stranger. She shouldn't be talking to me. I should probably leave. "I'm just going to clean up here and head back home. I can finish up later when your mother's home." I straightened up my clothing a bit, wiping my hands on my pants. "I'm Alex Reed. I live across the alley," I explained, pointing down a few houses. She nodded. She reminded me so much of my own daughter, right around that age. Her hair was the same length, blonde, but not quite as light as Allora's. Allora. My perfect little Allora. I closed my eyes, seeing her in that hospital bed, bruised and bandaged, fighting for her life. Her hair tucked under the bandages, the few strands that stuck out dark from sweat. Her body so small in that antiseptic white bed. My Allora. Gone. It felt like somebody had wrapped a band around my chest, and pulled it tight. I couldn't breath. I turned away from Erica, so she wouldn't have to see me lose it. She'd suffered enough already. I felt the tears rise, unbidden, and I started for the gate. I had to get out of there. I barely made it as far as the driveway. It was too much. I closed the gate behind me and crumbled to the ground, seated with my head between my knees, my hands covering my head. It was Christmas, damn it! Christmas! My girls were supposed to be with me, shaking their presents and trying to guess what was in them. Instead Allora and Briana were gone. Their lives snuffed out before they could see anything of the world, before they could find their place, before they could fall in love. No shaking presents. No stomach aches from eating too many holiday sweets. No late night parties to drive me crazy with worry. No learning to drive. No struggling to find the right college. No bringing a boy home for the first time. No cramming for tests. No Spring Breaks. No proms. Nothing. Ever again. I was sobbing, and the little girl who had lost her father was standing on the driveway beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder, while I made a fool of myself. "Erica! You know your mother doesn't want you out if she's not at home. You should go back inside. Mr. Reed will be all right, he's just tired. Go on now." Cathy had me by the arm, and was doing her best to get me back on my feet. "C'mon Alex, not here. Let's get you home." I knew she was right. I stood up, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. "I'll be alright. Just give me a minute." I pulled myself together, took a couple of deep breaths, and stood straight. "I'm Ok. Seeing her was just a little too much, too soon. But I'm fine now. I need to clean up here, and put the fence back together." "Alright. I'll help." It only took us a few minutes to clean up and cart the bags of yard trimmings out to the rear curb. I ran all the yard tools back to my house, and returned to finish the fence work. I braced the new post with a couple of 2x4's and reattached the two panels. Cathy's help made it a lot easier. When we were done we both stood back and looked over the yard. Much better. "I'm going to go inside and fix Erica her after-school snack. It's about all that Sandy will let me do. Why don't you come with me?" "I don't know if I should. Sandy doesn't know me. She may not want me in her house when she's not there." "Never mind that. She'll be fine. Just come in a moment. It'll only take a few minutes." I followed her inside, through the glass sliding door. Erica was sitting on the floor watching TV. I didn't even look that way. I was afraid that seeing the wrong TV show would dredge up more painful memories. "Where can I wash my hands?" I asked Cathy. She pointed to a door. "In there." I headed to the bathroom. "Don't use the toilet. That one doesn't flush anymore." I could hear the running water in the commode. I washed my hands and wiped them on my shirt. There was no towel in the bathroom. Then I took the top off the tank and examined inside. Nothing complicated. The chain that connected the stopper to the handle extension was missing. Lifting the rubber stopper, I saw it was under the lip, the cause of the running water. I reattached the chain, and tested the flushing. Worked fine. "Fixed. The chain was just off." Cathy nodded, and returned to making a grilled cheese sandwich. Briana loved grilled cheese. But you couldn't cut the sandwich, and you had to remove the crust. I wouldn't be cutting the crust off of sandwiches anymore. I took a deep breath, and went to examine the front door. "Cathy? I'm going to head home and get my sander and some paint. This door needs some help desperately." "Go ahead. Sandy won't be home until late, and if we're going to get in trouble for the yard and the fence, we might as well make it a trifecta." Fifteen minutes later, I was running the battery powered hand-sander over the door, removing the worst of the existing paint. I didn't have too much to do, it was already mostly bare. I had brought over three possible paints to use, all of which I knew were approved by the homeowner's association. "What color paint do you think I should use?" I asked Cathy. "Let's ask Erica." She returned in a few seconds with Erica at her side. "We're going to paint the front door, Erica. What color would you like?" We had a choice of off-white, light blue, and a dark brown. She pointed to the light blue, then seated herself nearby to watch. I had already removed the hardware. I taped the hinges and bottom kick-plate, laid out my drip cloth, and started applying a coat of paint, top-to-bottom. I looked over at the young girl watching me so intently. I saw the tree beside her, so small and bare, with one little package underneath it. Christmas trees shouldn't look like that. They should be big, full of decorations, all sorts, each one with its own story. Handcrafted special ornaments, with pictures of your family members. Popsicle stick ornaments with the Elmer's glue showing. Lights blinking in an assortment of colors, candy canes and tinsel, and an angel on top. There should be presents around the bottom, stacked and scattered, so many you can't even get near the tree. It was the first year I didn't have a tree. We'd normally go out as a family and visit one of the Boy Scout tree lots, picking the biggest, fullest tree we thought could fit in my living room. Then we'd decorate it together, Christmas songs playing in the background, and sipping eggnog. We'd spend an eternity untangling the lights, replacing the bulbs that wouldn't work, and replacing the metal hangars on the decorations that needed them. It was an all day affair. Not this year. Not ever again. I realized I'd stopped painting, and I was staring. A long drip of paint from my brush was running down the door. The little girl looked at me, almost as if she understood. "Would you like to help?" I asked. She looked around, as if to ask if I was talking to her. "Yes, you." She shyly nodded yes. I reached over to my bucket of painting supplies and pulled out a small brush. I pointed to the inlaid panels on the bottom half of the door. "You can paint here, around the edge of the panel. It needs to be done with a detail brush like the one you have. Get into the cracks." She nodded, dipped her brush, and started painting straight down the panel edge, doing a good job. "That's perfect. Just like that." I went back to work completing the top half, and had to work around her, sometimes leaning way over to paint above her. She saw what I was doing, and I saw the mischievous heart of a little girl for a moment when she started backing away from the door, making me lean further and further over. "Hey!" I said in mock outrage. "You're doing that on purpose!" When she giggled, apparently ignoring me, and continuing with her painting effort, I felt a small leap in my heart. It was nice to hear her giggle. "When you're done with the painting, and done torturing me, you can paint around the edges of the two hinges and the kick-plate. If I won't be in your way." Little Erica nodded, and continued her careful painting, working slowly and deliberately around the perimeter before moving onto the hinges. I found myself kneeling beside her, painting the bottom-half of the door, while she detailed the trim. We switched places so I could work on the side near the hinges while she completed the bottom trim. "Not bad," I commented, holding out a drip bucket for her to dump her brush in. I sealed up the paint can, peeled off the trim tape, and stood back to get a look at the results. A little girl stood beside me, her blonde hair a poignant reminder of all I'd lost. I took a deep breath to compose myself. "Not bad at all. Think your mother will like it?" I looked down at her while she thought it over. A smile slowly spread across her face. She nodded twice. I put my hand down for a fist bump, just like I would with my girls. She shrank away for a second, then glanced up at my face for a second before making a tiny fist and bumping her knuckles against mine. We were enjoying the last of the natural light as dusk was settling in. Cathy walked out and stood beside us, giving her approval. "The blue is perfect. Great choice Erica." Erica stopped admiring her work, looked at Cathy, and blinked like she was just seeing her for the first time. She looked up and down the block, then walked back into the house and planted herself in front of the TV. "Ready to call it a day?" Cathy asked. "Yeah. Best get while the getting is good." I packed up my paint supplies and in just a couple of trips hid any trace that I'd ever been there. Except of course for the door, yard and fence. Oh, and the toilet, although that really didn't count for much. Back home I cleaned up and sat down pondering what I'd just done. I had mixed feelings, a little guilt creeping in for taking liberties with someone else's house. But thinking about that little girl, and what she must be going through, made anything I could do to help worthwhile. Thinking was dangerous. I realized I hadn't been very nice to the people who had tried to help me. I decided to rectify that if possible, and found a new phone cable for my phone and plugged it in. Picking it up I heard a dial tone. Good. I made a list of phone calls, and went to work. Calling, one-by-one, my friends, neighbors and co-workers, I apologized for my behavior and thanked them for their concern. To a one, they blew off my boorish behavior, and promised they'd be there for me if I needed anything. I stopped, with just a few calls remaining, wondering where those people were for Sandy and Erica, who seemed to need it far more than I. I picked up the phone and dialed Denise's family. I knew it was going to be tough. I apologized for leaving the funeral arrangements to them, and thanked them for all they had done. Speaking to Dan was difficult, but my conversation with Sharon almost did me in. The time we'd spent in the hospital, watching over Allora came up, and I had to take a break for a bit to get my emotions under rein, while I listened to Sharon sob. Even after the divorce we'd remained friendly, and I was glad that we'd had each other on that fateful watch. I promised I'd stop by in the next couple of days, she insisted there was some paperwork that needed taking care of. My last call was to Steve, my roommate for three years in college, and best friend in the world. I had hung up on him twice that first day, and it was haunting me. He'd left more than a dozen messages on my cell-phone voicemail. Plus, I had ulterior motives. The phone rang several times and went to the answering machine. I felt like a weight had lifted, I wouldn't have to face him. "Steve, Alex here. I'm sorry I..." "Alex, I'm here, don't hang up, I'm here. Let me turn off this damned machine. Hold on." I heard some rustling and the echo of our voices disappear. "Jesus, Alex. You're killing me." "Sorry. It hit me so hard; I just couldn't listen to one more well-wisher." "I understand." He would understand. His father had passed away while we were in our last year of college, and he took it hard. Started drinking heavy, cutting classes, and chasing anything with boobs. I took care of him as much as I could, going so far as to collect his homework and projects, even talking to his professors. He'd been slow to pull it together, but eventually came around. Five years later, less than a year out of law school, it was his mother. I had flown out and spent a week with him. I knew it would be hard - he was an only child, and he had few relatives, and none he was close to. He came out of that funk bitter, and it cost him his girlfriend - no loss there. We'd been as close as brothers, hell, probably closer. We still were. Steven understood. I opened my soul to him, and stayed on the phone for ages. I heard him send his wife off to bed, while I vented. It was a much needed cathartic outpouring that left me exhausted. "What can I do? Anything, you know it. Should I fly down?" As much as I'd love to see him, it had been nearly a year, he was a family man now, and it was Christmas. "No. Stay with your family. I'm doing better, and if I need to I can call." "Of course." "I also wanted to say I was sorry." "Sorry?" "Sorry that I couldn't do more for you when you lost your parents. I never really experienced losing anyone like that, and couldn't comprehend what you were going through." "Shut the fuck up. You were there for me, buddy. Always. When nobody else was. I'll never forget that. Enough said. Don't need to be getting sappy over it." I couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright. By the way, there's one other thing you might be able to do for me." "Anything. That's what friend are for." That's what friends are for. The pounding on my front door was not unexpected. Ten o'clock at night might be a little of a surprise, but the knock wasn't. I went to the front door, and looked out through the glass beside it. A woman stood there. I had a fairly good idea of who it was. I opened the door. "Mrs. Morrison?" She glared at me and nodded. "Come in, please. Can I get you a cup of tea, or coffee?" I turned and walked into the house, leaving the door open. I walked to the kitchen, and poured myself a cup of coffee. I turned to see her standing in the archway to the living room. She looked ready to burst, but I watched her breath deep and run her hands through her short hair. She looked young. Too young to be going through the hell she was currently experiencing. "I don't want you around my house or my daughter," she finally snapped. "I understand, and I'm sorry I interfered." I walked past her and sat down in the living room. "I can't explain it. I had to do something to get out of this house, and when Cathy told me about your situation I guess I got carried away." She stared at me, and crossed her arms. "Don't mention her name. I could kill her." I smiled. "Believe me, I understand that. She's been in my house every day, 3 or 4 times a day, meddling in my life." "Meddling is right," she snapped. She walked over and sat on the loveseat across from me. "Listen. I appreciate the thought. And I'm sorry for your loss." She smirked. "Ha, listen to me. Sorry for your loss. Crap." She leaned back. "We're doing fine. I don't need your help, I don't know you from Adam, and I don't want you around my daughter when nobody's around. Jesus, you painted my frickin' front door blue! A little presumptuous, don't you think?" I smiled. "I would have picked the wood tone. Blue was Erica's choice, one of the four approved colors according to our Stalinist homeowner's association." She leaned back, rolling her eyes up. "Don't remind me. If the bastards send me one more notice about yard and fence maintenance, I'll rip their lungs out." She seemed to calm down for a second, maybe realizing that those notices would no longer be coming. "I know. I should be thankful but I don't need a stranger meddling in my life. Understood? No more doing things for me." "I didn't do it for you. I did it for that little girl. You don't know me. I don't know you. Agreed. I don't know what happened to you and your family or why. Not really. What I do know is that girl of yours doesn't deserve the hand she's been dealt. That's all I could think. I just wanted to help where I could." She looked angry. "I'm sorry you lost your daughters. I am. But Erica is MINE. My daughter. My responsibility. Not yours." "You are right. She's no responsibility of mine." "That's right. I don't know you. We live three doors down and in two years you've never spoken a word to us. Six months we've been on our own. I certainly don't need you poking your head in now. I don't know you, I don't want to know you, and I'm not sure I'd like you if I did." "Welcome to the club." "Club?" "I'm not sure I like me either. I'm sorry, alright? Now I'm tired. You can let yourself out." She got up and stomped her way to the front door, closing it sharply behind her. That had gone better than I'd expected. December 23rd. I got up early, cleaning up, even shaving. I had errands to run. Cathy showed up in my kitchen while I was preparing breakfast. "At least neither of us is in jail," were her first words. "Not yet." "You did a good thing. Don't forget it." "I know. Still she was right. We should have asked permission." "The hell we should! She'd never have given it." "Then maybe we should leave her be." "If a person was drowning, and they couldn't yell for help, wouldn't you still throw them a life preserver?" "A little overly-dramatic, don't you think?" "No. She's going down for the third time, and is in complete denial. By the time she accepts the fact she needs help it could be too late." She looked me over. "You clean up nicely. What are you up to?" "I need to run some errands, see a few people, stop by work, some other stuff." "Don't overdue it," she said, still in her 'caring' mode. "Need some company?" "Thanks, I appreciate the offer. I can handle this." "Ok, you have my number. Give me a call if you need anything." The office visit was painful. I stopped in, thanking my bosses for their understanding, visiting a few friends and letting them know I appreciated their concern. The way they looked at me just drove home how alone I was. I was glad to get out of there. I made a visit to the florist and picked up a trunk-load of Christmas cacti. I drove around to everyone I could think of, expressing my gratitude, and leaving the pretty plants behind. I used the same corny line with each one, comparing my 'prickliness' the last couple of weeks to the plant's spines. I left a few plants on doorsteps with a note. By mid-afternoon I felt I'd done my part. I stopped by Denise's parent's house, and Sharon greeted me at the door with a hug before she broke into tears. After she'd soaked my shirt she brought me in. "There's something you need to know, Alex." She sounded odd, and I wondered what was up. "Denise left a will. She left you the house and the lion's share of her insurance, to take care of the girls if anything happened to her." I was stunned. It was so unexpected. "I... I don't know what to say." Sharon reached out and patted my hand. "It's not what I'd expected, but if you think about it, it makes sense. What are you going to do?" "I guess I'll sell the house. I certainly don't need two houses." "She had mortgage insurance, it'll be paid off. You could rent it out, you know. Earn some steady income off of it." It was too much too fast. I couldn't think straight. "I'll have to think about it. I just wasn't expecting anything like this." "I understand." She held my hand. "How are you doing?" "Better. Not good, but at least I can get out of bed." "We're here if you need us. You know that, right?" "Yes. Thank you. After the girls, you were the best thing that came out of our marriage." "We love you too. Don't forget it." "I'm sorry I was so useful about the funeral arrangements, I don't think I could have handled it without you," I confessed. "Don't even think about it. That's what family is for." That's what family is for. My day wasn't quite complete. A few more calls and I was putting things in motion I wasn't sure I should, but I couldn't resist. Around dinner time, I ventured next door. Cathy's husband John answered the door. "The hermit has left the cave. Good to see you out and about." He shook my hand, letting me in. "Cath - Alex is here." Cathy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. "How'd your day go?" "Not bad. A few surprises, but I survived." "We're about to eat. Care to sit down with us?" "Maybe. When do you think Sandy will be getting home?" "Probably nine-ish, would be my guess. Why?" "Just want to talk to her if I can." "You have time for dinner then?" "Sure." By 8:30 I was enjoying a cigar with John, sitting out in their driveway, trying to figure out what our football team's chances were of going anywhere in the playoffs. We were strategically positioned so I had a view of the Morrison's driveway. When Sandy drove up, I excused myself from John and jogged across the alley. "Sandy, can I talk to you a moment?" She looked ready to chase me off, but after a few awkward seconds she crossed her arms, leaned back against the car and raised her eyebrows. "Again, I'm sorry I entered your house without your permission. I know that was wrong. All I can say is I wasn't really thinking straight." She rolled her eyes. "Anything else?" "Yes. I know you told me you didn't need my help, but there's someone I'd like you speak to. I have a friend that's a lawyer, and he's willing to check into your insurance situation pro bono. Like you and me, he's suffered a few losses in life, and he'd like to help you if he can. If you'd just give him a call, he'll see what he can do." I could see she wanted to say no, but was torn. She gnawed on her bottom lip, which I saw were chapped. She looked exhausted. I pulled out his card and held it out to her. "It'll only take a couple of minutes. It can't hurt." She finally nodded and took the card from me. "Is that it?" "One last thing. I'm headed over to my ex-wife's house tomorrow to clean out the refrigerator, and to get rid of her tree. It's my responsibility now. I was going to ditch the tree; it's one of those pre-lit artificial ones which I never could stand. I thought, if you don't mind, and it's not interfering too much, I could bring it by here and you could take if off my hands. Otherwise it's going to the dump." I spit out the words quickly before she could find too much fault with me. She seemed resigned to allow me to interfere, at least this much. She sighed and finally spoke up. "Alright. That would be nice. Now if that's all, I'd like to go in now. My feet and back are aching and I have to get up early tomorrow." "That's all. You can call Steve tonight if you'd like, he's a night owl and is expecting your call. Good night." I took off quickly before she could change her mind about anything. I had recruited Cathy's help over dinner the night before, assuming things went Ok with Sandy, and by noon we were back at the Morrison house, knocking on the door. Erica let us in, and we hauled our goodies in after us. I had the tree folded up and left it on the front doorstep while we made room for it in the living room. After I'd put it in place, I hauled in a large plastic crate of Christmas decorations, and encouraged Cathy and Erica to get to work making the tree look 'festive'. Right on schedule my weekly cleaning crew showed up and I put them to work giving the entire house a thorough cleaning. I had felt guilty chasing them away the last few weeks, and had begged and cajoled them into doing me this one favor, on Christmas Eve of all days. The team of four went to work like whirling dervishes, storming through the rooms in pairs leaving sparking chrome and sweet smells in their wake. We only had a few hours if Cathy was right, and I had one more big task lined up. The Chem-Dry carpet cleaners were running a little late, but showed up not long after the cleaning crew had finished with the living and dining rooms, and I had moved most of the furniture into the hallways and kitchen. They went right to work, and had the downstairs completed in a little over an hour. While they worked at that, I spent the time decorating the front yard and the house with Christmas lights. I hoped that Sandy liked traditional multi-color displays. I wasn't all that fond of the 'all-white' look, and was using my own lights to decorate her house. By the time I had finished I was sweating up a storm, and was getting nervous about the time. The carpet guys left first, reminding me to let the carpet dry for another hour before returning the furniture to its place. The cleaning crew followed shortly after, and I'd rewarded them nicely, tipping them an extra $100 for coming out on Christmas Eve. I moved indoors, with the lights complete and lit up, to find a Christmas wonderland awaiting me. Cathy and Erica had done an amazing job, using what I had brought over and getting the Morrison's decorations out of the attic and putting those to use as well. You could hardly tell it was the same house. "You ladies have done an incredible job!" I announced, standing in the doorway. Cathy looked a little disheveled but very pleased with herself. "Let's finish up quick. I have to get home; John's going to kill me." I'd promised her we'd be done by 4:00 and it was already nearly 5:00. She was holding a Christmas Eve open-house and was expecting half of the neighborhood over that evening. She only had a couple of hours left to finish her own preparations. I gave her a hug for all of her effort and shooed her off, while I started hauling the furniture back into place, working at a frenzied pace to get done before the unsuspecting benefactor got home. Erica followed behind me, arranging all the lamps, baskets and knick-knacks, and adding additional holiday decorations as we went. With the last of the furniture in place, I turned and gave her a high-five. "This is all our secret, right? If your Mom asks, the Christmas elves stopped by to help clean up. You did a great job, Erica." She smiled and held her arms out to me. I leaned down and gave her a hug. "Thank you," she whispered, just before she let go and disappeared up the stairs. I felt a lump in my throat. Whether it was fear of being caught by her mother, or the joy of hearing her speak her first words to me, I couldn't be sure. By eight o'clock, Sandy still hadn't shown up on my front-doorstep with a shotgun. I guess she was going to wait until after Christmas to eviscerate me over meddling where I didn't belong. I didn't care. I felt good, the best I'd felt in two weeks, thinking about that little girl celebrating a real Christmas. Kids should have Christmas. I had cleaned up and decided to make an appearance next door, as I'd promised, when I got a call from Steve. "Hey-ho, Stevorino." "Only my Grandma gets to say that, asshole." "Merry fuckin' Christmas to you too." I teased. I heard him chuckle. "Merry Christmas is right. At least for your neighbor." "How's that?" I asked, suddenly interested. "The insurance creeps were just stalling. They don't have a leg to stand on. The only change to the policy was upon their advice after an annual policy review by their own agent. A little legal pressure was all it took. It's not a lot, less than $300K, but she'll be getting her check next week." "Steve, you're the man. I take back all those nasty things I said about you." "Shit, they're probably true. If anybody would know, it'd be you." "All kidding aside. You're a life saver." I knew he hated any hint of seriousness. I could almost hear him blushing over the phone. "Hey, that's what friends are for, right?" "That's right. And I couldn't ask for a better one." "Ditto. Asshole." "Shit. You had to go and spoil it. Listen, I gotta run. Give your family my love and have a great Christmas. I'll give you a call next week." "You got it. And Darla sends her love. She made me say that. Don't get any ideas." "Got it. Give her a kiss for me. Scratch that. I'll come out after the holidays and give it to her myself. When are you going to be out of town next?" "Funny guy. Start anything with her, and I'll make you keep her and the credit card bills." "Ouch. You win," I had to laugh. "Thanks again." "Merry Christmas. Hang in there buddy." "You too." To be continued in part 2, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales for Literotica 

Life isn't fair. So when you fight back, fight dirty. In 2 parts, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I married young, and had two perfect daughters, but my marriage was far from perfect. We had been young and in love. I was entering the community college and Denise was starting her senior year when we decided to tie the knot. Her family's ready acceptance of me was a huge factor - the family I'd never had, making me feel like a real member of theirs. I can admit it now; I probably loved being a part of the family as much as I loved Denise. Our split up was inevitable, two teenagers who knew nothing about life thinking their infatuation with each other would make everything else workout. I wasn't an all-star, super jock, Rhodes Scholar with a 12" swinging cock. I was just your average student, A and B grades, spending some bench time on the football team to get my letter, and losing my virginity at 18 to the girl I'd eventually marry. When times got rough, we didn't know how to handle it, and struck out at each other. Her family often stepped in and helped out when they could, but time after time, the great sex wasn't enough to make up for the difference in our wants, needs and ambitions. In the end, we gave up. Sometimes I think it's a miracle we made it through 5 years. Our devotion to our children allowed us to finally see past our own issues, and work out a remarkably amiable truce, with our girls at the center. Even though Denise and I couldn't live together, it turned out we got along a lot better divorced. We shared our daughters' time, lived only one neighborhood apart, and worked together as a team to make our personal differences have as little impact on our girls as possible. I had initially shared an apartment uptown, but eventually bought one of the smallest houses in the same school district, just to make things easier. It was a lot more than I needed most of the time, but when the girls stayed with me it felt like a home. And we only lived a couple of miles apart. The neighborhood was nice, predominantly younger families, in older, smallish homes. Most of the people were cordial, kept up their property, and after a few years I knew many by name and would exchange greetings at the grocery store, or when out shopping. I had become suburbanized. This was our fourth Christmas since the divorce. Denise was living with Eric, who I wish I could despise, but he was a decent guy with a great job and lousy taste in sports teams. He doted on my girls without trying to take my place. It had taken a while, but we'd developed a friendship, which wasn't a bad thing. My child support was pegged at just over $1500, with the kids on my health insurance. Even though we weren't married long enough for alimony to kick in, I was paying another $500 a month just to make the kids' lives better. And for me, that was all that really mattered. The expense had been rough at first, but with little to concentrate on other than work, my performance skyrocketed. Two promotions in three years had made the financial aspect much less problematic, but increased travel had made the ability to be available for the girls less guaranteed. Denise was good about it, and worked with me. In return I picked up some more of the girls' expenses, including music lessons and a piano. At Least we still had Christmas Christmas was special. We celebrated Christmas as an extended family. I'd come over early, and we'd have a big family breakfast and open all the presents together. I really went all out to make sure the girls got their favorite items. At six and eight years old, they were still young enough to have simple wants, and the magic of Christmas was as real as it gets. The in-laws would come over in the afternoon with more presents and we'd have a good old fashioned Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. It was nice to be part of something. I got a Christmas shut-down at work and Denise didn't, so we agreed that they'd stay with me from Christmas to New Year's, and any time she could get off, we'd usually work out something to get her time with the kids. It was understood that I wouldn't leave town, at least not for more than a day. Summer was great with the 2 weeks I got to spend with them, and we'd usually spend it on the beach. Christmas was still different. Christmas was magical. I always was given the girl's wish list, but I'd also start my shopping in late November for the must have items of the season. And I wasn't stingy; I'd buy them all up, just to make sure I didn't miss any. Stores, online auctions, Craigslist, I'd use any way possible to get my hands on the hottest presents. The first two years I'd caught hell from Denise for buying everything on the list, leaving nothing for them to get. Now I received a separate list of things I wasn't allowed to buy. So it was that I had just finished wrapping my forty-fourth present, all in glitter Barbie paper for Briana, and in Hannah Montana paper for Allora. December 5th, my earliest date so far to finish the bulk of my shopping. Sure, I'd pick up a few more things, including something for Denise and Eric, but my girls were taken care of. The presents were carefully spread around my living room, where they'd remain on display until just before Christmas, when I'd bring them over to Denise's in a big ceremony. The call came from Denise's mother, Sharon. It took me 11 minutes flat to get to the hospital. I was still too late. Denise and Briana had both died en-route. Eric had passed away only ten minutes before I'd arrived. But Allora, my perfect little Allora, was fighting for her life, in critical condition. She'd always been a fighter, would never back down from any challenge. She'd beat this too, I just knew it. It was a freak accident, with a car dodging out of the way to miss a coyote on the road. An 18 wheeler behind the car did his best to avoid the car in front of him, but ended up fishtailing, and taking out a suburban in the next lane over. That vehicle crossed the median and hit my ex-wife's family van head-on. Six dead already and one little girl still fighting hard for her dear life. Sharon and I kept a vigil over the little towhead, and when the doctors came out after 6 hours and declared the worst was over and she was in stable condition, we fell into each other's arms and cried like children. We stayed by her side, one of us always present, and Sharon called me when my baby woke up and spoke. For three long days we watched her slowly heal in the hospital, the worst of her bruises, cuts and contusions blossoming on the second day, and only just starting to fade again. I'm not a religious guy by nature, but I found myself on my knees beside her bed, praying to God to take care of her, and giving thanks for pulling her through this horrendous disaster. At 4:18 pm on December 7th, she passed away. No warning, no reason, she was there, and then she wasn't. The doctors suspected a clot. I suspected incompetence. I finally understood how a person could get so down on themselves that life might not even feel worth living. I went home and shut myself off from the world. After a while I took the phone off the hook. Hell, let's be honest, I ripped the fucking wires out of the wall so I didn't have to listen to one more bleeding heart tell me they were “sorry for my loss”. The cell phone was easier. I just turned it off. Several people from work came by and assured me that I could take as much time as I needed. They'd bring me food, and news, and would leave as soon as they felt they'd spent the minimum time required socially by the situation. Denise's family took care of the funeral arrangements. They attempted to call, and even stopped by for my input. I gave them a check for $10,000 to take care of the girls, nearly wiping out my savings. What was I going to spend it on now? I couldn't bring myself to go to the showing but I did take a shower and put on a suit for the funeral. It was a bleak day, gray skies, 20 mile an hour winds threatening to tear the top off of the outdoor tent. The ground was soggy from rain the previous night. Just perfect. "Thanks, God. Piss on a guy when he's down. Well, fuck You too." I shook the required hands, and kissed the offered cheeks until I just couldn't take it any longer. All these fake people. Fake emotions. Tell me how sorry they were then go home to their perfect little families and eat meatloaf. Fuck'em. Fuck'em all. Fourteen days. Two solid weeks in that dark house. I wouldn't turn on any lights. No TV. I didn't bathe, I didn't shave. I sat in my chair or I lay in my bed and wallowed. I had a few visitors after the first couple of days, but I'd rarely let them in, and before long they had the decency to stop showing up. Only Cathy from next door wouldn't let me sink into complete oblivion. Every day, at least 3 times a day, she'd check in on me. I wouldn't have let her in, but she had a key to the back door for emergencies and wasn't afraid to use it. She'd open the windows a crack, and goad me into getting out of bed and at least sit in the living room. She'd bring food, which she'd set in front of me, and refused to leave until I at least tried it. I insisted on getting my key back, and she handed it over willingly enough. And showed up again the next day. She'd made copies. Meddlesome bitch. Again, she badgered me into eating her breakfast. And she'd talk. God, how that woman could talk! I got tired just listening. All the neighborhood gossip, town gossip, political gossip, school gossip - she was plugged in everywhere and knew it all. Who was doing what, or whom. Griping about people who still had Thanksgiving decorations up, or had Christmas blowups in their front yard. Church fiascos and neighborhood vendettas, she would sit there, drink her tea (or bourbon and coke if the sun had set) and fill me in. I didn't care. It had been two weeks since the accident. I'd lost more than 10 pounds, and really just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But Cathy wouldn't let me. She made it her personal mission to cheer me up, get me to respond, bring me back to life. Then one day she let me have it with both barrels. She walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard. "Damn it Alex! Snap out of it! Life is hard. And it isn't fair, but as bad as you have it, there's always someone who has it worse. Often in your own backyard if you have the eyes to see it." "What do you know about it?" I snapped viciously. "I notice your kids are alive." "I know my mother died when I was six, and my father left when I was thirteen, leaving Mike to raise my sister and me. He was seventeen years old. But he manned-up and did the job the best he could. That's what I know. Life is hard." "Life is hard. Life's a bitch and then you die. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When God closes a door he opens a window. If I hear one more God-damned cliché I swear I'll kill something," I growled. "Alex, you got a raw deal. You had two perfect little girls, and now they're gone. Your past is shattered. Your little bit of immortality is lost. And as bad as you've got it, I'd remind you others have it worse, and they just press on. You need to as well," Cathy told me, kneeling beside me and holding my hands. The woman barely knew me. A middle-aged mother of three with grown kids, and a workaholic husband. Her life was her home, keeping it immaculate and decorated for every holiday and season. Now it seemed I was her newest project. Why should I matter that much to her? Couldn't she see I didn't want her help? "Sure, starving Ethiopians, children in Nigeria dying of aids, Tibetan monks martyred, it's a tough world. Boo hoo." "You don't have to look as far as Ethiopia or Tibet. There are people right here, right on your own block that are really struggling. Open your eyes. If you don't like the unfairness do something about it. Even up the odds a bit. Make a difference somewhere. Get back to living." Something she said must have gnawed its way down to my subconscious. I spent my usual 14 hours or so in bed, but when I awoke I was thinking about her constant comments about someone in my own backyard that had it worse. I cataloged each person on my block, in my head, and nobody really had it that bad. Sure, Neil, three doors down had lost his job, but his wife was still working, and he was looking. The Harris's on the corner had a boy in Iraq, but as far as I could tell he was still Ok, and they had three more at home. The Martins, one down from the corner, fought all the time, and even had the cops called in on them once but they were still together. What did Cathy mean? I expanded the radius of consideration to include the blocks surrounding us. Then it hit me. Across the alley in back, two houses past Cathy's own. Six months ago. Barry Morrison had driven into an empty field behind the local middle school and eaten a bullet. I didn't know much about the family - I just knew there was one. When Cathy came over, I had showered off the top two layers of grime and sweat, and was drinking a Coke in the living room. "Good morning, Alex, beautiful day outside. Why don't we go out on the porch?" "The Morrisons. Tell me about them." She placed her mug of tea in the microwave, warming it up, then walked out my front door and sat in one of my rocking chairs out front. Irritated, I followed, and sat in the chair beside her. "The Morrisons?" "Sandy and her daughter Erica. You won't see much of her; she's working two jobs trying to keep the house over their heads. They're still fighting with the insurance company over payment. Suicide clause won't pay under two years. He had insurance for years, but just around two years ago he changed the terms. She's been trying to sell the house, but it's underwater, and nobody's buying." "How's the little one?" "Erica's not doing so well. She's seeing a counselor twice a week, and hardly speaks anymore. The school's talking about holding her back," Cathy explained. She sounded sad. "Do we know anything more about why he did it?" "No crimes, he wasn't fired, no embezzling, it's not clear what it was about. Apparently he'd been depressed for quite a while, but the underlying situation is still a blank as far as I know." "Harsh on the family, going out like that," I told her, finding the whole idea hard to grasp. "To say the least. The poor woman is worn to a frazzle." "And how does this all matter to me?" I asked. "It doesn't. It doesn't have to matter to anybody. They're on their own. Alone." "No family help?" "Not that I know of. If they're around, we don't see much of them, that's for sure." "Cathy, how the hell do you know all this stuff?" I had to ask. "People just like to talk to me. I'm a very good listener," she told me with a big smile. We sat quietly enjoying the crisp air, finishing our drinks. "You're a good neighbor too, Cathy. Thanks," I said softly. "That's what neighbors are for," she said, reaching out and patting me on my arm. That's what neighbors are for. Cathy brought me dinner again and I realized I was starving. She beamed at me when I finished the whole platter. "Let's go for a walk, Alex. You could use a stretch of the legs." It had gotten chilly, and we bundled up a bit. She took the lead and we walked down the block and turned up the neighborhood. We headed back up the next block and she regaled me with the entire history and habits of the inhabitants of each place we passed. She might have been a good listener, but I had to wonder when she ever was quiet long enough to hear anything. It was obvious when we got to Sandy Morrison's place. The "For Sale" sign was a dead giveaway. The unkempt yard and overgrown bushes indicated a lack of care for months. It couldn't help with the sales prospects. The door paint was faded, and there were no Christmas lights or decorations set up. I thought the Realtor wasn't earning their commission, letting the place show like this. Through the window I could see a desktop Christmas tree, maybe two feet tall, lit up all in white. Strangely, Cathy stopped speaking before we got to the house, and didn't speak again until the end of the block. "Sad," was all she said. We took a round-about path back to my house, and our conversation had returned to the safety of weather concerns, community issues, and such, carefully skirting any discussion of the Morrisons. I was feeling the chill after the walk, and invited Cathy in for a cup of coffee, Irish fortified if she so desired. We drank our coffee in front of my gas fireplace, warming our old bones. Damn that neighbor of mine, and her good intentions! She'd not only gotten me to think of something other than my own misery, and the unfairness of it all, but she had me thinking about those poor girls behind me, and what they must be going through. Damn it! It wasn't fair. I guess I still wasn't ready for pleasant company. Angry at the world, I threw my mug at the wall, shattering it, and leaned over with my head in my hands, doing my best to hold back the tears. Big boys don't cry. Cathy stood and ran her fingers through my hair for just a moment before leaving out the back door. Kind enough to leave me alone to wallow in my misery a little longer. December 22nd. Just three days until Christmas. When Cathy came over that morning, I was already up and dressed. I had my working duds on and coffee and bagels ready. "You're up early," she commented, helping herself to the java. "It's almost 10," I reminded her. "Not so awfully early." She laughed. "Seems to me anything before noon is quite early as of late. Got plans?" I nodded. "Thought I'd head over to the Morrison's and see what I can do about the outside of the house. Clean it up a bit. Make it a little more presentable if they're really planning on selling it." "That's mighty neighborly of you." "It'll give me something to do. I need to get out of this damned house." After our coffee, she walked with me across the alley, all my yard-work gear in a wheelbarrow. The grass was dormant, but long, and the bushes were out of control. I didn't notice when Cathy left, but she returned in a few hours with some sandwiches for lunch, insisting I take a break. I'd finished the bush trimming and had mowed the lawn, bagging the trimmings. I was just finishing the edging when she appeared. I took a break, and listened to her chatter about the neighborhood activities, and how sad it was that in the past few months nobody had offered to do as much as I had. "I guess we victims of fate need to stick together." "It already looks 100% better. If you want to work in the backyard, I have a key to the gate." "It figures you would." "What is that supposed to mean?" she asked. "It just doesn't surprise me. I bet you've been helping out when you could." She sighed. "Not too much. She's too damn proud. Doesn't want any help from anybody." I shook my head. "Now you tell me. She'll probably call the police on me." "So what if she does? You know you're doing the right thing. I'll bail you out if need be." I let her unlock the back gate, and saw I had my work cut out for me. The back yard was worse than the front. The fence needed work as well, some boards were broken and loose, and one whole section was sagging. Luckily, my tools were only a couple of hundred feet away, across the alley, and I was soon at work, determined to finish before the residents arrived home. The biggest problem was one of the fence posts which had rotted out at the bottom. A new post and some quick-setting cement, solved that problem. Within an hour I'd be able to reattach the fence crossbeams to the new 4x4. I turned to see a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, watching me from the porch. Crap. "Just thought I'd fix your fence, before it falls down. I hope you don't mind." She just shook her head. She stood there watching me, and I felt ill at ease. I was a stranger. She shouldn't be talking to me. I should probably leave. "I'm just going to clean up here and head back home. I can finish up later when your mother's home." I straightened up my clothing a bit, wiping my hands on my pants. "I'm Alex Reed. I live across the alley," I explained, pointing down a few houses. She nodded. She reminded me so much of my own daughter, right around that age. Her hair was the same length, blonde, but not quite as light as Allora's. Allora. My perfect little Allora. I closed my eyes, seeing her in that hospital bed, bruised and bandaged, fighting for her life. Her hair tucked under the bandages, the few strands that stuck out dark from sweat. Her body so small in that antiseptic white bed. My Allora. Gone. It felt like somebody had wrapped a band around my chest, and pulled it tight. I couldn't breath. I turned away from Erica, so she wouldn't have to see me lose it. She'd suffered enough already. I felt the tears rise, unbidden, and I started for the gate. I had to get out of there. I barely made it as far as the driveway. It was too much. I closed the gate behind me and crumbled to the ground, seated with my head between my knees, my hands covering my head. It was Christmas, damn it! Christmas! My girls were supposed to be with me, shaking their presents and trying to guess what was in them. Instead Allora and Briana were gone. Their lives snuffed out before they could see anything of the world, before they could find their place, before they could fall in love. No shaking presents. No stomach aches from eating too many holiday sweets. No late night parties to drive me crazy with worry. No learning to drive. No struggling to find the right college. No bringing a boy home for the first time. No cramming for tests. No Spring Breaks. No proms. Nothing. Ever again. I was sobbing, and the little girl who had lost her father was standing on the driveway beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder, while I made a fool of myself. "Erica! You know your mother doesn't want you out if she's not at home. You should go back inside. Mr. Reed will be all right, he's just tired. Go on now." Cathy had me by the arm, and was doing her best to get me back on my feet. "C'mon Alex, not here. Let's get you home." I knew she was right. I stood up, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. "I'll be alright. Just give me a minute." I pulled myself together, took a couple of deep breaths, and stood straight. "I'm Ok. Seeing her was just a little too much, too soon. But I'm fine now. I need to clean up here, and put the fence back together." "Alright. I'll help." It only took us a few minutes to clean up and cart the bags of yard trimmings out to the rear curb. I ran all the yard tools back to my house, and returned to finish the fence work. I braced the new post with a couple of 2x4's and reattached the two panels. Cathy's help made it a lot easier. When we were done we both stood back and looked over the yard. Much better. "I'm going to go inside and fix Erica her after-school snack. It's about all that Sandy will let me do. Why don't you come with me?" "I don't know if I should. Sandy doesn't know me. She may not want me in her house when she's not there." "Never mind that. She'll be fine. Just come in a moment. It'll only take a few minutes." I followed her inside, through the glass sliding door. Erica was sitting on the floor watching TV. I didn't even look that way. I was afraid that seeing the wrong TV show would dredge up more painful memories. "Where can I wash my hands?" I asked Cathy. She pointed to a door. "In there." I headed to the bathroom. "Don't use the toilet. That one doesn't flush anymore." I could hear the running water in the commode. I washed my hands and wiped them on my shirt. There was no towel in the bathroom. Then I took the top off the tank and examined inside. Nothing complicated. The chain that connected the stopper to the handle extension was missing. Lifting the rubber stopper, I saw it was under the lip, the cause of the running water. I reattached the chain, and tested the flushing. Worked fine. "Fixed. The chain was just off." Cathy nodded, and returned to making a grilled cheese sandwich. Briana loved grilled cheese. But you couldn't cut the sandwich, and you had to remove the crust. I wouldn't be cutting the crust off of sandwiches anymore. I took a deep breath, and went to examine the front door. "Cathy? I'm going to head home and get my sander and some paint. This door needs some help desperately." "Go ahead. Sandy won't be home until late, and if we're going to get in trouble for the yard and the fence, we might as well make it a trifecta." Fifteen minutes later, I was running the battery powered hand-sander over the door, removing the worst of the existing paint. I didn't have too much to do, it was already mostly bare. I had brought over three possible paints to use, all of which I knew were approved by the homeowner's association. "What color paint do you think I should use?" I asked Cathy. "Let's ask Erica." She returned in a few seconds with Erica at her side. "We're going to paint the front door, Erica. What color would you like?" We had a choice of off-white, light blue, and a dark brown. She pointed to the light blue, then seated herself nearby to watch. I had already removed the hardware. I taped the hinges and bottom kick-plate, laid out my drip cloth, and started applying a coat of paint, top-to-bottom. I looked over at the young girl watching me so intently. I saw the tree beside her, so small and bare, with one little package underneath it. Christmas trees shouldn't look like that. They should be big, full of decorations, all sorts, each one with its own story. Handcrafted special ornaments, with pictures of your family members. Popsicle stick ornaments with the Elmer's glue showing. Lights blinking in an assortment of colors, candy canes and tinsel, and an angel on top. There should be presents around the bottom, stacked and scattered, so many you can't even get near the tree. It was the first year I didn't have a tree. We'd normally go out as a family and visit one of the Boy Scout tree lots, picking the biggest, fullest tree we thought could fit in my living room. Then we'd decorate it together, Christmas songs playing in the background, and sipping eggnog. We'd spend an eternity untangling the lights, replacing the bulbs that wouldn't work, and replacing the metal hangars on the decorations that needed them. It was an all day affair. Not this year. Not ever again. I realized I'd stopped painting, and I was staring. A long drip of paint from my brush was running down the door. The little girl looked at me, almost as if she understood. "Would you like to help?" I asked. She looked around, as if to ask if I was talking to her. "Yes, you." She shyly nodded yes. I reached over to my bucket of painting supplies and pulled out a small brush. I pointed to the inlaid panels on the bottom half of the door. "You can paint here, around the edge of the panel. It needs to be done with a detail brush like the one you have. Get into the cracks." She nodded, dipped her brush, and started painting straight down the panel edge, doing a good job. "That's perfect. Just like that." I went back to work completing the top half, and had to work around her, sometimes leaning way over to paint above her. She saw what I was doing, and I saw the mischievous heart of a little girl for a moment when she started backing away from the door, making me lean further and further over. "Hey!" I said in mock outrage. "You're doing that on purpose!" When she giggled, apparently ignoring me, and continuing with her painting effort, I felt a small leap in my heart. It was nice to hear her giggle. "When you're done with the painting, and done torturing me, you can paint around the edges of the two hinges and the kick-plate. If I won't be in your way." Little Erica nodded, and continued her careful painting, working slowly and deliberately around the perimeter before moving onto the hinges. I found myself kneeling beside her, painting the bottom-half of the door, while she detailed the trim. We switched places so I could work on the side near the hinges while she completed the bottom trim. "Not bad," I commented, holding out a drip bucket for her to dump her brush in. I sealed up the paint can, peeled off the trim tape, and stood back to get a look at the results. A little girl stood beside me, her blonde hair a poignant reminder of all I'd lost. I took a deep breath to compose myself. "Not bad at all. Think your mother will like it?" I looked down at her while she thought it over. A smile slowly spread across her face. She nodded twice. I put my hand down for a fist bump, just like I would with my girls. She shrank away for a second, then glanced up at my face for a second before making a tiny fist and bumping her knuckles against mine. We were enjoying the last of the natural light as dusk was settling in. Cathy walked out and stood beside us, giving her approval. "The blue is perfect. Great choice Erica." Erica stopped admiring her work, looked at Cathy, and blinked like she was just seeing her for the first time. She looked up and down the block, then walked back into the house and planted herself in front of the TV. "Ready to call it a day?" Cathy asked. "Yeah. Best get while the getting is good." I packed up my paint supplies and in just a couple of trips hid any trace that I'd ever been there. Except of course for the door, yard and fence. Oh, and the toilet, although that really didn't count for much. Back home I cleaned up and sat down pondering what I'd just done. I had mixed feelings, a little guilt creeping in for taking liberties with someone else's house. But thinking about that little girl, and what she must be going through, made anything I could do to help worthwhile. Thinking was dangerous. I realized I hadn't been very nice to the people who had tried to help me. I decided to rectify that if possible, and found a new phone cable for my phone and plugged it in. Picking it up I heard a dial tone. Good. I made a list of phone calls, and went to work. Calling, one-by-one, my friends, neighbors and co-workers, I apologized for my behavior and thanked them for their concern. To a one, they blew off my boorish behavior, and promised they'd be there for me if I needed anything. I stopped, with just a few calls remaining, wondering where those people were for Sandy and Erica, who seemed to need it far more than I. I picked up the phone and dialed Denise's family. I knew it was going to be tough. I apologized for leaving the funeral arrangements to them, and thanked them for all they had done. Speaking to Dan was difficult, but my conversation with Sharon almost did me in. The time we'd spent in the hospital, watching over Allora came up, and I had to take a break for a bit to get my emotions under rein, while I listened to Sharon sob. Even after the divorce we'd remained friendly, and I was glad that we'd had each other on that fateful watch. I promised I'd stop by in the next couple of days, she insisted there was some paperwork that needed taking care of. My last call was to Steve, my roommate for three years in college, and best friend in the world. I had hung up on him twice that first day, and it was haunting me. He'd left more than a dozen messages on my cell-phone voicemail. Plus, I had ulterior motives. The phone rang several times and went to the answering machine. I felt like a weight had lifted, I wouldn't have to face him. "Steve, Alex here. I'm sorry I..." "Alex, I'm here, don't hang up, I'm here. Let me turn off this damned machine. Hold on." I heard some rustling and the echo of our voices disappear. "Jesus, Alex. You're killing me." "Sorry. It hit me so hard; I just couldn't listen to one more well-wisher." "I understand." He would understand. His father had passed away while we were in our last year of college, and he took it hard. Started drinking heavy, cutting classes, and chasing anything with boobs. I took care of him as much as I could, going so far as to collect his homework and projects, even talking to his professors. He'd been slow to pull it together, but eventually came around. Five years later, less than a year out of law school, it was his mother. I had flown out and spent a week with him. I knew it would be hard - he was an only child, and he had few relatives, and none he was close to. He came out of that funk bitter, and it cost him his girlfriend - no loss there. We'd been as close as brothers, hell, probably closer. We still were. Steven understood. I opened my soul to him, and stayed on the phone for ages. I heard him send his wife off to bed, while I vented. It was a much needed cathartic outpouring that left me exhausted. "What can I do? Anything, you know it. Should I fly down?" As much as I'd love to see him, it had been nearly a year, he was a family man now, and it was Christmas. "No. Stay with your family. I'm doing better, and if I need to I can call." "Of course." "I also wanted to say I was sorry." "Sorry?" "Sorry that I couldn't do more for you when you lost your parents. I never really experienced losing anyone like that, and couldn't comprehend what you were going through." "Shut the fuck up. You were there for me, buddy. Always. When nobody else was. I'll never forget that. Enough said. Don't need to be getting sappy over it." I couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright. By the way, there's one other thing you might be able to do for me." "Anything. That's what friend are for." That's what friends are for. The pounding on my front door was not unexpected. Ten o'clock at night might be a little of a surprise, but the knock wasn't. I went to the front door, and looked out through the glass beside it. A woman stood there. I had a fairly good idea of who it was. I opened the door. "Mrs. Morrison?" She glared at me and nodded. "Come in, please. Can I get you a cup of tea, or coffee?" I turned and walked into the house, leaving the door open. I walked to the kitchen, and poured myself a cup of coffee. I turned to see her standing in the archway to the living room. She looked ready to burst, but I watched her breath deep and run her hands through her short hair. She looked young. Too young to be going through the hell she was currently experiencing. "I don't want you around my house or my daughter," she finally snapped. "I understand, and I'm sorry I interfered." I walked past her and sat down in the living room. "I can't explain it. I had to do something to get out of this house, and when Cathy told me about your situation I guess I got carried away." She stared at me, and crossed her arms. "Don't mention her name. I could kill her." I smiled. "Believe me, I understand that. She's been in my house every day, 3 or 4 times a day, meddling in my life." "Meddling is right," she snapped. She walked over and sat on the loveseat across from me. "Listen. I appreciate the thought. And I'm sorry for your loss." She smirked. "Ha, listen to me. Sorry for your loss. Crap." She leaned back. "We're doing fine. I don't need your help, I don't know you from Adam, and I don't want you around my daughter when nobody's around. Jesus, you painted my frickin' front door blue! A little presumptuous, don't you think?" I smiled. "I would have picked the wood tone. Blue was Erica's choice, one of the four approved colors according to our Stalinist homeowner's association." She leaned back, rolling her eyes up. "Don't remind me. If the bastards send me one more notice about yard and fence maintenance, I'll rip their lungs out." She seemed to calm down for a second, maybe realizing that those notices would no longer be coming. "I know. I should be thankful but I don't need a stranger meddling in my life. Understood? No more doing things for me." "I didn't do it for you. I did it for that little girl. You don't know me. I don't know you. Agreed. I don't know what happened to you and your family or why. Not really. What I do know is that girl of yours doesn't deserve the hand she's been dealt. That's all I could think. I just wanted to help where I could." She looked angry. "I'm sorry you lost your daughters. I am. But Erica is MINE. My daughter. My responsibility. Not yours." "You are right. She's no responsibility of mine." "That's right. I don't know you. We live three doors down and in two years you've never spoken a word to us. Six months we've been on our own. I certainly don't need you poking your head in now. I don't know you, I don't want to know you, and I'm not sure I'd like you if I did." "Welcome to the club." "Club?" "I'm not sure I like me either. I'm sorry, alright? Now I'm tired. You can let yourself out." She got up and stomped her way to the front door, closing it sharply behind her. That had gone better than I'd expected. December 23rd. I got up early, cleaning up, even shaving. I had errands to run. Cathy showed up in my kitchen while I was preparing breakfast. "At least neither of us is in jail," were her first words. "Not yet." "You did a good thing. Don't forget it." "I know. Still she was right. We should have asked permission." "The hell we should! She'd never have given it." "Then maybe we should leave her be." "If a person was drowning, and they couldn't yell for help, wouldn't you still throw them a life preserver?" "A little overly-dramatic, don't you think?" "No. She's going down for the third time, and is in complete denial. By the time she accepts the fact she needs help it could be too late." She looked me over. "You clean up nicely. What are you up to?" "I need to run some errands, see a few people, stop by work, some other stuff." "Don't overdue it," she said, still in her 'caring' mode. "Need some company?" "Thanks, I appreciate the offer. I can handle this." "Ok, you have my number. Give me a call if you need anything." The office visit was painful. I stopped in, thanking my bosses for their understanding, visiting a few friends and letting them know I appreciated their concern. The way they looked at me just drove home how alone I was. I was glad to get out of there. I made a visit to the florist and picked up a trunk-load of Christmas cacti. I drove around to everyone I could think of, expressing my gratitude, and leaving the pretty plants behind. I used the same corny line with each one, comparing my 'prickliness' the last couple of weeks to the plant's spines. I left a few plants on doorsteps with a note. By mid-afternoon I felt I'd done my part. I stopped by Denise's parent's house, and Sharon greeted me at the door with a hug before she broke into tears. After she'd soaked my shirt she brought me in. "There's something you need to know, Alex." She sounded odd, and I wondered what was up. "Denise left a will. She left you the house and the lion's share of her insurance, to take care of the girls if anything happened to her." I was stunned. It was so unexpected. "I... I don't know what to say." Sharon reached out and patted my hand. "It's not what I'd expected, but if you think about it, it makes sense. What are you going to do?" "I guess I'll sell the house. I certainly don't need two houses." "She had mortgage insurance, it'll be paid off. You could rent it out, you know. Earn some steady income off of it." It was too much too fast. I couldn't think straight. "I'll have to think about it. I just wasn't expecting anything like this." "I understand." She held my hand. "How are you doing?" "Better. Not good, but at least I can get out of bed." "We're here if you need us. You know that, right?" "Yes. Thank you. After the girls, you were the best thing that came out of our marriage." "We love you too. Don't forget it." "I'm sorry I was so useful about the funeral arrangements, I don't think I could have handled it without you," I confessed. "Don't even think about it. That's what family is for." That's what family is for. My day wasn't quite complete. A few more calls and I was putting things in motion I wasn't sure I should, but I couldn't resist. Around dinner time, I ventured next door. Cathy's husband John answered the door. "The hermit has left the cave. Good to see you out and about." He shook my hand, letting me in. "Cath - Alex is here." Cathy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. "How'd your day go?" "Not bad. A few surprises, but I survived." "We're about to eat. Care to sit down with us?" "Maybe. When do you think Sandy will be getting home?" "Probably nine-ish, would be my guess. Why?" "Just want to talk to her if I can." "You have time for dinner then?" "Sure." By 8:30 I was enjoying a cigar with John, sitting out in their driveway, trying to figure out what our football team's chances were of going anywhere in the playoffs. We were strategically positioned so I had a view of the Morrison's driveway. When Sandy drove up, I excused myself from John and jogged across the alley. "Sandy, can I talk to you a moment?" She looked ready to chase me off, but after a few awkward seconds she crossed her arms, leaned back against the car and raised her eyebrows. "Again, I'm sorry I entered your house without your permission. I know that was wrong. All I can say is I wasn't really thinking straight." She rolled her eyes. "Anything else?" "Yes. I know you told me you didn't need my help, but there's someone I'd like you speak to. I have a friend that's a lawyer, and he's willing to check into your insurance situation pro bono. Like you and me, he's suffered a few losses in life, and he'd like to help you if he can. If you'd just give him a call, he'll see what he can do." I could see she wanted to say no, but was torn. She gnawed on her bottom lip, which I saw were chapped. She looked exhausted. I pulled out his card and held it out to her. "It'll only take a couple of minutes. It can't hurt." She finally nodded and took the card from me. "Is that it?" "One last thing. I'm headed over to my ex-wife's house tomorrow to clean out the refrigerator, and to get rid of her tree. It's my responsibility now. I was going to ditch the tree; it's one of those pre-lit artificial ones which I never could stand. I thought, if you don't mind, and it's not interfering too much, I could bring it by here and you could take if off my hands. Otherwise it's going to the dump." I spit out the words quickly before she could find too much fault with me. She seemed resigned to allow me to interfere, at least this much. She sighed and finally spoke up. "Alright. That would be nice. Now if that's all, I'd like to go in now. My feet and back are aching and I have to get up early tomorrow." "That's all. You can call Steve tonight if you'd like, he's a night owl and is expecting your call. Good night." I took off quickly before she could change her mind about anything. I had recruited Cathy's help over dinner the night before, assuming things went Ok with Sandy, and by noon we were back at the Morrison house, knocking on the door. Erica let us in, and we hauled our goodies in after us. I had the tree folded up and left it on the front doorstep while we made room for it in the living room. After I'd put it in place, I hauled in a large plastic crate of Christmas decorations, and encouraged Cathy and Erica to get to work making the tree look 'festive'. Right on schedule my weekly cleaning crew showed up and I put them to work giving the entire house a thorough cleaning. I had felt guilty chasing them away the last few weeks, and had begged and cajoled them into doing me this one favor, on Christmas Eve of all days. The team of four went to work like whirling dervishes, storming through the rooms in pairs leaving sparking chrome and sweet smells in their wake. We only had a few hours if Cathy was right, and I had one more big task lined up. The Chem-Dry carpet cleaners were running a little late, but showed up not long after the cleaning crew had finished with the living and dining rooms, and I had moved most of the furniture into the hallways and kitchen. They went right to work, and had the downstairs completed in a little over an hour. While they worked at that, I spent the time decorating the front yard and the house with Christmas lights. I hoped that Sandy liked traditional multi-color displays. I wasn't all that fond of the 'all-white' look, and was using my own lights to decorate her house. By the time I had finished I was sweating up a storm, and was getting nervous about the time. The carpet guys left first, reminding me to let the carpet dry for another hour before returning the furniture to its place. The cleaning crew followed shortly after, and I'd rewarded them nicely, tipping them an extra $100 for coming out on Christmas Eve. I moved indoors, with the lights complete and lit up, to find a Christmas wonderland awaiting me. Cathy and Erica had done an amazing job, using what I had brought over and getting the Morrison's decorations out of the attic and putting those to use as well. You could hardly tell it was the same house. "You ladies have done an incredible job!" I announced, standing in the doorway. Cathy looked a little disheveled but very pleased with herself. "Let's finish up quick. I have to get home; John's going to kill me." I'd promised her we'd be done by 4:00 and it was already nearly 5:00. She was holding a Christmas Eve open-house and was expecting half of the neighborhood over that evening. She only had a couple of hours left to finish her own preparations. I gave her a hug for all of her effort and shooed her off, while I started hauling the furniture back into place, working at a frenzied pace to get done before the unsuspecting benefactor got home. Erica followed behind me, arranging all the lamps, baskets and knick-knacks, and adding additional holiday decorations as we went. With the last of the furniture in place, I turned and gave her a high-five. "This is all our secret, right? If your Mom asks, the Christmas elves stopped by to help clean up. You did a great job, Erica." She smiled and held her arms out to me. I leaned down and gave her a hug. "Thank you," she whispered, just before she let go and disappeared up the stairs. I felt a lump in my throat. Whether it was fear of being caught by her mother, or the joy of hearing her speak her first words to me, I couldn't be sure. By eight o'clock, Sandy still hadn't shown up on my front-doorstep with a shotgun. I guess she was going to wait until after Christmas to eviscerate me over meddling where I didn't belong. I didn't care. I felt good, the best I'd felt in two weeks, thinking about that little girl celebrating a real Christmas. Kids should have Christmas. I had cleaned up and decided to make an appearance next door, as I'd promised, when I got a call from Steve. "Hey-ho, Stevorino." "Only my Grandma gets to say that, asshole." "Merry fuckin' Christmas to you too." I teased. I heard him chuckle. "Merry Christmas is right. At least for your neighbor." "How's that?" I asked, suddenly interested. "The insurance creeps were just stalling. They don't have a leg to stand on. The only change to the policy was upon their advice after an annual policy review by their own agent. A little legal pressure was all it took. It's not a lot, less than $300K, but she'll be getting her check next week." "Steve, you're the man. I take back all those nasty things I said about you." "Shit, they're probably true. If anybody would know, it'd be you." "All kidding aside. You're a life saver." I knew he hated any hint of seriousness. I could almost hear him blushing over the phone. "Hey, that's what friends are for, right?" "That's right. And I couldn't ask for a better one." "Ditto. Asshole." "Shit. You had to go and spoil it. Listen, I gotta run. Give your family my love and have a great Christmas. I'll give you a call next week." "You got it. And Darla sends her love. She made me say that. Don't get any ideas." "Got it. Give her a kiss for me. Scratch that. I'll come out after the holidays and give it to her myself. When are you going to be out of town next?" "Funny guy. Start anything with her, and I'll make you keep her and the credit card bills." "Ouch. You win," I had to laugh. "Thanks again." "Merry Christmas. Hang in there buddy." "You too." To be continued in part 2, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales for Literotica 

Some things never change.

Nineteenth Sunday After Pentecost Numbers 11:4-6 24-29

Griping, Diet Soda, Trust God, Exercise, Covet, Breaking Animal News, Acknowledging God, Costco BONUS CONTENT: Have Me On The Podcast, Celebrity Pastor Return, Speaking Engagement  Quotes: “It's better to live a life of forgiveness.” “I burned a calorie.” “God has got to be your sufficiency.” “Of course God is controversial.”

In this episode, Dr. Eggett talks about the importance of leaders' responses to unexpected challenges and how these responses shape the culture of a dental practice. He shares a personal story about the lasting impact of a photograph and a friend's reminder that as a leader, one is always observed. This episode provides practical advice on maintaining composure, offering constructive feedback, and addressing issues appropriately in different timeframes—immediately, in the short term, and in the long term. By doing so, leaders can foster an environment of safety and growth, ensuring their reactions contribute positively to the team's culture. Music from #Uppbeat (free for Creators!): https://uppbeat.io/t/matrika/funk-style - License code: KUYOIZCBFCF1FOMP https://uppbeat.io/t/roo-walker/bolt - License code: RS1AU6Y5DGD5A3H8.

In hour 1 of The Heidi Harris Show, Heidi discusses Missouri's complaints on Marijuana Taxes. She is then joined by John Ladd, an Arizona Rancher on the Southern Border. Ladd discusses what he has witnessed at the border and the struggles he faces with illegal immigrants on his property. He shares the differences in illegal immigration at the border while Trump and Biden have both been in office. She then revisits last week's story involving a St. Louis Girl Scout Troop disbanding over raising money for children in Gaza.

Life isn’t fair. So when you fight back, fight dirty.In 2 parts, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I married young, and had two perfect daughters, but my marriage was far from perfect. We had been young and in love. I was entering the community college and Denise was starting her senior year when we decided to tie the knot. Her family’s ready acceptance of me was a huge factor - the family I’d never had, making me feel like a real member of theirs. I can admit it now; I probably loved being a part of the family as much as I loved Denise.Our split up was inevitable, two teenagers who knew nothing about life thinking their infatuation with each other would make everything else workout. I wasn’t an all-star, super jock, Rhodes Scholar with a 12" swinging cock. I was just your average student, A and B grades, spending some bench time on the football team to get my letter, and losing my virginity at 18 to the girl I’d eventually marry.When times got rough, we didn’t know how to handle it, and struck out at each other. Her family often stepped in and helped out when they could, but time after time, the great sex wasn’t enough to make up for the difference in our wants, needs and ambitions.In the end, we gave up. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle we made it through 5 years. Our devotion to our children allowed us to finally see past our own issues, and work out a remarkably amiable truce, with our girls at the center. Even though Denise and I couldn’t live together, it turned out we got along a lot better divorced. We shared our daughters’ time, lived only one neighborhood apart, and worked together as a team to make our personal differences have as little impact on our girls as possible.I had initially shared an apartment uptown, but eventually bought one of the smallest houses in the same school district, just to make things easier. It was a lot more than I needed most of the time, but when the girls stayed with me it felt like a home. And we only lived a couple of miles apart.The neighborhood was nice, predominantly younger families, in older, smallish homes. Most of the people were cordial, kept up their property, and after a few years I knew many by name and would exchange greetings at the grocery store, or when out shopping. I had become suburbanized.This was our fourth Christmas since the divorce. Denise was living with Eric, who I wish I could despise, but he was a decent guy with a great job and lousy taste in sports teams. He doted on my girls without trying to take my place. It had taken a while, but we’d developed a friendship, which wasn’t a bad thing.My child support was pegged at just over $1500, with the kids on my health insurance. Even though we weren’t married long enough for alimony to kick in, I was paying another $500 a month just to make the kids’ lives better. And for me, that was all that really mattered.The expense had been rough at first, but with little to concentrate on other than work, my performance skyrocketed. Two promotions in three years had made the financial aspect much less problematic, but increased travel had made the ability to be available for the girls less guaranteed. Denise was good about it, and worked with me. In return I picked up some more of the girls’ expenses, including music lessons and a piano.At Least we still had ChristmasChristmas was special. We celebrated Christmas as an extended family. I’d come over early, and we’d have a big family breakfast and open all the presents together. I really went all out to make sure the girls got their favorite items. At six and eight years old, they were still young enough to have simple wants, and the magic of Christmas was as real as it gets. The in-laws would come over in the afternoon with more presents and we’d have a good old fashioned Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. It was nice to be part of something.I got a Christmas shut-down at work and Denise didn’t, so we agreed that they’d stay with me from Christmas to New Year’s, and any time she could get off, we’d usually work out something to get her time with the kids. It was understood that I wouldn’t leave town, at least not for more than a day.Summer was great with the 2 weeks I got to spend with them, and we’d usually spend it on the beach. Christmas was still different. Christmas was magical.I always was given the girl’s wish list, but I’d also start my shopping in late November for the must have items of the season. And I wasn’t stingy; I’d buy them all up, just to make sure I didn’t miss any. Stores, online auctions, Craigslist, I’d use any way possible to get my hands on the hottest presents. The first two years I’d caught hell from Denise for buying everything on the list, leaving nothing for them to get. Now I received a separate list of things I wasn’t allowed to buy.So it was that I had just finished wrapping my forty-fourth present, all in glitter Barbie paper for Briana, and in Hannah Montana paper for Allora. December 5th, my earliest date so far to finish the bulk of my shopping. Sure, I’d pick up a few more things, including something for Denise and Eric, but my girls were taken care of. The presents were carefully spread around my living room, where they’d remain on display until just before Christmas, when I’d bring them over to Denise’s in a big ceremony.The call came from Denise’s mother, Sharon. It took me 11 minutes flat to get to the hospital. I was still too late. Denise and Briana had both died en-route. Eric had passed away only ten minutes before I’d arrived. But Allora, my perfect little Allora, was fighting for her life, in critical condition. She’d always been a fighter, would never back down from any challenge. She’d beat this too, I just knew it.It was a freak accident, with a car dodging out of the way to miss a coyote on the road. An 18 wheeler behind the car did his best to avoid the car in front of him, but ended up fishtailing, and taking out a suburban in the next lane over. That vehicle crossed the median and hit my ex-wife’s family van head-on. Six dead already and one little girl still fighting hard for her dear life.Sharon and I kept a vigil over the little towhead, and when the doctors came out after 6 hours and declared the worst was over and she was in stable condition, we fell into each other’s arms and cried like children.We stayed by her side, one of us always present, and Sharon called me when my baby woke up and spoke. For three long days we watched her slowly heal in the hospital, the worst of her bruises, cuts and contusions blossoming on the second day, and only just starting to fade again. I’m not a religious guy by nature, but I found myself on my knees beside her bed, praying to God to take care of her, and giving thanks for pulling her through this horrendous disaster.At 4:18 pm on December 7th she passed away.No warning, no reason, she was there, and then she wasn’t. The doctors suspected a clot. I suspected incompetence.I finally understood how a person could get so down on themselves that life might not even feel worth living.I went home and shut myself off from the world. After a while I took the phone off the hook. Hell, let’s be honest, I ripped the fucking wires out of the wall so I didn’t have to listen to one more bleeding heart tell me they were “sorry for my loss”. The cell phone was easier. I just turned it off.Several people from work came by and assured me that I could take as much time as I needed. They’d bring me food, and news, and would leave as soon as they felt they’d spent the minimum time required socially by the situation.Denise’s family took care of the funeral arrangements. They attempted to call, and even stopped by for my input. I gave them a check for $10,000 to take care of the girls, nearly wiping out my savings. What was I going to spend it on now? I couldn’t bring myself to go to the showing but I did take a shower and put on a suit for the funeral. It was a bleak day, gray skies, 20 mile an hour winds threatening to tear the top off of the outdoor tent. The ground was soggy from rain the previous night. Just perfect.“Thanks, God. Piss on a guy when he’s down. Well, fuck You too.”I shook the required hands, and kissed the offered cheeks until I just couldn’t take it any longer. All these fake people. Fake emotions. Tell me how sorry they were then go home to their perfect little families and eat meatloaf. Fuck'em. Fuck'em all.The Valley of the shadow of deathFourteen days. Two solid weeks in that dark house. I wouldn’t turn on any lights. No TV. I didn’t bathe, I didn’t shave. I sat in my chair or I lay in my bed and wallowed.I had a few visitors after the first couple of days, but I’d rarely let them in, and before long they had the decency to stop showing up. Only Cathy from next door wouldn’t let me sink into complete oblivion. Every day, at least 3 times a day, she’d check in on me. I wouldn’t have let her in, but she had a key to the back door for emergencies and wasn’t afraid to use it.She’d open the windows a crack, and goad me into getting out of bed and at least sit in the living room. She’d bring food, which she’d set in front of me, and refused to leave until I at least tried it. I insisted on getting my key back, and she handed it over willingly enough. And showed up again the next day. She’d made copies. Meddlesome bitch. Again, she badgered me into eating her breakfast.And she’d talk. God, how that woman could talk! I got tired just listening.All the neighborhood gossip, town gossip, political gossip, school gossip - she was plugged in everywhere and knew it all. Who was doing what, or whom. Griping about people who still had Thanksgiving decorations up, or had Christmas blowups in their front yard. Church fiascos and neighborhood vendettas, she would sit there, drink her tea (or bourbon and coke if the sun had set) and fill me in.I didn’t care.Cathy Has A New TherapyIt had been two weeks since the accident. I’d lost more than 10 pounds, and really just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But Cathy wouldn’t let me. She made it her personal mission to cheer me up, get me to respond, bring me back to life.Then one day she let me have it with both barrels.She walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard. “Damn it Alex! Snap out of it! Life is hard. And it isn’t fair, but as bad as you have it, there’s always someone who has it worse. Often in your own backyard if you have the eyes to see it.”“What do you know about it?” I snapped viciously. “I notice your kids are alive.”“I know my mother died when I was six, and my father left when I was thirteen, leaving Mike to raise my sister and me. He was seventeen years old. But he manned-up and did the job the best he could. That’s what I know. Life is hard.”“Life is hard. Life’s a bitch and then you die. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When God closes a door he opens a window. If I hear one more God-damned cliché I swear I’ll kill something,” I growled.“Alex, you got a raw deal. You had two perfect little girls, and now they’re gone. Your past is shattered. Your little bit of immortality is lost. And as bad as you’ve got it, I’d remind you others have it worse, and they just press on. You need to as well,” Cathy told me, kneeling beside me and holding my hands.The woman barely knew me. A middle-aged mother of three with grown kids, and a workaholic husband. Her life was her home, keeping it immaculate and decorated for every holiday and season. Now it seemed I was her newest project. Why should I matter that much to her? Couldn’t she see I didn’t want her help?“Sure, starving Ethiopians, children in Nigeria dying of aids, Tibetan monks martyred, it’s a tough world. Boo hoo.”“You don’t have to look as far as Ethiopia or Tibet. There are people right here, right on your own block that are really struggling. Open your eyes. If you don’t like the unfairness do something about it. Even up the odds a bit. Make a difference somewhere. Get back to living.”Something she said must have gnawed its way down to my subconscious. I spent my usual 14 hours or so in bed, but when I awoke I was thinking about her constant comments about someone in my own backyard that had it worse.I cataloged each person on my block, in my head, and nobody really had it that bad. Sure, Neil, three doors down had lost his job, but his wife was still working, and he was looking. The Harris’s on the corner had a boy in Iraq, but as far as I could tell he was still Ok, and they had three more at home. The Martins, one down from the corner, fought all the time, and even had the cops called in on them once but they were still together. What did Cathy mean?I expanded the radius of consideration to include the blocks surrounding us. Then it hit me. Across the alley in back, two houses past Cathy’s own. Six months ago. Barry Morrison had driven into an empty field behind the local middle school and eaten a bullet. I didn’t know much about the family - I just knew there was one.When Cathy came over, I had showered off the top two layers of grime and sweat, and was drinking a Coke in the living room.The Morrison Prescription“Good morning, Alex, beautiful day outside. Why don’t we go out on the porch?”“The Morrisons. Tell me about them.”She placed her mug of tea in the microwave, warming it up, then walked out my front door and sat in one of my rocking chairs out front.Irritated, I followed, and sat in the chair beside her. “The Morrisons?”“Sandy and her daughter Erica. You won’t see much of her; she’s working two jobs trying to keep the house over their heads. They’re still fighting with the insurance company over payment. Suicide clause won’t pay under two years. He had insurance for years, but just around two years ago he changed the terms. She’s been trying to sell the house, but it’s underwater, and nobody’s buying.”“How’s the little one?”“Erica’s not doing so well. She’s seeing a counselor twice a week, and hardly speaks anymore. The school’s talking about holding her back,” Cathy explained. She sounded sad.“Do we know anything more about why he did it?”“No crimes, he wasn’t fired, no embezzling, it’s not clear what it was about. Apparently he’d been depressed for quite a while, but the underlying situation is still a blank as far as I know.”“Harsh on the family, going out like that,” I told her, finding the whole idea hard to grasp.“To say the least. The poor woman is worn to a frazzle.”“And how does this all matter to me?” I asked.“It doesn’t. It doesn’t have to matter to anybody. They’re on their own. Alone.”“No family help?”“Not that I know of. If they’re around, we don’t see much of them, that’s for sure.”“Cathy, how the hell do you know all this stuff?” I had to ask.“People just like to talk to me. I’m a very good listener,” she told me with a big smile.We sat quietly enjoying the crisp air, finishing our drinks.“You’re a good neighbor too, Cathy. Thanks,” I said softly.“That’s what neighbors are for,” she said, reaching out and patting me on my arm.That’s what neighbors are for.Cathy brought me dinner again and I realized I was starving. She beamed at me when I finished the whole platter.“Let’s go for a walk, Alex. You could use a stretch of the legs.”It had gotten chilly, and we bundled up a bit. She took the lead and we walked down the block and turned up the neighborhood. We headed back up the next block and she regaled me with the entire history and habits of the inhabitants of each place we passed. She might have been a good listener, but I had to wonder when she ever was quiet long enough to hear anything.It was obvious when we got to Sandy Morrison’s place. The “For Sale” sign was a dead giveaway. The unkempt yard and overgrown bushes indicated a lack of care for months. It couldn’t help with the sales prospects. The door paint was faded, and there were no Christmas lights or decorations set up. I thought the Realtor wasn’t earning their commission, letting the place show like this. Through the window I could see a desktop Christmas tree, maybe two feet tall, lit up all in white.Strangely, Cathy stopped speaking before we got to the house, and didn’t speak again until the end of the block. “Sad,” was all she said.We took a round-about path back to my house, and our conversation had returned to the safety of weather concerns, community issues, and such, carefully skirting any discussion of the Morrisons.I was feeling the chill after the walk, and invited Cathy in for a cup of coffee, Irish fortified if she so desired.We drank our coffee in front of my gas fireplace, warming our old bones. Damn that neighbor of mine, and her good intentions! She’d not only gotten me to think of something other than my own misery, and the unfairness of it all, but she had me thinking about those poor girls behind me, and what they must be going through. Damn it! It wasn’t fair.I guess I still wasn’t ready for pleasant company. Angry at the world, I threw my mug at the wall, shattering it, and leaned over with my head in my hands, doing my best to hold back the tears. Big boys don’t cry.Cathy stood and ran her fingers through my hair for just a moment before leaving out the back door. Kind enough to leave me alone to wallow in my misery a little longer.Giving Is HealingDecember 22nd. Just three days until Christmas.When Cathy came over that morning, I was already up and dressed. I had my working duds on and coffee and bagels ready.“You’re up early,” she commented, helping herself to the java.“It’s almost 10,” I reminded her. “Not so awfully early.”She laughed. “Seems to me anything before noon is quite early as of late. Got plans?”I nodded. “Thought I’d head over to the Morrison’s and see what I can do about the outside of the house. Clean it up a bit. Make it a little more presentable if they’re really planning on selling it.”“That’s mighty neighborly of you.”“It’ll give me something to do. I need to get out of this damned house.”After our coffee, she walked with me across the alley, all my yard-work gear in a wheelbarrow. The grass was dormant, but long, and the bushes were out of control. I didn’t notice when Cathy left, but she returned in a few hours with some sandwiches for lunch, insisting I take a break.I’d finished the bush trimming and had mowed the lawn, bagging the trimmings. I was just finishing the edging when she appeared. I took a break, and listened to her chatter about the neighborhood activities, and how sad it was that in the past few months nobody had offered to do as much as I had.“I guess we victims of fate need to stick together.”“It already looks 100% better. If you want to work in the backyard, I have a key to the gate.”“It figures you would.”“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked.“It just doesn’t surprise me. I bet you’ve been helping out when you could.”She sighed. “Not too much. She’s too damn proud. Doesn’t want any help from anybody.”I shook my head. “Now you tell me. She’ll probably call the police on me.”“So what if she does? You know you’re doing the right thing. I’ll bail you out if need be.”I let her unlock the back gate, and saw I had my work cut out for me. The back yard was worse than the front. The fence needed work as well, some boards were broken and loose, and one whole section was sagging. Luckily, my tools were only a couple of hundred feet away, across the alley, and I was soon at work, determined to finish before the residents arrived home.The biggest problem was one of the fence posts which had rotted out at the bottom. A new post and some quick-setting cement, solved that problem. Within an hour I’d be able to reattach the fence crossbeams to the new 4x4.I turned to see a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, watching me from the porch. Crap.“Just thought I’d fix your fence, before it falls down. I hope you don’t mind.”She just shook her head.She stood there watching me, and I felt ill at ease. I was a stranger. She shouldn’t be talking to me. I should probably leave. “I’m just going to clean up here and head back home. I can finish up later when your mother’s home.”I straightened up my clothing a bit, wiping my hands on my pants. “I’m Alex Reed. I live across the alley,” I explained, pointing down a few houses.She nodded.She reminded me so much of my own daughter, right around that age. Her hair was the same length, blonde, but not quite as light as Allora’s.Allora. My perfect little Allora. I closed my eyes, seeing her in that hospital bed, bruised and bandaged, fighting for her life. Her hair tucked under the bandages, the few strands that stuck out dark from sweat. Her body so small in that antiseptic white bed. My Allora.Gone.It felt like somebody had wrapped a band around my chest, and pulled it tight. I couldn’t breathe. I turned away from Erica, so she wouldn’t have to see me lose it. She’d suffered enough already. I felt the tears rise, unbidden, and I started for the gate. I had to get out of there.I barely made it as far as the driveway. It was too much. I closed the gate behind me and crumbled to the ground, seated with my head between my knees, my hands covering my head. It was Christmas, damn it! Christmas! My girls were supposed to be with me, shaking their presents and trying to guess what was in them. Instead Allora and Briana were gone. Their lives snuffed out before they could see anything of the world, before they could find their place, before they could fall in love. No shaking presents. No stomach aches from eating too many holiday sweets. No late night parties to drive me crazy with worry. No learning to drive. No struggling to find the right college. No bringing a boy home for the first time. No cramming for tests. No Spring Breaks. No proms. Nothing. Ever again.I was sobbing, and the little girl who had lost her father was standing on the driveway beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder, while I made a fool of myself.“Erica! You know your mother doesn’t want you out if she’s not at home. You should go back inside. Mr. Reed will be all right, he’s just tired. Go on now.” Cathy had me by the arm, and was doing her best to get me back on my feet. “Come on Alex, not here. Let’s get you home.”I knew she was right. I stood up, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. “I’ll be alright. Just give me a minute.” I pulled myself together, took a couple of deep breaths, and stood straight. “I’m Ok. Seeing her was just a little too much, too soon. But I’m fine now. I need to clean up here, and put the fence back together.”“Alright. I’ll help.”It only took us a few minutes to clean up and cart the bags of yard trimmings out to the rear curb. I ran all the yard tools back to my house, and returned to finish the fence work. I braced the new post with a couple of 2x4’s and reattached the two panels. Cathy’s help made it a lot easier. When we were done we both stood back and looked over the yard. Much better.“I’m going to go inside and fix Erica her after-school snack. It’s about all that Sandy will let me do. Why don’t you come with me?”“I don’t know if I should. Sandy doesn’t know me. She may not want me in her house when she’s not there.”“Never mind that. She’ll be fine. Just come in a moment. It’ll only take a few minutes.”I followed her inside, through the glass sliding door. Erica was sitting on the floor watching TV. I didn’t even look that way. I was afraid that seeing the wrong TV show would dredge up more painful memories.“Where can I wash my hands?” I asked Cathy.She pointed to a door. “In there.”I headed to the bathroom. “Don’t use the toilet. That one doesn’t flush anymore.”I could hear the running water in the commode. I washed my hands and wiped them on my shirt. There was no towel in the bathroom. Then I took the top off the tank and examined inside. Nothing complicated. The chain that connected the stopper to the handle extension was missing. Lifting the rubber stopper, I saw it was under the lip, the cause of the running water. I reattached the chain, and tested the flushing. Worked fine.“Fixed. The chain was just off.”Cathy nodded, and returned to making a grilled cheese sandwich. Briana loved grilled cheese. But you couldn’t cut the sandwich, and you had to remove the crust. I wouldn’t be cutting the crust off of sandwiches anymore.I took a deep breath, and went to examine the front door.“Cathy? I’m going to head home and get my sander and some paint. This door needs some help desperately.”“Go ahead. Sandy won’t be home until late, and if we’re going to get in trouble for the yard and the fence, we might as well make it a trifecta.”Fifteen minutes later, I was running the battery powered hand-sander over the door, removing the worst of the existing paint. I didn’t have too much to do, it was already mostly bare. I had brought over three possible paints to use, all of which I knew were approved by the homeowner’s association.“What color paint do you think I should use?” I asked Cathy.“Let’s ask Erica.” She returned in a few seconds with Erica at her side. “We’re going to paint the front door, Erica. What color would you like?”We had a choice of off-white, light blue, and a dark brown. She pointed to the light blue, then seated herself nearby to watch.I had already removed the hardware. I taped the hinges and bottom kick-plate, laid out my drip cloth, and started applying a coat of paint, top-to-bottom. I looked over at the young girl watching me so intently. I saw the tree beside her, so small and bare, with one little package underneath it.Christmas trees shouldn’t look like that.They should be big, full of decorations, all sorts, each one with its own story. Handcrafted special ornaments, with pictures of your family members. Popsicle stick ornaments with the Elmer’s glue showing. Lights blinking in an assortment of colors, candy canes and tinsel, and an angel on top. There should be presents around the bottom, stacked and scattered, so many you can’t even get near the tree.It was the first year I didn’t have a tree.We’d normally go out as a family and visit one of the Boy Scout tree lots, picking the biggest, fullest tree we thought could fit in my living room. Then we’d decorate it together, Christmas songs playing in the background, and sipping eggnog. We’d spend an eternity untangling the lights, replacing the bulbs that wouldn’t work, and replacing the metal hangars on the decorations that needed them. It was an all-day affair.Not this year. Not ever again.I realized I’d stopped painting, and I was staring. A long drip of paint from my brush was running down the door. The little girl looked at me, almost as if she understood.“Would you like to help?” I asked.She looked around, as if to ask if I was talking to her.“Yes, you.”She shyly nodded yes. I reached over to my bucket of painting supplies and pulled out a small brush. I pointed to the inlaid panels on the bottom half of the door. “You can paint here, around the edge of the panel. It needs to be done with a detail brush like the one you have. Get into the cracks.”She nodded, dipped her brush, and started painting straight down the panel edge, doing a good job.“That’s perfect. Just like that.” I went back to work completing the top half, and had to work around her, sometimes leaning way over to paint above her. She saw what I was doing, and I saw the mischievous heart of a little girl for a moment when she started backing away from the door, making me lean further and further over.“Hey!” I said in mock outrage. “You’re doing that on purpose!”When she giggled, apparently ignoring me, and continuing with her painting effort, I felt a small leap in my heart. It was nice to hear her giggle.“When you’re done with the painting, and done torturing me, you can paint around the edges of the two hinges and the kick-plate. If I won’t be in your way.”Little Erica nodded, and continued her careful painting, working slowly and deliberately around the perimeter before moving onto the hinges.I found myself kneeling beside her, painting the bottom-half of the door, while she detailed the trim. We switched places so I could work on the side near the hinges while she completed the bottom trim.“Not bad,” I commented, holding out a drip bucket for her to dump her brush in. I sealed up the paint can, peeled off the trim tape, and stood back to get a look at the results. A little girl stood beside me, her blonde hair a poignant reminder of all I’d lost. I took a deep breath to compose myself.“Not bad at all. Think your mother will like it?”I looked down at her while she thought it over. A smile slowly spread across her face. She nodded twice.I put my hand down for a fist bump, just like I would with my girls. She shrank away for a second, then glanced up at my face for a second before making a tiny fist and bumping her knuckles against mine.We were enjoying the last of the natural light as dusk was settling in. Cathy walked out and stood beside us, giving her approval. “The blue is perfect. Great choice Erica.”Erica stopped admiring her work, looked at Cathy, and blinked like she was just seeing her for the first time. She looked up and down the block, then walked back into the house and planted herself in front of the TV.“Ready to call it a day?” Cathy asked.“Yeah. Best get while the getting is good.” I packed up my paint supplies and in just a couple of trips hid any trace that I’d ever been there. Except of course for the door, yard and fence. Oh, and the toilet, although that really didn’t count for much.Back home I cleaned up and sat down pondering what I’d just done. I had mixed feelings, a little guilt creeping in for taking liberties with someone else’s house. But thinking about that little girl, and what she must be going through, made anything I could do to help worthwhile.Thinking was dangerous. I realized I hadn’t been very nice to the people who had tried to help me. I decided to rectify that if possible, and found a new phone cable for my phone and plugged it in. Picking it up I heard a dial tone. Good.I made a list of phone calls, and went to work. Calling, one-by-one, my friends, neighbors and co-workers, I apologized for my behavior and thanked them for their concern. To a one, they blew off my boorish behavior, and promised they’d be there for me if I needed anything.I stopped, with just a few calls remaining, wondering where those people were for Sandy and Erica, who seemed to need it far more than I.I picked up the phone and dialed Denise’s family. I knew it was going to be tough. I apologized for leaving the funeral arrangements to them, and thanked them for all they had done. Speaking to Dan was difficult, but my conversation with Sharon almost did me in. The time we’d spent in the hospital, watching over Allora came up, and I had to take a break for a bit to get my emotions under rein, while I listened to Sharon sob. Even after the divorce we’d remained friendly, and I was glad that we’d had each other on that fateful watch. I promised I’d stop by in the next couple of days, she insisted there was some paperwork that needed taking care of.My last call was to Steve, my roommate for three years in college, and best friend in the world. I had hung up on him twice that first day, and it was haunting me. He’d left more than a dozen messages on my cell-phone voicemail. Plus, I had ulterior motives.The phone rang several times and went to the answering machine. I felt like a weight had lifted, I wouldn’t have to face him. “Steve, Alex here. I’m sorry I…”“Alex, I’m here, don’t hang up, I’m here. Let me turn off this damned machine. Hold on.” I heard some rustling and the echo of our voices disappear. “Jesus, Alex. You’re killing me.”“Sorry. It hit me so hard; I just couldn’t listen to one more well-wisher.”“I understand.”He would understand. His father had passed away while we were in our last year of college, and he took it hard. Started drinking heavy, cutting classes, and chasing anything with boobs. I took care of him as much as I could, going so far as to collect his homework and projects, even talking to his professors. He’d been slow to pull it together, but eventually came around.Five years later, less than a year out of law school, it was his mother. I had flown out and spent a week with him. I knew it would be hard - he was an only child, and he had few relatives, and none he was close to. He came out of that funk bitter, and it cost him his girlfriend - no loss there. We’d been as close as brothers, hell, probably closer. We still were.Steven understood.I opened my soul to him, and stayed on the phone for ages. I heard him send his wife off to bed, while I vented. It was a much needed cathartic outpouring that left me exhausted.“What can I do? Anything, you know it. Should I fly down?”As much as I’d love to see him, it had been nearly a year, he was a family man now, and it was Christmas. “No. Stay with your family. I’m doing better, and if I need to I can call.”“Of course.”“I also wanted to say I was sorry.”“Sorry?”“Sorry that I couldn’t do more for you when you lost your parents. I never really experienced losing anyone like that, and couldn’t comprehend what you were going through.”“Shut the fuck up. You were there for me, buddy. Always. When nobody else was. I’ll never forget that. Enough said. Don’t need to be getting sappy over it.”I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright. By the way, there’s one other thing you might be able to do for me.”“Anything. That’s what friend are for.”That’s what friends are for.Meeting The ReaperThe pounding on my front door was not unexpected. Ten o'clock at night might be a little of a surprise, but the knock wasn’t.I went to the front door, and looked out through the glass beside it. A woman stood there. I had a fairly good idea of who it was.I opened the door. “Mrs. Morrison?”She glared at me and nodded.“Come in, please. Can I get you a cup of tea, or coffee?” I turned and walked into the house, leaving the door open. I walked to the kitchen, and poured myself a cup of coffee. I turned to see her standing in the archway to the living room.She looked ready to burst, but I watched her breath deep and run her hands through her short hair. She looked young. Too young to be going through the hell she was currently experiencing.“I don’t want you around my house or my daughter,” she finally snapped.“I understand, and I’m sorry I interfered.” I walked past her and sat down in the living room. “I can’t explain it. I had to do something to get out of this house, and when Cathy told me about your situation I guess I got carried away.”She stared at me, and crossed her arms. “Don’t mention her name. I could kill her.”I smiled. “Believe me, I understand that. She’s been in my house every day, 3 or 4 times a day, meddling in my life.”“Meddling is right,” she snapped. She walked over and sat on the loveseat across from me. “Listen. I appreciate the thought. And I’m sorry for your loss.” She smirked. “Ha, listen to me. Sorry for your loss. Crap.”She leaned back. “We’re doing fine. I don’t need your help, I don’t know you from Adam, and I don’t want you around my daughter when nobody’s around. Jesus, you painted my fricking’ front door blue! A little presumptuous, don’t you think?”I smiled. “I would have picked the wood tone. Blue was Erica’s choice, one of the four approved colors according to our Stalinist homeowner’s association.”She leaned back, rolling her eyes up. “Don’t remind me. If the bastards send me one more notice about yard and fence maintenance, I’ll rip their lungs out.” She seemed to calm down for a second, maybe realizing that those notices would no longer be coming. “I know. I should be thankful but I don’t need a stranger meddling in my life. Understood? No more doing things for me.”“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for that little girl. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. Agreed. I don’t know what happened to you and your family or why. Not really. What I do know is that girl of yours doesn’t deserve the hand she’s been dealt. That’s all I could think. I just wanted to help where I could.”She looked angry. “I’m sorry you lost your daughters. I am. But Erica is Mine. My daughter. My responsibility. Not yours.”“You are right. She’s no responsibility of mine.”“That’s right. I don’t know you. We live three doors down and in two years you’ve never spoken a word to us. Six months we’ve been on our own. I certainly don’t need you poking your head in now. I don’t know you, I don’t want to know you, and I’m not sure I’d like you if I did.”“Welcome to the club.”“Club?”“I’m not sure I like me either. I’m sorry, alright? Now I’m tired. You can let yourself out.”She got up and stomped her way to the front door, closing it sharply behind her.That had gone better than I’d expected.IrrepressibleDecember 23rd. I got up early, cleaning up, even shaving. I had errands to run. Cathy showed up in my kitchen while I was preparing breakfast.“At least neither of us is in jail,” were her first words.“Not yet.”“You did a good thing. Don’t forget it.”“I know. Still she was right. We should have asked permission.”“The hell we should! She’d never have given it.”“Then maybe we should leave her be.”“If a person was drowning, and they couldn’t yell for help, wouldn’t you still throw them a life preserver?”“A little overly-dramatic, don’t you think?”“No. She’s going down for the third time, and is in complete denial. By the time she accepts the fact she needs help it could be too late.” She looked me over. “You clean up nicely. What are you up to?”“I need to run some errands, see a few people, stop by work, some other stuff.”“Don’t overdo it,” she said, still in her ‘caring’ mode. “Need some company?”“Thanks, I appreciate the offer. I can handle this.”“Ok, you have my number. Give me a call if you need anything.”Making The RoundsThe office visit was painful. I stopped in, thanking my bosses for their understanding, visiting a few friends and letting them know I appreciated their concern. The way they looked at me just drove home how alone I was. I was glad to get out of there.I made a visit to the florist and picked up a trunk-load of Christmas cacti. I drove around to everyone I could think of, expressing my gratitude, and leaving the pretty plants behind. I used the same corny line with each one, comparing my 'prickliness’ the last couple of weeks to the plant’s spines. I left a few plants on doorsteps with a note. By mid-afternoon I felt I’d done my part.I stopped by Denise’s parent’s house, and Sharon greeted me at the door with a hug before she broke into tears. After she’d soaked my shirt she brought me in.“There’s something you need to know, Alex.”She sounded odd, and I wondered what was up.“Denise left a will. She left you the house and the lion’s share of her insurance, to take care of the girls if anything happened to her.”I was stunned. It was so unexpected. “I… I don’t know what to say.”Sharon reached out and patted my hand. “It’s not what I’d expected, but if you think about it, it makes sense. What are you going to do?”“I guess I’ll sell the house. I certainly don’t need two houses.”“She had mortgage insurance, it’ll be paid off. You could rent it out, you know. Earn some steady income off of it.”It was too much too fast. I couldn’t think straight. “I’ll have to think about it. I just wasn’t expecting anything like this.”“I understand.” She held my hand. “How are you doing?”“Better. Not good, but at least I can get out of bed.”“We’re here if you need us. You know that, right?”“Yes. Thank you. After the girls, you were the best thing that came out of our marriage.”“We love you too. Don’t forget it.”“I’m sorry I was so useful about the funeral arrangements, I don’t think I could have handled it without you,” I confessed.“Don’t even think about it. That’s what family is for.”That’s what family is for.My day wasn’t quite complete. A few more calls and I was putting things in motion I wasn’t sure I should, but I couldn’t resist.Around dinner time, I ventured next door. Cathy’s husband John answered the door. “The hermit has left the cave. Good to see you out and about.” He shook my hand, letting me in. “Cath - Alex is here.”Cathy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. “How’d your day go?”“Not bad. A few surprises, but I survived.”“We’re about to eat. Care to sit down with us?”“Maybe. When do you think Sandy will be getting home?”“Probably nine-ish, would be my guess. Why?”“Just want to talk to her if I can.”“You have time for dinner then?”“Sure.”Another Confrontation With SandyBy 8:30 I was enjoying a cigar with John, sitting out in their driveway, trying to figure out what our football team’s chances were of going anywhere in the playoffs. We were strategically positioned so I had a view of the Morrison’s driveway.When Sandy drove up, I excused myself from John and jogged across the alley.“Sandy, can I talk to you a moment?”She looked ready to chase me off, but after a few awkward seconds she crossed her arms, leaned back against the car and raised her eyebrows.“Again, I’m sorry I entered your house without your permission. I know that was wrong. All I can say is I wasn’t really thinking straight.”She rolled her eyes. “Anything else?”“Yes. I know you told me you didn’t need my help, but there’s someone I’d like you speak to. I have a friend that’s a lawyer, and he’s willing to check into your insurance situation pro bono. Like you and me, he’s suffered a few losses in life, and he’d like to help you if he can. If you’d just give him a call, he’ll see what he can do.”I could see she wanted to say no, but was torn. She gnawed on her bottom lip, which I saw were chapped. She looked exhausted. I pulled out his card and held it out to her. “It’ll only take a couple of minutes. It can’t hurt.”She finally nodded and took the card from me. “Is that it?”“One last thing. I’m headed over to my ex-wife’s house tomorrow to clean out the refrigerator, and to get rid of her tree. It’s my responsibility now. I was going to ditch the tree; it’s one of those pre-lit artificial ones which I never could stand. I thought, if you don’t mind, and it’s not interfering too much, I could bring it by here and you could take if off my hands. Otherwise it’s going to the dump.” I spit out the words quickly before she could find too much fault with me.She seemed resigned to allow me to interfere, at least this much. She sighed and finally spoke up. “Alright. That would be nice. Now if that’s all, I’d like to go in now. My feet and back are aching and I have to get up early tomorrow.”“That’s all. You can call Steve tonight if you’d like, he’s a night owl and is expecting your call. Good night.”I took off quickly before she could change her mind about anything.Just ‘a bit' of decoratingI had recruited Cathy’s help over dinner the night before, assuming things went Ok with Sandy, and by noon we were back at the Morrison house, knocking on the door.Erica let us in, and we hauled our goodies in after us. I had the tree folded up and left it on the front doorstep while we made room for it in the living room. After I’d put it in place, I hauled in a large plastic crate of Christmas decorations, and encouraged Cathy and Erica to get to work making the tree look 'festive’. Right on schedule my weekly cleaning crew showed up and I put them to work giving the entire house a thorough cleaning. I had felt guilty chasing them away the last few weeks, and had begged and cajoled them into doing me this one favor, on Christmas Eve of all days. The team of four went to work like whirling dervishes, storming through the rooms in pairs leaving sparking chrome and sweet smells in their wake.We only had a few hours if Cathy was right, and I had one more big task lined up. The Chem-Dry carpet cleaners were running a little late, but showed up not long after the cleaning crew had finished with the living and dining rooms, and I had moved most of the furniture into the hallways and kitchen. They went right to work, and had the downstairs completed in a little over an hour. While they worked at that, I spent the time decorating the front yard and the house with Christmas lights. I hoped that Sandy liked traditional multi-color displays. I wasn’t all that fond of the 'all-white’ look, and was using my own lights to decorate her house. By the time I had finished I was sweating up a storm, and was getting nervous about the time.The carpet guys left first, reminding me to let the carpet dry for another hour before returning the furniture to its place. The cleaning crew followed shortly after, and I’d rewarded them nicely, tipping them an extra $100 for coming out on Christmas Eve. I moved indoors, with the lights complete and lit up, to find a Christmas wonderland awaiting me.Cathy and Erica had done an amazing job, using what I had brought over and getting the Morrison’s decorations out of the attic and putting those to use as well. You could hardly tell it was the same house.“You ladies have done an incredible job!” I announced, standing in the doorway.Cathy looked a little disheveled but very pleased with herself. “Let’s finish up quick. I have to get home; John’s going to kill me.”I’d promised her we’d be done by 4:00 and it was already nearly 5:00. She was holding a Christmas Eve open-house and was expecting half of the neighborhood over that evening. She only had a couple of hours left to finish her own preparations. I gave her a hug for all of her effort and shooed her off, while I started hauling the furniture back into place, working at a frenzied pace to get done before the unsuspecting benefactor got home.Erica followed behind me, arranging all the lamps, baskets and knick-knacks, and adding additional holiday decorations as we went. With the last of the furniture in place, I turned and gave her a high-five.“This is all our secret, right? If your Mom asks, the Christmas elves stopped by to help clean up. You did a great job, Erica.”She smiled and held her arms out to me. I leaned down and gave her a hug.“Thank you,” she whispered, just before she let go and disappeared up the stairs.I felt a lump in my throat. Whether it was fear of being caught by her mother, or the joy of hearing her speak her first words to me, I couldn’t be sure.A Legal-Eagle CallBy eight o'clock, Sandy still hadn’t shown up on my front-doorstep with a shotgun. I guess she was going to wait until after Christmas to eviscerate me over meddling where I didn’t belong.I didn’t care. I felt good, the best I’d felt in two weeks, thinking about that little girl celebrating a real Christmas. Kids should have Christmas.I had cleaned up and decided to make an appearance next door, as I’d promised, when I got a call from Steve.“Hey-ho, Stevorino.”“Only my Grandma gets to say that, asshole.”“Merry fuckin’ Christmas to you too.” I teased.I heard him chuckle. “Merry Christmas is right. At least for your neighbor.”“How’s that?” I asked, suddenly interested.“The insurance creeps were just stalling. They don’t have a leg to stand on. The only change to the policy was upon their advice after an annual policy review by their own agent. A little legal pressure was all it took. It’s not a lot, less than $300K, but she’ll be getting her check next week.”“Steve, you’re the man. I take back all those nasty things I said about you.”“Shit, they’re probably true. If anybody would know, it’d be you.”“All kidding aside. You’re a life saver.”I knew he hated any hint of seriousness. I could almost hear him blushing over the phone. “Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?”“That’s right. And I couldn’t ask for a better one.”“Ditto. Asshole.”“Shit. You had to go and spoil it. Listen, I gotta run. Give your family my love and have a great Christmas. I’ll give you a call next week.”“You got it. And Darla sends her love. She made me say that. Don’t get any ideas.”“Got it. Give her a kiss for me. Scratch that. I’ll come out after the holidays and give it to her myself. When are you going to be out of town next?”“Funny guy. Start anything with her, and I’ll make you keep her and the credit card bills.”“Ouch. You win,” I had to laugh. “Thanks again.”“Merry Christmas. Hang in there buddy.”“You too.”To be continued in Part 2, By Tx Tall Tales, for Literotica.

Life isn’t fair. So when you fight back, fight dirty.In 2 parts, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I married young, and had two perfect daughters, but my marriage was far from perfect. We had been young and in love. I was entering the community college and Denise was starting her senior year when we decided to tie the knot. Her family’s ready acceptance of me was a huge factor - the family I’d never had, making me feel like a real member of theirs. I can admit it now; I probably loved being a part of the family as much as I loved Denise.Our split up was inevitable, two teenagers who knew nothing about life thinking their infatuation with each other would make everything else workout. I wasn’t an all-star, super jock, Rhodes Scholar with a 12" swinging cock. I was just your average student, A and B grades, spending some bench time on the football team to get my letter, and losing my virginity at 18 to the girl I’d eventually marry.When times got rough, we didn’t know how to handle it, and struck out at each other. Her family often stepped in and helped out when they could, but time after time, the great sex wasn’t enough to make up for the difference in our wants, needs and ambitions.In the end, we gave up. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle we made it through 5 years. Our devotion to our children allowed us to finally see past our own issues, and work out a remarkably amiable truce, with our girls at the center. Even though Denise and I couldn’t live together, it turned out we got along a lot better divorced. We shared our daughters’ time, lived only one neighborhood apart, and worked together as a team to make our personal differences have as little impact on our girls as possible.I had initially shared an apartment uptown, but eventually bought one of the smallest houses in the same school district, just to make things easier. It was a lot more than I needed most of the time, but when the girls stayed with me it felt like a home. And we only lived a couple of miles apart.The neighborhood was nice, predominantly younger families, in older, smallish homes. Most of the people were cordial, kept up their property, and after a few years I knew many by name and would exchange greetings at the grocery store, or when out shopping. I had become suburbanized.This was our fourth Christmas since the divorce. Denise was living with Eric, who I wish I could despise, but he was a decent guy with a great job and lousy taste in sports teams. He doted on my girls without trying to take my place. It had taken a while, but we’d developed a friendship, which wasn’t a bad thing.My child support was pegged at just over $1500, with the kids on my health insurance. Even though we weren’t married long enough for alimony to kick in, I was paying another $500 a month just to make the kids’ lives better. And for me, that was all that really mattered.The expense had been rough at first, but with little to concentrate on other than work, my performance skyrocketed. Two promotions in three years had made the financial aspect much less problematic, but increased travel had made the ability to be available for the girls less guaranteed. Denise was good about it, and worked with me. In return I picked up some more of the girls’ expenses, including music lessons and a piano.At Least we still had ChristmasChristmas was special. We celebrated Christmas as an extended family. I’d come over early, and we’d have a big family breakfast and open all the presents together. I really went all out to make sure the girls got their favorite items. At six and eight years old, they were still young enough to have simple wants, and the magic of Christmas was as real as it gets. The in-laws would come over in the afternoon with more presents and we’d have a good old fashioned Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. It was nice to be part of something.I got a Christmas shut-down at work and Denise didn’t, so we agreed that they’d stay with me from Christmas to New Year’s, and any time she could get off, we’d usually work out something to get her time with the kids. It was understood that I wouldn’t leave town, at least not for more than a day.Summer was great with the 2 weeks I got to spend with them, and we’d usually spend it on the beach. Christmas was still different. Christmas was magical.I always was given the girl’s wish list, but I’d also start my shopping in late November for the must have items of the season. And I wasn’t stingy; I’d buy them all up, just to make sure I didn’t miss any. Stores, online auctions, Craigslist, I’d use any way possible to get my hands on the hottest presents. The first two years I’d caught hell from Denise for buying everything on the list, leaving nothing for them to get. Now I received a separate list of things I wasn’t allowed to buy.So it was that I had just finished wrapping my forty-fourth present, all in glitter Barbie paper for Briana, and in Hannah Montana paper for Allora. December 5th, my earliest date so far to finish the bulk of my shopping. Sure, I’d pick up a few more things, including something for Denise and Eric, but my girls were taken care of. The presents were carefully spread around my living room, where they’d remain on display until just before Christmas, when I’d bring them over to Denise’s in a big ceremony.The call came from Denise’s mother, Sharon. It took me 11 minutes flat to get to the hospital. I was still too late. Denise and Briana had both died en-route. Eric had passed away only ten minutes before I’d arrived. But Allora, my perfect little Allora, was fighting for her life, in critical condition. She’d always been a fighter, would never back down from any challenge. She’d beat this too, I just knew it.It was a freak accident, with a car dodging out of the way to miss a coyote on the road. An 18 wheeler behind the car did his best to avoid the car in front of him, but ended up fishtailing, and taking out a suburban in the next lane over. That vehicle crossed the median and hit my ex-wife’s family van head-on. Six dead already and one little girl still fighting hard for her dear life.Sharon and I kept a vigil over the little towhead, and when the doctors came out after 6 hours and declared the worst was over and she was in stable condition, we fell into each other’s arms and cried like children.We stayed by her side, one of us always present, and Sharon called me when my baby woke up and spoke. For three long days we watched her slowly heal in the hospital, the worst of her bruises, cuts and contusions blossoming on the second day, and only just starting to fade again. I’m not a religious guy by nature, but I found myself on my knees beside her bed, praying to God to take care of her, and giving thanks for pulling her through this horrendous disaster.At 4:18 pm on December 7th she passed away.No warning, no reason, she was there, and then she wasn’t. The doctors suspected a clot. I suspected incompetence.I finally understood how a person could get so down on themselves that life might not even feel worth living.I went home and shut myself off from the world. After a while I took the phone off the hook. Hell, let’s be honest, I ripped the fucking wires out of the wall so I didn’t have to listen to one more bleeding heart tell me they were “sorry for my loss”. The cell phone was easier. I just turned it off.Several people from work came by and assured me that I could take as much time as I needed. They’d bring me food, and news, and would leave as soon as they felt they’d spent the minimum time required socially by the situation.Denise’s family took care of the funeral arrangements. They attempted to call, and even stopped by for my input. I gave them a check for $10,000 to take care of the girls, nearly wiping out my savings. What was I going to spend it on now? I couldn’t bring myself to go to the showing but I did take a shower and put on a suit for the funeral. It was a bleak day, gray skies, 20 mile an hour winds threatening to tear the top off of the outdoor tent. The ground was soggy from rain the previous night. Just perfect.“Thanks, God. Piss on a guy when he’s down. Well, fuck You too.”I shook the required hands, and kissed the offered cheeks until I just couldn’t take it any longer. All these fake people. Fake emotions. Tell me how sorry they were then go home to their perfect little families and eat meatloaf. Fuck'em. Fuck'em all.The Valley of the shadow of deathFourteen days. Two solid weeks in that dark house. I wouldn’t turn on any lights. No TV. I didn’t bathe, I didn’t shave. I sat in my chair or I lay in my bed and wallowed.I had a few visitors after the first couple of days, but I’d rarely let them in, and before long they had the decency to stop showing up. Only Cathy from next door wouldn’t let me sink into complete oblivion. Every day, at least 3 times a day, she’d check in on me. I wouldn’t have let her in, but she had a key to the back door for emergencies and wasn’t afraid to use it.She’d open the windows a crack, and goad me into getting out of bed and at least sit in the living room. She’d bring food, which she’d set in front of me, and refused to leave until I at least tried it. I insisted on getting my key back, and she handed it over willingly enough. And showed up again the next day. She’d made copies. Meddlesome bitch. Again, she badgered me into eating her breakfast.And she’d talk. God, how that woman could talk! I got tired just listening.All the neighborhood gossip, town gossip, political gossip, school gossip - she was plugged in everywhere and knew it all. Who was doing what, or whom. Griping about people who still had Thanksgiving decorations up, or had Christmas blowups in their front yard. Church fiascos and neighborhood vendettas, she would sit there, drink her tea (or bourbon and coke if the sun had set) and fill me in.I didn’t care.Cathy Has A New TherapyIt had been two weeks since the accident. I’d lost more than 10 pounds, and really just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But Cathy wouldn’t let me. She made it her personal mission to cheer me up, get me to respond, bring me back to life.Then one day she let me have it with both barrels.She walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard. “Damn it Alex! Snap out of it! Life is hard. And it isn’t fair, but as bad as you have it, there’s always someone who has it worse. Often in your own backyard if you have the eyes to see it.”“What do you know about it?” I snapped viciously. “I notice your kids are alive.”“I know my mother died when I was six, and my father left when I was thirteen, leaving Mike to raise my sister and me. He was seventeen years old. But he manned-up and did the job the best he could. That’s what I know. Life is hard.”“Life is hard. Life’s a bitch and then you die. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When God closes a door he opens a window. If I hear one more God-damned cliché I swear I’ll kill something,” I growled.“Alex, you got a raw deal. You had two perfect little girls, and now they’re gone. Your past is shattered. Your little bit of immortality is lost. And as bad as you’ve got it, I’d remind you others have it worse, and they just press on. You need to as well,” Cathy told me, kneeling beside me and holding my hands.The woman barely knew me. A middle-aged mother of three with grown kids, and a workaholic husband. Her life was her home, keeping it immaculate and decorated for every holiday and season. Now it seemed I was her newest project. Why should I matter that much to her? Couldn’t she see I didn’t want her help?“Sure, starving Ethiopians, children in Nigeria dying of aids, Tibetan monks martyred, it’s a tough world. Boo hoo.”“You don’t have to look as far as Ethiopia or Tibet. There are people right here, right on your own block that are really struggling. Open your eyes. If you don’t like the unfairness do something about it. Even up the odds a bit. Make a difference somewhere. Get back to living.”Something she said must have gnawed its way down to my subconscious. I spent my usual 14 hours or so in bed, but when I awoke I was thinking about her constant comments about someone in my own backyard that had it worse.I cataloged each person on my block, in my head, and nobody really had it that bad. Sure, Neil, three doors down had lost his job, but his wife was still working, and he was looking. The Harris’s on the corner had a boy in Iraq, but as far as I could tell he was still Ok, and they had three more at home. The Martins, one down from the corner, fought all the time, and even had the cops called in on them once but they were still together. What did Cathy mean?I expanded the radius of consideration to include the blocks surrounding us. Then it hit me. Across the alley in back, two houses past Cathy’s own. Six months ago. Barry Morrison had driven into an empty field behind the local middle school and eaten a bullet. I didn’t know much about the family - I just knew there was one.When Cathy came over, I had showered off the top two layers of grime and sweat, and was drinking a Coke in the living room.The Morrison Prescription“Good morning, Alex, beautiful day outside. Why don’t we go out on the porch?”“The Morrisons. Tell me about them.”She placed her mug of tea in the microwave, warming it up, then walked out my front door and sat in one of my rocking chairs out front.Irritated, I followed, and sat in the chair beside her. “The Morrisons?”“Sandy and her daughter Erica. You won’t see much of her; she’s working two jobs trying to keep the house over their heads. They’re still fighting with the insurance company over payment. Suicide clause won’t pay under two years. He had insurance for years, but just around two years ago he changed the terms. She’s been trying to sell the house, but it’s underwater, and nobody’s buying.”“How’s the little one?”“Erica’s not doing so well. She’s seeing a counselor twice a week, and hardly speaks anymore. The school’s talking about holding her back,” Cathy explained. She sounded sad.“Do we know anything more about why he did it?”“No crimes, he wasn’t fired, no embezzling, it’s not clear what it was about. Apparently he’d been depressed for quite a while, but the underlying situation is still a blank as far as I know.”“Harsh on the family, going out like that,” I told her, finding the whole idea hard to grasp.“To say the least. The poor woman is worn to a frazzle.”“And how does this all matter to me?” I asked.“It doesn’t. It doesn’t have to matter to anybody. They’re on their own. Alone.”“No family help?”“Not that I know of. If they’re around, we don’t see much of them, that’s for sure.”“Cathy, how the hell do you know all this stuff?” I had to ask.“People just like to talk to me. I’m a very good listener,” she told me with a big smile.We sat quietly enjoying the crisp air, finishing our drinks.“You’re a good neighbor too, Cathy. Thanks,” I said softly.“That’s what neighbors are for,” she said, reaching out and patting me on my arm.That’s what neighbors are for.Cathy brought me dinner again and I realized I was starving. She beamed at me when I finished the whole platter.“Let’s go for a walk, Alex. You could use a stretch of the legs.”It had gotten chilly, and we bundled up a bit. She took the lead and we walked down the block and turned up the neighborhood. We headed back up the next block and she regaled me with the entire history and habits of the inhabitants of each place we passed. She might have been a good listener, but I had to wonder when she ever was quiet long enough to hear anything.It was obvious when we got to Sandy Morrison’s place. The “For Sale” sign was a dead giveaway. The unkempt yard and overgrown bushes indicated a lack of care for months. It couldn’t help with the sales prospects. The door paint was faded, and there were no Christmas lights or decorations set up. I thought the Realtor wasn’t earning their commission, letting the place show like this. Through the window I could see a desktop Christmas tree, maybe two feet tall, lit up all in white.Strangely, Cathy stopped speaking before we got to the house, and didn’t speak again until the end of the block. “Sad,” was all she said.We took a round-about path back to my house, and our conversation had returned to the safety of weather concerns, community issues, and such, carefully skirting any discussion of the Morrisons.I was feeling the chill after the walk, and invited Cathy in for a cup of coffee, Irish fortified if she so desired.We drank our coffee in front of my gas fireplace, warming our old bones. Damn that neighbor of mine, and her good intentions! She’d not only gotten me to think of something other than my own misery, and the unfairness of it all, but she had me thinking about those poor girls behind me, and what they must be going through. Damn it! It wasn’t fair.I guess I still wasn’t ready for pleasant company. Angry at the world, I threw my mug at the wall, shattering it, and leaned over with my head in my hands, doing my best to hold back the tears. Big boys don’t cry.Cathy stood and ran her fingers through my hair for just a moment before leaving out the back door. Kind enough to leave me alone to wallow in my misery a little longer.Giving Is HealingDecember 22nd. Just three days until Christmas.When Cathy came over that morning, I was already up and dressed. I had my working duds on and coffee and bagels ready.“You’re up early,” she commented, helping herself to the java.“It’s almost 10,” I reminded her. “Not so awfully early.”She laughed. “Seems to me anything before noon is quite early as of late. Got plans?”I nodded. “Thought I’d head over to the Morrison’s and see what I can do about the outside of the house. Clean it up a bit. Make it a little more presentable if they’re really planning on selling it.”“That’s mighty neighborly of you.”“It’ll give me something to do. I need to get out of this damned house.”After our coffee, she walked with me across the alley, all my yard-work gear in a wheelbarrow. The grass was dormant, but long, and the bushes were out of control. I didn’t notice when Cathy left, but she returned in a few hours with some sandwiches for lunch, insisting I take a break.I’d finished the bush trimming and had mowed the lawn, bagging the trimmings. I was just finishing the edging when she appeared. I took a break, and listened to her chatter about the neighborhood activities, and how sad it was that in the past few months nobody had offered to do as much as I had.“I guess we victims of fate need to stick together.”“It already looks 100% better. If you want to work in the backyard, I have a key to the gate.”“It figures you would.”“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked.“It just doesn’t surprise me. I bet you’ve been helping out when you could.”She sighed. “Not too much. She’s too damn proud. Doesn’t want any help from anybody.”I shook my head. “Now you tell me. She’ll probably call the police on me.”“So what if she does? You know you’re doing the right thing. I’ll bail you out if need be.”I let her unlock the back gate, and saw I had my work cut out for me. The back yard was worse than the front. The fence needed work as well, some boards were broken and loose, and one whole section was sagging. Luckily, my tools were only a couple of hundred feet away, across the alley, and I was soon at work, determined to finish before the residents arrived home.The biggest problem was one of the fence posts which had rotted out at the bottom. A new post and some quick-setting cement, solved that problem. Within an hour I’d be able to reattach the fence crossbeams to the new 4x4.I turned to see a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, watching me from the porch. Crap.“Just thought I’d fix your fence, before it falls down. I hope you don’t mind.”She just shook her head.She stood there watching me, and I felt ill at ease. I was a stranger. She shouldn’t be talking to me. I should probably leave. “I’m just going to clean up here and head back home. I can finish up later when your mother’s home.”I straightened up my clothing a bit, wiping my hands on my pants. “I’m Alex Reed. I live across the alley,” I explained, pointing down a few houses.She nodded.She reminded me so much of my own daughter, right around that age. Her hair was the same length, blonde, but not quite as light as Allora’s.Allora. My perfect little Allora. I closed my eyes, seeing her in that hospital bed, bruised and bandaged, fighting for her life. Her hair tucked under the bandages, the few strands that stuck out dark from sweat. Her body so small in that antiseptic white bed. My Allora.Gone.It felt like somebody had wrapped a band around my chest, and pulled it tight. I couldn’t breathe. I turned away from Erica, so she wouldn’t have to see me lose it. She’d suffered enough already. I felt the tears rise, unbidden, and I started for the gate. I had to get out of there.I barely made it as far as the driveway. It was too much. I closed the gate behind me and crumbled to the ground, seated with my head between my knees, my hands covering my head. It was Christmas, damn it! Christmas! My girls were supposed to be with me, shaking their presents and trying to guess what was in them. Instead Allora and Briana were gone. Their lives snuffed out before they could see anything of the world, before they could find their place, before they could fall in love. No shaking presents. No stomach aches from eating too many holiday sweets. No late night parties to drive me crazy with worry. No learning to drive. No struggling to find the right college. No bringing a boy home for the first time. No cramming for tests. No Spring Breaks. No proms. Nothing. Ever again.I was sobbing, and the little girl who had lost her father was standing on the driveway beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder, while I made a fool of myself.“Erica! You know your mother doesn’t want you out if she’s not at home. You should go back inside. Mr. Reed will be all right, he’s just tired. Go on now.” Cathy had me by the arm, and was doing her best to get me back on my feet. “Come on Alex, not here. Let’s get you home.”I knew she was right. I stood up, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. “I’ll be alright. Just give me a minute.” I pulled myself together, took a couple of deep breaths, and stood straight. “I’m Ok. Seeing her was just a little too much, too soon. But I’m fine now. I need to clean up here, and put the fence back together.”“Alright. I’ll help.”It only took us a few minutes to clean up and cart the bags of yard trimmings out to the rear curb. I ran all the yard tools back to my house, and returned to finish the fence work. I braced the new post with a couple of 2x4’s and reattached the two panels. Cathy’s help made it a lot easier. When we were done we both stood back and looked over the yard. Much better.“I’m going to go inside and fix Erica her after-school snack. It’s about all that Sandy will let me do. Why don’t you come with me?”“I don’t know if I should. Sandy doesn’t know me. She may not want me in her house when she’s not there.”“Never mind that. She’ll be fine. Just come in a moment. It’ll only take a few minutes.”I followed her inside, through the glass sliding door. Erica was sitting on the floor watching TV. I didn’t even look that way. I was afraid that seeing the wrong TV show would dredge up more painful memories.“Where can I wash my hands?” I asked Cathy.She pointed to a door. “In there.”I headed to the bathroom. “Don’t use the toilet. That one doesn’t flush anymore.”I could hear the running water in the commode. I washed my hands and wiped them on my shirt. There was no towel in the bathroom. Then I took the top off the tank and examined inside. Nothing complicated. The chain that connected the stopper to the handle extension was missing. Lifting the rubber stopper, I saw it was under the lip, the cause of the running water. I reattached the chain, and tested the flushing. Worked fine.“Fixed. The chain was just off.”Cathy nodded, and returned to making a grilled cheese sandwich. Briana loved grilled cheese. But you couldn’t cut the sandwich, and you had to remove the crust. I wouldn’t be cutting the crust off of sandwiches anymore.I took a deep breath, and went to examine the front door.“Cathy? I’m going to head home and get my sander and some paint. This door needs some help desperately.”“Go ahead. Sandy won’t be home until late, and if we’re going to get in trouble for the yard and the fence, we might as well make it a trifecta.”Fifteen minutes later, I was running the battery powered hand-sander over the door, removing the worst of the existing paint. I didn’t have too much to do, it was already mostly bare. I had brought over three possible paints to use, all of which I knew were approved by the homeowner’s association.“What color paint do you think I should use?” I asked Cathy.“Let’s ask Erica.” She returned in a few seconds with Erica at her side. “We’re going to paint the front door, Erica. What color would you like?”We had a choice of off-white, light blue, and a dark brown. She pointed to the light blue, then seated herself nearby to watch.I had already removed the hardware. I taped the hinges and bottom kick-plate, laid out my drip cloth, and started applying a coat of paint, top-to-bottom. I looked over at the young girl watching me so intently. I saw the tree beside her, so small and bare, with one little package underneath it.Christmas trees shouldn’t look like that.They should be big, full of decorations, all sorts, each one with its own story. Handcrafted special ornaments, with pictures of your family members. Popsicle stick ornaments with the Elmer’s glue showing. Lights blinking in an assortment of colors, candy canes and tinsel, and an angel on top. There should be presents around the bottom, stacked and scattered, so many you can’t even get near the tree.It was the first year I didn’t have a tree.We’d normally go out as a family and visit one of the Boy Scout tree lots, picking the biggest, fullest tree we thought could fit in my living room. Then we’d decorate it together, Christmas songs playing in the background, and sipping eggnog. We’d spend an eternity untangling the lights, replacing the bulbs that wouldn’t work, and replacing the metal hangars on the decorations that needed them. It was an all-day affair.Not this year. Not ever again.I realized I’d stopped painting, and I was staring. A long drip of paint from my brush was running down the door. The little girl looked at me, almost as if she understood.“Would you like to help?” I asked.She looked around, as if to ask if I was talking to her.“Yes, you.”She shyly nodded yes. I reached over to my bucket of painting supplies and pulled out a small brush. I pointed to the inlaid panels on the bottom half of the door. “You can paint here, around the edge of the panel. It needs to be done with a detail brush like the one you have. Get into the cracks.”She nodded, dipped her brush, and started painting straight down the panel edge, doing a good job.“That’s perfect. Just like that.” I went back to work completing the top half, and had to work around her, sometimes leaning way over to paint above her. She saw what I was doing, and I saw the mischievous heart of a little girl for a moment when she started backing away from the door, making me lean further and further over.“Hey!” I said in mock outrage. “You’re doing that on purpose!”When she giggled, apparently ignoring me, and continuing with her painting effort, I felt a small leap in my heart. It was nice to hear her giggle.“When you’re done with the painting, and done torturing me, you can paint around the edges of the two hinges and the kick-plate. If I won’t be in your way.”Little Erica nodded, and continued her careful painting, working slowly and deliberately around the perimeter before moving onto the hinges.I found myself kneeling beside her, painting the bottom-half of the door, while she detailed the trim. We switched places so I could work on the side near the hinges while she completed the bottom trim.“Not bad,” I commented, holding out a drip bucket for her to dump her brush in. I sealed up the paint can, peeled off the trim tape, and stood back to get a look at the results. A little girl stood beside me, her blonde hair a poignant reminder of all I’d lost. I took a deep breath to compose myself.“Not bad at all. Think your mother will like it?”I looked down at her while she thought it over. A smile slowly spread across her face. She nodded twice.I put my hand down for a fist bump, just like I would with my girls. She shrank away for a second, then glanced up at my face for a second before making a tiny fist and bumping her knuckles against mine.We were enjoying the last of the natural light as dusk was settling in. Cathy walked out and stood beside us, giving her approval. “The blue is perfect. Great choice Erica.”Erica stopped admiring her work, looked at Cathy, and blinked like she was just seeing her for the first time. She looked up and down the block, then walked back into the house and planted herself in front of the TV.“Ready to call it a day?” Cathy asked.“Yeah. Best get while the getting is good.” I packed up my paint supplies and in just a couple of trips hid any trace that I’d ever been there. Except of course for the door, yard and fence. Oh, and the toilet, although that really didn’t count for much.Back home I cleaned up and sat down pondering what I’d just done. I had mixed feelings, a little guilt creeping in for taking liberties with someone else’s house. But thinking about that little girl, and what she must be going through, made anything I could do to help worthwhile.Thinking was dangerous. I realized I hadn’t been very nice to the people who had tried to help me. I decided to rectify that if possible, and found a new phone cable for my phone and plugged it in. Picking it up I heard a dial tone. Good.I made a list of phone calls, and went to work. Calling, one-by-one, my friends, neighbors and co-workers, I apologized for my behavior and thanked them for their concern. To a one, they blew off my boorish behavior, and promised they’d be there for me if I needed anything.I stopped, with just a few calls remaining, wondering where those people were for Sandy and Erica, who seemed to need it far more than I.I picked up the phone and dialed Denise’s family. I knew it was going to be tough. I apologized for leaving the funeral arrangements to them, and thanked them for all they had done. Speaking to Dan was difficult, but my conversation with Sharon almost did me in. The time we’d spent in the hospital, watching over Allora came up, and I had to take a break for a bit to get my emotions under rein, while I listened to Sharon sob. Even after the divorce we’d remained friendly, and I was glad that we’d had each other on that fateful watch. I promised I’d stop by in the next couple of days, she insisted there was some paperwork that needed taking care of.My last call was to Steve, my roommate for three years in college, and best friend in the world. I had hung up on him twice that first day, and it was haunting me. He’d left more than a dozen messages on my cell-phone voicemail. Plus, I had ulterior motives.The phone rang several times and went to the answering machine. I felt like a weight had lifted, I wouldn’t have to face him. “Steve, Alex here. I’m sorry I…”“Alex, I’m here, don’t hang up, I’m here. Let me turn off this damned machine. Hold on.” I heard some rustling and the echo of our voices disappear. “Jesus, Alex. You’re killing me.”“Sorry. It hit me so hard; I just couldn’t listen to one more well-wisher.”“I understand.”He would understand. His father had passed away while we were in our last year of college, and he took it hard. Started drinking heavy, cutting classes, and chasing anything with boobs. I took care of him as much as I could, going so far as to collect his homework and projects, even talking to his professors. He’d been slow to pull it together, but eventually came around.Five years later, less than a year out of law school, it was his mother. I had flown out and spent a week with him. I knew it would be hard - he was an only child, and he had few relatives, and none he was close to. He came out of that funk bitter, and it cost him his girlfriend - no loss there. We’d been as close as brothers, hell, probably closer. We still were.Steven understood.I opened my soul to him, and stayed on the phone for ages. I heard him send his wife off to bed, while I vented. It was a much needed cathartic outpouring that left me exhausted.“What can I do? Anything, you know it. Should I fly down?”As much as I’d love to see him, it had been nearly a year, he was a family man now, and it was Christmas. “No. Stay with your family. I’m doing better, and if I need to I can call.”“Of course.”“I also wanted to say I was sorry.”“Sorry?”“Sorry that I couldn’t do more for you when you lost your parents. I never really experienced losing anyone like that, and couldn’t comprehend what you were going through.”“Shut the fuck up. You were there for me, buddy. Always. When nobody else was. I’ll never forget that. Enough said. Don’t need to be getting sappy over it.”I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright. By the way, there’s one other thing you might be able to do for me.”“Anything. That’s what friend are for.”That’s what friends are for.Meeting The ReaperThe pounding on my front door was not unexpected. Ten o'clock at night might be a little of a surprise, but the knock wasn’t.I went to the front door, and looked out through the glass beside it. A woman stood there. I had a fairly good idea of who it was.I opened the door. “Mrs. Morrison?”She glared at me and nodded.“Come in, please. Can I get you a cup of tea, or coffee?” I turned and walked into the house, leaving the door open. I walked to the kitchen, and poured myself a cup of coffee. I turned to see her standing in the archway to the living room.She looked ready to burst, but I watched her breath deep and run her hands through her short hair. She looked young. Too young to be going through the hell she was currently experiencing.“I don’t want you around my house or my daughter,” she finally snapped.“I understand, and I’m sorry I interfered.” I walked past her and sat down in the living room. “I can’t explain it. I had to do something to get out of this house, and when Cathy told me about your situation I guess I got carried away.”She stared at me, and crossed her arms. “Don’t mention her name. I could kill her.”I smiled. “Believe me, I understand that. She’s been in my house every day, 3 or 4 times a day, meddling in my life.”“Meddling is right,” she snapped. She walked over and sat on the loveseat across from me. “Listen. I appreciate the thought. And I’m sorry for your loss.” She smirked. “Ha, listen to me. Sorry for your loss. Crap.”She leaned back. “We’re doing fine. I don’t need your help, I don’t know you from Adam, and I don’t want you around my daughter when nobody’s around. Jesus, you painted my fricking’ front door blue! A little presumptuous, don’t you think?”I smiled. “I would have picked the wood tone. Blue was Erica’s choice, one of the four approved colors according to our Stalinist homeowner’s association.”She leaned back, rolling her eyes up. “Don’t remind me. If the bastards send me one more notice about yard and fence maintenance, I’ll rip their lungs out.” She seemed to calm down for a second, maybe realizing that those notices would no longer be coming. “I know. I should be thankful but I don’t need a stranger meddling in my life. Understood? No more doing things for me.”“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for that little girl. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. Agreed. I don’t know what happened to you and your family or why. Not really. What I do know is that girl of yours doesn’t deserve the hand she’s been dealt. That’s all I could think. I just wanted to help where I could.”She looked angry. “I’m sorry you lost your daughters. I am. But Erica is Mine. My daughter. My responsibility. Not yours.”“You are right. She’s no responsibility of mine.”“That’s right. I don’t know you. We live three doors down and in two years you’ve never spoken a word to us. Six months we’ve been on our own. I certainly don’t need you poking your head in now. I don’t know you, I don’t want to know you, and I’m not sure I’d like you if I did.”“Welcome to the club.”“Club?”“I’m not sure I like me either. I’m sorry, alright? Now I’m tired. You can let yourself out.”She got up and stomped her way to the front door, closing it sharply behind her.That had gone better than I’d expected.IrrepressibleDecember 23rd. I got up early, cleaning up, even shaving. I had errands to run. Cathy showed up in my kitchen while I was preparing breakfast.“At least neither of us is in jail,” were her first words.“Not yet.”“You did a good thing. Don’t forget it.”“I know. Still she was right. We should have asked permission.”“The hell we should! She’d never have given it.”“Then maybe we should leave her be.”“If a person was drowning, and they couldn’t yell for help, wouldn’t you still throw them a life preserver?”“A little overly-dramatic, don’t you think?”“No. She’s going down for the third time, and is in complete denial. By the time she accepts the fact she needs help it could be too late.” She looked me over. “You clean up nicely. What are you up to?”“I need to run some errands, see a few people, stop by work, some other stuff.”“Don’t overdo it,” she said, still in her ‘caring’ mode. “Need some company?”“Thanks, I appreciate the offer. I can handle this.”“Ok, you have my number. Give me a call if you need anything.”Making The RoundsThe office visit was painful. I stopped in, thanking my bosses for their understanding, visiting a few friends and letting them know I appreciated their concern. The way they looked at me just drove home how alone I was. I was glad to get out of there.I made a visit to the florist and picked up a trunk-load of Christmas cacti. I drove around to everyone I could think of, expressing my gratitude, and leaving the pretty plants behind. I used the same corny line with each one, comparing my 'prickliness’ the last couple of weeks to the plant’s spines. I left a few plants on doorsteps with a note. By mid-afternoon I felt I’d done my part.I stopped by Denise’s parent’s house, and Sharon greeted me at the door with a hug before she broke into tears. After she’d soaked my shirt she brought me in.“There’s something you need to know, Alex.”She sounded odd, and I wondered what was up.“Denise left a will. She left you the house and the lion’s share of her insurance, to take care of the girls if anything happened to her.”I was stunned. It was so unexpected. “I… I don’t know what to say.”Sharon reached out and patted my hand. “It’s not what I’d expected, but if you think about it, it makes sense. What are you going to do?”“I guess I’ll sell the house. I certainly don’t need two houses.”“She had mortgage insurance, it’ll be paid off. You could rent it out, you know. Earn some steady income off of it.”It was too much too fast. I couldn’t think straight. “I’ll have to think about it. I just wasn’t expecting anything like this.”“I understand.” She held my hand. “How are you doing?”“Better. Not good, but at least I can get out of bed.”“We’re here if you need us. You know that, right?”“Yes. Thank you. After the girls, you were the best thing that came out of our marriage.”“We love you too. Don’t forget it.”“I’m sorry I was so useful about the funeral arrangements, I don’t think I could have handled it without you,” I confessed.“Don’t even think about it. That’s what family is for.”That’s what family is for.My day wasn’t quite complete. A few more calls and I was putting things in motion I wasn’t sure I should, but I couldn’t resist.Around dinner time, I ventured next door. Cathy’s husband John answered the door. “The hermit has left the cave. Good to see you out and about.” He shook my hand, letting me in. “Cath - Alex is here.”Cathy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. “How’d your day go?”“Not bad. A few surprises, but I survived.”“We’re about to eat. Care to sit down with us?”“Maybe. When do you think Sandy will be getting home?”“Probably nine-ish, would be my guess. Why?”“Just want to talk to her if I can.”“You have time for dinner then?”“Sure.”Another Confrontation With SandyBy 8:30 I was enjoying a cigar with John, sitting out in their driveway, trying to figure out what our football team’s chances were of going anywhere in the playoffs. We were strategically positioned so I had a view of the Morrison’s driveway.When Sandy drove up, I excused myself from John and jogged across the alley.“Sandy, can I talk to you a moment?”She looked ready to chase me off, but after a few awkward seconds she crossed her arms, leaned back against the car and raised her eyebrows.“Again, I’m sorry I entered your house without your permission. I know that was wrong. All I can say is I wasn’t really thinking straight.”She rolled her eyes. “Anything else?”“Yes. I know you told me you didn’t need my help, but there’s someone I’d like you speak to. I have a friend that’s a lawyer, and he’s willing to check into your insurance situation pro bono. Like you and me, he’s suffered a few losses in life, and he’d like to help you if he can. If you’d just give him a call, he’ll see what he can do.”I could see she wanted to say no, but was torn. She gnawed on her bottom lip, which I saw were chapped. She looked exhausted. I pulled out his card and held it out to her. “It’ll only take a couple of minutes. It can’t hurt.”She finally nodded and took the card from me. “Is that it?”“One last thing. I’m headed over to my ex-wife’s house tomorrow to clean out the refrigerator, and to get rid of her tree. It’s my responsibility now. I was going to ditch the tree; it’s one of those pre-lit artificial ones which I never could stand. I thought, if you don’t mind, and it’s not interfering too much, I could bring it by here and you could take if off my hands. Otherwise it’s going to the dump.” I spit out the words quickly before she could find too much fault with me.She seemed resigned to allow me to interfere, at least this much. She sighed and finally spoke up. “Alright. That would be nice. Now if that’s all, I’d like to go in now. My feet and back are aching and I have to get up early tomorrow.”“That’s all. You can call Steve tonight if you’d like, he’s a night owl and is expecting your call. Good night.”I took off quickly before she could change her mind about anything.Just ‘a bit' of decoratingI had recruited Cathy’s help over dinner the night before, assuming things went Ok with Sandy, and by noon we were back at the Morrison house, knocking on the door.Erica let us in, and we hauled our goodies in after us. I had the tree folded up and left it on the front doorstep while we made room for it in the living room. After I’d put it in place, I hauled in a large plastic crate of Christmas decorations, and encouraged Cathy and Erica to get to work making the tree look 'festive’. Right on schedule my weekly cleaning crew showed up and I put them to work giving the entire house a thorough cleaning. I had felt guilty chasing them away the last few weeks, and had begged and cajoled them into doing me this one favor, on Christmas Eve of all days. The team of four went to work like whirling dervishes, storming through the rooms in pairs leaving sparking chrome and sweet smells in their wake.We only had a few hours if Cathy was right, and I had one more big task lined up. The Chem-Dry carpet cleaners were running a little late, but showed up not long after the cleaning crew had finished with the living and dining rooms, and I had moved most of the furniture into the hallways and kitchen. They went right to work, and had the downstairs completed in a little over an hour. While they worked at that, I spent the time decorating the front yard and the house with Christmas lights. I hoped that Sandy liked traditional multi-color displays. I wasn’t all that fond of the 'all-white’ look, and was using my own lights to decorate her house. By the time I had finished I was sweating up a storm, and was getting nervous about the time.The carpet guys left first, reminding me to let the carpet dry for another hour before returning the furniture to its place. The cleaning crew followed shortly after, and I’d rewarded them nicely, tipping them an extra $100 for coming out on Christmas Eve. I moved indoors, with the lights complete and lit up, to find a Christmas wonderland awaiting me.Cathy and Erica had done an amazing job, using what I had brought over and getting the Morrison’s decorations out of the attic and putting those to use as well. You could hardly tell it was the same house.“You ladies have done an incredible job!” I announced, standing in the doorway.Cathy looked a little disheveled but very pleased with herself. “Let’s finish up quick. I have to get home; John’s going to kill me.”I’d promised her we’d be done by 4:00 and it was already nearly 5:00. She was holding a Christmas Eve open-house and was expecting half of the neighborhood over that evening. She only had a couple of hours left to finish her own preparations. I gave her a hug for all of her effort and shooed her off, while I started hauling the furniture back into place, working at a frenzied pace to get done before the unsuspecting benefactor got home.Erica followed behind me, arranging all the lamps, baskets and knick-knacks, and adding additional holiday decorations as we went. With the last of the furniture in place, I turned and gave her a high-five.“This is all our secret, right? If your Mom asks, the Christmas elves stopped by to help clean up. You did a great job, Erica.”She smiled and held her arms out to me. I leaned down and gave her a hug.“Thank you,” she whispered, just before she let go and disappeared up the stairs.I felt a lump in my throat. Whether it was fear of being caught by her mother, or the joy of hearing her speak her first words to me, I couldn’t be sure.A Legal-Eagle CallBy eight o'clock, Sandy still hadn’t shown up on my front-doorstep with a shotgun. I guess she was going to wait until after Christmas to eviscerate me over meddling where I didn’t belong.I didn’t care. I felt good, the best I’d felt in two weeks, thinking about that little girl celebrating a real Christmas. Kids should have Christmas.I had cleaned up and decided to make an appearance next door, as I’d promised, when I got a call from Steve.“Hey-ho, Stevorino.”“Only my Grandma gets to say that, asshole.”“Merry fuckin’ Christmas to you too.” I teased.I heard him chuckle. “Merry Christmas is right. At least for your neighbor.”“How’s that?” I asked, suddenly interested.“The insurance creeps were just stalling. They don’t have a leg to stand on. The only change to the policy was upon their advice after an annual policy review by their own agent. A little legal pressure was all it took. It’s not a lot, less than $300K, but she’ll be getting her check next week.”“Steve, you’re the man. I take back all those nasty things I said about you.”“Shit, they’re probably true. If anybody would know, it’d be you.”“All kidding aside. You’re a life saver.”I knew he hated any hint of seriousness. I could almost hear him blushing over the phone. “Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?”“That’s right. And I couldn’t ask for a better one.”“Ditto. Asshole.”“Shit. You had to go and spoil it. Listen, I gotta run. Give your family my love and have a great Christmas. I’ll give you a call next week.”“You got it. And Darla sends her love. She made me say that. Don’t get any ideas.”“Got it. Give her a kiss for me. Scratch that. I’ll come out after the holidays and give it to her myself. When are you going to be out of town next?”“Funny guy. Start anything with her, and I’ll make you keep her and the credit card bills.”“Ouch. You win,” I had to laugh. “Thanks again.”“Merry Christmas. Hang in there buddy.”“You too.”To be continued in Part 2, By Tx Tall Tales, for Literotica.

Let's take a look at some key areas where our attitudes can easily start to go downhill, and then see what the Bible has to say.  I imagine you'll be able to relate to some of these. Griping and Complaining Have you ever been around someone who loved disasters and crises? I've run into that person on a job or two of mine. They gripe about everything and everybody and seem to really enjoy spreading any bad news they can dig up. Even when there's something good happening, they'll find the fly in the ointment and do their best to spoil the good times for everyone else. You know that person can get on your nerves after a while! It's become normal and acceptable for employees to complain and gripe about the company and the management. How often do you hear coworkers complaining about the way the company is run, the pay scale, the work environment, the benefits—you name it.  And here's the thing: When others start complaining and griping around us, we almost feel like we have to agree with them or join in because otherwise we're kind of weird. And of course, we as Christ-followers are just as susceptible to this griping and complaining disease as anyone else. But the difference is—or should be—that we determine by God's grace not to be a part of that scene. There's a verse in the Bible that addresses this: Do everything without complaining or arguing (Philippians 2:14). "Everything" leaves no room for fudging because it includes your unfair wages, the difficult boss, the annoying co-worker, the way the company treats you—and even the weather! Complaining is such a waste of energy and it's stressful on you as well as everyone around you! A friend of mine works for an organization that truly fights this griping culture from the top down.  And one of their work mottos is—simply—“No whining.” It's an attitude that is encouraged because it makes such a difference in the work product as well as the environment. Attitudes really are contagious, and you can be a part of passing on to others a good attitude, a positive one. That doesn't mean that you don't recognize and, when necessary, confront issues that need to change. But griping and complaining never changed anything except to make things worse. As you do your job, ask God to keep you from complaining. Stop in mid-sentence if you have to and refuse to get caught up in this complaining tendency. In fact, I have a card taped to my desk that says, “Today I will not complain about anything!” Just a helpful reminder, and if you go to our website, you'll find this devotional there and at the end a card that you can print and use as a reminder, too. Doing your job without complaining is one of the strongest testimonies you can have for Jesus Christ. Don't Like the Job Did you know that studies show that almost half of the people in the workplace report that they really don't like their jobs? Wow, that's rather discouraging. I can just visualize those thousands and thousands of people doing jobs each day and dreading it. Reminds me of that old commercial about the man whose job was to bake donuts everyday. You remember that one: "Time to make the donuts." You could just see it in his face and hear it in his voice; he hated to make those donuts. Can people see in your face and hear in your voice that you hate your job? I well remember having a new job which looked so interesting when I accepted it but was so boring once I began working there. I did not like the job content, and as a result, I didn't work very hard, I couldn't wait for the days to end, and I wanted to blame others—like my manager—for the fact that I didn't like my job. You know, if you don't like your job and that is affecting the way you work, you need to do some soul searching and pray about that attitude. There may be good reasons you don't like your job, but there's no good reason to harbor a bad attitude about it. There's nothing wrong with looking for a different job where you'll e...

We want to bring you more Raiders content so here's our first edition of "Silver and Black Blitz", shorter form shows where we will address any hot topics surrounding the team or just simply anything we want to share our thoughts on. In this episode, Scott Gulbransen runs solo and talks about how Jimmy Garoppolo and Derek Carr will have their performances compared with a magnifying glass going forward, fair or not. To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Former Milwaukee Co Sheriff David Clarke, Congressman Glenn Grothman, America First Legal's John Zadrozny, Strategic Vision's David Johnson, National Center's Bonner Cohen, and Senator Ron Johnson

Just random things that grind my gears, so to speak. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/nytrous1/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/nytrous1/support

Justin and Jared are BACK with a full breakdown of every important and significant sports story from last week, including (but not limited to): Super Bowl LVII, the PAC-12's "we're totally fine" report, the struggles of BYU Men's Basketball, Spring Football Leagues, and Marvel: is it good or bad. Enjoy!

Are you tired of complaining and ready to take action?   While it seems that nearly everyone complains, you don't have to join the crowd.   Changing your mindset begins with awareness.  Once you become aware of how often people complain, you won't want to be part of this group.   In this podcast episode, you'll start coming up with ideas about how you can replace complaining with better options.   Share these lessons with your kids and create a happier household. https://homeschoolthinktank.com/

Alas, how quickly God’s people can gripe even when they’ve been blessed. A ‘reminder’ from Numbers 11 by Pastor Jim Milne.

During #HeyJoe, questions were asked by listeners about the lack of consistency from ACC basketball officials, and how it's universally hated by all fanbases. Also, Joe Ovies tells Joe Giglio that he loves the pettiness and beefing in golf between Rory McIlroy and Patrick Reed.

It's another preview of the Grant Cope podcast! Plus, we want you to chime in on our Question of the Week! And the Fort Worth Stock Show dairy show results!

In this episode, I set the stage for the new year, complain about a lot of things with which many of you can relate, and give shout outs. Please remember to subscribe to my YouTube channel, mrkbhistorynj, and email me with any questions or suggestions. A full-length episode will be coming this weekend. Shout outs are to: @theporkrollyid on Instagram for the merch information New Jersey is the World podcast The Mantoloking Road Ale House, Brick, NJ --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/kyle-banner2/message

Lesson presented at The Crossings Church Collinsville in Collinsville, IL – a non-denominational church that meets Sunday mornings at 2002 Mall Street, Collinsville, IL just outside of St. Louis. For more like this, visit the sermons page at https://crossingscollinsville.com/ The post Wes Woodell – ThankFULL: On Ingratitude & Griping appeared first on The Crossings Church Collinsville.

In the rush to Christmas, it seems like Thanksgiving is an afterthought. We need to rethink that. As followers of Jesus, we need to remind ourselves how important having a heart of thankfulness is. Every day! Author and blogger Kristin Couch stopped by to talk about going from griping to gratitude.  https://the-palest-ink.com/2022/11/10/from-griping-to-gratitude/ See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Twice a year, people in every hemisphere of the world adjust their clocks to adhere to Daylight Saving Time. Whether you prefer these biannual changes or you'd rather leave your clock alone, cartographer Andy Woodruff has made an interactive map to help you make your case when complaining about it on social media. In this episode, we discuss how maps can show us what we already want to see, the nuances of temporal cartography, and what our individual opinions on ideal sunset times reveal about how humans think about time itself. Andy Woodruff & Griping About Daylight Saving Time

With the news we've all been waiting for hovering out there, Matt and Jamie reconvene despite promising not to, and then the conversation mainly consists of Matt complaining about Scott Turner. It'll probably be really good if you like that sort of thing.

In this episode we discuss the phenomena of geeks complaining amidst a wealth of geekery. Hosts: Trevor, Jay, and Josh

The first hour of the show starts with Kyle continuing to voice his frustrations with the Panthers current situation and if any of these problems can be realistically fixed along with Baker playing better moving forward.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Jesus healed on a holy day! The nerve of God's Son to do such terrible things! Listen and be blessed! --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/eradio-valverde/support

Morning Inspiration --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/mi-15/message Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/mi-15/support

Message from Pastor Hal Hightower on June 22, 2022

Today, Doug Pike talks about his arthritis, snakes, and World Caring Day. Dr. Paul Schulz joins the show to discuss Alzheimer's disease. (Show is from Tuesday, June 7th, 2022)

Private Jackson: Sir... I have an opinion on this matter. Captain Miller: Well, by all means, share it with the squad. Private Jackson: Well, from my way of thinking, sir, this entire mission is a serious misallocation of valuable military resources. Captain Miller: Yeah. Go on. Private Jackson: Well, it seems to me, sir, that God gave me a special gift, made me a fine instrument of warfare. Captain Miller: Reiben, pay attention. Now, this is the way to gripe. Continue, Jackson. Private Jackson: Well, what I mean by that, sir, is... if you was to put me and this here sniper rifle anywhere up to and including one mile of Adolf Hitler with a clear line of sight, sir... pack your bags, fellas, war's over. Amen. Private Reiben: Oh, that's brilliant, bumpkin. Hey, so, Captain, what about you? I mean, you don't gripe at all? Captain Miller: I don't gripe to *you*, Reiben. I'm a captain. There's a chain of command. Gripes go up, not down. Always up. You gripe to me, I gripe to my superior officer, so on, so on, and so on. I don't gripe to you. I don't gripe in front of you. You should know that as a Ranger. Private Reiben: I'm sorry, sir, but uh... let's say you weren't a captain, or maybe I was a major. What would you say then? Captain Miller: Well, in that case... I'd say, "This is an excellent mission, sir, with an extremely valuable objective, sir, worthy of my best efforts, sir. Moreover... I feel heartfelt sorrow for the mother of Private James Ryan and am willing to lay down my life and the lives of my men - especially you, Reiben - to ease her suffering." Mellish: [chuckles] He's good. Private Caparzo: I love him. --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/garrett-ashley-mullet/message Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/garrett-ashley-mullet/support

SUPPORT AMERICAN ARTS & CULTURE REVIEW ON PATREON: https://www.patreon.com/americanartsandculturereview FOLLOW AMERICAN ARTS & CULTURE REVIEW: https://www.instagram.com/americanartsandculturereview https://www.twitter.com/aaacrpod BUY AMERICAN ARTS & CULTURE REVIEW MERCH: https://www.teepublic.com/stores/the-american-arts-culture-review AMERICAN ARTS & CULTURE REVIEW IS A FOREVER DOG PODCAST: http://foreverdogproductions.com/fdpn/podcasts/american-arts-culture-review Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

College football coaches across the nation are grumbling about the direction of the sport.  But why should coaches get to enjoy the corner on complaints? Let's join the gaggle of grumblers. On this edition of "SEC Football Unfiltered," a podcast from the USA TODAY Network, hosts Blake Toppmeyer and John Adams offer a collection of college football grievances.  Stay connected on Twitter with Blake (@btoppmeyer) and John (@JohnAdamsKNS) and stay up to date on SEC football news by subscribing to KnoxNews: knoxnews.com/subscribe.

Have you ever had a kid wake up cranky, be unhappy about the breakfast you woke up early to make, and you still keep a calm and sweet attitude? That's a hard pass for me. Griping and complaining from others can ruin my mood quickly. How many times do we let someone else; our kids, our spouse, our friends dictate the way we feel, the way we view ourselves?   Jess puts me through a little life coaching session, and we figure out how I can be responsible for how I want to feel, even if others around me might not be up to my expectations. And speaking of expectations; we talk about how the ones we put on others, the unfair ones and the ones not met, impact us.    Jess Klasnick is a life coach who specializes in helping us get unstuck in our attitudes and feelings.    Learn more about Jessica's coaching: https://www.jessicaklasnick.com/

I am sharing these two posts from the blog I felt led to create called Types of Christians. You can access 100's of these posts from this blog on https://TypesOfChristians.blogspot.com/ Since these posts are examples of how I apply particular Bible passages to my personal life, they may not reflect the total meaning of the Bible passage. They are shared as examples, so people might realize that the Bible is still relevant in our lives today! Please share this podcast and blog link with those who might benefit. Thanks! Debbie

Doesn't everyone complain? In this episode you'll start coming up with ideas about how you can replace complaining with better options. Share these lessons with your kids and create a happier household. https://homeschoolthinktank.com/mindet/

Well let's start with the good news.  For all the griping about MIQ, I think we owe the system a debt of gratitude.  Without it there would have been no summer. Without it we would have rolled straight from a Delta surge into an Omicron tsunami.  MIQ bought us time. Which is what it's always designed to do. It was never created to keep Covid out forever because that really would be a hermit kingdom. In my eyes it's all been about suppressing and mitigating the outbreaks so they fit within our meagre capacities. And that happened. While the community went down to just a dozen cases in the community a day, in MIQ Omicron surged to over 500 cases. But the border held firm until now and that's a good thing So, I'm glad that the people who were obsessed with opening up the border at the end of last year were not listened to.  So, let's also hand it to summer. The good weather and the virtual absence of Covid meant money in the bank for struggling businesses.  The Mercury Bay Informer, published out of Whitianga, reported last week that the Coromandel had had the busiest December in the last 3 years. I spent 3 weeks on the Peninsula and I can tell you it was going off.  Contrast this with New South Wales last week who reported some of their worst economic data of the outbreak, and this was without a lockdown.  Omicron's efficiency in making people too sick to work cleared out the town. Those who were still healthy kept away for fear of getting sick. It was like a voluntary lockdown and that's the new part of the phenomenon of this pandemic.  When the Prime Minister yesterday said we were taking precautions to protect the vulnerable I thought she got that wrong.  Omicron is not so much about saving lives now that we have the vaccine. We have to work together to protect the entire economy which is again under threat  We must expect workforce shortages across the economy, but especially in frontline roles that can't be done from home; healthcare workers, supermarket workers, truck drivers and other parts of the supply chain will all be affected.  Businesses are going to have to figure out how to cope with extreme levels of sick leave.   Meanwhile our health system is still woefully exposed after decades of under investment. On Thursday, 68.3 percent of ICU beds were occupied and 84.7 percent of general wards or hospital beds were full. That's in summer and with almost no Covid-19 in the community.  None of this can be solved with money or solved overnight.  There are only two things that we can deploy. The vaccine and personal responsibility combined with common sense. 

Welcome back to the #TalkDaredevil podcast! We're kicking off 2022 with two review episodes focused on some Very Important Appearances in Marvel Studios' last two offerings of 2021. In this episode, Leslie, Shelby, and Phyllis sit down to talk about everything we loved (and didn't love as much) in Hawkeye. We have a lot of great links to things we reference in this pod, so make sure to check that section of the show notes if it's something you're interested in. Enjoy!+ 00:20 - Introduction+01:20 - General thoughts about the full season+ 04:10 - How the show took inspiration from the Fraction / Aja Hawkeye run (and comics Clint in general) - what was and wasn't successful+ 07:20 - Showing all our love for Hailee Steinfeld aka Kate Bishop+ 10:35 - More fangirling over Florence Pugh aka Yelena Bolova+ 13:50 - Completing the trifecta: Alaqua Cox aka Maya Lopez+ 14:55 - Talking about Echo / Kingpin and why they were included in Hawkeye+ 16:25 - All about the Big Guy: Wilson Fisk aka Kingpin's return!+ 25:30 - Issues with Hawkeye's overall storytelling / more opinions about the Marvel Studios TV approach+ 28:10 - Thoughts and feelings about Hawkeye's other characters+ 31:35 - What's next for Clint's Hawkeye in the MCU?+ 33:00 - Griping about the Hawkeye post-credits scene+ 36:35 - Tracksuit Bros: Love or Hate? + 39:00 - Thoughts about the Laura Barton / Agent 19 Reveal+ 43:40 - Hopes and predictions for the next phase of Marvel Studios TV+ 48:00 - Ranking the 2021 MCU TV D+ shows + 51:00 - Hopes for more representation in the MCU TV writer rooms+ 52:16 - Our hopes for the next Matt Murdock / Daredevil and Wilson Fisk / Kingpin appearances+ 1:00:00 - Speaking positive things into the universe for #TalkDaredevil + conclusionHave some thoughts or questions you'd like to hear us discuss in an upcoming episode? Send us an email at contact@savedaredevil.com. And if you enjoyed this episode, please consider subscribing and leaving us a rating + review on your podcast platform of choice!Links:Some Clint Barton reading material based on the comics references shared in today's pod!Clint being burnt to a crisp by the Phoenix Force - Avengers Vs. X-Men (2012) #7Clint ending up in the hospital with a bunch of broken bones - Hawkeye (2012) #1About "The Tape" (Reference for the Rolex on the series) - Hawkeye (2012) #4 | Hawkeye (2012) #5Inspiration for MCU Hawkeye: ​​Hawkeye (Ultimate) Powers, Enemies, HistoryAbout the Laura Barton / Agent 19 connection: 'Hawkeye': Everything You Need to Know About Agent 19, ExplainedMore about Maya Lopez / Echo: Meet Echo, Maya Lopez aka the Original RoninMore about Alaqua Cox, who plays Maya Lopez on Hawkeye: Next Big Thing: ‘Hawkeye' Star Alaqua Cox Prepares for Marvel StardomWest Coast Avengers: West Coast Avengers (1984) #1 | West Coast Avengers (2018) #1Hawkeye & Daredevil's Kingpin Are The Same, Confirms Vincent D'OnofrioVincent D'Onofrio talks Kingpin return in Marvel's 'Hawkeye': 'I hope he's not dead'Wilson Fisk's cufflinks (featured in Ep 6) from the Marvel TV Prop Store Auction#SaveDaredevil Petition#SaveDaredevil Twitter (@RenewDaredevil)#SaveDaredevil IG#SaveDaredevil FB#SaveDaredevil YouTube Channel

Live from the no panic zone—I'm Steve Gruber—I am America's Voice—God Bless America this is the Steve Gruber FIERCE AND FEARLESS – the relentless Pursuit of the truth—   Here are three big things you need to know right now—   ONE— $4 a gallon gas by Memorial Day—that is the prediction being put out by Gas Buddy- Dot Com— what do you think of that?   TWO— The push for Build Back Better and federal control of elections is not over by any stretch—NOT for the Democrats anyway—so what is the next move in the push for socialism?   THREE— The spiking cases of Covid—are not what were first told—in fact it now appears it is the more virulent Delta strain that is griping the United States—   The headlines tell it all—and I want to dig through it with you—and I want you to get involved—   Call the common sense hotline—877-310-9966—lets talk about your Covid experience—and where you think we are heading in the new year—   Let me read you some of the headlines first—   And remind you of everything that has been said  

Nik uses a swear jar for herself and adult friends, griping is exposed as the preferred communication of the bottom feeders but it all ends well when a Floridian wrestled his puppy out of an alligator's jaw, so there!

Sunday Morning, September 19, 2021 Gospel Light Baptist Church Marion, IA Dr. David Gibbs Jr. Christian Law Association https://www.christianlaw.org More than 40 years ago, the ministry of the Christian Law Association effectively began with a phone call from a pastor in Ohio. As a young attorney, David C. Gibbs, Jr. could hardly believe his ears as the pastor relayed how his church was being sued by the state for operating its ministry. When he reviewed the legal documents, Dr. Gibbs was astonished that such a thing could happen in modern America. From that very first case through the present day, God has blessed Dr. Gibbs' commitment to legally help churches, pastors, and Christians free of charge. The ministry has grown substantially through God's blessing over the last 40 years as attorneys, legal assistants, and other ministry workers have joined our team of “legal missionaries.” Website https://gospellightmarion.com Facebook https://facebook.com/gospel2marion Instagram https://instagram.com/gospel2marion Twitter https://twitter.com/gospel2marion Youtube https://www.youtube.com/channel/UChIvmWvrOjEgaVMz_4WCpTQ Email dmccurdy@gospellightmarion Episode analytics All time

This week John discusses the second half of chapter two in Paul's letter to the Philippian church.

Keeley Schafer, the founder of Generation Arrow, shares a crucial message on the negative consequences of griping and complaining in our families.During this podcast, Keeley dives in to:What God thinks about complainingThe dangers of complainingHow complaining hinders our child's progressHow your family can break free from complaining once and for all How a murmur-free home can open up the blessings of GodThis podcast contains truths that will help move your family forward by leaps and bounds.For more inspirational parenting resources: Follow our Instagram page @generationarrow_officialhttps://www.instagram.com/generationarrow_official/Like us on Facebook at Generation Arrowhttps://www.facebook.com/generationarrowFor more information about Generation Arrow or to contact us, please go to https://www.generationarrow.life

One of the newest members of the Halifax Thunderbirds stops by to talk about - Who is Tyson Bell - Why Lacrosse - What drew him to defense - Getting drafted by Calgary - His time with Calgary - 2019 Championship overtime - Griping the stick - How he found out he was traded - Thoughts in Halifax - Who he wants to play against on Calgary - Get to know your player rapid fire questions

August 5, 2021 What this can't become is my place to gripe. I don't have it in me. Somewhere I'd end up turning it into a mismatched moment of daily exercises and use it to locate answers to questions. Oh we have opinions! Every person on the planet receives them every day. At fifty nine though I find myself not wanting to waste the energy on a verbal conversation that'll go nowhere. Most of what I want to say is left on a page. But this place cannot become a platform to put grip in the gripe. Will it make Covid go away? No. Will it easy up on the flying insects driving you insane? No. Then there's no reason to sink fuel in the veins of the human gripe. Remind yourself how the rays of light that which ignite our paths are constantly shown shadows that endlessly bend in every direction. What will you have to show for your moment of gripe? Remove it from your scene. Learn to be seen in the eyes of solutions and not the rock that blocks the flow of performance.

August 5, 2021 What this can't become is my place to gripe. I don't have it in me. Somewhere I'd end up turning it into a mismatched moment of daily exercises and use it to locate answers to questions. Oh we have opinions! Every person on the planet receives them every day. At fifty nine though I find myself not wanting to waste the energy on a verbal conversation that'll go nowhere. Most of what I want to say is left on a page. But this place cannot become a platform to put grip in the gripe. Will it make Covid go away? No. Will it easy up on the flying insects driving you insane? No. Then there's no reason to sink fuel in the veins of the human gripe. Remind yourself how the rays of light that which ignite our paths are constantly shown shadows that endlessly bend in every direction. What will you have to show for your moment of gripe? Remove it from your scene. Learn to be seen in the eyes of solutions and not the rock that blocks the flow of performance.

Chasing happiness is universal. Achieving it is not. The good news is that every one of us can do things to feel happier. The problem is many of us do the exact opposite of what will truly make our lives better. Yale University Professor of Psychology Dr. Laurie Santos teaches The Good Life, a course that focuses on positive psychology and increasing happiness. It's a course she developed in response to the level of stress, anxiety, and depression she was seeing among students that had every reason to feel positive about their lives. “To witness such unhappiness, I decided to do something about it and put together a class on everything that the field of psychology knows about how to improve your happiness.” Her collected data revealed that the perceived pathway to happiness is filled with misconceptions. Human beings are wired to feel unsettled and to want things. But, research shows that wanting and getting will not lead to higher happiness. Says Santos, “Whether it's more Instagram followers, more money, more material possessions, a better car, a better house, as soon as we get something we want, we get used to it and then feel like we need more to get any happiness.” The pathway to actually feeling happier is somewhat counterintuitive. Despite our modern self-absorbed culture, research shows that happy people are more focused on other people's needs rather than their own, not because they're forced to—they choose to. Happy people are socially connected and consistently count their blessings. Happy people are present in the moment and have a life that is satisfying. So, how do the rest of us mortals get there? According to Santos, it's possible. Her course offers tips and exercises to build happiness in your life. Good health is a priority. Exercise, nutrition, meditation, and adequate sleep all contribute to happiness. Social engagement is a key component as well and she encourages nurturing old and new connections. Time is also important. According to Santos, “We're literally starving for time and the research shows that time famine seems to affect our bodies almost like real hunger famine.” Lastly, gratitude needs to be a focus rather than venting. Santos adds, “Griping and complaining when nothing ever changes doesn't really work. You're training your attention to focus on negative stuff. Think in a more positive way, in a problem-solving way so you're thinking through the issues that are bothering you.” The response to the class has been overwhelming. Over a thousand students showed up for the first meeting and it has since become the most sought after class in the university's 300-year history. The content is now offered online as The Science of Well-Being with over 3 million participants from hundreds of different countries as far off the beaten path as Antarctica. Dr. Santos also hosts the popular podcast The Happiness Lab. Says Santos, “It really shows that people all over the planet want these tips for how they can feel happier. The evidence suggests if you engage with these things, you will become happier, but just like all good things in life, it's going to take effort.”

Enjoy this sermon on Exodus 17:1-7