Podcasts about irrepressible

In every soul who has ever been healed, conviction rises that they must tell the story of how God's goodness rebuilt a broken body or a wounded spirit.  Bones got mended; diseases conquered; mobility advanced; relationships renewed. When grace restores what pain has taken, “Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then it was said among the nations, “The Lord has done great things for them” (Psalm 126:2).  We gladly own we couldn't—didn't—heal ourselves. No self-help remedies can knit the muscles of a heart—or reconcile two wounded hearts. Only a power outside ourselves—a love that will not let us go—would care enough to build our peace, to make us whole. And so the world daily echoes with the praise of those who once feared darkness and despair would be their final verdict: “O give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, for His steadfast love endures forever” (Psa 136:1). So do not be surprised if you should feel like singing—if contagious joy spills on from you to half a dozen or a hundred. Your healing was for them as well as you. “You, God, have turned my mourning into dancing” (Psa 30:11).  Irrepressible—and irresistible—joy is the lasting legacy of grace.  Move in it. And stay in it. – Bill Knott

In every soul who has ever been healed, conviction rises that they must tell the story of how God's goodness rebuilt a broken body or a wounded spirit.  Bones got mended; diseases conquered; mobility advanced; relationships renewed. When grace restores what pain has taken, “Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then it was said among the nations, “The Lord has done great things for them” (Psalm 126:2).  We gladly own we couldn't—didn't—heal ourselves. No self-help remedies can knit the muscles of a heart—or reconcile two wounded hearts. Only a power outside ourselves—a love that will not let us go—would care enough to build our peace, to make us whole. And so the world daily echoes with the praise of those who once feared darkness and despair would be their final verdict: “O give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, for His steadfast love endures forever” (Psa 136:1). So do not be surprised if you should feel like singing—if contagious joy spills on from you to half a dozen or a hundred. Your healing was for them as well as you. “You, God, have turned my mourning into dancing” (Psa 30:11).  Irrepressible—and irresistible—joy is the lasting legacy of grace.  Move in it. And stay in it. – Bill Knott

Pancho Barnes was larger than life. Born at the turn of the century, she spent the next 75 years defying every societal norm she found stuffy, boring or just plain stupid. She rode horses and then flew planes in the movies. She raced airplanes and briefly held the women's airspeed record. She owned a notorious inn/restaurant/club/hotel/airport in the desert near what would become Edwards Air Force Base. The Happy Bottom Riding Club was populated by Pancho, her personality and famous people from Roy Rogers to Chuck Yeager. We're exploring all the excitement that was the life of Pancho Barnes.Thanks to our guest in this episode:Lauren Kessler- Author, The Happy Bottom Riding Club: The Life and Times of Pancho BarnesFind the transcript at here. AirSpace is created by the Smithsonian's National Air and Space Museum with generous support from Lockheed Martin.

In Episode 24, Mark-Eugene and David explore INTAR Theatre and its highly anticipated new production, The Irrepressible Magic of the Tropics. Mark-Eugene also shares exciting news about his latest play, Goat Blood. Later, Julián Mesri and Kathleen Capdesuñer join Mark-Eugene for an in-depth conversation about the play's history and its upcoming staging. To wrap up, David gives a preview of the next episode, featuring special guest Hayley St. James. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Interview by Kris PetersPlaytime is over. Now shit gets real.Much has been made of Frankenbok welcoming back original vocalist Hutchy to launch their next foray into the world of metal, but as fun as the honeymoon period has been it's now time to let their music do the talking.Following the frenetic Demon Tantrum, the tongue in cheek cover of (You Spin Me) Right Round and the most recent track Dopamine, Frankenbok are preparing to throw all their cards on the table today, January 31, with the release of the first EP under the current regime in the form of Irrepressible.Not that anyone who has been a part of Australian metal at any stage over the last quarter of a century would - or could - have any doubts, but it almost feels like Frankenbok have got a point to prove. The band have had an ever-evolving sound, mainly due to a merry-go-round of vocalists over the years, but from all reports Irrepressible is a large step back to the early days of the band where pretty much anything went and the focus was, first and foremost, on enjoying playing music.HEAVY sat down for a chat with guitarist Azza Bok and vocalist Hutchy to get the lowdown in a chat that got so involved we had to split the video into two parts for easier digestion."It was a real cathartic moment for me personally as well," Hutchy explained when talk turned to him rejoining the band. "I turned up to Cherry Bar and someone said Frankenbok was playing, and I thought I'm not in the mood for any bullshit and Aaron walked straight up to me, looked me dead in the eye, extended his hand and said some really nice words and defused the situation. It felt like a whole weight had lifted off my shoulders. I made my peace many years ago, but we obviously hadn't spoken for a while. It started that next step for the things that came to follow."So the big question is what can we expect from the new music?"It's a homage to all the Frankenbok over the years," Hutchy measured. "When I approached it vocally and lyrically I went back and listened to all the albums and stuff and got inspired by everybody. I've got this reputation as being a bit of a Mike Patton try-hard, so I went back, and I tried to be inspired by Frankenbok, and make a Frankenbok record. It's got all the great elements of Frankenbok, but hopefully something new as well. I think it's a very refined, mature Frankenbok as well. I'm really proud of it. I never thought it was going to turn out like this.""And I know people always say this about their latest album, but I will legitimately say it's my favourite one to date," Azza chimed in. "I went through years of writing it and listening to it over and over and over and getting it done, but now when I listen to it, I legitimately really, really enjoy it. I love the sound of it. I love what everybody did to it. There was no… I said to everybody, you do whatever the fuck you wanna do, just do it the best you can."In the full interview we cover more ground on how Hutchy came back to the Frankenbok camp, lessons learnt musically by both of them over the last two decades, writing new material and settling into a groove, more on what to expect from the new music, we analyse each of the five tracks in more detail, discuss future live shows and more.Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/heavy-music-interviews--2687660/support.

Mike Clague is an aesthetic nurse, with a Bachelor of Science.  He is the CEO and founder of Face Coach, a consultant, a speaker, an author and has a wealth of  knowledge in the aesthetic space.   Beginning his career in medical aesthetics with Allergan, the makers of the world's leading anti-wrinkle injection, Mike enjoyed learning techniques from some of the best injectors globally over his 6 years with this prestigious company.   He has trained over 1000 doctors and nurses in the art of injecting muscle relaxants and dermal fillers across Australia, New Zealand, Thailand, India, Malaysia and the Philippines.   Hanya Oversby has known Mike forever, having worked with Aesthetic doctors, nurses and companies for many years.  Their chat was wide ranging and engaging – enjoy!   For more information on Mike, please see below: https://www.mikeclague.com.au/mike-clague Medical grade skin care. - Faceloveskin.  hello@faceloveskin.com.au   https://www.faceloveskin.com.au   Hair regrowth, eyelash growth products – hello@loqhair.com.au   https://loqhair.com.au   Courses for injectables or consultation process – hello@waytogrow.com.au    www.mikeclague.com.au   For patients -  hello@facelove.com.au    www.facelove.com.au Twitter - @mikeclague   Instagram - @claguemike   Email mike.clague@waytogrow.com.au   Phone 0450661284   More information about Hanya Oversby can be found on https://hanyaoversby.com.au/

Simon Strachan preaches on Luke 21:10-28

Carol McLeod, author of "Significant," offers hope to women who struggle understanding who they are in Jesus and how God made them to be people of purpose and hope.  Chris Rappazini, author of "Moving Forward after Messing Up," talks about how God joyfully gives us second chances because Jesus has taken the shame and guilt away. And that changes everything! Faith Radio podcasts are made possible by your support. Give now: Click here  

Some people have the outdoors in their blood. Will Collins is one of them. From the time he attended his first summer camp as a child, he felt drawn to the outdoors. In this episode, I talk with Will about his path from childhood summer camps in Wisconsin to multi-week expeditions in remote areas. In 2017, he paddled source-to-sea on the Mississippi River. I ask him how he planned for the trip, about the generosity of people he met along the way and the daily rhythms of a long-distance trip, and also about adjusting to life after the completion of a big expedition. The year after his Mississippi River trip, he paddled for 70 days on the Yukon River. He describes how that trip differed from paddling the Mississippi. Will's love for the outdoors extends well beyond his own expeditions, so we finish with a discussion of his podcast, Buffalo Roamer Outdoors, and the guided trips he coordinates. Will's enthusiasm for getting outside is infectious and may inspire you to get out for your own adventures.Hope you enjoy this Guest Post as Will joined Dean Klinkenberg on the Mississippi Valley Traveler Podcast.Join Will on the River! Summer and Fall 2024 Guided Canoe trips available at www.buffaloroamer.com/tripsBrought to you by:Soda Peak Outfitters - Experience true Wyoming Wilderness With Soda Peak Outfitters. DIY and Guided Pack trips, fishing trips and more. Nestled in the Greater Yellowstone Area, Soda Peak calls the stunning Bridger Teton National Forest and the Teton Wilderness Home. Use code BR2024 for 5% off any trip, or email charles@sodapeakoutfitters.com for details or to help you plan your wilderness adventure.Fishell Paddles - Makers of Fine, Handcrafted Wooden Canoe PaddlesTry a Fishell paddle and FEEL the difference. Each paddle is handmade by Greg Fishell at his shop in Flagstaff, Arizona. Will uses a Ray Special model, and outfits all of his trips with Fishell Paddles as well. Use code WILL at checkout for a free paddle hanger w/ purchase of new paddle!SREgear.comSRE Outdoors is a Family Owned & Operated Outdoor Gear Shop in Black River Falls, Wisconsin. Great gear, great prices, unbeatable customer service. Use code WILL at checkout for 10% off your first order.Interested in advertising or partnering with Buffalo Roamer Outdoors? Contact Will here: buffaloroamer.com/contact

Send us a Text Message.Some people have the outdoors in their blood. Will Collins is one of them. From the time he attended his first summer camp as a child, he felt drawn to the outdoors. In this episode, I talk with Will about his path from childhood summer camps in Wisconsin to multi-week expeditions in remote areas. In 2017, he paddled source-to-sea on the Mississippi River. I ask him how he planned for the trip, about the generosity of people he met along the way and the daily rhythms of a long-distance trip, and also about adjusting to life after the completion of a big expedition. The year after his Mississippi River trip, he paddled for 70 days on the Yukon River. He describes how that trip differed from paddling the Mississippi. Will's love for the outdoors extends well beyond his own expeditions, so we finish with a discussion of his podcast, Buffalo Roamer Outdoors, and the guided trips he coordinates. Will's enthusiasm for getting outside is infectious and may inspire you to get out for your own adventures.

We start with the view of God's sovereignty, where he is in charge and everything that's happening is what he is doing. But that doesn't mean we don't praythe fact of God's sovereignty doesn't discourage prayer. Really, why would you pray to him if he wasn't sovereign? To support this ministry financially, visit: https://www.oneplace.com/donate/1417/29

Today the one thing you must not say is the words of Acts 4:12. You can get excited about your faith or be strict about religion, but if you say there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be savedthen you're asking for trouble. But this is our glorious truth. To support this ministry financially, visit: https://www.oneplace.com/donate/1417/29

Sharing our faith in Christ with unbelievers does not come easy for most of us. How can the gospel go from being something we can't get out to being something we can't keep in? The Apostle Paul shows us how we can grow in this area in the opening verses of his letter to the Philippians. Scriptures Referenced: Phil 1:1-2, 12-13, 2:5-11, 3:1, 8, 20-21 Visit PracticologyPodcast.com for more episodes.Follow the Practicology Podcast on Twitter and Facebook

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.

Welcoming Keil, we discuss the irrepressible thoughts of death, grief, and suicidal thoughts and how we deal with the ups and downs in life in this very fun but meaningful discussion. Don't worry, there is lots of laughter, jokes, and tears. ****Trigger Warning: We discuss suicide and death. Please take care of yourself and if you are unable to listen, we absolutely understand. You can still support the show but liking, subscribing, and sharing. Check out our tattoo studio: www.CaliLousTattoos.com And our YouTube Channel: https://www.youtube.com/@tattoohomewreckers266 Please share your thoughts with us. On Instagram or TikTok @tattoo_homewreckers or leave us a voice mail https://anchor.fm/tattoo-homewreckers/message Don't forget to like, follow, subscribe, and leave us a review if you liked it! Thank you, Wrecking Balls, we'll see you again next week! --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/tattoo-homewreckers/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/tattoo-homewreckers/support

Hi Barbies! We have sooooo much to talk about in this three-parter, so we squished some background discussion of fashion dolls and the cultural mythos of Barbie into this first episode. We also have some thoughts on the Barbenheimer phenomenon, the Barbie movie as a capitalist product, and our own experiences playing with Barbies as children. Then we give a brief overview of some other topics we want to dive into in our next two episodes and take a quiz to find out which Barbies we are (but, as happens quite often, the quiz was wrong). This month we're talking about: Feminist Utopias, Matriarchies, and Inverted Patriarchies in Fiction Aging, Gender, and Sexuality as Explored in Barbie Weird Barbie and Queerness Parallels with the Works of Jane Austen, Because You Didn't Think Rhonda Was Just Going to Ignore that Depression Barbie's Comfort Show is the 1995 Pride and Prejudice Miniseries, Did You??? and more Follow us on Instagram I guess but don't expect too much. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/pop-dna-podcast/message

Melissa Story (Gloucestershire & TMS) is joined by Nikki Chaudhuri (Surrey & TMS) from India in a chaotic yet thorough analysis of the game so far. Melissa's big night out comes back to bite and Nikki's uber issues cause much hilarity. We wrap up with some of your questions and look forward to a test and series wrap up. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Source: William H. Seward, The Irrepressible Conflict: a Speech Delivered at Rochester (1858), 1-7. https://archive.org/details/americanhistoryt00ivunse/page/138/mode/2up  

What was supposed to be an on-stage interview about Donna Morrissey's latest novel, Rage The Night, expanded to a conversation about Nietzsche, Carl Jung, and sudden grief after her husband died from a stroke. The Newfoundland author was in conversation with IDEAS producer Mary Lynk in Halifax.

“Two high-haired men, sons of the earth-shaker, who, obeying their inner valor,” could not resist Jason's call for adventure and danger of death. ... No law or regime could ever restrain excellence, nor really ever be responsible for its having emerged. Areta and by extension the biological fundamental phusis from which it emerges is beyond all convention, all law, all regime, and can co-opt, prosper under, or take over any; it is the only thing that is “regime- independent” or “convention-independent”: “Under all laws the straight- spoken man excels, whether by the side of a tyranny, or whenever the furious mob, or when the wise watch over the city.”

This week on S&A Lindsay is joined by Matt Bledsloe, Mark Wanner & Hayden Gilbert. And they go full Barbenheimer with a Double of Greta Gerwig's Barbie (2023) & Christopher Nolan's Oppenheimer. It's a cultural movement. Listen to Schlock and Awe on your favourite podcast app.

Since Chris is on vacation this week, we're re-sharing one of our favorite episodes. “I went because they didn't want me there,” says Minnijean Brown-Trickey. It's been more than 60 years since she made history. At 16-years-old, she and eight other black students found an angry mob and the national guard blocking their entry to Little Rock Central High School in Arkansas. Backed by 1,200 soldiers, they eventually made it inside for their first full day of class. White students threw hot food at them, called them names and even sprayed some of them with acid. One day, a white kid hit Minnijean with a purse. She responded by calling the student “white trash.” For that, she was expelled, which profoundly affected her trajectory. She ended up finishing her education in New York City and went on to become a civil rights activist and speaker. Minnijean joins WITHpod for a moving conversation about how she channeled the trauma she experienced into a life of activism, the continued fight for racial equality and more.

"We proclaim to you what we have seen and heard, so that you also may have fellowship with us. And our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ." 1 John 1:3This morning Pastor Russ began a new series called "To Know Him is to Love". In this series we will be going through 1 John verse by verse.

A wild one. A leader, a charismatic lofty or noble person. A brazen, untamable spirit. Ecstatic pursuit of destiny. The release of inner potential. Magnificence, grand aspirations, unshakable self confidence. Accepting honors. Rising to the occasion to a position of great authority and responsibility. Unavoidable obligation. Bravely placing yourself in a place of greatness or having greatness thrust upon you. A tension between individual gratification and an expanded responsibility to others.The dramatic manifestation of genius vital to the general welfare of people everywhere. A decision maker. Invisible power or superior power. Someone with far flung influence. Irrepressible assertion of ego. Feeling invincible. Strength, ability, and self discovery. Personality willfully made manifest. Actions that speak louder than words. Transcendent success, spiritual endowment. A self-willed and daring individual. A pioneer or a trailblazer with an independence of spirit, courage and perseverance. The enthusiastic pursuit of adventurous, risky enterprises. A self reliant individual possibly estranged from family. An instinct for freedom and independence above all else. An aggressive, moody tyrant. One who is rude, unruly, and reckless. A lack of self discipline while demanding discipline from others. Inward purpose that can aid, inspire, or support a new community. Shawls, cloaks, or other clothing imparting a sense of power. Power trips. Megalomania. Abuse of privileges, corruption. Refusal, avoidance, or fear of one's own strength and destiny. An unstable person.Support the show

Joe Molloy was joined by John Duggan and Arthur James O'Dea on Sunday edition of the Newsround on Off The Ball.

The actor and president of the Monte Carlo television festival jury John Goodman speaks to Genie Godula about the success of the series "Roseanne", which first aired more than 30 years ago, the reboot "The Conners" that's now in its sixth season and the infamous "Roseanne Barr" tweet that got her cancelled. They also discuss the series "The Righteous Gemstones" and working regularly with the Coen Brothers.

5 C's of History: Causality, #3 of 4. In 2017, White House chief of staff John Kelly, then serving Donald Trump, was interviewed by Fox New's Laura Ingraham, who asked about Kelly's thoughts on a church in Virginia that had recently taken down a statue to Robert E. Lee. Kelly responded that Robert E. Lee had been a “honorable man” who “gave up his country to fight for his state,” and claimed that the war had been caused by a “lack of ability to compromise.” Today, when asked the reason for the Civil War, most of us would immediately- and correctly -  say slavery. And nearly all historians would support that. But still, the question nags. What about slavery caused a violent, protracted civil war? What event or issue or Supreme Court case or compromise was the straw that broke the camel's back? Or was it the competing cultures of North and South that did it, both created and exacerbated by the existence of Black chattel slavery? Today, as we continue to explore the concept of causality as a historical thinking skill, we're talking about the causes of the American Civil War. Select Bibliography Astor, Aaron, Judith Giesberg, Kellie Carter Jackson, Martha S. Jones, Brian Matthew Jordan, James Oakes, Jason Phillips, Angela M. Riotto, Anne Sarah Rubin, Manisha Sinha. “Forum on Eric Foner's “The Causes of the American Civil War: Recent Interpretations and New Directions.” Civil War History 69 (2023): 60-86.  Blight, David. Was the Civil War Inevitable? The New York Times Magazine. December 21, 2022.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Love is always hopeful - but never naive or with a blind optimism. A healthy, Biblical love anchors itself in God's eternal faithfulness. Invite and share this message with your family and friends and bless them with this great message. If you're new to Cornerstone and this is your first time watching us, we'd love to say “hello!” Just click on this http://cornerstonesf.org/connect to fill out our Connect Card and one of our community members will follow up with you. Also if you are in need of prayer, don't hesitate to put in a prayer request at http://cornerstonesf.org/prayer ---- Song Credits: Hope Again - KXC Stephen William, Tom Eccleshall © 2022 KXC Publishing (Admin. by Capitol CMG Publishing) All music performed by the CornerstoneSF Worship Band under CCLI license No. 48786, CCS No. 8434 #cornerstonesf #liveitoutsf #healthylove

In honor of Women's Month, we wanted to speak with someone who is a real powerhouse in the industry. Brenda Burkett, CFO at Norman Public School is just that. She's been through it all in her 32 years and shows no signs of stopping! Find out what it takes to be an SBO in Oklahoma and how they deal with some of the most challenging events.

After a week off, Anna & Chris return to catch you up on how the Vancouver Canucks have done in an effort to win games or win draft position. The pair discuss the two trades that have taken place up to the moment they hit record, and take a quick spin around the league as deals are starting to come fast & frenzied. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

“I went because they didn't want me there,” says Minnijean Brown-Trickey, our guest this week. It's been more than 60 years since she made history. At 16-years-old, she and eight other black students found an angry mob and the national guard blocking their entry to Little Rock Central High School in Arkansas. Backed by 1,200 soldiers, they eventually made it inside for their first full day of class. White students threw hot food at them, called them names and even sprayed some of them with acid. One day, a white kid hit Minnijean with a purse. She responded by calling the student “white trash.” For that, she was expelled, which profoundly affected her trajectory. She ended up finishing her education in New York City and went on to become a civil rights activist and speaker. Minnijean joins WITHpod for a moving conversation about how she channeled the trauma she experienced into a life of activism, the continued fight for racial equality and more.

The Six-Button Samurai and @GameAgentET (OGiH) are back after Eddy got the 'rona, but you wouldn't know he couldn't talk two weeks ago as they tear into subjects like the Xbox exclusive HI-FI RUSH, the secret origin of the Pac-Man CE demake they've been simping over for months, and what can happen when video games inspire real-life choices. It's all that and an impossible Double Dragon elbow shot to the FACE in this latest episode of OH GOD IT HZ!https://linktr.ee/ohgodithzwww.RuminationsRadioNetwork.comwww.instagram.com/RuminationsRadioNetworkTwitter: RuminationsRadioNetwork@RuminationsNMusic and Production by Mitch Proctor for Area 42 Studios and SoundAudio Engineered by Dean Delp for Area 42 Studios and Sound https://twitter.com/DeanDelpVOhttps://www.patreon.com/RuminationsRadio ★ Support this podcast on Patreon ★

Date: April 27, 2022 (Season 4, Episode 11: 1 hour, 12 minutes & 49 seconds long). Click Here for the Utah Dept. of Culture and Community Engagement version of this Speak Your Piece episode. Are you interested in other episodes of Speak Your Piece? Click Here.Utah and Western historian John Sillito, saw many things to admire in his subject B. H. (Brigham Henry) Roberts (1857-1933). His dogged resistance to embracing women's suffrage [women's right to vote] was definitely not one of them. A quote in Sillito's book on Roberts however, underscores how beloved and respected, and tells of his amazing oratory skills, even among those who were staunchly opposed to him. “It took him some time to gather himself but once he did he was an oratorical avalanche. A stream of language, potent and pleasing, flowed from his lips and caught his listeners until even those who were most bitterly opposed to him were compelled to pay compliment to his power with rapture supplies.  …the suffragists themselves could not but admire his courage, and when he had finished they crowded around him and shook his hands enthusiastically.” “Suffrage is the Theme,” Salt Lake Herald, May 29, 1895. There are, to John Sillito's count, three other pre-existing biographies of Roberts. This did not stop Sillito, in writing an entirely new biography; and for this we are grateful. Yes, this is a “Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” story; however, it is almost equally a Utah story; and even more so, a personal story about a scrappy, near-illiterate immigrant child, who in an Horatio Alger-like effort, reached the highest levels of religious, political and intellectual accomplishment in late 19th and early 20 c. Utah.   Sillito's biography offers loads of insights into a rapidly changing Utah (circa 1880-1930s), and besides Robert's childhood life in England and then 1860-70s Utah, and his personal life and friends, the larger themes include local and national politics, the abandonment of a central religious tenet (polygamy), Utah gradually joining national markets (intellectually and economically), and Utah and the LDS Church imbracing larger political trends including Jim Crow (a body of statutes that legalized racial descrimination and segregation). This episode is fast paced and full of new insights and facts about B. H. Roberts, and the world around him. Roberts is best known as a church historian and one of Utah's most beloved public intellectuals, some of his published works include:The Life of John Taylor, Third President… (1892); The History of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, (7 vol., 1919); The Mormon Battalion; its History and Achievements (1919), and The Comprehensive History of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (6 vol., 1930).Bio: John Sillito, Emeritus Professor, Weber State University (1977- 2018), is a native Salt Laker, and besides this book in discussion, he is the co-author of A History of Utah Radicalism: Startling, Socialistic & Decidedly Revolutionary with historian John S. McCormick (Utah State Historical Society's Best Book in 2011). John's edited collection of B. H. Roberts diaries—published as History's Apprentice—received the Mormon History Association's best documentary award in 2005. Sillito is the recipient of a lifetime service award from CIMA (Conference of Intermountain Archivists) in 2013, and was made a Fellow of the Utah State Historical Society in 2021.Do you have a question? Write askahistorian@utah.gov

I was thrilled to be able to spend half an hour recently with one of the finest energy writers working today, Bulgaria-based Irina Slav. Irina writes for OilPrice.com, Shale Magazine, where I recruited her while serving as editor, and also maintains her own newsletter here at Substack. Along with the great Armando Cavanha, she also partners with me at The Energy Transition podcast, where we have great fun covering the faltering landscape of this energy transition each Monday. In this episode of The Energy Question, I question Irina about her views on the energy crisis currently impacting Europe. We talk about what led to the crisis in the first place, how it has expanded over the past year, and about her views on where it is all likely to head in the weeks and months to come.And we do it all in a very compact and fact-filled 30 minutes, out of respect for your own busy schedules.Please give it a look. I think you'll be glad you did.

El Edwards is an irrepressible silver-lining spotter with a compulsion to say the stuff most other people only say in their heads. She's your cheerleader & image bearer, helping you see who God created you to be. El is here to help you be Youier (You - ier) - that's you, the person God created you to be, in an Intentional, Expectant, Relationship with your creator. You're great at being you so now it's time to hear God's heart and be Youier! Why? Because God loves you, you have His heart, He wants to do life with you! Website: https://youier.com/ Background Music Artist: PRYCES Music from Uppbeat (free for Creators!): https://uppbeat.io/t/pryces/music-is License code: DSUKBJEXIFKVZSNF

Masih Alinejad is a U.S. citizen from Iran. She is a journalist, a democracy activist, and a human-rights activist. Jay wrote about her last year: “A Free Spirit.” In that year, 2021, she was the target of a kidnapping plot by the Iranian dictatorship. In recent weeks, she has been the target of a murder […]

Masih Alinejad is a U.S. citizen from Iran. She is a journalist, a democracy activist, and a human-rights activist. Jay wrote about her last year: “A Free Spirit.” In that year, 2021, she was the target of a kidnapping plot by the Iranian dictatorship. In recent weeks, she has been the target of a murder plot. She is unable to live at home, in New York. But she is as outspoken as ever—a free... Source

Masih Alinejad is a U.S. citizen from Iran. She is a journalist, a democracy activist, and a human-rights activist. Jay wrote about her last year: “A Free Spirit.” In that year, 2021, she was the target of a kidnapping plot by the Iranian dictatorship. In recent weeks, she has been the target of a murder plot. She is unable to live at home, in New York. But she is as outspoken as ever—a free... Source

Practice is Dr. Dave Fearon's way of being. His practice?  Irrepressible Teaching. Before, during, and after the 50+ years, he was a professor. His subject?  You; and why your practice matters to him, to everyone, and, of course, to you.His medium?  Wherever and to whomever digital takes him.Accordingly, his new digital-first book with the late, highly regarded Leadership thinker Peter B. Vaill is titled: Practice as a Way of Being: Peter Vaill's Conjectures on Why Your Practice Matters.His long-running podcast that Dave originated with Peter is called Practice? “Irrepressible” because six years ago, David S. Fearon, Emeritus Professor of Management & Organizational Behavior, Central Connecticut State University, capped off 55 years as a successful Management Educator, practicing leadership in how he taught and how he served colleges and communities as dean and professor.Retired, Dave tried leisure, taking up golf and offering the occasional workshop, but he could not stop being a teacher. So, when the call came from Peter, his own most revered teacher, inviting a chance to draw attention to Practice as a tantalizingly under-taught but universally important question, Dave gave up the leisure (but not the golf).Now Practice is Dave's practice, and it's all about You.Resources Mentioned in This EpisodeBook - On Practice as a Way of Being Website - Enation ResearchPodcast - Practice?Television show -  The Bear on HuluTelevision show - Get Back on Disney+Film - In and of Itself on HuluA Quote From This Episode"So imagine now the wonderful journey someone's making - assuming they're continuing to get better, no matter what the conditions, the payoff is your practice. And it will take you into a context and land you in a moment in time.""I think leadership is summoned...and it's summoned by genuine question."About The International Leadership Association (ILA)The ILA was created in 1999 to bring together professionals interested in the study, practice, and teaching of leadership. Plan for ILA's 24th Global Conference online on October 6 & 7, 2022, and/or onsite in Washington, D.C., October 13-16, 2022. Register for the 24th Global Conference here!My Approach to HostingThe views of my guests do not constitute "truth." Nor do they reflect my personal views in some instances. However, they are important views to be aware of. Nothing can replace your own research and exploration.Connect with Scott AllenWebsite

#60 It's the season finale and this episode is all about using consistency in a sustainable and maintainable way. We all hear how important it is to be consistent in order to achieve our goals, successes, dreams — but how do we do it without hitting burnout every other month. Plus, hear what's to come in season 3 of Irrepressible, coming this fall! To connect with Erica Ashleigh click HERE To join Erica's Styled Away membership click HERE For more on Irrepressible click HERE

#59 Erica is sharing what's trending this summer when it comes to fashion - she's also sharing her take on each trend, what she will and won't be participating in and how you can adapt and mix and match each trend. She also gives a preview for what's to come this fall. Get ready for some dopamine dressing! (Don't worry, she's explaining exactly what that means in this ep.) To connect with Erica Ashleigh click HERE To join Erica's Styled Away membership click HERE For more on Irrepressible click HERE

#58 Erica sat down with Emmy nominated director and screenwriter, Yulin Kuang, to get the BTS of the film and television industry. She's directed shows including Dollface (Hulu), The Healing Powers of Dude (Netflix), and I Ship It (CW). The two talked: Misconceptions about Hollywood Women in film Dealing with rejection Differences between working on films vs television The job of the director Overcoming imposter syndrome Finding creativity + more To connect with Erica Ashleigh click HERE To connect with Yulin Kuang click HERE To join Erica's Styled Away membership click HERE For more on Irrepressible click HERE

#57 This week Erica is giving her hot take on whether or not you should have a Plan B in life, especially in your career. As someone who chose a slightly less common career path, she's picked up a few over-arching tips that can apply to anyone whether you're an entrepreneur, creative, college student or work a 9-5 job. To connect with Erica Ashleigh click HERE Past mini episode to find your WHY click HERE Past full length episode about ALIGNING with your WHY click HERE If you'd like a pop socket too, click HERE To join Erica's Styled Away membership click HERE For more on Irrepressible click HERE

On Today's Episode of the Punch Out: Sudan's Struggle ContinuesTunisian Trade Unions Rising

#56 It's Mercury Retrograde everyone and this week Erica sat down with astrology expert, Swan, of Citrine and Stars to get all the info you need to survive (spoiler: Mercury Retrograde isn't actually as bad as it's made out to be!) The two discuss: The link between astrology and psychology What it means for us as we enter Gemini season How understanding astrology can help you in your day to day life What Mercury Retrograde actually means The characteristics of each element — earth, air, fire + water and how it applies to your sign Astrocartography and how it can help you thrive The cyclical patterns of life and how you can use it to your benefit + more To connect with Erica Ashleigh click HERE To join Erica's Styled Away membership click HERE To connect with Swan click HERE For more on Irrepressible click HERE

#55: This week Erica is sharing the best ways to reset + get back into your routine after being away. She was in Chicago for 3 weeks and now she's back in LA - she's explaining what helped her and what she would do differently next time, including the most important thing to do the day after you get back. To connect with Erica Ashleigh click HERE To join Erica's Styled Away community click HERE For more on Irrepressible click HERE

#54: Erica is sharing ideas, actions, tools and questions she has been using lately to prevent burnout. She's sharing why she implemented her 9-9 rule, taking an actual lunch break, questioning advice, the contradiction of balance, understanding where pressure comes from + more. To connect with Erica Ashleigh click HERE To learn about Social Consideration - Erica's branding + social media agency click HERE For more on Irrepressible click HERE

#53: This week, Erica sat down with licensed clinical psychologist turned mental wellness + consciousness coach, Dr. Janine Kreft. Dr. Kreft uses many different modalities in her coaching to help her clients find relief and she spent many years working with veterans. The two dove into topics including: the link between our mental health and physical health trapped trauma in the body how to look at anxiety as a symptom rather than a disorder why judgement in any capacity limits your life how to find your purpose(s) how our subconscious mind really affects us daily + two easy daily tools to allow yourself to truly consider what's possible To connect with Erica Ashleigh click HERE To connect with Dr. Kreft click HERE To check out You Can Heal Your Life by Louise Hay click HERE For more on Irrepressible click HERE