3 REASONS PEOPLE YELL !!! W.I.E.

   What does WIE stand for ?

1.     Wrong-they know they are wrong but refuse to be graceful about it so why not yell=stupidity
3.     Insecure-about most things. Although they will huff and puff and say that's BS, so why do they remain in a same low paying job when obviously according to them they can do anything, or stay with someone who pulls them down, can't save, maybe depressed too, blame others and of course will tell you how much better their siblings were treated so others only have one perspective. The truth be known, that insecure person has probably cost so much angst in families or has addictions also leading to low self-esteem.  Always easy to blame others.Whew. This insecurity is something.
5. Embarrassed-   Embarrassed because they know they are wrong, that the other person is right and that the YELLER only has correct information about things that no one else is interested in any more because they have heard the YEllER repeat all of that useless knowledge over and over again to let people know they have some smarts. They have also become boring but friends and some family listen because they are friends and do love them. Maybe they even have some shame,guilt and fear too. Why? Because of the limited ability they have to succeed or think they are limited. People don't try because they are afraid of failure. If you don't try no one can say, you failed. But indeed you did, because you just wouldn't try. Success is a bitch-you have to put yourself out there.

Why Are You Yelling ? A Harmfull Giver

      I bet you never forgot when someone you loved yelled at you, or even a boss or some jerk in a car. Did you ever see a parent yell at a child? I remember those times and wish I was punished differently. Those words said so harshly, in a big bully way only tell a kid, if you can do it so can I. What an example ! One temper tantrum in exchange for another. Make sense?
    Then we have people who yell from jealousy, truth they can't handle, insecurity and power, physical power over others, and what does that accomplish? Well, the yeller feels , I'm not taking that from anyone and mouths off, weeks, months or years down the road not remembering what he or she inflicted on the receiver.
    It's always like that. The Harmfull Giver gives all the nastiness and mean he or she can conjure up in that state of mind, later denying that was ever said. Now go ask the receiver of those words. Word for word they do remember and distance is created. Hurt is inflicted and questions asked. WHY? What is wrong with that person that he or she has to be so damn mean. It becomes like a river, deep and wide memories filled with, questions of why. Why do I want to see that person again, what did I ever personally do, is he or she so jealous I'm no longer counted so therefore pain can be inflicted with words, all because I have my own opinions.
     When I say my own I speak, well hell you know what I mean-I barely have a mind :) People assume that you don't know what you're talking about, but usually all of that yelling comes from insecurity. Maybe the one being yelled at, is younger, handsome, pretty, self supporting, secure, has a lot of friends and just plain happy. But that threat of harmful words has an intention.
    That intention is to rip apart, make that person as miserbale as he or she is inside, as poor, as insecure, as lacking in emotional control, as dependant that they are on others and just plain self absorbed as they are. Usually those people are pretty academically intelligent, socially acceptable and likeable. But that's it and in life, that's just not enough.
     While I know the next part is personal, so what, who cares. My father was like that. If he couldn't have friends calling him as my mother did, he would tear apart the friends. Sound Familiar? If she was happy in her work, he found fault with the job and people in it. If she was making more money than he,( which was rare) he turned that upside down as well. When she dressed nicer and like life more, he made it so she felt clothes made her a better person that he.Not true. She just took pride in her appearance. No matter what he tried to make something miserable from it.
     So next time someone is yelling, sure feel bad, very bad for the receiver, but just as much for the yeller. Chances their insecurity is just something they refuse to see and know, they want everyone else to suffer. A mental illness ? Possibly. If you're being yelled at, take it all into consideration and either walk away or try to calmy answer in short answers. Think about a letter next time instead of a visit. If you live in the same home, something has to change. Why allow that to be inflicted on family members? Becuase of size? A louder voice? More dominant? You have a few choices. Walk away. Counseling...talk to frineds. No one has to take it and put themselves in a place to be abused that way. A botton line is the yeller is afraid. Afraid of loss, afraid you count more in life than the yeller does, afraid of your security, so, so afriad.

Sounds of Love

       Okay I'll put this out there right now. I am not talking about sex. Many confuse the two and yes, both are nice, but the sounds of love are immeasurable.
I'll start with a baby's first cry at birth. In that moment the parent or parents who already have a love for the not yet born child, now have a faster tempo to their heart beats. This is a child created with love and the proof of that love is the sound of his or her cry. That continues through the baby years, walking and falling. Mom  or dad catching him, picking him up and nuzzling him, telling their baby, aw, it's okay with little bitty kisses all over. Remember?
       It's reversed too as a mom or dad picks up their child just to hold them. That childs' little fingers crawl around mom's neck and they make some inaudible sound, the sound of love.
     Besides babies of course we have those sounds when we see a car we love...aah, a vacation, but better than that, a memory. Best of all to me are the unheard sounds. I know, an oxymoron. So? Did you ever watch an old couple. One pats the others hand. Words aren't needed. A kid in trouble looks at mom or dad and the look they get back is one of love, one of, don't worry, we love you and we can fix it, we're here with you and for you.
     Have you been to a hospital when someone is in a coma. The people that go in and out of that room are there for reasons including love. Some for friendship, some because they're just nosy, some to pray, and some to sit and read, out of love for another human being, plain and simple. A mom and dad, siblings sometimes just sit and wait, the biggest unheard sound of love I know. Next time you're out and about, look around you for the sounds of love unheard but felt very deeply.

What Commodity is Love ?

       We've heard it said that certain things are a precious commodity. But the most of those would be love. I do feel love is a commodity, real, deep, true and loyal love is a precious commodity as is the love you have for your children, spouses, best friends, grandchildren and life long crushes.
       But love is also a dangerous commodity and that I heard from some movie. It took me a few hours to think that through, but I agree. Loving allows hurt, revenge, termination of affections, one-sided views, distortion and perceptions not meant and most of all, a cold departure, maybe never to be repaired. The longer that departure, distance, lack of communication goes on, it simply becomes a way of life and a way acceptable because of persuasion, because of jealousy and because of preference and pride.
       Preference? Definitely. Just look at photos and see who is in more photos, how holidays are shared and with whom, how much more time is spent with others and it just becomes easier and love becomes,  that dangerous commodity that now belongs no longer to you but to others. So you have lost. Do you try again? I don't know. How much can you emotionally afford to keep on losing?

Thank you, Bay Ridge Brooklyn !

        Recently I was taken back in conversations to my old school by someone else who attended a few years after I did. A story was recounted about a teacher and the building itself. But it was more about the people, games and the times, all memories to sustain for many years. I've been back to that old school. It was torn down years ago and replaced by an ugly (in my opinion) brown building with small windows and looks like a prison. I want to go back just to check out-the inside.
      I am thankful for all of the memories affecting me in a few different ways, but ways that, even though changed who I was meant to be, made me. They just made me. Besides how do I know who I was meant to be? How do any of us, until we are that is, until we are.
      One of my favorite memories is skating on cobblestone streets, mainly my own, fifty-ninth street between third and fourth avenues. Neighbors sitting outside watching over us kids, some retired, some moms and dads off work, and some who just took time to be watchful. Those wonderful people who as kids we didn't always think so wonderful. But I think I was a bit different. I loved looking out for the adults as they did for us. My looking out was a bit more selfish.
     For instance, take Mrs. Romano. She was Puerto Rican, lived on the second floor in my building and made the best Spanish rice I ever tasted. Years later working in Mental health there was a department called Senderos (The Path) and I hung out there as much as my time allowed, even volunteered a few groups. Yup, they called me down anytime they were cooking and  made a special plate loaded with Spanish rice. As I took it to my desk I was always asked by other staff, how do you rate? My answer? A mouthful of rice and a smile.
     Well Mrs. Romano would bring rice to just to me and finally one day my mother told her I couldn't have it anymore, that her husband said it wasn't right that only Nancy gets some. That bothered Mrs. Romano so what she did then was make the rice, give me a wink and I would run to the second floor, eating a big bowl on the white marble steps. If I heard my mother call, I'd quickly scrape the bowl and rush downstairs. Immediately my mother could smell something on me and ask if I was up at Mrs. Romanos eating Spanish rice. I lied of course, but what I said was, "no mom, honest, I was just talking to her and her door was open." I knew she knew I was lying and all she would say was,don't let your father catch you.
     Another Spanish family, The Romans lived on the third floor. They dressed better than anyone in the whole building, well except for us of course. We were about the same on dress-up days. Mr. Roman spoke with a lisp, had big ears, perfectly parted hair and his nails were manicured ! His wife wore red lipstick and brightly colored dresses with many prints and flowers. Her high heels were never higher than her husbands height. If I remember right, they had twin boys. I had a lot of respect for this family. They set a tone in me about dress and class that just stuck.(But you should see me now :) ) My first visit to a beauty parlor was on the corner of third avenue and sixtieth street. It was a Spanish place and they loved to work with a lot of hair, which I had.
       Those ladies made me beautiful one day for a school dance, where I danced with Mr. Vitalo, my principal. My hair was dark brown with some lighter highlights and it was curled up high with banana curls draped down to my shoulders. That was the first time I knew I was pretty. Even the ladies kept telling me in Spanish that I was pretty and they took my picture.
     It was the cultures that made Bay Ridge what it was. While many didn't like new cultures move in, enough of others did to make it better. It was my father most of all who didn't like anyone who was of Spanish origin or "colored" as the term was then, yet as mean as he was he made very good friends with a man from Jamaica.
      A bunch of kids were sitting on the stoop when John came up the steps of the Brownstone. John was very dark black and he owned a lunch truck. That truck was so bright white that John stood out on the beach more than anyone. John and an Italian guy each had a lunch wagon and were worlds apart. John was immaculate with himself and his business. Nick, the other guy was, well, horrible. Besides being dirty himself,  his food was to be carefully examined when we ordered hot dogs. The beach makes you hungry that you just get desperate. John lived on fifty-ninth street between second and third avenues.
     When he came to our door we couldn't imagine what he wanted. We already bought plenty from him on the beach. No one could beat his manners, personality and food as well as cleanliness. Well it wasn't long before we found out he wanted one of my brothers to work for him on his lunch wagon. The worst thing he said was, and he can eat all he wants. John told us where he lived so if we wanted we could check him out. But we already knew he could be trusted. Some people are just that way.
       We had games like stoop ball, box ball, hit the stick, stick ball, punch ball, running bases and too many more. There was one thing all games had in common.  No batteries. Brooklyn was battery free. All it took was good people, fire escapes, hot summer nights with music coming from any open window, winters with snow so high we made the best tunnels, mountains and snowball fights on the East Coast. Shovels could be heard scraping the streets, people laughing and helping, cold breaths from walkers and food. The food that to this day just doesn't compare to anywhere else in the world. Thank you Bay Ridge!

Lollipop People & the Great Neighborhood Book

    Someone sent me an e mail letting me know about a book titled, The Great Neighborhood  and I thought I'd like to see it just to copy city landscapes to paint, so I looked it up. Lo and behold as "they" say, I was amazed by the amount of do gooders' books in such a way that is easy for us all to do and become more involved in our neighborhoods.
    There are some examples and situations that only fit neighborhoods that appear city or suburban-like. But when I came across Lollipop people, I was immediately attracted to the title and then read the topic. Not at all what I expected; this is about crossing guards. As taxes go up city employees go down and then it's up to those who live where they do to replace what's missing.
    What would it take for a few adults to act as crossing guards? Yeah, yeah, yeah I know;You are worried about responsibility. Well if we can't be responsible what is it we are teaching our kids? Now grab a neon red, orange or yellow belt and get out there. Grab some stay at home parents and take them with you. Make it safe and make it happen.
   
   We also need safe houses for kids, so they are no longer coming home to an empty house. The world is so over populated at this time, the phrase," latch-key  kid" just shouldn't be. When I first moved to where I live now, I used to see signs in windows that showed a child could come there after school. Yes, I understand the safety concerns which is why clearances are needed and people who know people are needed. It can work. I would do it. We should have more latch-on kids as in breast feeding, not latch-key.
   PLEASE TWEET this to as many as you can and add to your Fb page. We need the real meaning of neighbors back in neighborhood.
 

Mercy Ships, for Africa, Christians

   It's been a while since I saw this story, but since it was on again tonight I watched it. This show was a bit different, showing people with tumors that come from Dental disease and then are treated as if they were invaded by evil spirits, in Africa. The faces were covered, disfigured, and people barely able to breathe, but saved by Mercy ships.
    Mercy Ships are funded by Corporations, and Christians missions and the people who donate their time and talents? They pay to go. Imagine volunteering all of your medical knowledge and service and paying to go, to belong to this unique group of men and women?
   These are true Christians. We just don't hear enough about them. No matter where they are, they are there. but we hear more about crime and evil. I guess that makes for better news and captures out curiosity or nosiness.
    People now have vision and can breathe and are no longer disfigured thanks to Mercy Ships. A great thing.

She Made me a Catholic

     I was about nine years old when my best friend in the old neighborhood came running over, knocked loudly on the door and yelled, come on Nance get your scarf, we'll be late. She was so excited and then of course so was I. But late? Late for what? I didn't ask right away and so I asked my mother who was getting dressed for work where was a scarf. She showed me, and a I ran yelled what do you need a scarf for? But I was gone. Outside was Sandy and Anna, a girl who lived across the street , was Puerto Rican and Catholic. Sandy and I were Lutheran and Anna was also older so I guess wee know what she was talking about.
     After all, at our ages what did we know about religion, so off we went to church, a giant old grey building known as O.L.P. H. To me it was like a mansion, or something you see in the movies. We did know to respect it as nuns and priests were always in and out. But that's all we knew. As we got closer, Anna told up to put our scarves on before we went in. So we got inside and then she told us to kneel a little and make the sign of the cross. Oh boy, now it was getting really confusing and I whispered, we'll be late for school. Then Anna told us.
     We would be forgiven because today we had to receive communion. Okay. Heck if I was going to be forgiven what did it matter? Anna took us up to the alter, stood us in front of a priest who had this little round paper thing which I learned later was a wafer, not like vanilla wafers either. He put it on my tongue and I started to gag. I didn't even notice Sandy, but she and Anna were already back in a pew. I joined them where I quickly threw up.
     Hurrying off to school I found out I was not going to be forgiven but had to bring a note from home on being late that day. Uh oh. It was in school I was first told I should have gone into a Catholic church much more than that to receive communion. That night after supper, to be safe, I asked my mother, to be safe again for a note. Boy did that set off my next four year as a Catholic ! Once my parents learned what I did, my mother laughed, my father laughed and of course my brothers and sister teased me a lot. Any time after that when ever I was called in for supper or told to go to the store it was always, get the Catholic. Oh what good Lutherans my parents were to set such a fine example.
     It didn't take long to learn not only was I not Catholic, but what they thought were insults, only made me more curious to find out about that religion and when I was about thirteen I asked a nun, how I could become a nun-still didn't learn enough :) Sandy was teased a little, but she was my best friend and just looking out for me like Anna thought she was doing for both Sandy and I.
     Isn't the innocence of kids amazing?