Commentaries by Cynthia

I live in North Carolina. My political views are liberal or progressive, and I am very much pro-woman. I believe in equality for all people. You will see these values reflected in my writing.

The selected postings of my memoir (see beginning of blog) are based on actual events in my life. In some cases, names and places have been altered to protect the identities of the parties involved. As with most memoirs, time has been compressed and certain events are listed out of sequence.

(Note: This is a sticky post. More recent posts are below.)

Hello, I'm thinking very seriously about removing or redoing this blog - although I will be blogging somewhere. In any case, I thought the attached video was a good one to leave as a parting message for those who have been following this blog.

I do believe that everyone who has been a part of our life was there for a reason. The problem and pain that some of us encounter is expecting other people to remain in our life when this is not always possible or even in our own best interest.

At the level of spirit, we really do care about each other, even if our paths diverge somewhere along the way. We may not understand it at the time, but there is a much bigger plan at work in our lives and relationships. I've said it before and I'll say it again..."A brighter day awaits us all, and one day everything we've encountered in life will make perfect sense. Then we will say...'Ah, I can see it all so clearly now.'

Scenes from OliverFest 2009 and the musical group Britishmania. (This is as close to John Lennon as I'm probably going to get.)

This is my favorite rant by Julia Sugarbaker. And I think there is much truth in these words.

“Oh, no we did not! But that is a typical male attitude.
Now, the truth is… we women have not had enough power, or money, or confidence to start much of anything. But we sure as heck get the blame for everything.

And I’ll tell you something else! I love men – I love this one- but you cannot ignore history. History has shown that, in general, it has been the men who have done the raping, and the robbing, and the killing, and the war-mongering for the last 2,000 years. It has been the men who have done the pillaging, and the beheading, and the subjugating of whole races into slavery.

Over a week ago, I posted a parody of my workplace nightmare into a blog entry entitled The Wizard of Just Cause.

This week, someone left a book on the bench outside my office. The book was entitled The Wizard of ID Charge. The person who left the book said she had no idea why she left it there – just that she thought it was a good place to leave the book in case someone wanted to read it. (And no, she did not know about my story.)

Although this is a comic book, and therefore, not something I would normally read, I couldn’t help but pick up the book and read through the pages.

I saw them from my front porch.

They were a middle-aged couple, walking up the street in the direction of a nearby outdoor concert. She somehow lost her balance and fell backward, hitting the curb and rolling several feet down a small grassy bank. There were gasps and gawks from those passing by, but no one moved to assist her as she lay dazed and struggling to pick herself up again. Instinct kicked in, and I ran across the street, then I knelt beside her and helped her into a sitting position. At that moment, I noticed that her hand was outstretched, but it was not my help that she was reaching for - it was her partner’s, who stood towering over her, as if to say, “You get yourself up.”

*Note* Finally, a new column!

Decades after the television show first hit the airwaves in the 1960's, the Andy Griffith show continues to pull in audiences and fans through the fine art of syndication.

North Carolinians in particular love the show since it portrays our state in a wholesome light. Times seemed simpler and quieter then, and all disputes could be settled amicably by a kind-hearted sheriff who always knew the right thing to say or do regardless of the situation. There was only one criminal in town and that was the town drunk, Otis, who was really just a big ol’ loveable misfit. In Mayberry, there was no profanity, the streets were always clean, and neighbors looked out for each other. By the end of each episode, you turned off your television set, believing that having faith, family, and friends were what life in a small North Carolina town was all about.

Dedicated to all the bad bosses of the world...

"And in the office building, 9 to 5 goes up on trial
The man is startin' to crack, but the ceilings are starting to smile
And his boss comes in, to see what fragile things
his dull and pointless tongue can tear.
Oh, God, I think he combed over his bald spot with a bit of hair."

*Note* Just a little creative expression or storytelling.

“What is this place?" Summer wondered, looking around in sad awe at the numerous rows of people hooked into machines known as telephones. She shuddered, feeling a chill in the air. “Have I been transported into a real-life version of the Matrix or the Twilight Zone?” In a dreamlike state, she weaved through the labyrinth of cubicles and sat at a desk with a computer. Reaching out, she touched the keyboard hesitantly. On the screen appeared the face of a man in his thirties with sandy brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. “Welcome,” he said in a flat, monotone voice. “You are in my world now.” His smile turned into a smirk. “I own you - all of you. In fact, you don’t even exist anymore.”

It could have been a dream, or maybe it was something more. I’m not sure that it even matters.

She was in her early thirties, an attractive woman I recognized as my mother. In the dream, I was standing beside her in her bedroom, making up the bed when a wad of money fell from the sheets. The thought then occurred to me that I was in the room where my mother had died, and I no longer wanted to be where that painful event had transpired. The bed suddenly moved out into the hallway, and I was sitting on the edge of it. Mother was standing over me, and she said rather matter-of-factly, “Not everyone can feel the things that you feel.” The wad of money reappeared, and she seemed to hand it to me before disappearing from the dream.