Commentaries by Cynthia

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.

*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.”

While growing up, I had several dogs as pets, and I loved them dearly. When they later died, I grieved as though I’d lost a best friend. Cats, on the other hand, were harder to bond with, their air of aloofness keeping me at a distance. It was only as an adult living in a small house in town that I gave up my love of dogs and conveniently invested in two cats as pets.

Murdock, the male feline, belongs to my daughter. And Chloe, the sweet female, was the cat I called my own. I say “was” because Chloe recently died. She developed cancer, and when she became so sick that she could barely walk, I took her to the vet and had her put to sleep. I cried as I retrieved her little body and brought it home for burial. The last seven years of my life had been spent with Chloe as my constant companion, and I had much grief over the loss of my feline friend.

You have and post under many, many screen names on any one site, since your main intention is to deceive others.

You pretend to be other people because you don’t know who you really are. You have no or little identity of your own.

You get joy in picking on people who aren’t your own size.

You out-right lie in order to hurt someone else.

You twist other people’s words in order to make them look bad to other people.

You’re two-faced and sneaky – a snake in the grass.

You manipulate and intentionally mislead people (then call them a fool or sucker behind their backs).

Everyday I get hits on this site by people searching under the term Toxic Work Environment. This means there are a lot of people in the world who are feeling victimized while trying to earn a living. I have been there and know how painful, confusing, and helpless a toxic work environment can make you feel. Dirty office politics is usually the culprit, which is fueled by silly human pride, power-plays, and basic greed. Knowing the cause, however, is of little consolation when you’re being backed into a corner by egotistical and uncaring people.

Anyway, I was thinking along these lines one night, and the following column was the end result.

The Power of Gentleness

“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” I hear people say. “Because no one else will.” In this rough and tumble world, we’ve fallen into the trap of believing that, in order to survive, we have to take down others. The “survival of the fittest” mentality might have served humanity well at one time - say, back in caveman days, but is it really necessary in the 21st century?

I’m not referring to wars and other man-made catastrophes. I’m talking very simply about no longer tearing other people down in order to build up one’s own ego or nest egg. I’m talking about no longer treating other people as food or as stepping stones that you walk over on your way to higher ground. I’m talking about sharing the power instead of hoarding it as your own.

“In the end, only kindness matters.” singer, Jewel

During the six years that I worked with her at Wachovia, Alma was both my friend and surrogate mother. She listened to me whenever I needed an ear. She advised me whenever I needed direction in my life. And she encouraged me whenever I needed hope.

Alma was one of those dear souls I've come to regard as the salt of the earth kind; a rare and precious breed who is so greatly needed in the world. Sadly, you will not find many people like Alma, especially in today's competitive workforce.

2007 was supposed to be an ordinary year, but something unusual began happening early last spring.

Late at night as I tried to sleep, something or someone seemed to be calling my name. Mind you, I did not hear an actual voice; it was more like a spiritual or telepathic calling from beyond. "Cynthia...Cynthia...Cynthia..."

(No, I'm not making this up.)

After nearly a week of this unrelenting repetition of my name, I threw back the covers and said, "What? What is that you want from me?"

(No, I was not intoxicated or otherwise inebriated at the time.)

Now, I've heard ministers talk about "the calling" but I always believed this was a somewhat fanciful term to describe one's decision to pursue the ministry. Wrong. Spirit does make its presence known and will not let up until you do whatever it wants you to do.

(This was written several years ago. While I still believe in these words, I've since come to realize that forgiveness isn't something you can force yourself to do. You can only decide to be willing to forgive and then turn the rest over to God or your Higher Power.)

It may be just another date on the calendar to some, but New Year's has always been one of my favorite holidays.

It signifies the end of the busy Holiday Season, enabling me to relax again. At last, I can stop worrying about the extra cooking and cleaning, the running to and fro, the scheduling, the shopping, and the wrapping and sometimes returning of gifts.

Was the farmhouse in which my children and I resided for five years haunted?

I wouldn't say that, as haunted tends to imply supernatural happenings that are malicious in nature. If there was a spirit dwelling in the farmhouse, it was more mischievous and curious.

My children and I were trying to go to sleep. My then eight year-old daughter and I were cuddled up in a bed together in a room across the hallway from my son. He was twelve at the time and not comfortable suddenly being the man of the house following a recent marital separation. What deepened his trepidation at night was the small tree right outside his window, since an outside yard light cast ominous shadows of the braches through the window shade in his room.