Commentaries by Cynthia - Stories

The Ghost of Chloe

Sat, 25 Oct 2008 13:14:14 -0400

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 Might Be A Sociopath IF....

Thu, 25 Sep 2008 13:36:12 -0400

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).

The Power of Gentleness

Mon, 11 Feb 2008 12:27:22 -0500

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.

Remembering Alma

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 10:14:52 -0500

“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.

The Calling

Sun, 30 Dec 2007 23:45:42 -0500

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.

It's A New Year

Sun, 30 Dec 2007 23:25:11 -0500

(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.

Night Sounds

Mon, 10 Dec 2007 11:03:21 -0500

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.

Left to His Own Devices

Tue, 30 Oct 2007 13:27:32 -0400

While growing up, my bothers and sisters and I enjoyed hearing our father speak of his days in the military.

Dad said one of the first things he learned in the Marine Corps was not to ask why or how. Those in charge would tell you to do something, and if you didn’t understand exactly what to do, they’d get offended and act huffy while providing instructions or more information.

When the Quiet Make Noise

Thu, 09 Aug 2007 10:42:12 -0400

People say that I am a quiet person. I’ve even been called shy or demure when people first get to know me. However, nothing ignites my outspoken side more than seeing or experiencing unfair treatment.

Injustice straightens my spine, propels me forward and enables me to find my voice. I become more like Julia Sugarbaker from Designing Women, passionately defending the underdog with a litany of strongly held convictions, leaving my listeners speechless and looking very stunned.

“Who knew she could talk so much?” they seem to silently ask themselves, “And with such boldness?” I also detect some fearfulness in these people, as though they’ve just witnessed the proverbial quiet person “snapping.” I think they expect to see my face on the 11 o’clock news later that night, after I’ve been arrested for shooting innocent bystanders on the way home.

In William's Honor

Tue, 17 Jul 2007 12:09:33 -0400

It’s been a year since my nephew passed away, and he crosses my mind almost daily. So I'd like to make this blog entry in his honor and memory.

I was only five year’s-old when I became an aunt.

Still too young to understand what the term entailed, I can only recall that there was a new infant boy in the family who was suddenly getting the bulk of everyone’s attention. No longer was I “the baby” in a large family -- he was, and I remember begrudgingly accepting the fact.

There were medical concerns with the new family member. Something was wrong with his heart. It was a murmur that would require close observation. Then, when he was two or three, he ate a bunch of pain relievers that he thought were M &M’s. The lethargic toddler was rushed to the hospital, where his stomach was pumped, as the doctors claimed, “in the nick of time.”

Frankie Valli -- A Nice Guy

Fri, 13 Jul 2007 19:29:35 -0400

One is not likely to forget the first time they interviewed a bona fide celebrity.

When my editor offered me the chance to sit in on a press conference with Frankie Valli at the [local] Community Center, I jumped at the chance. After all, opportunities like this do not come around everyday.

Arriving at the appointed hour, I waited in the lobby while the band adjusted their equipment in the sound stage. The theme from Grease resonated through the closed doors of the auditorium. It was raining furiously, and early attendees of the reception soon poured into the lobby. With notebook and pen, I found a quiet corner and jotted down some questions I hoped to ask Mr. Valli.

The Day a Princess Died and a Wife Packed Her Bags

Mon, 25 Jun 2007 14:19:22 -0400

(It's been almost 10 years now, and no, I've never regretted my decision to leave. I only wish I'd done it sooner.)

By the way, Princess Diana was also an INFP.

Like most people my age or older, I can remember exactly where I was when Elvis died and what I was doing on that August day in 1977. To a somewhat lesser degree, I can remember what was going in in my life when a crazed fan shot and killed John Lennon. I was a freshman in high school and it was the same school year that President Reagan was shot, which I can remember quite well.

The Haphazard Handyman

Fri, 15 Jun 2007 14:48:08 -0400

In previous columns, I mentioned my decision to move into an abandoned farmhouse during a marital separation in my early 30’s. During this time, I needed to replace virtually everything: furniture, appliances, etc. I was also in search of cheap but reliable help; someone to assist my father with needed repairs.

So there I was, in an almost empty house, sleeping on a couch that had been crafted in the 1950’s and cooking meals out of an electric skillet. Whatever work the house needed didn’t seem as important as a meal cooked on a stove and a comfortable bed to turn into at the end of the day. So, in order to buy new furnishings and appliances, I knew money for any hired help would need to be carefully rationed. This is how I ended-up hiring something of felon as a handyman.

Lessons in Making-Do

Fri, 15 Jun 2007 13:41:04 -0400

My dad is a dear soul.

He likes to help people. Better yet, he likes to make and give people things.

This is one reason he loves going to auctions. He buys what he refers to as jewelry (most people say junk.) He then adds his own personal, and usually very colorful, touches to whatever he’s purchased before handing it to the often-unsuspecting recipient with a boyish grin.

It shouldn’t have surprised me when, in my early 30's, I moved into an old farmhouse and Dad decided to drop by with a house-warming gift. While working in the yard, I heard a vehicle coming down the long gravel drive to my home.

When Inspiration Shows Up

Mon, 11 Jun 2007 12:48:02 -0400

(Note: This was written and published a year ago.)

“Are you still writing?” some of my readers have asked, noticing that I have not published a column for several weeks in a row.

Actually, I have been writing a lot. Roughly a year ago, I began working on a book, recounting a very interesting and turbulent period in my life. And as most writers know, when inspiration strikes, one must ride the full wave to completion. This means drafting the outline, researching and writing the book, then editing the content and making any needed revisions, perhaps more than once.

All this so-called “work” requires a great deal of solitude in front of a computer screen. And family and friends don’t always understand. They wonder why I’d rather stay at home on a Saturday night, working on a book that may or may not be published, when there are movies, parties, and dinners I could attend instead.