My wife and I decide on a wonderland stroll,
the beauty of nature’s winter to extol.
On go bulky coats, gloves, furry hats and tall boots,
we playfully call “ top of the line winter suits”.

We find the blue lake in cold frozen splendor,
skaters gracefully skim by in pairs of each gender.
Looming beyond, to a white mountain we shift our gaze
and see skiers whizz along in a freshly powdered maze.

Down the snow covered path through dense woods we go,
and scatter brazil nuts from home to hungry animals bestow.
We sit down on a frosty log and watch with pleasure,
as a pair of rabbits emerge and eat their measure.

I laughed at my wife, saying her face was beet red,
“And yours isn’t?” she freezingly, wheezingly said.
We agreed it was time for our winter’s trek to end,
and we headed for home shivering, around an icy bend.

We reached our abode in the day’s waning light,
with barely enough time before day became night,
quickly set up a bird feeder and filled it with grain,
knowing birds found food in the winter hard to obtain.

Although we had thoroughly enjoyed our wintry walk,
inside I headed for our fireplace with no sign of a balk,
to build a rip roaring fire with real seasoned wood,
while my wife made her special hot cider as only she could.

Sitting by the fire we warmed and thawed, discussing our day,
saying how winter can be harsh, but also fun times convey.
It gives proof to the old adage “Life is what you make of it”,
and a frigid winter has certain pleasures we had to admit.

So with Jack on the land phone, Jane on the cell,
while watching weather the exact opposite of that of hell,
both called their boss with something delightful to say,
“I’m snowed under, can’t make it in to work today”,
as already sub-freezing temperatures dipped and fell.

Giving themselves the day off was really a perverse pleasure,
before the recording both heard served to lessen the measure.
Jack and Jane’s respective offices had been closed,
until the severe winter storm had been weather deposed.
“Oh well”, said Jack, “we still get a day or more of leisure”.

They spent an hour watching trees bend and sway,
saw one in their yard crack off a limb, to their dismay.
Howling winds blew heaps of snow from the ground
spreading a dusting of white on everything around,
including the two kids braving the street on a sleigh.

Jack lit the fireplace loaded with well seasoned wood,
they preferred real wood to gas logs, not by all understood.
But Jack and Jane loved the smell, the crackles and pops,
the atmosphere true wood provided was, for them, tops.
Sitting on the carpet, a few feet from flames, all was good.

Since they weren’t about to drive their car, not for any quest,
the blizzard, in effect, imposed an unexpected house arrest.
Jane came forth with the challenge Jack had feared,
knowing if he accepted he was bound to be smeared,
but he foolishly said “You’re on!” and Jane was impressed.

Jane grabbed the chess board and they set up their men,
“Why did I agree to this?” wondered Jack with chagrin.
His premonition of doom proved true, and with little wait
when, after eight moves, Jane screamed “Checkmate!”,
and danced a silly jig of happiness all around the den.

As the day wore on, they strived to stay entertained
playing all kinds of games, but Jack remained pained
until, sympathetically, Jane threw a game of “Go Fish”,
then made a pot roast for dinner, Jack’s favorite dish.
But boredom began to sink in, though neither complained.

They took some time to enjoy marital bliss,
then gazed out a window at weather still horribly amiss.
Playing great CDs they danced more than an hour,
as the blizzard raged on unscathed with incredible power.
At last they decided on sleep, following a good night kiss.

When up the next morning, they didn’t like what they saw,
ran for the TV, hoping the weatherman would predict a thaw.
But the news wasn’t close to what they wanted to hear,
a few days were left before the blizzard would disappear.
Jack and Jane stared at each other, both with dropped jaw.

Another confined day went by, then two, and then three
when the blizzard became light snow, to a tolerable degree.
Temperature rose above freezing, although slush on the road,
but drivable for those keeping speed in a crawling mode.
Jack and Jane felt like prisoners who had just been set free.

Both received calls, perfectly timed, to report to work tomorrow,
as their cupboard was nearly bare, and they didn’t like to borrow.
So they hopped in their car and crept snail-like down the highway
and bought the groceries desperately needed this very day.
And returning to work tomorrow would bring happiness, not sorrow.

When the day came, Jack and Jane greeted co-workers with glee,
glad to see even the ones with which they can never agree.
The weather related confinement made them appreciate more
the ability to come and go freely, as they had always done before.
The captive blizzard was just long enough to learn freedom is key.
 

Lusitania was owned by the British enterprise then known
as Cunard Steamship Company, built by John Brown and
Company of Clydebank, Scotland, and Christened and launched
on June 7, 1906. A bit more than a year later, while undergoing
formal acceptance trials in July, 1907, she smashed all speed
records ever set in the history of the shipping industry, before
finally being delivered to Cunard in August of that year.

Cunard wasted little time, and Lusitania sailed on her maiden
voyage from Liverpool on September 7, 1907, docking in New
York City a remarkable 6 days later, taking the Blue Riband
record for fastest Atlantic crossing away from that previously
held by a German liner. Her 68,000-horse power engines
pushed the huge craft through the deep blue at an average
speed better than 25 knots, readily earning the nickname
“Greyhound of the Seas”.

Lusitania made many more swift UK - US Atlantic crossings
before war clouds began brewing in Europe in 1913. Secretly,
the British Admiralty had subsidized her construction, and she
had been built to Admiralty specifications, with a directive
that the great ship would be consigned to government service
at the outbreak of war. Secretly, during her annual dry dock
overhaul in 1913, Lusitania was fitted for war service, including
gun mounts on both port and starboard sides as well as her
decks. Along with the installation of ammunition magazines, all
were cleverly concealed from passengers under giant coils of
docking rope, ready for the addition of the guns when and if
needed.

WWI was officially declared in Europe on June 18, 1914, and
on February 4, 1915, Germany declared seas around the British
Isles a war zone, specifically stating that beginning February
18 Allied ships in the area would be sunk without warning, but
efforts would be taken to avoid sinking neutral ships.

Lusitania was scheduled to arrive in Liverpool from New York
on March 6, 1915, and the British Admiralty provided her
detailed instructions on how to avoid submarines. Cunard had
reduced her transatlantic crossings to one per month to reduce
costs and one of her boiler rooms had been shut down, trimming
maximum speed to 21 knots. Nevertheless, the Lusitania was
still the fastest passenger liner on the North Atlantic and at least
10 knots faster than any submarine.

Despite a severe shortage of destroyers, the British Admiralty
ordered HMS Louis and Laverock to escort Lusitania as it neared
the British Isles and, as a further precaution, sent the Q ship Lyons
to patrol Liverpool Bay. But the Lusitania’s Captain Daniel Dow
evaded the escorts for fear they might be a trap set by the German
Navy and, without any assistance, arrived in Liverpool without
incident. 

On her 201st transatlantic voyage, Lusitania headed for New York
once again on April 17, 1915, arrriving safely in 7 days. It was
around this time that a group of German-Americans concerned
about controversy, and even hatred, if the Lusitania ever was
attacked by the German Navy, met with a representative of the
Imperial German Embassy in Washington, D.C. The decision of the
Embassy was to advise and warn passengers, before her next
crossing, to not sail aboard the Lusitania.
         
On April 22 the Imperial German Embassy placed a warning
announcement in several American newspapers including, of
course, all those in New York, and their editors had the common
sense to place the warning directly next to Cunard’s
advertisement for Lusitania’s return voyage to Liverpool. It began
“NOTICE! Travellers intending to embark on the Atlantic voyage
are reminded that a state of war exists between Germany and
her allies and Great Britain and her allies; that the zone of war
includes the waters adjacent to the British Isles” and ended
“travellers sailing in the war zone on the ships of Great Britain
or her allies do so at their own risk”.

The warning did in fact cause agitation among those of the press,
as well as consternation and distress among the ship’s crew and
passengers. Nevertheless, Cunard felt secure in the knowledge
that Lusitania, even with the speed scaled down to 21 knots, was
at least 10 knots faster than any submarine and could easily
outdistance them.

Daniel Dow, the ship’s regular captain, had recently been relieved
by Captain William Thomas Turner, an experienced master mariner
and commodore of the Cunard Line. Nicknamed “Bowler Bill”, he would be at the helm when Lusitania steamed out of New York harbor’s Pier 54 at noon on May 1, 1915, bound for Liverpool on
it’s 202nd voyage. Captain Turner had attempted, with some  success, to calm the 1,959 passengers, only 239 short of capacity,
by explaining that the ship’s speed made it safe from attack by submarine. Sadly, it’s apparent the warning of the German Embassy,
as candid and direct as it was, didn’t deter many passengers.  

                                 
As the luxury liner steamed across the North Atlantic and neared it’s
landfall of Fastnet Rock, off the southern tip of Ireland, the British
Admiralty, with wireless intercepts, was tracking the movements of
the German sub “U-20″. Commanded by Kapitanleutnant Walther
Schwieger, U-20 was operating along the west coast of Ireland and
headed south after sinking three Allied ships in the area of Fastnet
Rock on the 5th and 6th of May.

The Royal Navy radioed a message to all British ships,
“Submarines active off the south coast of Ireland”. Captain Turner
 of Lusitania received it twice on the evening of the 6th, and took
what he considered were prudent precautions, closing watertight
doors, ordering a blackout, ordering lifeboats to be positioned
for quick launch if necessary, and posting lookouts on the deck.
At approximately 11:00 AM on Friday, May 7, the Admiralty sent
a third warning and Captain Turner adjusted his heading to bring
Lusitania closer to land, with the apparent thought that submarines
would prefer keeping to the open sea.

Schwieger, his U-20 low on fuel and with only three torpedoes
left, had decided to call it a day and head for home. Moving
along on the surface at top speed, he spotted a large ship on
the horizon at 1:00 PM and ordered U-20 to dive and take            battle stations. At the time Lusitania was about 30 miles
from Cape Clear Island and had run into fog, Captain
Turner thereby cutting her speed to 18 knots. She was headed
for the port of Queenstown, Ireland (now Cobh), 43.5 miles
from the Old Head of Kinsale when she crossed in front of
U-20 below at 2:10 PM.

Kapitanleutnant Schwieger gave the order to fire, and the
torpedo soared upward, upward, striking Lusitania under the
bridge within seconds. It was total horrific chaos, sending all
kinds of metal debris and plating and huge spouts of water
flying. And then a second, much larger and controversial
explosion ripped the liner apart. Controversial because
Schwieger’s log entries attest he had fired only one torpedo,
and he never varied his story by saying he fired two.

After the second explosion the Lusitania was finished,
immediately listing so badly that lifeboats crashed into
passengers crowded on deck or dumped into the water
torn apart, along with human bodies in the same condition.
Panic, cries of anquish, pain and suffering filled the air,
some for seconds and some for minutes before the sea
below mercifully offered eternal peace.

The great ship travelled about 2 miles and just 18 minutes
from the time of the torpedoing, leaving a trail of debris and
people all the way, before reaching its final resting place 8
miles off the Old Head of Kinsale and slipping beneath the sea.

The survival rate would possibly have been higher if not for
the mysterious second explosion, a question that has never
been definitively answered. Only possibly because it has
also been argued that the original torpedo damage alone,
which struck the ship on the starboard coal bunker of boiler
room no. 1, would have caused extreme off-center flooding
that likely would have sunk Lusitania without a second
explosion. There has been much speculation about the
second explosion, and several theories have been advanced
as to its cause, none of them ever proven beyond a doubt.

A total of 1,198 people, including nearly a hundred children
and several babies died with the Lusitania that dreadful day.
The bodies of many of the victims were buried at Queenstown,
Ireland, others at the Church of St. Mulrose in Kinsdale, but
884 bodies were never recovered. Of the 139 US citizens
aboard, 128 perished. Prior to the sinking of Lusitania, the
popular opinion in America was that WWI was a European
war, one the US was reluctant to enter for several reasons,
and had not done so at the time of the tragedy.

The sinking inflamed both public and government opinions
of many countries against Germany, and was a major factor
in the eventual decision of the United States to enter the war.
The seeds of contempt and animosity against Germany had
been sown, imbeded, and would not be blown away when
Germany announced, in September, 1915, that passenger
ships would  be sunk only with prior warning and
appropriate passenger safeguards.

On April 6, 1917, 1 year and 11 months after the Lusitania
catastrophe, the United States made its entrance into WWI,
declaring war on Germany. Only 8 months later, on December
7, 1917, the US added Austria-Hungary as a WWI enemy
as well.

Today the Lusitania still rests on the North Atlantic ocean floor,
in situ, 8 miles off the Old Head of Kinsale, Ireland, where it
met its cruel fate more than nine decades ago. In 2006,
a dive team from Cork Sub Aqua Club of Cork, Ireland, under
license, made the first known discovery that Lusitania was in fact
carrying munitions when it sank. They included 15,000 rounds,
found packed in boxes in the bow of the ship, of .303 caliber rifle
ammunition used by the British army in all of their battlefield rifles
and machine guns.

This fact in effect makes Lusitania a legitimate target and relieves
Germany of at least some of its shame. But it does nothing to justify
sending 1,198 innocent civilians, men, women, and children, to a
watery grave. May God bless the passengers aboard the great
ship Lusitania.
 

In the United States at least, trash is a growing affliction,
each of us, at home and at work, creating 4.5 pounds a day
of a commodity we’d as soon not have, without contradiction.
A 70 year old has generated 50 tons of trash, says one survey,
as much as 10 African bull elephants together would weigh.
And, although recycling trash in the US has steadily grown,
two-thirds still wind up in a landfill or incinerator it’s known.

In terms of weight, “yard trimmings” top the list of trash created,
and it’s no surprise “food scraps” follow closely at second place,
while “newspapers, books and magazines” are bronze metal rated,
and “glass and metal food containers” 4th, in an unwelcome chase,
there can’t be many whose generation of trash paints a happy face.
But acquiring trash is inevitable, a natural part of the human scene,
and the real problem today is in not nearly enough “thinking green”.

The two-thirds of waste, that could be, but isn’t recycled today
fuels a multitude of environmental problems already out of control,
and the time is now to achieve higher recycling numbers to display.
It’s simple really, if it’s recyclable, allow recycling to be your goal,
not only in the United States, but around the globe as a whole.
Recycling is an easy way to do your part, help save planet earth,
it’s hard to imagine an easier effort with so much worth.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Poet’s Note:

The table below indicates the top 10 categories
of recyclable trash, in terms of the total weight
generated by a person 70 years old living in
the United States, as well as the percentage
of these items actually recycled today, in 2008.

If you question the percentage recycled for # 9,
Electric Appliances, I’m in full agreement with
you, but 65% is what I read when I did my
research to write this poem.

- Eugene

                                   WEIGHT in LBs   
                                   BY AGE 70           % RECYCLED TODAY

1) Yard Trimmings           15,450                         62
       
2) Food Scraps                11,500                           2 
  
3) Newspapers, Books        8,100                         76
    and Magazines

4) Glass and Metal             3,700                         40
    Food Containers

5) Beer and Soft Drink       3,600                         35
    Bottles and Cans

6) Furniture and                3,200                        .05
    Furnishings

7) Clothing and                  2,400                        15
    Footware

Snail Mail                      2,200                        39

9) Electric Appliances         1,850                        65

10) Plastic Bags                  1,600                         8
      and Wrap

In the state of Ohio, the then tiny farming town of Westerville
is today one of the largest suburbs of Columbus, Ohio’s capitol city.
Life there continued normally in 1929, escaping the Depression, until
in late November, 1931, it finally hit the town and it wasn’t pretty,
but Westerville’s town fathers in no way simply wallowed in pity.

Beset with a multitude of problems, their local bank topped the list,
as The Bank of Westerville had run drastically short of cash
and Ohio’s banking superintendent shut it down with an iron fist,
becoming one of  5,000 US banks failing from the Depression’s bash.
But the town of 2,900 needed a bank, if it was to survive the crash.

The reality of family savings lost, essentials as clothing and food
in  short supply, and paralysis the general state of commerce,
all served as a catalyst to the town council’s determined mood.
“We must have a bank” they said, “If we’re to repel this curse”,
and issued an appeal, fearing the public couldn’t afford to immerse.

At $65 a share, they sought a total of $39,000 to start a new bank,
a paltry sum by any measure, for any bank, in today’s world.
But this was 1931, when for about $1.00 you could fill up the tank,
and take your brand new $475 Model A Ford for a nice long whirl. But seeking $39,000 was almost like having a mountain to hurl.

But the 2,900 citizens of Westerville dug in and dug deep,
and though the cost of a share was more than most could afford,
they somehow found a way, though the stock wasn’t cheap.
The day came the central Ohio town found banking restored,
and the sacrifices made for community should not be ignored.

The new bank was named “The Citizens’ Bank” quite fittingly,
and for 40 years the stock bought in 1931 steadily grew.
Many investors clung to it tightly, some bought more wittingly,
the response to a civic call aiding their wealth to accrue,
though, in 1931, buying even a single share was a risky view.

Today we find, through some 56 mergers and acquisitions,
The Citizens’ Bank has been absorbed into Bank One,
among America’s largest, exceeding Westerville’s loftiest ambitions.
And the once tiny town of Westerville, Ohio, not to be outdone,
has prospered, grown to a city of 36,000, and who says it’s done?
 

After which her dollars will be only a few”
Her cute face then would turn a bright red hue
And she would stick to me like Elmer’s glue
Sue’s not like some dumb monkey from the zoo
Surely she wouldn’t want a law suit to ensue
I’ll bet she’ll talk with me now. . . . Wouldn’t you?

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Poet’s Note:   It won’t surprise you to learn this

poem is written in a style known as “monorhyme”,

relatively common in Latin and Arabic languages,

but very rarely, if ever, seen in English. I readily

admit it’s a silly poem, hope it was fun for you

to read.

Bruce hadn’t felt so good in so many countless years,
and his wife already had put breakfast on the table.
The birds had awakened her also, or so it appears,
and for a moment he felt surely he was living a fable.

The omelet was the best he could ever remember,
and he wondered if coffee had ever tasted this great,
if it did any spark of it’s memory was a long dead ember.
Bruce ate eagerly, then fought temptation to lick his plate.

He hopped in the shower to get ready for work,
wanting to surprise the boss with his earliest arrival yet.
He turned on the water with his customary jerk,
and the spray was immediately perfect, as if preset.

His shave was ultra comfortable, smooth as a baby’s behind,
and his teeth brushed up as if professionally made white,
every hair on his head combed perfectly entwined,
and his satisfied grin seemed as bright as a light.

For only a moment, Bruce felt a slight tinge of dismay,
as he was planning to wear his favorite suit and loud tie.
But the last time he was lazy, over a chair they lay in disarray,
but picking them up, the wrinkles fell out with instant goodbye.

When ready to leave, his wife walked him to the front door,
and when Bruce leaned over to give her cheek a little peck,
she laid a big wet one on him, like nearly forgotten days of yore.
He climbed in the car, adjusted the mirror for a lipstick check.

Out on the usually jammed freeway, Bruce zipped right along,
passing the very few cars, a couple of trucks and a bus.
Rather than cussing, the freeway had him singing a song,
not to mention the gas gauge moving up, from minus to plus.

As he neared the office, Bruce pulled in at a bank close by
to withdraw $20.00 from an ATM, for lunch and whatever.
He entered the correct figure and pin with a careful eye,
and out spit $200.00, his stop quite a worthwhile endeavour.

At the office 35 minutes early, Bruce was sure to shock his boss,
but entering, his leader was at the door, eager to pump his hand,
the smile on his glowing face stretched from ear to ear across.
Bruce could guess what he had to say would be something grand.

“Bruce”, said the boss, “that promotion you’ve sought for 5 years
has come through. It means a 30% raise, and it’s effective today”.
Bruce beamed as he heard a chorus of “Congrats!” from his peers,
and made a mental note to bring home to his wife a large bouquet.

At this point Bruce’s alarm clock shook him out of deep slumber,
followed within minutes by a shout of “Bruce! Bruce! Out of bed!
Get moving, you can’t let laziness your job and raise encumber”.
Bruce stared groggily at his wife, noting huge rollers on her head.

He felt terrible, but forced himself to roll unsteadily to the floor,
after all, he had a job to go to, that’s better than some can say.
He dragged his body to the cold shower he’d come to abhor,
swearing to fix that water heater if a raise ever comes his way.

Bruce had a weird feeling he’d been immersed in a dream,
but try and try as he might, he couldn’t recall any detail,
although he sensed the dream had been pleasant to extreme.
Out of the shower, he pulled on a wrinkled suit as slow as a snail.

“I’ll make it a goal” he said to his mirror with determination,
“I’ll work hard and secure at least some part of that dream”,
recalling only that a happy life seemed the dream’s compensation.
He vowed to work harder than ever, with extra energy and steam.

Ready to go, his wife walked him to the door, with a sweet roll,
and Bruce leaned over to give her left cheek a goodbye peck.
She responded with a long wet kiss that rocked his soul,
and he left for work happy, any restrictive thoughts firmly in check.

Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman (repeated a second time for the
benefit of those with reading and/or hearing impediments) was
more than just a little concerned. Fact is, she was worried out
of her mind, her life out of control, in truth worried because
everyone and every object, everything she came into close
proximity with, within a few miles or so, seemed to morph
into one big mess.

Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman was convinced that, as certain
As the World Turns, her conceited husband, who considered
himself a charter member of The Bold and the Beautiful, was
having an affair. Every evening, before leaving the house, he
spent a couple of hours primping and preening before the
mirror in the master bathroom, blocking Mary Hartman,
Mary Hartman from using it, often at times when it was
rather urgent to do so.

Her husband was flexing what he called his “hunky bulk”,
when Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, intentionally or not,
she wasn’t sure, allowed the words to slip out of her mouth,
“Looks more like chicken fat to me”. Intentionally or not,
he allowed his “hunky bulk” to sag southward, spinning
abrupty to face her directly, firing back with an entire
repertoire of Passions.

His breath carried the aroma of at least one tall six-pack
in the delivery of his angry words, smothered in alcohol mist,
reminding Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman of last week’s
football game tailgate party on which she tried to concentrate.
But it wasn’t enough, and his whiny voice cut through the 5.0%
fog, managing an unwelcome entry into her ears.

“Now you listen here, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman”,
his attempt at a roar more like beer-powered sputter,
“I’ve got One Life to Live, and though I don’t often think
about yours, so do you. You might even say these are
the Days of our Lives. No one’s going to call us The
Young and the Restless, we’re more like the older
and grumpy and you’re not exempt. So don’t bug me
while I’m pumping up my muscles for my new squeeze
Sally McDermott, Sally McDermott”.

“Enough of him for this month”, thought Mary Hartman,
Mary Hartman as she spun on her heels and wandered
into the smaller half-bath, her demeanor wrapped in
Dark Shadows, but not really bothered she didn’t
waste time to perform her practiced tirade
about him staying nights over at McDermott,
McDermott’s delapidated trailer.

Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman knew she was hot, and
she would do just fine on her own if it came to that, she
reasoned, while admiring the image of her Twin Peaks
totally filling the mirror of the second bath. “Not bad” she
said to herself in the mirror, “It’s Never Too Young, or
something like that, I get confused”.

She was beginning to long for Another Life, and besides
she had things to worry about other than that jerk, lots
more. He was never much more than a Flame in the
Wind anyway, and after all, it’s not like there aren’t more
Desperate Housewives to pal around with to hit every
single bar in town. Lots more.

It was then that, as if magically, a Guiding Light directed
her attention to something she considered somewhat
important, something else to worry about. “Gosh darn it!”
she swore vigorously and out loud, “All My Children are in
General Hospital with an illness no one ever heard of
and just my luck, well, ok theirs, all 3 get that Young
Doctor Malone who I’m sure got his medical license
out of a box of Cheerios! These Are My Children and I’ll
be A Woman to Remember, in a negative way, if they
don’t get a doctor who at least printed his degree off the
Internet. I demand the finest medical care for my kids!”

Good news soon came in a double dose for Mary Hartman,
Mary Hartman. First, she managed to switch the children’s
care to a well educated doctor, Dr. Ryan, who had achieved
a 2.1 GPA before, after learning how to print his MD degree
from the Internet, dropped out of the 10th grade to pursue
his medical career.

Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman trusted Dr. Ryan, and Ryan’s
Hope was that a rather moderately priced over the counter
regimen would have the kids well in no time. . .2 glasses
of Kool Aid 3 times daily, taken with Gummy Bears while
listening to punk rock CDs. If it was good enough for Dr.
Ryan, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman knew she could
finally lay her concerns about the children to rest, focus
her energy on dumping her husband, and disregard
How to Survive a Marriage.

She now set out to Search for Tomorrow, and in so doing
found her second dose of good news, quieting The Secret
Storm inside her, and replacing it with Bright Promise.
Deciding a vacation would do the trick, Mary Hartman,
Mary Hartman threw a bikini, jeans, a couple of T-shirts and
plenty of Glitter together, and headed out for Malibu Shores.

After her very first day there, as she sat on a dock practicing
a Baywatch routine, repeatedly chanting “Watch Over Me”,
she lucked out precisely at The Edge of Night. A handsome
man from Hawkins Falls, though uninvited, plopped down beside
her, immediately winning her heart with “Hey baby, what’s your
sign?” They hit it off famously, and Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman,
within moments, transformed from a skeptic to believing maybe
Love is a Many Splendored Thing. Before the night was over, she
felt she had already taken her first Three Steps to Heaven.

The next morning, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, renewed with
a fresh Love of Life, picked The Yellow Rose from a vase of
flowers in her Hotel lobby, sniffed it, and returned to her room
with it to pen a “Dear John” letter to her worthless hubby. “Love
Is Where the Heart Is” she wrote, “and you may have noticed mine
is with me and not home with you. So see ya, wouldn’t wanna be
ya”. Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman always had a way with words,
A World Apart from her peers, and that’s the Bare Essence of it.

She filed for divorce in short order, feeling as if she had made a
Prison Break, and won custody of the 3 children who had fully
recovered under Dr. Ryan’s remarkable care. The morning after
filing, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman awoke early and, still
Undressed, with High Hopes for The Brighter Day, wished upon
a Morning Star, “Oh star of morn, let my new catch from Hawkins
Falls, one of The Monroes, fall under my spell. Please, oh star,
let us become Lovers and Friends”.

And sure As the World Turns, they did.

They’re just ordinary people living everyday lives,
not politicians nor stars of entertainment or sports,
thrust in the spotlight when unforseen fame arrives.
The act making them a momentary celebrity of sorts
may be extraordinary, deserving of praise without retorts.

One may be a hero for saving a life while risking their own,
another may have tackled a robber in flight with his loot,
or wrestled a gun from a maniac before his bullet has flown,
spontaneously gaining 15 minutes of fame in positive pursuit,
worthy of instant acclaim and deserving our salute.

But then others get their 15 minutes in a negative way,
such as a “runaway bride” with a false claim of abduction,
or a well paid journalist publishing a plagiarized essay,
a pubic servant caught paying for sexual seduction,
and other acts often leading to reputation destruction.

Some earn instant celebrity status in a more trivial fashion,
like setting a new world record in a hot dog eating contest,
or answering a beauty pageant question dumbly with passion.
Perhaps attending a prestigious affair less than half dressed,
the attendees laughing hysterically while officers arrest.

It seems a few of these “15 minute wonders” don’t get even that,
while others are all over the news maybe two or three days,
after which our memory of their names draws totally flat.
We may recall what made them famous after the forgetting phase,
but if you remember more than that, then you also amaze.