All This and More: Break and Entry

"Oh, no!" Tina shivered. She spotted someone peering through the curtain on her door. "Not again! Please, God."

Tina glanced at the dead bolt and saw that the door was locked with the chain was in place. She ducked out of sight.

"This has to stop! What can I do?" The police had recently advised her that they were too busy to park outside to catch a petty thief. "I have a surprise for you, this time. You will not get away with this!" 

Tina's groceries had been disappearing and whoever was stealing kept returning for more. Other items had vanished too, including some things that females might steal. "Who am I feeding?" 

Tina tiptoed down the stairway and turned on her digital camera.

"Breathe. Stay calm." She removed the chain and unlocked the door. "This might be dumb!"  

She took a deep breath and listened carefully.

"Those are women's voices, not children. I don't recognize them either. Here goes!"

Tina opened the door, very quickly.

"Hey!" she said, with a smile.

A woman backed away, immediately.

"Another break and entry?"  she thought, spotting a second woman standing in the driveway. "There’s a child too, in a red stroller. It must be them, but I wonder why? They have to be desperate!"

The older woman quickly turned, walking away without one word. She paused beside the other woman and child.

"Too late, I got you, this time," Tina said, quickly snapping a picture.

"Mother, daughter and grand-child?" 

The older woman glanced back and whispered something. The young woman did not turn or look up, her head down with her attention appearing to be on the child.

"Embarrassed too, I see; caught, red-handed!"

Tina remained silent, as they disappeared around the corner moments later.

"I doubt you'll be back," Tina said aloud.

"It is definitely two women, older and younger, with a small child in a red stroller. One is wearing a long, light-colored, trench coat, the other a short, tan-colored jacket, both with long, blonde hair. One tall, one shorter; both are thin. All this and more; not good photography, but it will suffice."           

Because of Her: Buckworth Castle and Its Saga

History records that because of one little girl, Buckworth Castle is still standing today.

When the son of Chester Everett Buckingham married the daughter of Penelope Jane Worthington, everyone dubbed their new home on the outskirts of town, Buckworth Castle. It wasn't as if they were well-to-do to anyone's knowledge. It did look like a castle, as it was huge, had a turret, sunken gardens and a moat with a gate. The place was almost in ruins, but it was home to the newlyweds.

The son, Gregory Jeremiah did not want contemporary renovations and his wife, Alyssa Mariana did not want Victorian. As they shopped for new furniture, their vociferous disputes reverberated around the town.   

"Why not just split the house in two?" a struggling, young artist painting a picture outside the furniture store, suggested.

"One of you could live upstairs and the other downstairs," a very, upset, sales lady, said emphatically. She was relieved when they left, as after three hours of constant bickering, the couple had not purchased anything.

"Just tear that old place down!" said the furious, cab driver, who had been driving them around for most of the day. He was tired of waiting for them and fed up with their arguing.

"Why not get a divorce?" a fat, elderly lady, wearing a floral hat, said with disgust. She finally gave up, after almost throwing her handbag at them.

In the restaurant, a pretty, little girl with long, blonde ringlets, was sitting at a nearby table. She got up and walked over to the couple, who were screaming at each other.

"You should have a baby," she said, innocently. "My mommy and daddy had me and now they are happy."   

Buckworth Castle was never the same again. In fact, Chester Everett, the second, was soon playing with Penelope Jane, named after her mother. Then, came identical twins, Theodore Timothy and Thomas Trevor. Genevieve Margaret was born next. Muriel Marietta was the baby for a few years, until Sydney Francis came along. (Birth control was unheard of, in those days.) Oops, Henry Egbert, the eighth, arrived a few years later.

Gradually, Buckworth Castle was restored but, neither as contemporary, nor Victorian. That no longer seemed important.

Do you want to know why? It was because of her, that little girl.

Because of Him: Discourse on Travel

An old man was sitting on a park bench when a younger man, carrying a suitcase, sat down beside him.

"I love to travel. What about you?"

The old man sat there silently for a moment. He rubbed his chin as if deep in thought, then sat up straighter and brushed off his jacket.

"So, young man, you love to travel? What is so unique about loving to travel? Everyone loves to travel; they always have and always will. There are millions of people, who have traveled at some time, all going somewhere, in some way.”

The old man continued, not waiting for a response.

“Throughout the course of history, man has loved to travel in time and space. But, it is not just a question of time and space. The majority of people who travel from one place to another, alone or with others, find travelling exciting, even exhilarating. To travel anywhere, presents a new challenge and offers the potential traveler, delight.”

He paused for a moment and took a deep breath.

“Why do we love to travel? No one really knows. Is it curiosity that leads us onward and upward, in time and space? Perhaps it is more than a desire to see new faces and places. Maybe traveling is something that's simply fun; everyone loves fun. Maybe we've been bitten by the travel bug?”

The younger man was very attentive. 

“Nowadays, medicalization of everything is the current trend. Perhaps there's a pill we can take to cure this or that disease. Maybe someone will invent a cure for whatever ails us and makes us need, or want to travel. Does it have to do with the travel gene inherent within us? Maybe we should all get our DNA tested. If we have acquired that gene, it might be linked to the happy gene, as travelling makes people happy.”

The old man was silent for a moment.

“So you love to travel, son. That's a good thing. Enjoy it while you can, even if it means travelling in your mind's eye, now and then, like I do."

With that, the old man got up and left.

"Was I lectured by an old, retired philosopher?” the young man wondered. "Sure seemed that way. Because of him, I will never think about travel in the same way again. Perhaps he is right!"

The Lonely Road: Prairie Miles

"These highways are not really lonely; though they are long and isolated. It is the people on them that get lonely." Felicity talked to herself, as she drove through the prairies. "Prairie miles just seem to fly by."

Suddenly, in the rear view mirror, she saw a huge, dark cloud forming to the of the highway. It was growing larger, very quickly.

"Should I stop?" she wondered, turning on the car radio hoping for a weather report. The reception was poor. "That is mostly static."

It began to drizzle.

"This is not good," Felicity said, wondering what she would do if the weather got worse. She watched the sky carefully, as the clouds became even more foreboding. "I am miles from the next town. It may be a long distance from the highway too." 

She could hear thunder rumbling, and through the rear view mirror could see intermittent streaks of lightning in the distance, behind the car. "I still have a really, long drive. Maybe I should stop for a moment, take a sip of coffee and snap a picture." 

She quickly pulled off the road. The huge, black clouds seemed to be perched on top of a small hill beside the highway. She snapped a photograph with her smart phone. 

"Gorgeous picture, but almost frightening. Ominous, is more like it."

Felicity grabbed her thermos and took a quick sip of coffee. She looked to the left, and realized that she could see for miles in that direction. The weather seemed to be exactly the opposite there, but now, it was definitely raining.

"Out-run the storm? Then, I don't have any time to waste."

Meanwhile, transport trucks and other vehicles whizzed on by. No was slowing down, much less stopping. Nor did they pull into the gas station Felicity passed, moments later.

"When in Rome, do as the Romans do," the old adage came to mind.

Several hours later, after out-distancing the storm front, she arrived in Medicine Hat. In the motel, she quickly turned on the television. A weather advisory reported earlier tornado activity in the area through which she had driven. 

"Thank God I got out of there when I did'" Felicity said. "I was far too busy out-running that storm to get lonely. The road that is lonely. No one stops on those prairie highways."    

Teachers: The Music Teacher

"I give up," Melody, a young, undergraduate music student, told Professor Stringheart, her elderly, violin teacher. "You always ask the impossible of me! I cannot write a symphony in time to graduate. Do I really have to do that?"

"Yes, you do, Melody. It is compulsory and one of the prerequisites for graduation. You know the basics and I know that you can write music. It is not that difficult, but perhaps you are lacking inspiration or motivation? Let's talk about this, for a moment. Sit down, please.”

Melody took a seat in the huge, lounge chair facing her professor's desk.

"Have you ever heard of the symphony of love?" 

Melody shook her head.

"Think about this then. One might ask, if the entire and complete symphony of love has ever been written by anyone, anywhere, since the beginning of time. Of course, this may be more than one piece of music or a compilation of many, different works composed over time, and accorded that title. Or, it may be one symphony that has been written already, and played many times, throughout the world.”

He continued with a smile on his face..

“Perhaps the one true symphony of love was started long before the beginning of time and is still being written today. Maybe there are bits and pieces of it scattered everywhere, throughout the years. Maybe this symphony has many different faces on the full gamut of joy and sorrow. The symphony of love, as the entire continuum of the  perfect and best musical expressions ever written, may be partially or totally fragmented. Perhaps the real task of musicians in every generation is to continue to collect, compile and complete the symphony of love. Maybe you are called to compose just one piece of music for this majestic masterpiece. Perhaps this is your one, true calling in life. Now do you think that you could write a symphony?"

"Wow," said Melody, with tears welling up in her eyes. "I have never heard of anything so amazing. I never thought about writing music in that way, either. Yes, I will do my part. You are the best music teacher ever! Thank you, Professor Stringheart.”

His Imagination: Reader and Writer, Beware

"Reader and writer, beware! Know that where there are trolls, there are trollops," the first line of the article read. "Beware of trolls and trollops!" was the headline that had initially caught the reader's attention.

"This cannot have been written in our day and age; it must be his imagination running wild." The reader looked to see who the author was. "Not anyone I know." 

"Please do not feed the trolls and trollops," the article continued.

The reader was stunned at what he was reading.

"Are trolls and trollops really a part of today's world, or have they more appropriately been designated to the world of fantasy, fiction and folklore? Yes, trolls and trollops are still around today, now appearing internationally, as malicious and cruel, gossip mongers, busy at work on the internet. Yes, trolls and trollops are very real. The troll is not necessarily an ancient, mythological creature, previously depicted as a Scandinavian monster hiding under the bridge.Can you recall that old children's story about Billy Goat Gruff?"

The reader read on.

"In our era, the male troll is associated with unsolicited internet postings, ones that frequently portray a high degree of nastiness, meanness and cruel deception. The female trollop displays lewd and inappropriate behavior. Trolls and trollops are terribly unclean and known to live unhealthy lifestyles. They often take up residence under big bridges.”

The article continued.

“The expression on the faces of the trolls and trollops gives them away. There is always a distinct nastiness visible on their faces. Their voices and laughter are a high-pitched, screeching sound. Sometimes, it is more of a cackle. Their clothing is outdated, soiled, torn and ragged. They may be barefoot and have dirty feet. Sometimes, they trudge around town in worn out boots with holes. Their hair is unkempt, long and straggly and their beards always need trimming.”

The reader was appalled.

"There has to be a name for this kind of writing. Maybe it is media-hype, fanaticism or exaggeration?”

"And if you believe this, then I will sell you the Brooklyn Bridge," the last line read.

"Humor!" the reader roared with laughter. "You got me on that one!”

Snow Day: Blizzard

"Oh, no, not a blizzard!" said Randy, a snowplow operator, as he got out of bed and peered out the bedroom window. "I've got to get to work. No one in this town is going anywhere, if I don't."

There were only two snowplow operators in the small town. Randy operated one of them and his young friend, Jack, was the other, heavy equipment operator. Randy had trained him just recently. He tried to call Jack, but the phone line was dead.

"Well, maybe he left already. Hopefully, he is not stranded somewhere in the snow! Don't know about these young guys."

Randy grabbed his snow shovel and headed outside. Everything was inundated with snow. The majestic, maple trees in his yard looked gorgeous with their heavy branches weighed right down, almost touching the ground.

"Definitely a snow day and so beautiful to behold! I should really take a picture," he thought. "But, I may not even be able to get out of my driveway."  

Randy had not anticipated snow this early in the year. In fact, everyone was enjoying the prolonged autumn weather. Overnight, the blizzard had hit the area, but without any warning.

"So, we are going to get another foot of snow today, too. That's what the weather report said. Am I ready for this? Is Jack? Is anyone?"

Rover, Randy's golden lab retriever, bounced around in the heavy, wet snow, as Randy cleaned off his car.

"I can't take you with me today, girl," he said. "We're going to be way too busy." 

Suddenly, much to his amazement, he saw Jack pulling up at the end of his driveway in his snowplow. He stopped, got out and hollered at Randy.

"Hey, Randy, let's go! We have a lot of work to do today!"

"Thanks for picking me up," Randy said, as he climbed up into in the snowplow beside Jack. "I didn't know if I was going to be able to get in to work today."

"You wouldn't have gotten there," replied Jack, with a grin. “Every single road in town is closed; except to emergency vehicles."    

The Runaway: Running To, Or Running From

“Is this a goodbye note?” Ramona had been quiet on the weekend, barely communicating with anyone. Her mother just assumed that she needed time out to rest. “I'm going away, Mom," the note read. "Please, don't try to find me. I have to do this. Love, Ramona.” 

“No explanation at all? My beautiful daughter, you are only fifteen, too young to be on your own. What have you gotten yourself into?” Tears streamed down her mother's face.

“How do I deal with a runaway daughter?” Ramona’s mom asked her new husband, moments later. “Why would she leave? We give her everything.”

“We can only speculate. Maybe will never know. Let’s try the bus stop. It’s a long shot.”

A glance into Ramona’s room revealed she had taken very little. Her school books were still on the table. She had a backpack, a jean jacket, a sweater and change of clothes. Her purse was gone and so was the photo of her real father.

“She's going to see her father.”  

“I can understand that. I've tried to be a father to her. I know it's not the same.”

“If Ramona had only said something,” her mother said, gathering her composure. “Let’s give her some money and our blessing, if we find her. She has been saving her egg money for an emergency. She loves her dad. Maybe it is time for her to go there. He'll be happy to see her.”  

Ramona was standing alone, when her mother and stepfather arrived at the terminal.

“Let’s talk to her together.”

Her stepfather had sensed a problem for some time, but had not expected Ramona to leave without saying goodbye to him.

“You're going to see your dad?” her mother asked Ramona. “We want to give you our blessing and some extra money.”

“Please don’t be angry with me. I miss him so much, Mom.” She looked at her stepfather, apologetically. “I love you, too.”

Moments later, the bus pulled away.

“Will I ever see my daughter again?” her mother wondered. “She's not running away; she is running to her father. There is a difference.”

Love Letters: Hidden in the Attic

"Grandma, I miss you so much!" said Marcia, a tall, blonde eighteen year old, holding back her tears. "Now, I am totally alone." Marcia was having a difficult time coping with everything now, as the grandmother who raised her had passed away following a lengthy illness. Her parents had died in a car accident when she was just an infant. With no brothers or sisters, she had no other family to turn to, at this time.

"I can't believe this!" Marcia said, as she discovered a stack of old letters written by her grandfather, many years ago. They were all addressed to her grandmother. There were ten of them in total, still in their original envelopes. Her grandmother had tied them together with a white, lace ribbon, now faded and worn. "These can't be for real!" she exclaimed, with salty tears streaming down her face. But, they were. "They are ancient!"

Marcia's grandmother had been almost ninety years of age. Just before she passed away, she had handed Marcia the key to her trunk.

"Thank you, Grandma," Marcia had said, accepting the key from her gnarled, frail hand. "I love you."

Marcia knew that her grandmother would not live long, but she had no idea what kind of treasures she might have collected over the years. She wondered what she was going to find. 

"Grandma, your love letters were hidden in this shoe box at the bottom of your old, wooden trunk in the attic for all of these years and you never told me?"

Marcia smiled inwardly, as began to understand her grandmother's last words.   

"After I am gone, when you think about me, look at my treasures in the attic. They will tell you about the wonderful life that I had with your grandfather. The kind of love that we had for each other will live on forever. More importantly, I want you to know that the values we had then are still alive today. Soon, you will find someone to love and share your life with, too. Life can be so wonderful, especially when you are with the right person.”

            

Little did Marcia know how those ten love letters would change her future. 

In the Mountains: Surprises

"I feel dizzy," said Kyle, a tall, red headed teenager, as he got out of the car. He had just flown in from Toronto. His cousin's home was high in the Rocky Mountains.

"I was dizzy too, when I first got here," said Jerry. "It's the elevation. The air is thinner at three thousand feet, but you'll get used to it."

"This country is beautiful."

"Yes, it is. I love living here. It's windy today."

"Not that I can tell."

"When lumps of snow tumble from the tree branches, you know the wind is blowing. See those fir trees over there?"

"Yes. The trees are huge! Their branches are weighed down. Look at the size of the icicles too!"

"Kyle, try this skidoo suit on for size. We'll get boots and a helmet for you, tomorrow."

"There must be six feet of snow in these hills and deer too. I saw tracks beside the road."

"It's even deeper than that in some spots. There are a lot of deer here. Two things we have to watch out for when we're on the skidoos, snow collapsing and wild animals. You're not afraid of wolves or bears, are you?"

"Don't be silly, of course I’m not."

"On Wednesday, we're going up the ravine to a small lake to do some ice fishing. We can catch pickerel, perch, pike and lake trout there. Then, we'll have a fish fry later. Know how to fillet fish?"

"You can show me."

"You city guys! First, we need firewood for the wood stove. I'll split and you stack. You can take some inside too, so it can dry out. We'll get a good fire going and then it's coffee time."

"That's a plan. So, you don't just sit around here all winter or go skiing, do you?"

"Not really. We have fun though! Let's shovel the driveway before dark. The snow plow may block it again, by morning."

"Can we play computer games? Or, no Internet connection up here, either?"

"There's a place with a satellite dish about a mile up the mountain. You can use your cell phone there."

"Winter in the mountains is not going to be what I expected," Kyle realized.

The Car Accident: First Aid Class

"Oh, no, watch out, Doug. That truck is not stopping!" Doug hit the brakes immediately as a transport truck drove through a red light hitting a small, blue car, which spun around and slammed into a telephone pole.

Doug and Leah got out of the car. No one moved in the other car. Its driver was slumped over the steering wheel.

The truck driver climbed down from the transport truck holding the left side of his chest. He appeared stunned, leaned against the truck and collapsed.

"Call 911!" Doug ordered.

"You do it," said Leah, quickly handing him the cell phone and heading to the truck driver. "He's having a heart attack!"

Earlier that day, Doug and Leah had argued about taking a First Aid class scheduled for that evening.

"Why on earth do you want to take First Aid?" the six-foot teenager had asked his twin sister. "We'll probably never need it."

"Just come with me tonight! It'll be fun. Besides that, Terry will be there." Terry was Doug's best friend. The First Aid class was not compulsory, rather one offered by the community to promote First Aid awareness.

"I know a bit about First Aid and CPR, but not a lot," Leah had replied. "Besides that we'll get a high school credit, if we pass the course."

"I guess," replied Doug. "In an emergency, we might not be able to save someone's life, but at least we will have tried. Not sure I like that mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, though."

"If it was your girl friend, you would not mind."

"You win!" said Doug. "We are going."

That evening, in the Emergency department of the local hospital, both drivers thanked the twins. Leah had saved the truck driver's life by doing CPR, immediately. Doug had used his sweatshirt to control the bleeding on the forehead of the person who drove the car.

"We missed our class," said Doug, apologetically. "Sorry."

"There'll be another one," said Leah. "Thank God that we were heading there tonight."                

Unleashed: Love That Rain

Suddenly, the sky opened up and a torrent of rain was unleashed.

"No! This can't be happening, not on my wedding day!" said Monica, to her father. She almost burst into tears.

"Honey," he said, as gently as he could. "Spring weddings are like that. As surely as you plan an outdoor wedding, the weather can force you to change your plans. It's not the end of the world." He put his arm around her shoulder.

"It just feels like it is! I don't know how anyone can like, much less love the rain. Dad, what is it about the rain that some people love so much?"

"Love the rain?" asked her Dad. "I do too."

"How can we love something that makes us feel so wet, cold and uncomfortable?"

"As much as the rain has its negative aspects, there are just as many positive things that can be said about it. For instance, warm raindrops bouncing off our faces, make us feel good and give us a sense of well-being. The patter of the rain on the rooftop is a pleasant, soothing sound to listen to in the wee hours of the morning. What better reason to spend a day doing other things than cutting the grass, washing the car and working in the garden. Water, coming down freely from the clouds, fills our lakes and rivers continually. It raises the water table in our wells. Our drinking water is enhanced and purified."

"But Dad, it's my wedding day! What am I going to do?"

"Honey," said her father, after a moment of silence. "I have already walked three of your sisters down the aisle. Your mother and I knew that this might happen. We hoped that it wouldn't, but just in case, we made a back up plan with the pastor. Want to speak with him about it?"

"Thanks, ever so much, Dad, you and Mom are the best! I am going to call Tim and let him know that we 

have a change in plans."

"Let's talk to the pastor first," her Dad suggested. "Look, the sun is coming out again!"    

The Lonely Wife: The Three-fold Cord

"Help," said Myra. "If don't do something soon, I may die of loneliness." Myra's first visit to the marriage counselor was one that she had resisted for a long time. Now she knew it was time to find someone who could help her cope with her loneliness. She hoped marriage counselor might provide a solution for her. 

"I love my husband dearly, but he is so distant."

"Myra," the counselor responded,  after a moment of silence. "Are you familiar with the three-fold cord, counseling model?"

"What is a three-fold cord, counseling model? What can it teach me and how can it help us?"

"Consider a cord that has three, distinct strands," the counselor said. "Or look at the three strands of a braided rope. A cord made of only two strands can appear to be relatively strong depending upon what kind of material has been used to construct the cord, right?"

Myra nodded her head, wondering where the counselor was heading with all of this.

"Add a third strand to that cord and the rope is immediately strengthened. Instead of the weight of the burden being born as half of the total weight, it becomes one third of the weight. Each part of the cord still bears a fair portion of the weight, but now the burden is considerably less."

He paused for a moment.

"Now look at this  in terms of interpersonal relationships. Sometimes, they weaken from extenuating factors, like time and space.  Then the interpersonal relationship is in danger of being broken. By the introduction of a third party like myself as a counselor, there can be less tension. The total weight that you or your spouse must carry is less, too. The load becomes lighter, right?"

"So that is why marriage counseling works? If only I had known that sooner."

"That is one of the primary reasons why interpersonal marriage counseling is so effective in restoring and re-building broken relationships. That third cord does make a difference."

"Now, do you think that you and your husband would be willing to talk to me together? Or would he speak to another counselor about what his happening in his life?"

Ready to Fight: We Will Do Whatever It Takes

"Now this?" Tom stood alone on the empty beach. He was devastated and on the verge of tears. “I am too young to go through this much tragedy alone," he told himself. "Most people never will never experience tragedy like this in their entire lifetime."

"Why me, God!" he yelled. "I am ready to fight you on this! First, you took my father in an earthquake and now, my mother and all of my brothers and sisters in a hurricane. What next?"

Tom's whole family was gone, along with all of their hopes and dreams for the future. So were many of his friends and neighbors. 

"Fight for life," the pounding waves seemed to echo and re-echo. "But, I don't even want to live," Tom yelled back.

"To live or not to live; it is your choice," the waves seemed to reply.  

Tom soon became tired of arguing with God. He headed back to what was left of his village knowing that everyone was in the same plight, having lost loved ones and most of what they owned. But, he was totally unprepared for what came next.

"The entire population of this village, perhaps even this whole island, will be wiped out by cholera unless immediate action is taken," a health care worker was advising the terrified villagers.

"Fight for life?" went through Tom's mind, again, but now he began to understand the seriousness of the words that had come to him earlier. He also knew what he had to do.

"No more time for self-pity; it's time for action," he heard himself saying aloud, not knowing where his sudden strength had come from. "I need your help, if we are to prevent this epidemic. What we do right now, will determine who lives and who dies."

One by one, dozens of total strangers, as well as many of those who he knew including some who had lost loved ones, came forward and offered their assistance.

"Fight for life, God? I am ready to fight. We all are. We will do whatever it takes. Please show us what to do."             

A Mysterious Woman: Unraveling the Mystery of Love

Myrtle sat in her doctor's office, fidgeting nervously. With her hands in constant motion, she appeared to be extremely upset.

"It's a mysterious woman! Probably that same city woman who has   my husband's attention, again!" she told the doctor  when he entered the doorway.

Moments later, he asked her if she liked to knit.

"I do, but what has that got to do with my husband having an affair with a mysterious woman?" Myrtle asked.

"Myrtle," her doctor said calmly. "Let's say that the road of discovery goes only one direction. In other words, it goes forwards, right? There are no roads backwards. With respect to love, is this always true? Perhaps it is not entirely true because the mystery of love can be unraveled, at least in part. You understand what I am saying. In other words, love is not necessarily a road that only goes one direction. There is more than one way, or direction in which a road can be traveled."

Myrtle wondered where the doctor was heading with all of this.

"But how can that be possible?" she asked.

"Somehow, even though we may not understand or comprehend it fully, the road that depicts the mystery of love is like a scarf, or a sweater that someone has knitted. If imperfect, the knitting can be unraveled at times, but not always. Some of the mistakes are correctable, a task that can only be undertaken one stitch at a time. The act of doing so, in turn creates another road, one that goes forward again. It's a new road, one that can be exciting and challenging for anyone with enough courage to walk that road. It's a road of discovery, one without an end and limitless in scope. It is eternity's pathway too, part of the amazing plan for humankind."

"Thank you, doctor," said Myrtle, with her hand on the doorknob. "So, this is not a mysterious woman problem, at all. I am so glad. "I think I will go home and do some knitting."

"What else is there that can be said?" wondered the doctor. "It is just a matter of unraveling the mystery of love."       

  

First Day of School: An Adult Student

"Today is the first day of school," Deborah thought, as she gathered her books together. "Here goes."

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her keys, purse and jacket and got out of the car. It had taken a long time for her to find a parking spot in the huge, university parking lot.

"This place looks like jungle city, but it sure is beautiful up here!" The university was located on a slope, high in the Canadian Rockies. "Wow! Look at this view. It is totally amazing."

The university was huge too, with an enrollment of over twenty thousand, full time students. Deborah had no idea how many part time students were there.

The first day of school was potentially terrifying for Deborah, who had been born in a small town in another province.

"I am not a child," she said. "I know I can do this."

Deborah was determined to get her university degree, if not two degrees. She had just turned forty years of age and knew that returning to school as an adult student, was going to present a challenge to her.

"I don't know anything about anything else, other than my job," she told the young student counselor who interviewed her. "I am probably twice her age," she thought.

"You will have to go on academic probation for the first three months. If your marks are up to par, then you may enroll as an adult student."

Deborah was shaken up. That was the last thing that she had expected.

"But I had really good marks, when I was young. Look at my transcripts!" she protested.

"That was over twenty years ago," the counselor responded. "This is a different era and you are so much older now."

"Forty is not that old," she thought to herself.

But, Deborah knew that time was going to fly by, whether she had something to show for it, or not. Ten years down the road, she would be fifty. 

"What a scary thought!" Deborah was determined to succeed. "The first day of school cannot be any worse than starting kindergarten. I have another twenty five years until retirement and I will do it in style."