As I was flicking through the TV guide this weekend, I came across a 2009 movie that I had never heard of and, after reading the description, thought I'd give it a go. "American Crime," a true story,was one of the most disturbing films I have ever seen. The focus of the movie was on extreme child abuse in America in the 1960s.
Without going into detail about the graphic depiction of child abuse portrayed, I can say that whatever you could possibly imagine with respect to this despicable crime was shown and then some. It made me sick to my stomach.
The little girl who was guilty only of being truthful, caring, and protective of the others in this household was mistreated beyond belief. To say that the mother who initiated and then perpetuated such horrific torture was weak-minded and perhaps treated badly as a child herself is simple not an excuse we should accept. She was the adult; she knew what she did and what she allowed the rest of her children to do was wrong. She relished the control she had over the victim as well as the control she brandished on the victimizers.
When this child finally succumbed to the inhumanization she was subjected to on a daily basis, the mother was brought to trial. She, of course, denied that she inflicted any pain of the girl, complained she was not in good health, and couldn't supervise her six children every minute of the day and night.
She accepted no responsibility for the child's death.
I pray that such evil no longer exists in America. But, I know it does. My heart bleeds for the children who endure horrible torture day in and day out even in the year 2013. Many of them just don't have the courage to speak out; many of them have no one to tell.
As an educator for all of my professional career, one of my priorities was to be vigilant with respect to the physical, mental and emotional status of my students. If a child came to class, dirty, hungry, and/or bodily marred, I made it a point to investigate and report it. Later on as an administrator, I encouraged all of my staff to execute due vigilance as well. I know we did what we could; I also know we didn't do enough and that such abuse continued right under our very noses without detection.
Ultimately the mother was convicted of first degree murder and was sentenced to life in prison. However, after serving only 20 years, she was released in 1985. She died in 1990.
The people who commit such vile actions should be put away for life without the possibility of parole. Yes, child abuse is perpetrated throughout the world, but to still run rampant in America where we pride ourselves as a civilized nation who value our young, it is a crime! It was a crime in the 1960s; it's still a crime today.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Monday, September 23, 2013
GRUMPY GRAMMY!
Few things in life have the power to take away my generally happy disposition. Cold coffee, ear-splitting sound at the movies, and of course, being constipated for three days can cause me to frown or scream until the situation has been rectified. I yell my fool head off when I'm constipated!
But the one thing that can make me downright GRUMPY is poor execution of a pro football team when that pro football team is none other than the Pittsburgh Steelers. Their record for this season is 0-3. If you consider the exhibition games, it's 0-7. Since August my blood pressure is through the roof!
And when I get GRUMPY, it's time to start pointing fingers. Pointing fingers seems to calm me down somewhat so here goes. When a reporter asked Coach Tomlin what needs to be done to turn their season around, his prophetic comment was, "Nothing!" NOTHING, that's right, this wizard of the game said NOTHING! ALL THEY NEED TO DO IS EXECUTE! DAH! And DOUBLE DAH! I'm sure you know what finger I'm using to point in Tomlin's direction these days.
Now, let's throw some blame on the offensive coordinator, Todd Haley. He's a blunt sort of a guy so I feel I can be blunt as well. His game plan stinks! RUN, RUN, PASS. And when that doesn't work, then RUN, RUN, PASS again and again and again! I'm pointing the same finger at Haley that I use on Tomlin.
Big Ben deserves some finger pointing, too. He does have a huge heart and is truly involved in keeping his team together. For that reason Ben is spared the above-mentioned finger. But his slow starts and less than accurate executions along with two fumbles of late is aggravating to say the least.
I know his line is horrible, but he has to find a way to get the ball to Miller, Brown, and Sanders. He's done it before with a horrible line; he must do it again!
Oh no, LeBeau, if you thought you were off the hook, think again. I don't know who's ranking defensive lines these days, but the Steelers' defense is pitiful. Not being able to hold the other team's receivers and running backs for a few yards in order to avert another touchdown is ridiculous. Sorry, Dick, I'm pointing my finger at you as well. You need to reassess and revise an all-too-obvious defensive plan. Maybe it's also time for you to reassess and revise your own career plan before you go down as so many have as not knowing when to say when is enough.
Wait, I feel something happening. My dark mood is beginning to clear. I'm slowly beginning to return to my happy, sweet self. I think my finger pointing just might have had something to do with lowering my blood pressure and raising my spirits. Ah, that feels better!
But the one thing that can make me downright GRUMPY is poor execution of a pro football team when that pro football team is none other than the Pittsburgh Steelers. Their record for this season is 0-3. If you consider the exhibition games, it's 0-7. Since August my blood pressure is through the roof!
And when I get GRUMPY, it's time to start pointing fingers. Pointing fingers seems to calm me down somewhat so here goes. When a reporter asked Coach Tomlin what needs to be done to turn their season around, his prophetic comment was, "Nothing!" NOTHING, that's right, this wizard of the game said NOTHING! ALL THEY NEED TO DO IS EXECUTE! DAH! And DOUBLE DAH! I'm sure you know what finger I'm using to point in Tomlin's direction these days.
Now, let's throw some blame on the offensive coordinator, Todd Haley. He's a blunt sort of a guy so I feel I can be blunt as well. His game plan stinks! RUN, RUN, PASS. And when that doesn't work, then RUN, RUN, PASS again and again and again! I'm pointing the same finger at Haley that I use on Tomlin.
Big Ben deserves some finger pointing, too. He does have a huge heart and is truly involved in keeping his team together. For that reason Ben is spared the above-mentioned finger. But his slow starts and less than accurate executions along with two fumbles of late is aggravating to say the least.
I know his line is horrible, but he has to find a way to get the ball to Miller, Brown, and Sanders. He's done it before with a horrible line; he must do it again!
Oh no, LeBeau, if you thought you were off the hook, think again. I don't know who's ranking defensive lines these days, but the Steelers' defense is pitiful. Not being able to hold the other team's receivers and running backs for a few yards in order to avert another touchdown is ridiculous. Sorry, Dick, I'm pointing my finger at you as well. You need to reassess and revise an all-too-obvious defensive plan. Maybe it's also time for you to reassess and revise your own career plan before you go down as so many have as not knowing when to say when is enough.
Wait, I feel something happening. My dark mood is beginning to clear. I'm slowly beginning to return to my happy, sweet self. I think my finger pointing just might have had something to do with lowering my blood pressure and raising my spirits. Ah, that feels better!
Monday, September 16, 2013
"Superhuman" Seniors?
Okay, so maybe we're not "superhuman" in the true sense of the word. But we're pretty damn close. We've been engaged in a major renovation project in our front yard for about two weeks now. We had a company come in, tear down the existing wall, erect a new one, and reconfigure the entire ground area. Once completed, my hubby and I took over.
While hubby is 77, I'm a mere 69 years old. No walkers, oxygen, or rocking chairs for us! No way, no how! First we dug seven holes 2'x2'x2' in hard rock and clay for the seven mature plants needed to be hauled from the back via wheelbarrow. And let me tell you, those suckers were heavy!
After finishing the transplants, we dug 15 more holes in the same unforgiving medium to accommodate the new shrubs and perennials. All of the holes and planting were done on a slope; keeping our footing while shoveling and bending was similar to doing aerobics while perched on a Mt. Everest shelf. Are you amazed yet? If not, you will be after I'm finished with this daunting tale.
To add to the esthetics of our new project we created an island in the grassy area of the yard. We piled three feet of top soil to construct a mound, tamped it down, piled again, tamped again, piled, tamped until the desired size and shape were achieved. Next we had a tree planted in the center by the landscapers only because if they do it and the tree dies, they'll replace it free of charge. We completed work on the island by planting 14 liriope, and a "little lime" hydrangea bush, putting down weed protection material, and finally topping the whole shebang off with 8 bags of mulch.
You say we should be exhausted, well you haven't heard the best part yet! The landscaping company delivered 10,000 lbs. of stone, yes I said 10,000 lbs, dropping it at the corner of the newly-erected wall. Now hubby and I really had to go to work. We were using stone as mulch to cover the extensive area between the plantings. We filled wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow with tons of solid rock, moved wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow to designated spots, dumped the stone, returned to the seemingly ever growing mountain of stone, and begun the process all over again. We also hauled 10 bags of lava rock that we used to effect "trickles" intermingled with the mocha stone. When we finally finished, we looked on with pride at the beauty our "superhuman" efforts had created.
I relate this story to all of you youngsters out there for one reason. Seniors are perhaps the most unsung heroes in our society today. But I implore you to remember that we were born before and during World War II. For the most part, our parents were hard-working people who made little money yet managed to feed, clothe, and house their families. They didn't expect government to do that for them. They would have been extremely humiliated if they had to live off handouts from the state.
More importantly, our parents instilled in us a strong work ethic. If something needed to be done, we did it and completed the task no matter the toll it took on body and soul. We were and still are proud of our accomplishments.
In conclusion, I hope my tale has given you a newfound respect for the seniors in your lives. Believe it or not, you can learn a lot from them. They can help you develop the work ethic you will need to succeed in every aspect of your existence. And if you play your cards right, they might even offer a helping hand in major projects around your homes as well!
While hubby is 77, I'm a mere 69 years old. No walkers, oxygen, or rocking chairs for us! No way, no how! First we dug seven holes 2'x2'x2' in hard rock and clay for the seven mature plants needed to be hauled from the back via wheelbarrow. And let me tell you, those suckers were heavy!
After finishing the transplants, we dug 15 more holes in the same unforgiving medium to accommodate the new shrubs and perennials. All of the holes and planting were done on a slope; keeping our footing while shoveling and bending was similar to doing aerobics while perched on a Mt. Everest shelf. Are you amazed yet? If not, you will be after I'm finished with this daunting tale.
To add to the esthetics of our new project we created an island in the grassy area of the yard. We piled three feet of top soil to construct a mound, tamped it down, piled again, tamped again, piled, tamped until the desired size and shape were achieved. Next we had a tree planted in the center by the landscapers only because if they do it and the tree dies, they'll replace it free of charge. We completed work on the island by planting 14 liriope, and a "little lime" hydrangea bush, putting down weed protection material, and finally topping the whole shebang off with 8 bags of mulch.
You say we should be exhausted, well you haven't heard the best part yet! The landscaping company delivered 10,000 lbs. of stone, yes I said 10,000 lbs, dropping it at the corner of the newly-erected wall. Now hubby and I really had to go to work. We were using stone as mulch to cover the extensive area between the plantings. We filled wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow with tons of solid rock, moved wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow to designated spots, dumped the stone, returned to the seemingly ever growing mountain of stone, and begun the process all over again. We also hauled 10 bags of lava rock that we used to effect "trickles" intermingled with the mocha stone. When we finally finished, we looked on with pride at the beauty our "superhuman" efforts had created.
I relate this story to all of you youngsters out there for one reason. Seniors are perhaps the most unsung heroes in our society today. But I implore you to remember that we were born before and during World War II. For the most part, our parents were hard-working people who made little money yet managed to feed, clothe, and house their families. They didn't expect government to do that for them. They would have been extremely humiliated if they had to live off handouts from the state.
More importantly, our parents instilled in us a strong work ethic. If something needed to be done, we did it and completed the task no matter the toll it took on body and soul. We were and still are proud of our accomplishments.
In conclusion, I hope my tale has given you a newfound respect for the seniors in your lives. Believe it or not, you can learn a lot from them. They can help you develop the work ethic you will need to succeed in every aspect of your existence. And if you play your cards right, they might even offer a helping hand in major projects around your homes as well!
Monday, September 9, 2013
Against All Odds
What are the odds of a newborn surviving, who in 1944 was birthed at home, turned blue and stopped breathing less than 15 minutes after entering this world? Would you say a million-to-one? Maybe a trillion-to-one? Whatever the true figure is, after 69 years today I am still alive and kicking. Happy birthday to me!
On Saturday, September 9, 1944 my mother went upstairs to clean up before dinner. My baba was making steak and potatoes which happened to be mom's favorite meal. Unfortunately she would never get to enjoy that savory dish.
Her water broke and I was coming fast. My dad ran to the neighbors who just happened to be doctors. Lady Dr. Stimetz, I never knew her first name, answered the call. I'm told she delivered me at around 6:30p.m.
Once the cord was cut, the good doctor handed me to my baba and directed her to wash away all the afterbirth from my body. Baba dutifully took me downstairs, filled her favorite mixing bowl with warm water and began the cleansing process.
Baba noticed that I sounded somewhat congested. She went to the pantry and secured a jar of vaporizer. She then rubbed an ample amount into and under my nostrils. I immediately turned blue and stopped breathing. Frantically she screamed for help. Dr. Stimetz was still attending to my mom, but upon hearing the urgency in baba's voice she ran to assist. She wiped the gunk from my nose and administered CPR. Within a minute or two my color returned to a healthy pink and my breathing became normal. Against all odds, Dr. Stimetz, the heroine, saved my 15 minute old life!
Ever since that day I've been a survivor. I'm also a risk-taker. I guess you might even call me a gambler. I personally think these traits are blessings that have served me well throughout my life. If it hadn't been for my baba's well-intentioned mistake, I might have never become the person I am today. Actually, I might not have become the person I am today BECAUSE of her well-intentioned mistake. And as far as Lady Dr. Stimetz, well without her intervention, I know I would NOT HAVE BECOME AT ALL!
Against all odds, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!
On Saturday, September 9, 1944 my mother went upstairs to clean up before dinner. My baba was making steak and potatoes which happened to be mom's favorite meal. Unfortunately she would never get to enjoy that savory dish.
Her water broke and I was coming fast. My dad ran to the neighbors who just happened to be doctors. Lady Dr. Stimetz, I never knew her first name, answered the call. I'm told she delivered me at around 6:30p.m.
Once the cord was cut, the good doctor handed me to my baba and directed her to wash away all the afterbirth from my body. Baba dutifully took me downstairs, filled her favorite mixing bowl with warm water and began the cleansing process.
Baba noticed that I sounded somewhat congested. She went to the pantry and secured a jar of vaporizer. She then rubbed an ample amount into and under my nostrils. I immediately turned blue and stopped breathing. Frantically she screamed for help. Dr. Stimetz was still attending to my mom, but upon hearing the urgency in baba's voice she ran to assist. She wiped the gunk from my nose and administered CPR. Within a minute or two my color returned to a healthy pink and my breathing became normal. Against all odds, Dr. Stimetz, the heroine, saved my 15 minute old life!
Ever since that day I've been a survivor. I'm also a risk-taker. I guess you might even call me a gambler. I personally think these traits are blessings that have served me well throughout my life. If it hadn't been for my baba's well-intentioned mistake, I might have never become the person I am today. Actually, I might not have become the person I am today BECAUSE of her well-intentioned mistake. And as far as Lady Dr. Stimetz, well without her intervention, I know I would NOT HAVE BECOME AT ALL!
Against all odds, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!
Monday, August 5, 2013
What Did He Say?
For the life of me, I can't remember what yesterday's sermon was about. I know the priest gave one; I recall sitting and seeing his lips move for at least 10 whole minutes. But all that comes to mind is something about him being a young intern, his superior being organized, and another priest being a happy-go-lucky people person. The organized fellow left the priesthood and the people person was killed in a car accident at a very young age.
I could blame my inability to remember the sermon on dementia or hearing loss. I'm at the age where both of these maladies are quite plausible. But in fact I have an excellent memory and I can still hear anything I choose to hear. In other words, I have great "selective hearing!"
Since most of his talk was lost on me, his efforts to prepare and deliver were all in vain at least in my regard. I didn't learn much either. So why even bother to sermonize? He's obliged to give one? A sermon to the faithful is expected? Mass would be way too short?
I guess there are those who listen to every word and decide to make an effort to change their ways. I suppose there are those who hear some of the sermon and think they could implement a few of the suggestions given during the coming week. And then there are the many like myself who spent the entire time thinking about what they're going to do once Mass is over, or why the person in front of them actually chose the outfit they are wearing to attend a church service? The girl in front of me had on shorts that looked like underwear and were way smaller than any underpants I've ever owned.
As far as to what I had on my mind, I was being game host for a couple's baby shower. My nephew Brian and his wife, Monica, are having a baby girl in early September. This is their first baby together; Monica has a 12 year old beautiful daughter, Trinity. Also this is the first grandchild for Brian's Mom and Dad who are both in their late 70's. They are absolutely walking on cloud nine!
I was going over all the games we'd be playing during the sermon and trying to think of ways to make them as awesome as I possible. You know how everybody feels about shower games, right?
But the games I picked I knew would be a hit. Who wouldn't like playing "Nibble the Nipple," "Dirty Diaper Dilemma," or "That Tastes Like Crap?" Plus three or four more delightful contests!
And who couldn't resist picking a super prize from the treasure bag when they were victorious! After all, precious gifts like kidney-shaped water bottles and Big Bird hand soap are desired items anyone would be happy to receive.
These were the thoughts that crowded my mind as the priest delivered his words of wisdom. Deep down I know I should have tried to pay attention, but can any one of you blame me for thinking about my upcoming duties and the pressure on me for making this shower memorable! I think not!
What did he say? I'll ask my husband about the sermon. He always listens.
I could blame my inability to remember the sermon on dementia or hearing loss. I'm at the age where both of these maladies are quite plausible. But in fact I have an excellent memory and I can still hear anything I choose to hear. In other words, I have great "selective hearing!"
Since most of his talk was lost on me, his efforts to prepare and deliver were all in vain at least in my regard. I didn't learn much either. So why even bother to sermonize? He's obliged to give one? A sermon to the faithful is expected? Mass would be way too short?
I guess there are those who listen to every word and decide to make an effort to change their ways. I suppose there are those who hear some of the sermon and think they could implement a few of the suggestions given during the coming week. And then there are the many like myself who spent the entire time thinking about what they're going to do once Mass is over, or why the person in front of them actually chose the outfit they are wearing to attend a church service? The girl in front of me had on shorts that looked like underwear and were way smaller than any underpants I've ever owned.
As far as to what I had on my mind, I was being game host for a couple's baby shower. My nephew Brian and his wife, Monica, are having a baby girl in early September. This is their first baby together; Monica has a 12 year old beautiful daughter, Trinity. Also this is the first grandchild for Brian's Mom and Dad who are both in their late 70's. They are absolutely walking on cloud nine!
I was going over all the games we'd be playing during the sermon and trying to think of ways to make them as awesome as I possible. You know how everybody feels about shower games, right?
But the games I picked I knew would be a hit. Who wouldn't like playing "Nibble the Nipple," "Dirty Diaper Dilemma," or "That Tastes Like Crap?" Plus three or four more delightful contests!
And who couldn't resist picking a super prize from the treasure bag when they were victorious! After all, precious gifts like kidney-shaped water bottles and Big Bird hand soap are desired items anyone would be happy to receive.
These were the thoughts that crowded my mind as the priest delivered his words of wisdom. Deep down I know I should have tried to pay attention, but can any one of you blame me for thinking about my upcoming duties and the pressure on me for making this shower memorable! I think not!
What did he say? I'll ask my husband about the sermon. He always listens.
Monday, July 29, 2013
CLUELESS!
Today's Monday and time for me to post something zippy on my blog. I'm a writer. I put words on paper that people read. Sometimes they like what I write and sometimes they don't. But, at least they read what I write. Today is Monday and I got NOTHING! NIL! NADA! ZILCH! Blank as an unwritten check! CLUELESS!
How could this be? If I'm a writer, I have to be able to write, right? Doctors just don't stop taking care of the sick because they can't think of what to do, right? Plumbers just don't stop fixing leaky pipes because they can't remember what an "elbow" is, right? Chefs just don't stop cooking because they forgot how to turn on the gas, right? Sooooooo, if I'm a writer, I've got to write something. After all, today is Monday, right?
I'm thinking. Still thinking. Raising my head and searching my mind log. Staring out the window.
Watching my dog lick herself. Looking at the lamp I bought yesterday and wondering why I paid 50 bucks for that piece of crap! Hoping my in-grown toe nail stops hurting. Still thinking. Scratching my ear even though it's not itchy. Watching my dog scratch her ear. Wondering if her ear was really itchy. Still thinking. Wishing I could lose the 8lbs. I lost 2months ago. Actually, wishing I could lose the 8lbs. I lost 2 months ago plus the 4 extra pounds added in the past 3 weeks. Hearing my husband fart while reading the morning paper sitting in the chair next to me. Trying to pass a stinkier fart to get even. Studying the dust specks floating through the air. Thinking they might be remnants of my husband's fart. Trying to remember how old my three adult children are. Maybe 44, 43, & 35, but not really sure. Who cares anyhow? I have trouble remember my own age let alone worrying how old they are. I don't need any added pressures at my age whatever it is! Speculating how old people have sex. I guess as long as they leave the lights off and have a fertile imagination and the important parts are in relatively good working order, they could have a very satisfying experience. Since I'm not sure of my age, and don't think I'm classified as "old" yet, I'll worry about this matter when I'm older.
Well, you can't say I didn't give it my all. Today is Monday but I can't think of a single thing to write. I'm CLUELESS!
How could this be? If I'm a writer, I have to be able to write, right? Doctors just don't stop taking care of the sick because they can't think of what to do, right? Plumbers just don't stop fixing leaky pipes because they can't remember what an "elbow" is, right? Chefs just don't stop cooking because they forgot how to turn on the gas, right? Sooooooo, if I'm a writer, I've got to write something. After all, today is Monday, right?
I'm thinking. Still thinking. Raising my head and searching my mind log. Staring out the window.
Watching my dog lick herself. Looking at the lamp I bought yesterday and wondering why I paid 50 bucks for that piece of crap! Hoping my in-grown toe nail stops hurting. Still thinking. Scratching my ear even though it's not itchy. Watching my dog scratch her ear. Wondering if her ear was really itchy. Still thinking. Wishing I could lose the 8lbs. I lost 2months ago. Actually, wishing I could lose the 8lbs. I lost 2 months ago plus the 4 extra pounds added in the past 3 weeks. Hearing my husband fart while reading the morning paper sitting in the chair next to me. Trying to pass a stinkier fart to get even. Studying the dust specks floating through the air. Thinking they might be remnants of my husband's fart. Trying to remember how old my three adult children are. Maybe 44, 43, & 35, but not really sure. Who cares anyhow? I have trouble remember my own age let alone worrying how old they are. I don't need any added pressures at my age whatever it is! Speculating how old people have sex. I guess as long as they leave the lights off and have a fertile imagination and the important parts are in relatively good working order, they could have a very satisfying experience. Since I'm not sure of my age, and don't think I'm classified as "old" yet, I'll worry about this matter when I'm older.
Well, you can't say I didn't give it my all. Today is Monday but I can't think of a single thing to write. I'm CLUELESS!
Monday, July 8, 2013
HE Who Laughs...LASTS!
When was the last time you laughed? No, I don't mean a slight chuckle or a little hee-haw. I'm talking about an out-n-out hardy, loud and long laugh that puts tears in your eyes and fire in your belly!
And what is it that makes you laugh? A cartoon, a joke, a comedian, a memory?
And why all this sudden concern about laughter anyway you ask?
In my constant efforts to shed those nasty hip and thigh bulges I've had since the beginning of time, I happened upon a new plan called "The Digest Diet." Along with the usual motivation to be positive, think of this as a changing life style, and "if I can do it, you can, too" promise, this regiment requires laughter. Almost on every page, the words, "don't forget to laugh" appear in bold font. Since no other diet I ever tried insisted that I laugh many times daily, I decided to explore the reasoning behind this strange directive further.
A plethora of studies have shown that laughter is truly a curative medicine. It relieves stress, lowers blood pressure, increases good cholesterol, and, in some cases, has been a factor in killing cancer cells.
Laughter can effect brain function as well. A considerable amount of mental acuity is needed to understand the implications of a joke, interpret the meaning behind a silly cartoon, and translate what is going on in a hilarious film. Funny how we never even considered what a rigorous workout our minds get simply by laughing.
I don't believe I've ever made a conscious effort to plan to laugh. I just laugh when I find things to be funny. To actually set laughter as a top priority in my daily schedule, I would never have imagined it. But it makes perfect sense. If only to achieve that "feel good" sensation that laughing provides, it definitely is worth my time. Raising endorphin levels purposefully and continually I raise the health of both my body and my mind immeasurably! And, who knows, I might just slenderize my hips and thighs, too!
Finally, the old adage of "he who laughs last laughs longest " might have a deeper meaning than we realized. "He Who Laughs...LASTS!" just might be the most powerful incentive to make laughter a repetitive ritual in our daily lives for the rest of our lives however long that may be!
And what is it that makes you laugh? A cartoon, a joke, a comedian, a memory?
And why all this sudden concern about laughter anyway you ask?
In my constant efforts to shed those nasty hip and thigh bulges I've had since the beginning of time, I happened upon a new plan called "The Digest Diet." Along with the usual motivation to be positive, think of this as a changing life style, and "if I can do it, you can, too" promise, this regiment requires laughter. Almost on every page, the words, "don't forget to laugh" appear in bold font. Since no other diet I ever tried insisted that I laugh many times daily, I decided to explore the reasoning behind this strange directive further.
A plethora of studies have shown that laughter is truly a curative medicine. It relieves stress, lowers blood pressure, increases good cholesterol, and, in some cases, has been a factor in killing cancer cells.
Laughter can effect brain function as well. A considerable amount of mental acuity is needed to understand the implications of a joke, interpret the meaning behind a silly cartoon, and translate what is going on in a hilarious film. Funny how we never even considered what a rigorous workout our minds get simply by laughing.
I don't believe I've ever made a conscious effort to plan to laugh. I just laugh when I find things to be funny. To actually set laughter as a top priority in my daily schedule, I would never have imagined it. But it makes perfect sense. If only to achieve that "feel good" sensation that laughing provides, it definitely is worth my time. Raising endorphin levels purposefully and continually I raise the health of both my body and my mind immeasurably! And, who knows, I might just slenderize my hips and thighs, too!
Finally, the old adage of "he who laughs last laughs longest " might have a deeper meaning than we realized. "He Who Laughs...LASTS!" just might be the most powerful incentive to make laughter a repetitive ritual in our daily lives for the rest of our lives however long that may be!
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