Roaring Laughter — What was the last thing that gave you a real, authentic, tearful, hearty belly laugh? Why was it so funny?

One Sunday, Pastor’s sermon was about forgiveness. About letting go of old anger and resentment and handing that burden to God. At the end of his sermon, he asked the congregation to rise.

“Now,” he said, “Anyone who has an enemy at work, please sit down.” About half the congregation sat. “Will those who are estranged from one or more members of their family please sit.” Many more sat.

steeple light 3Finally, everyone was seated except for one old woman.

“You have no enemies at all? No one is harboring ill will towards you? Or is the object of your anger?” asked Pastor.

“Not a single one,” she answered, nodding her head.

“Please, come up here and tell everyone how you reached such a great age without having enemies,” said Pastor, greatly impressed. As a deacon escorted the elderly matron to the pulpit, everyone applauded.

She slowly made her way up the steps while Pastor adjusted the microphone.

“You must have done a lot of forgiving,” said Pastor. “Please, tell us your secret.”

The old lady smiled beatifically.

“I outlived the bitches,” she said.

Talk about an oldie but a goodie. The horrible truth is, you can forgive until you are blue in the face. You can work at forgetting until you overdose on whatever drugs are supposed to wipe your memory clean of the burning anger you’ve been harboring for years. In the end, nothing can come near the pure, delicious satisfaction of outliving the bitches.

This final story is  from my mother. She told it as an anecdote, a true story, but you are welcome to judge for yourself.

A friend of my mom’s was married for many years to a real bastard. Mean as a junkyard dog and so tight with his money (of which there was quite a bit) that the family lived in poverty while his bank accounts grew. One day the guy up and died of a heart attack.

The next day (Jews believe in rapid burial), there was a funeral. When the widow went up to the casket, she just stood there and looked at it. Nudged to say something, she thought for a long time. And then she said:

Good. Very good. Very, very good.” And that was all.

If you can’t see why that’s funny, I’m afraid I can’t help you.


Cee’s Odd Ball Photo Challenge: Week 19

So there we are, down by the creek and everything … water, trees, grass … is green. Maybe it’s because if finally rained on the fourth. Maybe it was the terrible winter and everything is making up for last time.


Amid all the green, two things stood out: my bright red bag in which I carry everything I might need. Including a camera and sometimes, a tablet computer and my Kindle. It is very heavy. I don’t care.

As much as anything I own is “me,” my big red tote is. I don’t remember when I changed from black bags to red. I know I was at a party trying to find my bag. All the women’s bags looked exactly the same. Every single one of them was black. They were all shoulder bags.

The next bag I bought was red. They have all been red since. And all Baggallini.


And then there are all the posted signs. This little park is full of ecological warnings. About the fish. About not leaving litter. About what seasons are open for which activities. It’s one of the few places where you can legally fish and launch a small boat. A kayak, rowboat or canoe, nothing larger. But that would be enough to have some fun.