NAMES FROM BLACK BOOK REVEALED ON WAR OF BRITAIN ANNIVERSARY

Hitler wanted these ladies dead or alive...

THE DUTCHESS OF ATHOLL

LADY NANCY ASTOR





 

 

What follows may not be everyone’s cup of tea but I publish it on Wrights Lane for its historical significance and for the interest of those who have made a study of our Great World Wars.

 

I write this on Tuesday the 15^th day of September, the anniversary of the Battle of Britain, after gaining access to a brand new, free and exclusive Forces War Records database, containing the full list from Adolph Hitler’s Black Book of “enemies of the state, traitors and undesirables, marked for punishment or death”.

It has been painstakingly translated from the original German by Forces War Records to mark the 75th Anniversary of Battle of Britain Day, and documents the 2,820 individuals who would have been arrested immediately if Hitler’s “Operation Sea Lion” had materialized with the full-scale invasion of the UK. Included in the remarkable list are the real James Bond (aka Conrad Fulke Thomond O’Brien-French) and Britain’s Schindler (aka Major Francis E. Foley).

The Black Book was a popularized name of the Nazi “special wanted arrest list” drawn up for the immediate period after a successful Nazi invasion in 1940. An invasion that was, thankfully, never to be, largely as a result of the Battle of Britain culminating in September that year with air supremacy retained by the British RAF, and the fact that Britain still had the most powerful navy in the world - making a sea and airborne Nazi invasion impossible.

Adolph Hitler with SS General
Walter Schellenberg.

 

The original name in German is “Sonderfahndungsliste GB” which means (es)special(ly)/most wanted list - GB (GB- Gross Britannien - Great Britain).

Similar lists were drawn up and, indeed, used for the USSR, France and Poland among other countries.  Fortunately, the only place in the British Isles that experienced these roundups was the Channel islands, although the rest of the UK may well have had a similar experience had history unfolded differently.

A list of 144 pages containing 2,820 names of politicians, writers, emigres, known intelligence agents, scientists and artists was drawn up by SS General Walter Schellenberg’s office.  Schellenberg was to become the ‘Police’ chief responsible for Great Britain after an invasion and the main Gestapo offices were to be based in Birmingham, England.

The list shows the department of the RSHA (Reichssicherheitshauptamt- Reich security service) which would investigate each individual. This gives insight into what crimes the individual was suspected of having been involved in.  Some of those listed were wanted by multiple departments, although which order would be used to decide which department had priority is unknown.

There seems to be little written evidence that those wanted would have any collective fate as such, although some would obviously have more to fear than others based on what we knew after 1942 of the Holocaust and concentration camps (i.e. Jews, Communists and ex Nazi defectors), however no arrest or incarceration would have been pleasant.

In 1940 there were 450,000 persons of direct Jewish descent in the UK, all of whom would have been considered enemy to the Nazis, and any indirect family connection after that.

Here is a sample of how a few of the names appeared in the Black Book’s wanted list.

Herbert Purcel Astbury , Engineer , From: Leeds Born: 13/Nov/1907 Wanted by: Amtsgruppe IVE4 - Counter Espionage -Scandinavia

John Astor Born: 20/May/1886 Wanted by: Amtsgruppe VIG1 - Evaluation of Intelligence Material

*Lady Astor, Anti-German Wanted by: Amtsgruppe IVE4 - Counter Espionage -Scandinavia

Aline Sybil Atherton-Smith , From: Ryde Born: 13/Nov/1875 Wanted by: Amtsgruppe IVA1 -

*Catherine Duchess Of Atholl Wanted by: Amtsgruppe VIG1 - Evaluation of Intelligence Material

Clement Attlee , Leader of the Labour Party Wanted by: Amtsgruppe II B4 - Marxism / Aliens Police & Security of Frontiers

Clement Richard Attlee , British Army Major Born: 03/Jan/1883 Wanted by: Amtsgruppe VIG1 - Evaluation of Intelligence Material

Werner Karl Rudolf Aue , From: Albion Villas Born: 08/Jan/1898 Occupation: British Vice Ambassador To Holland Wanted by: Amtsgruppe IVE4 - Counter Espionage -Scandinavia

Walter Auerbach , From: Hamburg Born: 22/Jul/1905 Occupation: Speaker (Am-Apparat), Historian Wanted by: Amtsgruppe IVA2 - Sabotage - Defense, Sabotage - Combat, Political Commissioner of the Police, Political Forgery

Rifat Avigdor , From: Constantinople Born: 09/Aug/1895 Occupation: Jew, Construction Manager.

Reference 286 Wanted by: Amtsgruppe IVB3.

NOTE:  You can click on each individual's name to learn more about them.
 

It is especially interesting to note some of the better-known names from this brief sampling. For instance: Clement Attlee, who seemed to warrant two entries in the book, a British statesman and leader of the Labour Party who instituted the welfare state in Britain; Katherine Dutchess of Atholl, Member of Parliament, political activist and author, and Lady Astor.

*In 1919, Nancy Astor became the first female Member of Parliament elected to the House of Commons. She was not what had been expected. Far from a virago who had suffered for the cause of female suffrage, Lady Astor was already near the center of the ruling society that had for so long resisted the political upheavals of the early 20th century, having married into one of the richest families in the world. She wasn't even British, but the daughter of a famous Virginian family, and fiercely proud of her expatriate ancestry. But her moral drive was strong, and she would utilize her position of privilege and influence to blow a bracing American wind into what she regarded as the stuffy corners of British politics, at times to the annoyance of Winston Churchill.

*A member of the Conservative Party, The Duchess of Atholl was elected to the House of Commons and became the first woman in Scotland to be a sitting member of Parliament. Atholl also took a keen interest in foreign policy and was a strong opponent of the Italian invasion of Ethiopia and Non-Intervention in the Spanish Civil War. She was increasingly concerned about Adolf Hitler and his government in Nazi Germany. She totally opposed the British government's policy of appeasement and in 1938 resigned her seat and sought re-election on this issue. In 1945 Atholl became chairman of the British League for European Freedom.

Just think, these outstanding women and close to 3,000 others listed in Hitler’s Black Book would have faced unimaginable consequences had Germany won the Battle of Britain. A frightening thought!

JUST COLOR ME PURPLE: WHAT COLOR DO YOU LIKE TO WEAR?

The power of color to influence our behaviors and attitudes has been established by science and magnified by literature. Color plays a tremendous role in all of our lives, and has since ancient times, been used as a way of communicating to the world around us. In particular, the color of clothing has long been an important way of conveying special messages.

Of course, everyone is welcome to determine and define the meaning of these colors for themselves, but over the years certain colors have certainly become associated with certain messages in and of themselves.

Many years ago I was interviewing an inspirational speaker of considerable note, when out of the blue she said "That is a prophetic tie that you are wearing!"  That comment took me aback for the moment and when the interview ended I took it upon myself to explore the meaning of purple which was the color of the tie I was wearing at the time.  In fact that particular tie was the favorite in my substantial collection.  Being a color-coordinated kind of guy, I even think that I was wearing a purple shirt.

Here is what subsequent study revealed about the color purple (note the religious significance):

In ancient times, purple was a color of nobility. As early as 1500 BC, royal and wealthy individuals regularly donned purple throughout the Mediterranean region. Purple was particularly valued by these individuals because of its rarity – the dye used to create it was painstakingly extracted from Murexes (or, rock snails). 
 
Within the Christian tradition, purple is the color of Advent, which is a set of weeks before Christmas where each week celebrates an aspect of the coming of Christ.
 
Purple and its tones have long been connected with spirituality, and given their short wavelength are associated strongly with meditation and introspection. Setting aside old stigmas of nobility, one might find it helpful to don purple in times of self-exploration.  I still wear purple sometimes, although it is not easy to find on clothing racks these days.  Not that I'm trying to demonstrate nobility or spirituality...I just like the color.

You may be wondering what color best suits you too, or what message you might be sending by wearing certain colors. Below, is an analysis of several other popular shades coupled with some historical context so you can determine which one is best suited for you.

The symbolism of blue, white, cream, red, green, and purple may serve to evoke a certain emotion, highlight the mood of a specific liturgical season, or simply denote a special occasion.

In Catholic and Protestant traditions, green has become a sort of default color for Sunday services during which no special ceremony is taking place and there is no holiday being observed. Pagans and Wiccans have traditionally worn green to symbolize a close connection to the earth.

Green is a fresh color, and (being in the center of the color spectrum) can create feelings of balance and harmony. It’s also a color associated strongly with rebirth and renewal, so if you’re looking for a bit of seasonal variety green might be the most appropriate choice to don as Winter thaws and Spring warms blossoms back to life.

Blue is not actually a common liturgical color in Christianity. It can symbolize the divine law and is very common in the Jewish faith. It was also a color worn by the lower class in Biblical times. One might note that while Jesus is most commonly depicted wearing white, several artists have clothed him in shades of blue (which may be more historically accurate).

Blue also isn’t terribly common in Wicca. It can symbolize peace and tranquility, like a still water or a clear sky. Seasonally, blue might best capture Summertime. Survey after survey has indicated that blue is the world’s favorite color. Take an informal sampling of the room you’re in right now and we’re sure you’ll find that blue is the most commonly beloved shade. Blue is seen as a highly intellectual and communicative color, in addition to its calming effects and association with peace. In times of stress or turmoil, you might be wise to turn to blue.

In many cultures and faiths, white symbolizes purity and rebirth. It captures the blank slate where the old life has been washed away and the believer is a blank canvas to begin his or her spiritual journey.

White, for the same reasons, is also used frequently for weddings. The couple is coming together to create a new entity for the first time. Some weddings prefer a richer color scheme such as including a cream color rather than bright white. The white and cream colored stoles can be used interchangeably depending on your preferences. White is a tremendously powerful and moving shade. While it can communicate messages of purity and cleanliness, be warned that it can also (particularly if used in excess) overwhelm and send a sometimes harsh sense of sterility.  Another needless warning  -- white gets dirty easily!  But I think that it is a great summer color -- fresh and cool.

The color of fire and blood, red is associated with passion and trials.  It is a strong color, one commonly tied to strength, physicality, and courage. In scientific studies, red has been proven to elevate the pulse of humans … a response likely descended from the fight-or-flight mechanism we would have evolved to activate at the sight of blood.

Above all else, red is a stimulating and exciting color. Wearing red would be a smart choice when your intent is to evoke passion and activity in those around you.


Colors can have tremendous effects over us, but perhaps the most surprising thing you’ll learn as you begin to study their power is not the certain emotions that particular shades evoke… but that colors can move us in such significant ways. For example, in the 80s, a jail dealing with frequent bouts of violence experimented by painting its walls in a particular pinkish hue (Baker-Miller Pink, or “Drunk Tank Pink”) and reportedly saw a total and immediate end to violence outbursts.


As humans, we are visual creatures; despite the intellectual heights we’ve reached, we are still largely products of our environments. Color, while seemingly superficial, should be a facet considered as you consider what to wear, what colors to paint your room, or even what products to purchase.

TRUST ME, NEWSPAPERS DO NOT PUBLISH NEWS STORIES DESIGNED TO SELL PAPERS...IT SIMPLY DOES NOT WORK THAT WAY

I have always been uncomfortable with perception, especially as it pertains to public perception. The trouble is that it would be taken with a grain of salt if it were not for the destructiveness that wrong perceptions of people and situations can cause. What is amusing is that people are convinced of the truth of their perceptions and act on them accordingly, despite the inaccurate and incomplete way the brain works to form these perceptions. The sad reality is that most perceptions are very distorted by the minds of those who generally have axes to grind.

Because of my professional background, the public perception that sticks in my craw the most is the commonly held belief that newspapers publish stories to "sell papers".

In a recent study by the American Society of Newspaper Editors, 80 percent of the public said  they believe "journalists chase sensational stories because they think it will sell papers, not because they think it is important news."  Another 85 percent of the public believed that "newspapers frequently over-dramatize some news stories just to sell more papers."

Editor Dick at his news desk, circa 1968.

I have to ask, did the study lump all "newspapers" -- daily, weekly, monthly, national, regional, local, broadsheet, tabloid, including trash and gossip rags that blatantly sensationalize stories that attract attention when displayed in the news rack?  That important piece of information was not addressed in the release of the study; neither was the exact wording of the study questions requiring only "yes" or "no" answers i.e. "Do you believe..."

Take it from someone who has been an editor of four daily newspapers in Canada and an 11-year member of the Canadian Press News Study Team in two provinces...Both of the concluding study statements are based on public perception, which is completely unfounded and misleading.  And I'll tell you why.

There are four basic departments in every newspaper, big and small -- news, advertising, circulation and production.  The departments work independent of each other.  As a managing editor, it was always my practice, however to meet with department heads from time to time to get a feeling for how our product was being accepted/perceived in the community.  If we were falling short in the presentation of news, I wanted to hear about it and was prepared to implement corrective measures if warranted.  But never, and I repeat never, was I influenced or motivated to run a story just to sell papers.  Likewise, the rise and fall of newspaper circulation was never reflected in my pay cheque.

Admittedly, more than once I heard: "That was a good story you guys ran the other day.  I don't pick up your paper every day, but if you continue that kind of coverage I'll become a regular subscriber."  Conversely and historically, when someone does not agree with what they have read in a newspaper, their first knee-jerk reaction is to cancel their subscription, thinking that they are sending a message.

I, like most editors, knew all too well the folly of printing agenda-driven news stories.  Any good editor has his/her ear to the ground and is cognizant of the news requirements of the community and the public's right to know.  What really turns an editor's crank, is a legitimate breaking news story that has potential to scoop the competition and win readership favor.  A story that will really grab attention is the ultimate goal, not the possibility of selling a few extra copies of the paper.

Of course, any managing editor worth his or her salt knows full well the value of giving their advertising and circulation departments a lively, quality news package that will enhance ad sales and circulation marketing promotions.

Newspapers make their money from display and classified advertising and paid subscriptions which cover the cost of delivery.  Extra individual on-the-street sales of a particular edition in any given day are negligible and a mere pittance in the overall financial scheme of things.  People simply do not selectively buy newspapers because of a spectacularly exaggerated news story or one that is colorfully illustrated -- and editors know that.  Editors, rather, are constantly pre-occupied with news judgment and news play in their papers.  Always faced with snap decisions based on looming print deadlines, they win some and they lose some.  The armchair reading public does not always agree with the tone of reportage, the placement of news articles and (heaven help us) oversight of what is believed to be a worthy event or pet cause.  These are facts of life in all forms of media.

While editors do not intentionally set out to sell papers, you can bet your boots that they are subjected to economic pressure. I lost count of number of times I was threatened with the cancellation of advertising because of disagreement over certain news coverage.  I have had one hundred dollar bills thrown on my desk by a disgruntled member of the public wanting to suppress a certain court story involving a family member and I have been threatened with legal action, once by a judge and another time by a police chief. I have had meals out with my family interrupted by overly zealous proponents of political agendas.  I have refused liquor delivered to my home by a candidate hoping to win my support at election time. The Rt. Hon. John George Diefenbaker objected to my handling of several news releases from his office and went so far as to say that he would have me fired next time he saw the newspaper's owner, his "good friend" Lord Thompson of Fleet.  Dief also complained that I was giving inappropriate coverage to the Liberal candidate in the federal election of 1972.  The Liberals, on the other hand, insisted that I always gave Diefenbaker top billing.  Perception rearing its ugly head once again.

John Diefenbaker was extremely congenial, especially
after I published a tribute to him on his 80th birthday.

It all went with the territory.  While experiencing the extremes of frustration and amusement, I did not let such incidents deter me from doing the job that was expected of me.  I had an intense sense of purpose in those days.  If I could not stand the heat I could always get out of the kitchen which is exactly what I did in due course, just a little the worse for wear but a much wiser human being.

An editor's responsibility is always to present the day's news in the most balanced and fair way possible. The mandate is unbiased, fearless recording of fact, but it must be demonstrable fact with responsible sources to support it so that the public can arrive at an informed consensus.  Accuracy is fundamental.  Reporters are constantly reminded to refrain from incorporating personal opinions in their news copy.  Accurate back grounding and authoritative interpretation are essential to reader understanding of complicated subjects.  Editorial and op-ed pages are reserved for the sole purpose of opinion commentary and letters to the editor.

Ask any veteran reporter and I guarantee they will confirm that they have never been instructed to write a story designed to sell newspapers and their copy has never been edited for that purpose.

I quote here from the Canadian Press Style Guide that is followed religiously by all reputable and main stream media in Canada:

"The question of what news is can often be answered objectively -- disasters, major political developments, serious crimes -- but just as often subjectively.  The experience and training of reporters, rewrite staff, desk editors and supervisors are the front line of news judgment.  They must be familiar with the interests and concerns of Canadians, both nationally and regionally, as reflected in the news pages of daily newspapers...

Good taste is a constant consideration.  Some important news is essentially repellent.  Its handling need not be."  Note: CP is our national news-gathering co-operative covering important Canadian news for its more than 100 daily member newspapers and, through affiliated companies, for broadcasters and a wide variety of magazines, special-interest publications and private organizations wanting instant information.

Let me explain briefly how a newspaper news room is structured and how it works in reality.

Reporters and correspondents do a lot of research work in order to gather the facts. They must also find out which news is important and worth reporting and which information can be left out.
A newspaper employs various kinds of reporters. A beat reporter covers certain issues and topics, mostly over a longer period of time. He or she may report on a crime and the trial that follows. An education reporter follows topics related to schools and universities. Other beat reporters cover topics like fashion or science. Then, of course, you have the ever popular sports pages and writers that specialize in hockey, baseball, football and basketball.  General assignment reporters cover any story that they are assigned by the editor. Sometimes reporters spend months trying to get stories on corruption and other wrong doings. Stringers, as they are called, do not work for a paper, but send them stories regularly for a set fee.

Large newspapers often have offices in other cities or countries . Foreign correspondents work in these offices and can send news stories to the newspaper very quickly.  Newspapers cannot have reporters and correspondents everywhere in the world. They get part of their information from news or wire services like the Canadian Press. Wire services collect information from reporters all over the world and relay it via computers and satellites to newspapers. Among the largest news services are United Press International and Associated Press (both USA). Other services include Reuters (UK), Agence France Press (France) and ITAR-TASS (Russia).

So, if I haven't convinced you by now of newspaper professionalism and the fact that there is no correlation between news coverage and the almighty dollar, I guess I never will.  I fully expect also, that there will be those who will say that I am naturally biased on this subject...and I readily admit that is the case.  False perceptions and con cocked studies offend what is left of this old editor's integrity and sense of loyalty to newspapering.  Equally troublesome is the popular tendency to blame "the media" for all that is wrong in society today. 

All I can say by means of conclusion is that the truth often hurts, but don't shoot the messenger!

WHO CARES WHAT OTHERS THINK

Come on now, be yourself!

I have always more or less marched to the beat of my own drummer, more so in my advancing years.  With that concession, I admit that in my formative years I often fell into the trap of trying to impress people by pretending to be something that I was not, or conducting myself in ways that were unnatural and uncomfortable.  I am sure that there will be readers who know whereof I speak.

There is a need in all of us to impress and to be liked.  Let’s face it, most of us are guilty of doing things that we do not want to do, or don’t do things that we want to do because we are afraid of what others might think or say about us.

Seeking approval from others is perfectly fine up to the point where you are compromising your health and happiness in the process, sacrificing personal wants, needs and desires.  It becomes a serious problem if you feel as though widespread positive approval from others is the very oxygen you need to breathe. 

The bottom line is that constant approval-seeking forces you to miss out on the beauty of simply being yourself, with your own unique ideas and desires.  If you are led through life only doing and being what you’ve come to believe is expected of you, then, in a way, you cease to live.

What I am discussing here has been described as “worshipping the god of other people’s opinion.”  We sacrifice much for such ill-conceived, ungodly worship.

Charles Dudley Warner once said that “public opinion is stronger than the legislature and nearly as strong as the Ten Commandments.”

“Truth is one forever absolute,” wrote Wendell Phillips, “but opinion is truth filtered through the moods, the blood, and the disposition of others.” It should be emphasized, however, that if one’s faith in self is strong, the opinion of others is not as influential.  I’ll substantiate that point in a minute…

One of my favorite iconic deep thinkers on this subject was Henry David Thoreau who is quoted as saying “Public opinion is a weak tyrant compared with our own private opinion…What a man thinks of himself, that is what determines, or rather, indicates, his fate.”  Thoreau, a pioneer in transcendentalism, encouraged others to assert their individuality, each in his or her own way. When neighbors talked of emulating his lifestyle, he was dismayed rather than flattered.

“I would not have any one adopt my mode of living on any account,” he said.  “For myself, I desire that there may be as many different persons in the world as possible; but I would have each one be very careful to find out and pursue his own way, and not his father's or his mother's or his neighbor's instead. The youth may build or plant or sail, only let him not be hindered from doing that which he tells me he would like to do…We may not arrive at our port within a calculable period, but we would preserve the true course.”

Thoreau also maintained that “If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.”

Whenever quoting Thoreau, one must quote Ralph Waldo Emmerson: “It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of a crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.”

Of course, if you live in the freedom of your own thoughts and desires, you must give the same freedom to others.  We do well to learn to accept the behavior of others that does not fit the pattern of our own opinions.  Whenever we find ourselves disapproving of another, we should be reminded that opinion is merely opinion, not truth, and therefore not worth getting upset about.

Others’ opinions of you and your opinions of others are the cause of a great deal of unnecessary negative thinking.  In “You Can’t Afford the Luxury of a Negative Thought, a book for people with any life-threatening illness – including life,” John-Roger and Peter McWilliams emphasize that we should learn to relish the differences between people.  Imagine how dull the world would be if we all thought, spoke and acted the same.

“It were not best that we should all think alike,” Mark Twain tells us.  “It is difference of opinion that makes horse races.”

This is all by way of saying that we should applaud freedom wherever it may surface.  Learn to praise idiosyncrasies, the eccentricities, the quirks and the singularities of others…It will help praise our own.

And while we’re at it…

Not completely changing the subject, but when you need advice, who better to listen to than someone older and wiser. No matter your age -- old or young -- time always brings a unique perspective on the way we should have done things. 

In an endearing video, CBC Radio recently asked people of all ages -- some as young as seven and some as old as 93 -- to share their one best piece of advice for a person just a year younger. The brutally honest responses were both charming and wise, covering everything from love and relationships, to money and career, to finding your confidence. 

Here are just a few of the best pieces of advice:

- A 47-year-old. “Stop caring so much about what people think. They're not thinking about you at all.”

- A 48-year-old, “A midlife crisis does not look good.”

- A 51-year-old, “Always tell the truth (except in your online dating profile).”

- An 85-year-old, “Spend all your money, or your kids will do it for you.”

- A 93-year-old, "Don't listen to other people's advice. Nobody knows what the hell they're doing.”

MY ANNUAL POW WOW REPORT:

Mother Nature cooperated with perfect weather for the 44th annual Saugeen Competition POW WOW held August 8 and 9 at Saugeen First Nation, north of Southampton on Hwy 21. The colorful event drew thousands of visitors over the two-day weekend. While the dancing and regalia were the biggest draw, visitors also had the chance to enjoy traditional food such as scone and corn soup along with many vendors offering hand-made crafts. -- With thanks to Sandy Lindsey.

VISITING THE PAST...

I was sitting on my front porch this evening, enjoying a glass of wine, when for some unknown reason the expression "Kilroy was here" crossed my mind. I grew up with Kilroy in the 1940s...He was everywhere. I don't think that any of my school text books escaped the words "Kilroy was here" scrawled in my hand writing on the inside cover pages. "Kilroy was here" was even carved on the head board of my bed, much to my mother's displeasure. I had to abandon my aforementioned half -finished wine in order to come in and do a little research on Kilroy, just to refresh my memory and to satisfy my curiosity about an imaginary childhood friend. Here is what I found out about Kilroy who, as it turns out, may have been a real life person...

THE STORY(S) OF "KILROY WAS HERE"

Ah, Kilroy. The little cartoon bald head, peering over a fence that hid everything except his eyes and his long U-shaped nose... and sometimes his fingers, gripping the top of the fence. And his proclamation, "Kilroy was here." Graffiti itself goes back to ancient times and is found in the ruins of Pompeii, on the walls of ancient Jerusalem, in ancient Egypt. Kilroy follows a long tradition, but was far more famous and all-present than any of them.

"Kilroy was here" emerged during World War II, appearing at truck stops, city restaurants, and in military boardrooms. However, the first appearances seem to have been on military docks and ships in late 1939."The mischievous face and the phrase became a national joke," according to author Charles Panati. In theory, he was a soldier, probably American, who travelled all over the world scrawling his immortal phrase. Clearly, the graffiti were scrawled by thousands of different soldiers, not a single one named Kilroy.

During the Forties, Kilroy was everywhere. Panati comments, "The outrageousness of the graffiti was not so much what it said, but where it turned up." He cites the torch of the Statue of Liberty, the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, the Marco Polo Bridge in China, huts in Polynesia, and a girder on the George Washington Bridge in New York. There were contests in the Air Force to beat Kilroy to isolated and uninhabited places around the globe.

The appearance wasn't always of GI origin, although it was largely tied to the military services. More than once newspapers reported on pregnant women wheeled into the delivery room, with the hospital staff finding "Kilroy was here" written across their stomachs. Panati says, "The most daring appearance occurred during the meeting of the Big Three in Potsdam, Germany, in July 1945. Truman, Attlee, and Stalin had exclusive use of an opulent marble bathroom, off limits to everyone else. On the second day of the summit, an excited Stalin emerged from the bathroom sputtering something in Russian to one of his aides. A translator overheard Stalin demand, 'Who is Kilroy?'" SDSTAFF Mac suggests Panati is a better storyteller than a scholar, though.

There has been much written about the origin and proliferation of Kilroy.

In December 1946 the New York Times credited James J. Kilroy, a welding inspector at the Bethlehem Steel shipyard in Quincy, Massachusetts, with starting the craze. Usually, inspectors used a small chalk mark, but welders were erasing those to get double-paid for their work. To prevent this, Mr Kilroy marked his welding work with the long crayoned phrase ("Kilroy was here") on the items he inspected. The graffito became a common sight around the shipyard and was imitated by workers when they were drafted and sent around the world. As the war progressed, people began opening void spaces on ships for repair, and the mysterious Mr Kilroy's name would be found there, in sealed compartments "where no one had been before."

There are other origin stories, but they're less credible.

The cartoon part of the graffito has a different origin. According to Dave Wilton, it is originally British, named Mr Chad, and apparently predates Kilroy by a few years. It commonly appeared with the phrase "Wot, no ____?" underneath, with the blank filled in by whatever was in short supply in Britain at the time--cigarettes, Spam, etc. The Oxford English Dictionary lists Chad's origin as "obscure" but it may have been created by British cartoonist George Edward Chatterton.

Sometime during the war, Chad and Kilroy met and merged, the American phrase appearing under the British drawing.

The combined logo acquired momentum, appearing wherever servicemen travelled, and quickly infected the civilian population. The mania peaked during the war, lingered into the 50s, and then pretty much died out, the joke forgotten as memories of World War faded.

There have been recurrences and imitators. There was a Canadian version named Clem. In the late 60s, there was a version in Los Angeles called Overby. But none of these approached the popularity and ubiquitousness of the original.

SADLY THERE ARE NO DO-OVERS IN BEING A FATHER

Fathers Day 2015...Hmmmm!

What kind of father have I been over the course of the last 55 years?  That's a difficult question to answer.  Truth be known, I am rather afraid of the answer.

The only father I was ever exposed to was Ken Wright and he died when I was 13-years-of-age.  The impressionable years of my life were smack-dab in the middle of World War Two.  My father's business was in Chatham during that time period and because of the war "rationing" imposition, he was only able to accumulate enough gas coupons to allow him to make a once-a-week, 18-mile trip to our home in Dresden on Saturday evenings after closing up his shop.  He slept on a cot in the second floor King Street West location in Chatham through the week.  I do not know where he ate or what he ate.  He was subject to migraine headaches and I do know that he went through countless bottles of AlkaSeltzer each week...It was often my job to empty the garbage.

When the war ended, Ken had the better part of five years to be with us full-time at home in Dresden before his untimely death at 52 years of age.  In those few short years he taught me the meaning of fatherly nurturing, support and dedication.  We got by with very little in terms of material necessities, but we were together as a family unit and that was all that mattered.

As a father myself in the 1960s and '70s, I too was pre-occupied with a demanding career and making a living.  In addition, I always had one or two part-time jobs and found time to be involved in minor sports and the Boy Scouts/Big Brothers movements, just to mention a few volunteer activities -- giving back to the community, as it were.  In between times I was the "dad" of two young girls who I suspect grew up to be beautiful women (and mothers) in spite of me...All due credit to their mother.

I was a cautious father, not wanting to smother my girls but at the same time being fully available to them -- when I was not otherwise involved outside the home.  For some unexplainable reason, I fear that I withheld a certain amount of affection, you know of the hugs-and-kisses variety...Still do for that matter...And that bothers me, and no doubt down deep it bothers them too. In retrospect, I fear that I could have done a better job. How much better, I cannot really say.  Maybe it's self inflicted fatherly second guessing in wishing that I could do it all over again

But, know what?...You only get one crack at being a father and you have to live with what was, not what should have been in a perfect world.  With any luck, you do some of the important things right...And your kids love you in spite of yourself, and because in there mind you did your best.

Children are very forgiving in that way...Thank God!

I love you too girls!!!

FATHERS DAY, 1938-2015

My father Ken first showed me the light of day, March 1, 1938...In that same context, I've been looking for another glimpse of it most of my life.

Fathers Day 1943

POPPY TIME AT WRIGHTS LANE

WHAT'S A GUY TO DO ON A LAZY, RAINY SUNDAY?

It's a lazy, rainy Sunday...And I planned to do so many outside chores today.

Oh well, I can always do the laundry and some vacuuming.  I also notice that dust has accumulated in certain areas of the house and I really should take care of that too.  Then there's bedding that needs to be changed and a lunch to consider before long.

Makes me tired just thinking about it!

Maybe I'll put wife Rosanne on notice and just lay down for a while with my girl Lucy and watch a bit of the Blue Jays ball game on TV -- and grab a few winks while I'm at it...Whichever comes first.

After all, it's a lazy, rainy Sunday!

A DAD WHO TAUGHT HIS YOUNG SON TO BE "A MAN”

Occasionally on Wrights Lane I share with readers stories about people who have touched a certain chord with me.  Now that Father’s Day is just around the corner, I cannot think of a better time to introduce new author Joel L.A. Peterson who brings to his writing a unique personal background as a biracial international adoptee and combines it with penetrating insights into multiple cultures to create an exceptionally enthralling and inspirational story.  By special agreement, I have arranged to publish the following touching story in which Joel writes about “Being a Real Man:  Lessons From My Dad”.  This is really more than a Father’s Day story, however…It is about two people who chose to be the adoptive parents of a young boy from a far-away land and subseqently taught him a life-altering lesson about “being a man” when he needed it the most.  More about his new book later…Meantime, over to Joel.

By Joel L. A. Peterson

“Let us pray!” My dad’s bass voice rumbled as he bowed his head.

JOEL PETERSON

I was a 16-year-old who had been adopted at age six – a fact about me that would play a crucial role this day. Our house was Mom’s pride and joy. Anyone who walked into Ellen Linquist’s home knew exactly what holiday season it was—all the major and minor holidays and everyone’s birthday.  I think Dad loved our home all the more for the “Ellen Lindquist-ness” of it.  He was an accountant and it appealed to him—order, seasons, rules.  But this day Mom’s rules – and Dad’s words – would change me forever.

After grace, I reached over to the box of Raisin Bran when mother fixed her bright blue eyes on me.  “Noah, isn’t that the same shirt that you wore yesterday?” I drew my hand back from the cereal box.  “You need to go back upstairs and change your shirt, young man.” 

“But it’s not dirty!” I objected.

“You know the rules in our house, no son of mine is going to leave this house wearing the same shirt two days in a row.”  Something about her words seemed to pull a grenade pin inside me.  “So changing a stupid shirt is what makes me your son? It’s good to know what makes me fit to be your son. Since I’m NOT your son, I am not changing my shirt!”

I didn’t know what had come over me. I shouted these last words at my mother. There was something about the words “no son of mine” that set off that emotional grenade inside me and shattered the shrapnel of my teenage insecurities along with other inner demons – demons that hide inside most adoptees – who now were screaming things through my mouth at my mother. I was shocked and enraged at the same time.

There was always a trickle of blood inside my soul from a wound that could never fully heal. And there simply existed too many questions surrounding my identity that no one else could comprehend.  And in the mirror, my Asian face screamed at least one of the answers every day, an answer I did not want to hear.  “No son of mine.”

I ran up the stairs and into my room, slamming the door behind me.  A few minutes later, there was a knock on my bedroom door.  “Mind if I come in, Son?” My dad’s voice sounded muffled through the door.

Dad stepped through the door into my small bedroom. I kept staring out my window as I sat on my bed. Dad sat down next to me. The bed sunk down noticeably under his weight. He too stared out the room’s window.

Elmore Lindquist was not a man for elegant words or eloquent phrasing. And though my dad would later completely forget this episode and this conversation, I would not. I would remember every word.  And Dad found an eloquence—at least that day, at that time.

He almost never called me by my name, Noah, but nearly always addressed as me “Son.” It never occurred to my father how much that simple word always meant to me, coming from a man like him. I had never had a man in my life until I was adopted at age seven.  Most of the men that I had met before adoption were through my birth mother, and there was always something off-putting, something not right. I could feel that the men were there for a purpose not linked to me. They were creatures focused on my mother as she prostituted herself to feed and care for me.  And my birth mother was a world apart from Ellen Lindquist.  But they shared the same intense love for me.

I had grown with up seeing nothing very positive regarding men or being a man -- until Elmore Lindquist.  Elmore was married to a trim, attractive woman who had the classic blond haired, dancing blue-eyed combination of her Swedish blood and an air of energy and efficiency that hinted at her nursing school training. She smiled easily and often and had a musical laugh. She was Doris Day, but slighter and far more intelligent. And she was everyone’s “go to” girl.  Her sense of what her faith required was amazing to behold and led her to embrace the hardest jobs, the least desired tasks.  Every neighbor and community member said so in our small Minnesota town.

Dad was a new sort of creature to me. At six-foot two, he was a physical presence, but was never physical. He never seemed to get sick or tired or impatient or demanding. He would drive endless hours along endless miles of highways during summer vacations, enduring endless hours of children squabbling about touching each other and whining for bathrooms. He could execute unending honey-do lists and chores he would never have thought to invent. He just was. He was a constant, dependable, working, providing presence of strength and good humor, perfectly paired with a smarter, stronger, and more faith-driven Doris Day of a wife.

Dad cleared his throat. “Son, I just want to share with you a little something I’ve learned. There are two people in this world that a man shouldn’t argue with. One is his wife. The other is his mother. Just because.  It’s that simple. A man just doesn’t argue with either.  And your mom is truly your mother in every way that is meaningful.” 

He paused and from the corner of my eye I could see him glance down at me. I didn’t look back at him, but instead, kept staring out the window. “Son . . . because . . . being a man is about . . . it’s about . . . it’s . . . It’s NOT about how loud you can yell or the hurtful things you can say or how hard you can hit something or someone. You’re going to learn that the hardest fights that a man will have in his life will be inside himself . . . with himself. Being a man is about winning against the pettiness of your own ego. It means saying you were wrong, even when you know you were right; it’s saying you are sorry, even though you’re not . . .Because . . . it just doesn’t matter. Of course, sometimes it does.  And if it does matter, if you truly believe in your heart and soul that the world will be a better place, that the course of history and your corner of mankind will truly be better off, then of course, stand up and be a man. But if you know in your heart—deep down inside you—that it doesn’t really matter, except to you and your ego, then be a real man. Say you are sorry, even when you’re not. Say you were wrong, even though you are right. Because a man should only stand up for things that truly matter.”

I still gave no reaction though his words were like a parting of storm clouds that suddenly reveal a shaft of light. But I remained silent and staring straight ahead.

“So . . . Son, if you truly believe the world will be a better place because you wear that shirt, then by God, wear the shirt. But if you know that it doesn’t matter to the world at all—only to you—then be a man, Son. Be a man and wear something else. Tell your mother that you’re sorry – for what you said and how you acted – even though you really aren’t.  And that you were wrong, even though you may feel you are not.”

Dad stopped talking. His big, bass voice stopped filling up my small bedroom.  The silence went on for minutes. He finally stood up. “Well, I have to get going to work now, Son. I’m late. Be the man I know that you are. I know you’ll do the right thing, Son.”  With those words, Dad turned and went out my bedroom door.

I knew that my dad was right with a profoundness I’d never felt before.  I now saw it so clearly and his words made perfect sense.  And I knew that what my mother had really meant was that she wanted me to live up to her high standards because I was her son.  I felt so stupid and so ashamed.   And so not like a man.  I knew what I had to do – be the man that my father was.
As I came down to the kitchen with my book bag over my shoulder, my mother looked up from her cup of coffee. I was wearing a different shirt. 

“Uh . . . hey Mom? I’m really sorry for the things I said . . . And…you were right.” I could visibly see the relief and the release of more tension than she had likely been aware of.  And in her eyes, I thought I saw a forgiveness and understanding – and joy – because she could see that I only saw her as being my mom.  And she could see me trying to be a man, just like my dad had revealed to me.

“Thank you, Noah. You’d better hurry. You’re already late for school.” I could sense she wanted to say more, maybe to say how sorry she was about my bleeding soul, to let me know that she loved me and worried for me.  But she didn’t need to say anything…I knew!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In writing his new biographical fiction book, Dreams of My Mothers, Joel reflects on some very unique experiences, at extreme ends of the human condition, he has been privileged to bear witness to during a time when society struggles to find a shared identity -- with race, culture, and what it means to live in North America. And, through his upbringing, he has realized the incredible influence our parents can have on building that identity, no matter our race.  You can ask for the book at a book store near you.

YOUNG WIDOW LEARNING NOT TO DIE WHILE SHE IS STILL ALIVE

Several posts ago I published a short piece on "the secret to carrying a grief suit case."  Continuing in that vein, today I give this space over to an outstanding young woman of Jewish faith who lost her equally young husband, Dave Goldberg, due to a freak accident a month ago.  There is an exceptional message in the words of Sheryl Sandberg published on her web site.  I'm sure you will agree that she brings to a difficult subject meaning and clarity that is deeply inspiring.  This is published here for my readers who would have otherwise missed the story.

By Sheryl Sandberg

Today is the end of sheloshim for my beloved husband—the first 30 days. Judaism calls for a period of intense mourning known as shiva that lasts seven days after a loved one is buried. After shiva, most normal activities can be resumed, but it is the end of sheloshim that marks the completion of religious mourning for a spouse.

A childhood friend of mine who is now a rabbi recently told me that the most powerful one-line prayer he has ever read is: “Let me not die while I am still alive.” I would have never understood that prayer before losing Dave.  Now I do.

Sheryl and Dave 

I think when tragedy occurs, it presents a choice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to find meaning. These past thirty days, I have spent many of my moments lost in that void. And I know that many future moments will be consumed by the vast emptiness as well. But when I can, I want to choose life and meaning. 

And this is why I am writing: to mark the end of sheloshim and to give back some of what others have given to me. While the experience of grief is profoundly personal, the bravery of those who have shared their own experiences has helped pull me through. Some who opened their hearts were my closest friends. Others were total strangers who have shared wisdom and advice publicly. So I am sharing what I have learned in the hope that it helps someone else. In the hope that there can be some meaning from this tragedy.

I have lived 30 years in these 30 days. I am 30 years sadder. I feel like I am 30 years wiser. I have gained a more profound understanding of what it is to be a mother, both through the depth of the agony I feel when my children scream and cry and from the connection my mother has to my pain. She has tried to fill the empty space in my bed, holding me each night until I cry myself to sleep. She has fought to hold back her own tears to make room for mine. She has explained to me that the anguish I am feeling is both my own and my children’s, and I understood that she was right as I saw the pain in her own eyes.

I have learned that I never really knew what to say to others in need. I think I got this all wrong before; I tried to assure people that it would be okay, thinking that hope was the most comforting thing I could offer. A friend of mine with late-stage cancer told me that the worst thing people could say to him was “It is going to be okay.” That voice in his head would scream, How do you know it is going to be okay? Do you not understand that I might die? I learned this past month what he was trying to teach me.

Real empathy is sometimes not insisting that it will be okay but acknowledging that it is not. When people say to me, “You and your children will find happiness again,” my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, “You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good” comfort me more because they know and speak the truth. Even a simple “How are you?”—almost always asked with the best of intentions—is better replaced with “How are you today?”

When I am asked “How are you?” I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear “How are you today?” I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.

I have learned some practical stuff that matters. Although we now know that Dave died immediately, I didn’t know that in the ambulance. The trip to the hospital was unbearably slow. I still hate every car that did not move to the side, every person who cared more about arriving at their destination a few minutes earlier than making room for us to pass. I have noticed this while driving in many countries and cities. Let’s all move out of the way. Someone’s parent or partner or child might depend on it.

I have learned how ephemeral everything can feel—and maybe everything is. That whatever rug you are standing on can be pulled right out from under you with absolutely no warning. In the last 30 days, I have heard from too many women who lost a spouse and then had multiple rugs pulled out from under them. Some lack support networks and struggle alone as they face emotional distress and financial insecurity. It seems so wrong to me that we abandon these women and their families when they are in greatest need.

I have learned to ask for help -- and I have learned how much help I need. Until now, I have been the older sister, the COO, the doer and the planner. I did not plan this, and when it happened, I was not capable of doing much of anything. Those closest to me took over. They planned. They arranged. They told me where to sit and reminded me to eat. They are still doing so much to support me and my children.

I have learned that resilience can be learned. Adam M. Grant taught me that three things are critical to resilience and that I can work on all three.

• Personalization: realizing it is not my fault. He told me to ban the word “sorry.” To tell myself over and over, This is not my fault.
• Permanence: remembering that I won’t feel like this forever. This will get better.
• Pervasiveness: this does not have to affect every area of my life; the ability to compartmentalize is healthy.

For me, starting the transition back to work has been a savior, a chance to feel useful and connected. But I quickly discovered that even those connections had changed. Many of my co-workers had a look of fear in their eyes as I approached. I knew why—they wanted to help but weren’t sure how. Should I mention it? Should I not mention it? If I mention it, what the hell do I say?

I realized that to restore that closeness with my colleagues that has always been so important to me, I needed to let them in. And that meant being more open and vulnerable than I ever wanted to be. I told those I work with most closely that they could ask me their honest questions and I would answer. I also said it was okay for them to talk about how they felt. One colleague admitted she’d been driving by my house frequently, not sure if she should come in. Another said he was paralyzed when I was around, worried he might say the wrong thing.

Speaking openly replaced the fear of doing and saying the wrong thing. One of my favorite cartoons of all time has an elephant in a room answering the phone, saying, “It’s the elephant.” Once I addressed the elephant, we were able to kick him out of the room. At the same time, there are moments when I can’t let people in. I went to Portfolio Night at school where kids show their parents around the classroom to look at their work hung on the walls. So many of the parents—all of whom have been so kind -- tried to make eye contact or say something they thought would be comforting. I looked down the entire time so no one could catch my eye for fear of breaking down. I hope they understood.

I have learned gratitude. Real gratitude for the things I took for granted before, like life. As heartbroken as I am, I look at my children each day and rejoice that they are alive. I appreciate every smile, every hug. I no longer take each day for granted. When a friend told me that he hates birthdays and so he was not celebrating his, I looked at him and said through tears, “Celebrate your birthday, goddammit. You are lucky to have each one.” My next birthday will be depressing as hell, but I am determined to celebrate it in my heart more than I have ever celebrated a birthday before.

I am truly grateful to the many who have offered their sympathy. A colleague told me that his wife, whom I have never met, decided to show her support by going back to school to get her degree --
something she had been putting off for years. Yes! When the circumstances allow, I believe as much as ever in leaning in. And so many men, from those I know well to those I will likely never know, are honoring Dave’s life by spending more time with their families.

I can’t even express the gratitude I feel to my family and friends who have done so much and reassured me that they will continue to be there. In the brutal moments when I am overtaken by the void, when the months and years stretch out in front of me endless and empty, only their faces pull me out of the isolation and fear. My appreciation for them knows no bounds.

I was talking to one of these friends about a father-child activity that Dave is not here to do. We came up with a plan to fill in for Dave. I cried to him, “But I want Dave. I want option A.” He put his arm around me and said, “Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of option B.”

Dave, to honor your memory and raise your children as they deserve to be raised, I promise to do all I can to kick the shit out of option B. And even though sheloshim has ended, I still mourn for option A. I will always mourn for option A. As Bono sang, “There is no end to grief . . . and there is no end to love.” I love you, Dave.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

With thanks to Greg Writer for drawing my attention to Sheryl Sandberg's heart-rending story. It is pertinent to know that Sheryl Sandberg is an American technology executive, activist, and author. She is the CEO of Facebook. In June 2012, she was elected to the board of directors by the existing board members, becoming the first woman to serve on Facebook's board. Before she joined Facebook as its CEO, Sandberg was V-P of Global Online Sales and Operations at Google and was involved in launching Google's philanthropic arm, Google.org. Before Google, Sandberg served as chief of staff for the U.S. Secretary of the Treasurer. In 2012 she was named in the Time 100, an annual list of the 100 most influential people in the world according to Time magazine. As of January 2014, Sandberg was reported to be worth more $1 billion, due to her stock holdings in Facebook and other companies.  Now you know the remarkable woman behind the story.



This is me most mornings after breakfast.



TEASER, JOKER, WHATEVER YOU WANT TO CALL IT -- I AM ONE

Truthfully speaking, I am a bigtime tease.  I have many ways of venting what I have come to recognize as a compulsion to tease, or one who runs the risk of having fun at other people’s expense.  I even hit on unsuspecting complete strangers and come away with the (misled?) hope that I have given them a chuckle or that I may have helped make their day.

I am also a slow learner…It has taken me all of my life to come to the conclusion that my teasing is not always understood or appreciated.  I walk a very fine line with my teasing.  Psychologists liken it to balancing a teeter totter.

I do not really understand what it is within me that makes me want to tease other people.  Maybe I have a personality shortcoming or a suppressed need of some kind, but it has become second nature and it seems to roll out of me with little provocation.  Many times I am half way into a tease before I actually realize it.  While most of my teasing is accepted good-naturedly, there have been times when it has backfired as if going over like a lead balloon, especially when done by means of the written word in the absence of body language and associated nuances.

I feel terrible on those occasions when my weird sense of humor (as my wife calls it) hits someone the wrong way and I am hard-pressed to make amends or to explain myself.  Usually, I end up with the justification that the particular other person “just can’t take a joke”…And maybe they could not but in retrospect I should have been sensitive enough to take that possibility into consideration before inflicting my kind humor.

Often, teasing is done in a spirit of affection and playfulness, and teasers attempt to convey these intentions through subtle nonverbal cues. However those who are being teased tend to miss these benign aims.  And that is where we get into trouble.  I have been rebuked in no uncertain terms by individuals whom I have offended with what I thought was a good-natured quip or tease.  Needless to say, friendships fall by the wayside at times like that.  I have learned the hard way.

Synonyms of teasing are joker, mocker, clown, josher, teaser, tormenter, and leg-puller.  All of the above apply to me. Guilty on all counts.

In an effort to curtail the jokester within, I have had to take a look at a continuum of communication possibilities: 
-- Humorous jokes, funny remarks, perhaps a pun or play on words, with no personal target.
-- Teasing, poking fun, wisecracks, directed at another person.
-- Picking, needling, short negatively toned messages directed at another person.
-- Biting humor, hostile remarks toward another person purported to be funny.
-- Sarcasm, clever comments which belittle others under the guise of humor.
-- Cynicism, insults, communications to another when hostile intent is less disguised.

The façade of humor is increasingly lost across this continuum, while the amount of direct hostility increases toward a personal target. Pure jokes are not a problem. Any of these kinds of communications delivered without a real personal target can also be funny or entertaining. Many standup comics use this type of negative humor which does entertain because the intended target is not a real person. Sarcastic comments can provoke spontaneous audience laughter based upon the comedian's wit and dexterity with words. The audience laughs with relief that the hostility in the comment is directed toward a hypothetical other person. For example, a few remarks by Groucho Marx: "No, Groucho is not my real name. I am breaking it in for a friend." "I have had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it.”

When can teasing be ideally playful, affectionate and bonding between two people, one might ask? The answer:  When it is reciprocal between individuals of equal personal power, mutually agreeable as to the tone and content of the teasing, and when there is no direct or indirect hostile undertone

It is certainly true that some people are more able to use teasing — i.e., making fun or mocking someone playfully — in a nice way.  Some people like me can use teasing as a way to make people feel closer, as a way to show friendship — which is obviously a good thing. But maybe that’s more in the nature of “joshing” (teasing lite) than real “teasing.” Some people are good at using teasing as a way to bring up a difficult subject in a way that’s a relief to everyone — very tricky to do well.

In the final analysis, the true test of whether or not you’re being funny is when someone else finds you funny. The test of whether or not your teasing is friendly is when the person being teased finds it friendly.  Simple as that!  But there is always the risk of having it all go wrong.

I have engaged in this test numerous times recently and have come to the conclusion that it behooves me to make a concerted effort to refrain altogether from the impulsive teasing that heretofore turned my crank so gleefully.  It is safer that way!  Cold turkey as it were.

I simply cannot be a selective half-teaser any more than I can be half pregnant, if I could be pregnant.  But you know what I mean!!??

Please bear with me friends if I fall off the wagon from time to time though…It is going to be tough.  No joking about that!

Withdrawal symptoms are about to set in.  I they had a support group for recovering teasers I would be the first in line.

"ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN, ANYTHING HAPPENS ALL THE TIME"

I don't know what it is lately, but I have been picking up on poignant lines from television movies. There is something about them that stimulates a thinking exercise for me and I like that.

Take the Hollywood comedy, "This Is Where I Leave You," starring Jason Bateman and Tina Fey, for instance. Documenting the dysfunctional family of a man who lost it all, the film — based on the novel by Jonathan Tropper — follows members of a Jewish family who come together for a period of mourning after a father’s death. Along the way, they’ll probably find love interests and a new sense of respect and pride for their truly God-awful family.

One of the lines in the recently aired TV trailer for this production was, "Anything can happen. Anything happens all the time." What was is it about this prominent line, spoken by a couple as they lay on the ice of an abandoned arena, that haunts me since hearing it?

Well, there is a strong message here...Life is short. Anything could happen, and it usually does, so there is no point in sitting around thinking about all the ifs, ands and buts. Give anything a chance to happen in due course; if it is meant to happen it will. Believe it or not, the late singer Amie Winehouse expressed similar sentiments in one of her more sober moments.

But there were other lines in the trailer that also stood out for me, like:

"It would be a terrible mistake to go through life thinking people are the sum total of what you see."

"Today has other plans for both of us."

"Secrets are cancer to a family."

"Your father loved YOU, not what you did."

"It's hard to see people from your past when your present is so cataclysmically screwed up."

"I'm way too old to have this much nothing."

I'm still trying to wrap my mind around those exceptional utterances.

So much brain exercise for me stimulated by means of one well-written trailer script by the talented Jonathon Trooper. Hopefully the This Is Where I Leave You series is not cancelled by the network before I get a chance to see its debut in September. I'll be ready for more poignancy by then.

THE SECRET OF CARRYING THE "GRIEF" SUITCASE

"Grief is like a suitcase lying at the foot of your bed and when you wake up and take it with you in the morning sometimes it is too heavy to carry, and other times it is as light as a feather...That is what is known as getting through the day."

This was a line from the ABC network premier of "The Wispers", a TV special that I watched with my wife this evening. We agreed that it was a profound statement in an otherwise ho hum production.

Bereavement is an inevitable part of life and learning how to cope with loss is therefore an important life skill for young people and adults alike. Worden's theory of bereavement processing, outlines three tasks that must be accomplished in order to adapt to the loss: 1) acceptance; working through the pain of grief; 2) adjusting to the new environment without the deceased and, lastly, 3) forming a new and appropriate bond with the deceased that allows the bereaved to move on and reinvest their emotions.

Incomplete grief tasks can cause complicated or unresolved grief (Shear and Shair, 2005) which occurs when normal grief symptoms become acute and persistent and interfere with day to day functioning. Complicated grief can result in physical symptoms and is linked to higher levels of suicidal ideation, increased risk of depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Indeed, grief is a heavy suitcase to carry, but CARRY IT WE MUST!  It is HOW we carry it that matters.