Lynna Clark

Lynna Clark

My beautiful puzzle came from the Our State store. Five hundred and fifty pieces of pure bliss awaited my attention. According to the front of the box, each area of the Old North State is represented. I could hardly wait to get started. Besides, the internet and cable were down; rain pounded the metal awning, and two of my eight year old grandchildren had just arrived. All things indicated a great day to stay inside and assemble a masterpiece.

Marie emptied all the pieces carefully onto the dining table. Wow. Five hundred and fifty pieces make a pretty large pile! Jesse propped the box up for easy reference. Their mom asked where they’d like to live on the map. Since their family had recently visited Cape Lookout, Marie pointed to the horses. “I want to live there with the wild ponies!” That was no surprise as the child loves animals so much that we’ve dubbed her Ellie Mae. Jesse however pointed to the mountains. Apparently bears in the wild are quite inviting to a boy who loves the outdoors. Their family hikes the mountain trails often especially if it means wading through an ice cold stream on a warm day.

“Where would you like to live Grammy?” They peered at me with wonder as if saying it out loud would make it happen. I pointed to the Cheerwine bottle right smack dab in the middle. “I want to live right here, in Salisbury.”

“But you already live in Salisbury!” They reminded me as though I’d forgotten.

“Yep. And there is no place I’d rather be. But I can always visit if you decide to live near the beach or in the mountains. That’s another good thing about living in Salisbury. It’s not too far from anywhere.”

They nodded as they considered their life choices then began sorting the puzzle pieces by color. It’s been years since I worked a big puzzle. Suddenly I felt a bit overwhelmed. When I was a kid the sensible thing to do was to gather all the straight sides, form the outer frame, then fill in from there. The kids however chose their favorite pictures on the map and began finding the pieces they needed. My phone buzzed and I’m glad I checked. The cable guy was on his way. Of course I needed to change into my “greet the cable dude” clothes since my everyday attire has devolved into whatever I happen to have slept in. The backdoor opened and thankfully it was the grandkids’ mother returning from her errand. Like a quick change artist I jumped into my clothes in time to greet the cable guy. Next came David home from work to instruct the repairman. The kids never looked up. I sat down again trying to gather my thoughts. A small pile of green straight edges greeted me. Surely I could make the bottom border. Glancing at the progress of the kids I found that Jesse had completed not only the bear but also Chimney Rock, the waterfall, the Christmas tree lot and a jug of moonshine. “Save all the red for me. I’m putting together the cardinal,” he instructed. Marie had the wild horses and several light houses finished. Quickly she worked her way down the coast. She gazed at me with sympathy. “Here Grammy. Try these pieces.” Sweetly she handed me two pieces that seemed to have no rhyme or reason. I couldn’t get them to fit.

“Switch them around like this.” Her tiny fingers showed me how. Eventually I got it to work. She held her hand up for a high five. “You did it! Now here are two more. You can do it Grammy.” Her sweet encouragement made me laugh. Apparently the brain fog from chemo a few years back is still in effect. At least that’s the story I’m sticking with. Absentmindedly I attached my little section to Jesse’s part where he’d not only finished the cardinal but had started the state flower. “Yay Grammy! Good job!” He too high-fived me before resuming his search for dogwood leaves.

Eventually the cable was repaired, the internet was restored and the rain stopped. But no one seemed to notice. We were too busy finishing the Moravian star and the Cheerwine bottle.

Home sweet Salisbury! Don’t I love it?! It’s really not too far from anywhere!

By Lynna Clark

Do you find it hard to buy for the men in your life? You’d think living with someone for nearly forty seven years would give me a clue. Nope… still clueless. Currently we are trying to improve our little love shack. Not a full blown remodel; just a few things to make our nest more efficient. Since David enjoys cooking I ordered a large slab of butcher block to enlarge his workspace beside the stove. The box was delivered to the front steps where only strangers venture. I mean really. Look at the entrance. There are enough spider webs covering that space to suggest it’s still Halloween. Maybe that’s why the delivery guy dumped the box on the ground beside the steps. He must’ve took one look and decided not to risk it.

Even though it was very heavy I figured I could slide the box around the house to the real door. Well, I tried. About three inches and several painful warning signs later it hit me. Apparently I am not a spring chicken any more. I have to say I was not quite ready for that shocking revelation. Sometimes life is just not very polite. About three hours later I got a Christmas miracle. One of our daughters and a grown granddaughter happened by and were able to get the box into the house. Those girls are freakishly strong for a couple of skinny chicks. I did a happy dance… actually a happy waddle and took joy in the gift that I knew my sweetheart would love.

Christmas morning came. I clapped like a little girl rejoicing that for once his present did not contain socks or underwear. He pulled his pocket knife out and carefully opened the gift. The look on his face said, “You bought me countertops?” So I explained how the piece would have to be cut to fit over the dishwasher beside the stove then fastened to the wall so he could “Mise-en-Place” [arrange all his ingredients] and chop to his heart’s content. Again the look. This time it said, “How wonderful… a project.”

I know this man. He’s not unkind. He just wasn’t sure what to do with his face. Then we pulled the rest of the box off his gift to discover even more wonderfulness. The thing was busted. BUT it was actually broken at exactly where we would have cut it. Though the edge is a bit jagged, we decided to use it rather than go to the trouble of sending it back. David stained it, sealed it, put it in place and invited me to see how it turned out. I tipped my head at the broken piece against the wall standing up as a backsplash.

“It’s like a live edge,” he explained. I looked at him wondering what to do with my face. He gave me a smile and I realized. He DOES like it! So we shall enjoy it just the way it is. Together throughout our many similar adventures we have learned that things do not have to be perfect to be good and useful. That wisdom along with so much contentment only comes with age. Perhaps it’s a good thing I’m not a spring chicken any more. To that I say, “Waddle on!”

By Lynna Clark

I’m pretty good at hiding my crazy. But sometimes it’s a bit disconcerting even to me. For instance: I can’t stand to raise the blinds and leave them a bit cock-eyed. That won’t do even for a minute. I hate marking something out with an ink pen when I mess up. I just get a new piece of paper and start over; even on something as minor as a grocery list. And I really hate grammatical errors to the point that I have a hard time texting. While I’m trying to be all hip by getting used to abbreviations, I still think twice before using “lol.” Probably because for the longest time I thought folks were sending me lots of love.

Annyyywayyy…

I got a new day planner for 2021 as if my life is so busy I need to take careful notes. The only thing I have to keep up with now is all the doctor appointments. Like my mom-in-law used to say, “When you get to a certain age, there’s always somewhere to go; either the drug store, the doctor or the funeral home.” Sadly, I think I’m there. As I added the January appointment to my new calendar, I put it on the wrong stinkin’ date. My fresh clean planner is already messed up! It felt like a bad omen. As my hopes for the new year plummeted, I thought of the white-out stashed in my desk. Quickly I tried to cover up the mess. But alas. The cure was worse than the error. A crusty white blob stared back at me on my fresh new year.

Panic squeezed my chest until I realized the soiled date is also Winter Spruce Up. This magical day is celebrated throughout our small town by hauling all manner of unwanted junk to the curb. Diligent city workers will cart away discarded treasures for FREE! In our case it will be the 1980’s model washer and dryer that died simultaneously on black Friday. These faithful friends have been part of our lives longer than I can remember; much like the shoes of the children of Israel as they trudged through the wilderness. Those things just never went out of style. Another good thing about being crazy is that the word FREE covers a multitude of angst. PLUS now I have something to write over the white-out on my new calendar. Carefully I printed “SPRUCE UP” over my former mess. It’s not perfect, but it is better.

Last year taught me many things. Probably most important is that I am not in control. Who would have ever suspected that as organized and careful as we are we’d get caught with our britches down and nothing to wipe with.

No… I am definitely not in control. No matter how much I plan, stuff happens. Appliances will give up the ghost right before Christmas. Sickness will hit no matter how healthy we eat. There’s not enough white-out in the world to cover our crazy. However, God “knows how weak we are; He remembers we are only dust. Our days on earth are like grass; like wildflowers, we bloom and die as though we had never been here. BUT! The love of the Lord remains forever with those who fear Him.” –Psalm 103:14-17

The best way I know to deal with crazy is to give my uncertainties to the Father. I function much better with Him in charge anyway. As it turns out, He’s really good at making some very useful things out of dust.

By Lynna Clark

Truth Worth Hanging Onto

My mom-in-law used a handful of catchy phrases that she deemed appropriate for certain situations. For example: If someone thought they were “all that” and dropped the ball at church or a family function, she would remind us that “One monkey don’t stop the show.” If something hurtful happened she was quick to remind us that “What doesn’t kill us will make us stronger.” When plans changed unexpectedly we knew we could count on her to say, “When God closes a door, He opens a window.”

I think my favorite, and her wisest saying was that “Things won’t always be this way.” In 2020 after the year most folks have had, I believe we can all shout a loud “Halleluiah” to that!

I hear talk about our new normal.

Nope.

I refuse to let this become my new normal. I look forward to handing out all the hugs I want; to smiling without hiding it behind a mask; to watching television without all the fearful warnings and even better, without the political ads filled with lies and character assaults.

I think we’re better than this.

I think this year has been a wakeup call to remind us of how good it is to work hard, send our children to school to professionals who know stuff; to shop for groceries without looking at each other suspiciously; and best of all to worship without fear. Let’s return to THAT normal!

After all, what hasn’t killed us has surely made us stronger!

PS:

While the proverbs of my beautiful southern mom-in-law are very wise, she would agree that Scripture is wiser still. May the Lord strengthen us to rest in His promises.

“The Lord is good, a Stronghold in the day of trouble. And He knows the ones who trust in Him!” – Nahum 1:7

Amen!

By Lynna Clark

My beautiful puzzle came from the Our State store. Five hundred and fifty pieces of pure bliss awaited my attention. According to the front of the box, each area of the Old North State is represented. I envisioned framing the completed puzzle and hanging it just above a wooden American flag a friend of mine handcrafted. On that same wall is a pen and ink drawing of David’s mother’s house by his cousin Michael. In my mind’s eye the puzzle would be perfect there. I could hardly wait to get started. Besides, the internet and cable were down; rain pounded the metal awning, and two of my eight year old grandchildren had just arrived. All things indicated a great day to stay inside and assemble a masterpiece.

Marie emptied all the pieces carefully onto the dining table. Wow. Five hundred and fifty pieces make a pretty large pile! Jesse propped the box up for easy reference. Their mom asked where they’d like to live on the map. Since their family had recently visited Cape Lookout, Marie pointed to the horses. “I want to live there with the wild ponies!” That was no surprise as the child loves animals so much that we’ve dubbed her Ellie Mae. Jesse however pointed to the mountains. Apparently bears in the wild are quite inviting to a boy who loves the outdoors. Their family hikes the mountain trails often especially if it means wading through an ice cold stream on a warm day.

“Where would you like to live Grammy?” They peered at me with wonder as if saying it out loud would make it happen. I pointed to the Cheerwine bottle right smack dab in the middle. “I want to live right here, in Salisbury.”

“But you already live in Salisbury!” They reminded me as though I’d forgotten.

“Yep. And there is no place I’d rather be. But I can always visit if you decide to live near the beach or in the mountains. That’s another good thing about living in Salisbury. I’m not too far from anywhere.”

They nodded as they considered their life choices then began sorting the puzzle pieces by color. It’s been years since I worked a big puzzle. Suddenly I felt a bit overwhelmed. When I was a kid the sensible thing to do was to gather all the straight sides, form the outer frame, then fill in from there. The kids however chose their favorite pictures on the map and began finding the pieces they needed. My phone buzzed and I’m glad I checked. The cable guy was on his way. Of course I needed to change into my “greet the cable dude” clothes since my everyday attire has devolved into whatever I happen to have slept in. The backdoor opened and thankfully it was the grandkids’ mother returning from her errand. Like a quick change artist I jumped into my clothes in time to greet the cable guy. Next came David home from work to instruct the repairman. The kids never looked up. I sat down again trying to gather my thoughts. A small pile of green straight edges greeted me. Surely I could make the bottom border. Glancing at the progress of the kids I found that Jesse had completed not only the bear but also Chimney Rock, the waterfall, the Christmas tree lot and a jug of moonshine. “Save all the red for me. I’m putting together the cardinal,” he instructed. Marie had the wild horses and several light houses finished. Quickly she worked her way down the coast. She gazed at me with sympathy. “Here Grammy. Try these pieces.” Sweetly she handed me two pieces that seemed to have no rhyme or reason. I couldn’t get them to fit.

“Switch them around like this.” Her tiny fingers showed me how. Eventually I got it to work. She held her hand up for a high five. “You did it! Now here are two more. You can do it Grammy.” Her sweet encouragement made me laugh. Apparently the brain fog from chemo a few years back is still in effect. At least that’s the story I’m sticking with. Absentmindedly I attached my little section to Jesse’s part where he’d not only finished the cardinal but had started the state flower. “Yay Grammy! Good job!” He too high-fived me before resuming his search for dogwood leaves.

Eventually the cable was repaired, the internet was restored and the rain stopped. But no one seemed to notice. We were too busy finishing the Moravian star and the Cheerwine bottle.

Home sweet Salisbury! Don’t I love it?! Not too far from anywhere!

By Lynna Clark

So how was your Labor Day weekend? I heard a lady say once that growing up on a farm with seven siblings, their dad had them convinced that Labor Day was the one day of the year when folks worked the hardest. No picnics on THAT farm!

Traditionally our family gathered at Mama and Daddy’s lake house. He would fry fresh chicken outdoors in a giant cast iron skillet over a fire. He knew exactly how to keep the temperature right so the chicken would be tender and juicy inside but crispy on the outside. THAT my friend is an ART! My mouth waters at the memory of it. Mama made homemade potato salad and slaw. We’d usually have green beans and corn from the garden and plenty of desserts. On patriotic holidays Mama would also make cherry yum-yum to look like the American flag. Blueberry pie filling in one corner represented the stars while alternating stripes of cherries and cream cheese filling completed Old Glory. One of the new sons-in-law, made the mistake of dipping into the stars all willy-nilly. Every relative there had to point out that “THE NEW GUY ATE ALL 50 STATES!” The NERVE!

After Mama’s passing, Daddy moved to the lake full time. It’s a beautiful place with a gorgeous view. But we sure miss Mama. She was in charge of life jacket reminders, menu assignments, small flags for the grandchildren to wave, and generally keeping the chaos organized. Of course she also kept watch so no one went swimming before waiting the obligatory thirty minutes after eating. Her biggest job was keeping Daddy in line. That always turned out to be her most challenging assignment.

Daddy’s birthday is near Labor Day. He turned eighty seven this year. Praise God he is still strong and healthy. It may or may not have something to do with the t-shirt one of the kids gave him years ago. It included the blessing/curse assuring that the grumpier one is, the longer God lets them live.

Just sayin’.

We didn’t get to go to the lake this year. I really missed it. But apparently Daddy has been grumpier than me for he’s still kickin’ while I can barely function. It’s hard to come to grips with change. Seasons come and go. It shouldn’t surprise me that change is going to happen. Then it does and I find once again that I don’t much like it. Currently our country seems to be going through an extreme amount of change all at once. I had a teacher who used to say, “Do the best you can with what you’ve got; then forget the rest.”

So for now, while we still can, let’s have all the picnics, wave all the flags, find reasons to laugh with one another, and forget the rest. Life and change will continue to happen. Let’s make the best of what we have and by God’s grace let go of the rest; Even if it means no blueberries in our yum-yum.

By Lynna Clark

Currently there are two hurricanes headed for the Gulf States; twin harbingers of chaos and destruction named Laura and Marco. Twins are like that you know. My mom used to tell of taking us three girls to Noah’s Five and Dime in Landis when we were small. My sisters who are twins would immediately wrench their little hands from our mother’s grasp and take off in different directions. It was a fun game of cat and mouse… until mama got them home. This regular occurrence was not due to lack of discipline. Believe me, there was plenty of that. I think it was more about what my two younger siblings considered to be fun. Apparently they inherited our daddy’s talent for mischief. I remember one time coming back to the house from the garden with mama and finding the screen door locked with those two goobers inside. Like a couple spider monkeys they sat on the kitchen counter with a box of vanilla wafers, stuffing as many in their mouths as possible. Through the screen mama implored them to unlatch the door.

“Cain’t,” mumbled one of them. “Stuck,” mumbled the other. Eventually mama convinced them to use the broom handle to pop the latch off. It took a while as there were many cookie breaks between tries. Sometimes I wonder how mama held it together raising us three. Of course I was a lovely child never prone to wander. So at least there was that.

As David and I watched the weather channel the other night detailing the projected paths of the twin hurricanes, the weather person pointed to the map and a large red swath moving inland from the Gulf. With a solemn voice meant to relay the severity of the situation she intoned. “This is the cone of uncertainty.”

We looked at each other and laughed. “Really? So that’s what that looks like! Only shouldn’t it cover the entire world at this point? Or at least our whole country?” If you’re like us, life feels a lot like a big fat cone of uncertainty. Chaos and destruction are reported on every hand. You can’t watch a Braves game without Covid being mentioned a hundred times. At least the victory celebrations have gotten more interesting. Grown men dancing in the outfield approximately six feet apart is kind of fun.

For now, I think I shall relax in the uncertainty. Though I am not one who likes surprises I’ve learned. It’s not about what I like. We’ve lived long enough to have suffered loss of loved ones, loss of homes, loss of churches and health and jobs. When you’ve been through a few crap storms you grow to realize. There is only One Who knows the end from the beginning. He is not surprised or caught off guard at our current events. The important thing to do is to pray. Hand it all to Him. I’m telling you this from experience. Giving Him the load to bear and trusting Him for the outcome is the only way to navigate the current cone of uncertainty. That way, when the dust settles, the troubles we have are not of our own making; like ulcers from worry, high blood pressure from irritation, or guilt from an angry response. In fact, I think a vanilla wafer might be in order. Perhaps with a little peanut butter. The world can yell through the screen door all it wants. The Lord is in charge of me. He alone is faithful.

By Lynna Clark

Ahhh… summertime in my sweet home of North Carolina. Where it’s not only hot enough to fry an egg on the hood of a truck, but also a great time to try out the meatloaf recipe you can bake in your mailbox. Where construction crews are busy spreading molten tar but are kind enough to put up warning signs if there’s going to be a bump in the road. A magical time when children run through the sprinkler just to cool off; that is if you can coax them outside into this blazing Hades we call July. But first they must be coated with sunscreen compatible with the surface of the sun. A thick layer of bug repellent is also mandatory lest mosquitoes the size of chickens carry them off. Then of course it’s important to thoroughly wash all that off the moment they come back inside so the poison applied for protection doesn’t cause brain damage.

Don’t tell anyone. But being the tired grandmother that I am, I’ve begun ditching the obligatory outdoor time. Instead I just toss them into a bath of lukewarm water where they can slosh and play all they want. It’s my idea of skipping the middle man. They’re not permitted to get bored until their little fingertips shrivel up like tiny raisins. Then and only then are they allowed to dry off and go to the next level of entertainment. I think to myself, “What a wonderful world!” Well… and also, “Legos don’t look so boring now do they?” MUWAHAHAH! This granny wasn’t born yesterday! [Obviously]

When their moms return from grocery shopping they are greeted by excited chatter explaining their Lego village. I stand amazed at the construction before me which easily rivals the Charlotte skyline. There are shops and vehicles and picnic tables and rooftop patios and even a little windmill suggesting a miniature golf course. Suddenly their moms are having a hard time getting them to leave. So a timer is set for thirty minutes of grace given for extra play. The adults retreat to the den with blankets and cups of coffee since the air is cranked up to a comfortable “granny level.” Though the timer has long ago sounded, everyone is quiet lest the spell is broken and playtime grace is ended.

When our three kids were small, they played outside all day. It was a necessary strategy in order to maintain my own delicate psyche. So at first I felt guilty for allowing my grands to play inside. But dang it’s hot! This happens every year and I’m just now recognizing this little bump in the road. Therefore I’ve decided: the kids can play outside this fall. And if they beg to come in, the reply on our lips shall be, “Sure! I’ve got a laundry basket full of socks to sort. You can help!” MUWAHAHAHA! Suddenly jumping in the leaves will look pretty fun again!

OH! I must go. I almost forgot to retrieve the meatloaf from the mailbox. Our mail carrier might think I’m nuts if I let that thing burn!

By Lynna Clark

If I were ever nominated for sainthood I’d have to decline the honor. I remember vividly one day years ago when our three daughters were young enough to toss into the tub together. We were in a very small rental and I was struggling physically. I thought that if the girls would play in the tub maybe I could sit in a chair and rest for a few minutes. When I stepped in to check on them the lovely green shag carpet squished beneath my feet. The floor was saturated with at least two inches of water.

“HOW DID YOU GIRLS MAKE SUCH A MESS?!”

[In case you’re wondering, the caps aren’t locked. I was screaming. Generally I’m not a screamer but at that particular moment I made an exception.] Three cherub faces went from exceeding joy to fearful explanation. “We were just playing Whoopeedaw.”

“WHAT THE BLANK IS WHOOPEEDAW?!!” [Yes I was swearing. Until that point the girls had only heard that word in Sunday school in the Biblical context.]

Tearfully the eldest explained. “You know… WHOOP-ee-daw! That’s when we slide to the front, then slide to the back, and a big wave comes and we yell ‘WHOOPEEDAW!’’ By then all three of them were sitting quietly trying to suck tears back into their faces. It’s funny today, but at the time I thought I might lose my ever-lovin’ mind. Along with this episode and a few others which shall remain unconfessed, I nullified my chance at mother of the year.

Have you noticed the current trend? On Mother’s Day we extol the virtues of those who’ve raised kids to near sainthood. But on Father’s Day, woe to the man who ventures into church. Typically he will be chastised and berated for defects he may or may not have. Sadly it’s much easier to spot the shortcomings of others than the failures in our own lives.

Another current trend is all inclusive blame. ALL democrats are blank. All Southerners are blank. All men are blank. It’s gotten so bad I feel guilty for being alive. Can we just stop it? What if we lived without condemnation and allowed others to do the same? I doubt seriously that any of us really qualify for sainthood. Remember that time YOU made a mess for someone else to clean up? Remember that time you said hateful words while you were angry? Remember that time you got aggravated at church and wished you were on the golf course? Yeah… me too, except I don’t play golf. Let’s take a step back and realize that in the grand scheme of things, we’ve got it pretty good; even if our green shag carpet is soaked beyond repair. The Lord, as usual, cuts to the chase with a few simple solutions. “This is what He requires of you: to do what is right, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.” –Micah 6:8b

I think it’s worth a try. WHOOPEEDAW!

By Lynna Clark

Too bad the Corona virus hit during allergy season. Most of us don’t know if we have a week to live or if we should just take a Zyrtek. My poor husband was in line waiting to get into the grocery store during “senior hours” the other morning when he had a sneezing fit. He felt obligated to shout loud enough for everyone standing six feet apart to hear that it was just the pollen trying to get out of his head. Who would’ve thought that a sneeze would prompt dirty looks instead of the traditional Southern blessing? So I’ll say it instead. Bless his sweet heart. He’s doing all he knows how to lighten the mood when he has to go out. He’s friendly and makes funny comments about washing his hands so much that he no longer has fingerprints.

“Eventually that’s gonna come in handy since everyone is used to wearing masks, even to the bank.” I’ve begun to notice that his laugh is a little suspect. Silently I wonder if he’s got a plan to stimulate our own personal economy.

Our son-in-law finally found toilet paper at the Family Dollar. He didn’t realize it was lavender scented until his son informed that he didn’t much care for it. The general consensus is that the bathroom should smell like either flowers or poop but definitely not both at once. David found hand soap and bought it even though we don’t care for the floral variety. Like our grandson, there’s just something amiss about honeysuckle combined with certain odors.

I feel sure we’re all making do and learning new things during this funky time. I had my six month cancer check-up online last week. Somehow we opened a portal and the nurse practitioner, who was working from home, got to view my lovely giant head on her screen as she conducted the exam. She had to stop at one point to check on her kids. I was just thankful she opted out of the virtual breast exam. Praise God for small favors. My regular doc, beloved Ms. Adams, had her nurse Kourtney call to check on me too. These women are bound to be exhausted. But what kindness! Nobody has to shout “Bless you!” for me to know I’m blessed.

David’s learning to work from home during all this. He can make calls and set appointments through his laptop… unless the internet dies. For three days he struggled with lost signals, dropped calls, etc. until finally a nice guy in tech support tried to help. Though eventually Raul lost connection and David had to start all over, Rosette stepped in to rescue. Several hours later, access to the World Wide Web was once again at his fingertips. Like me when I figured out how to enter the Medical Portal of Wellness, the man was nearly dancing with joy over his accomplishment. When I asked how he got it hooked back up he shook his head. “I have NO idea.” I think if he could, he’d send Rosette flowers. Perhaps she would enjoy a virtual bouquet.

It used to be considered an act of kindness to rewind our videos from Blockbuster. Currently I think kindness is about realizing that everyone is going through an unusual set of circumstances, then doing what we can to lighten the load. Here’s to those of you going the extra mile. Please accept this virtual bouquet from my heart to yours. May God bless you even when you must sneeze the sneeze of shame.