2018 gold medal

If following the 2018 Winter Olympic Games were an event, I wouldn’t be on the medal podium. Nonetheless, I have been watching many of the events.  In doing so, my Americanism comes out. Not that I’m anti any other participating country, but…you know what I mean.

Recently I heard a number of reporters talk about America’s poor showing at the games (hte lowest medal count in two decades is what I heard.)

Just because we’re America does that mean we have to win a gazillion gold and a similar number of silver and bronze medals.  Are we supposed to be embarrassed? Are we supposed to make excuses and say wait until 2022?

I was never in the spotlight so I can’t honestly tell you what it must be like to bear the burden of always being number one.  Or, are we at fault because we brag about how great we are in everything?

At a time in history when nationalism should be minimized on the world stage, we, the people of the world, seem to be more nationalistic than ever.

It made me think about being an American in the Trump years.  I distance myself from the president because on a personal level he would be the last person I’d like to be stuck in an elevator with.

I believe America’s number one export should be unvarnished kindness and our number one import should be unfettered understanding.  Instead of building walls, we need to be paving the world with yellow bricks that criss-cross the world.  In our desire to conquer space, we need to conquer fear and hatred right here on earth.

I was tempted to post this in an abbreviated form on Facebook, I opted not to because lately I’m feeling very uncomfortable on this popular form of social media.

Because I have no WordPress blog friends I don’t have to get any likes.  I just have to like what I said.


afric's gift to America

When I was in seventh grade my father gave me a book, It was “Africa’s Gift to America.” It not only change the way I saw the world, it changed my life because it opened my eyes to a world I knew nothing about.

The Civil Rights Act of 1957 was four years old, and Rosa Parks bold move had happened six years earlier.  I was too young to fully grasp what was happening in the country, but I believe my father thought I needed some educating.

And what an education it was.  Page after page was filled with information and stories about the many great gifts African-Americans had given to a country that was supposed to be founded on the belief that all men were created equal.

I kept the book on my bookshelf until I went to college.  While the pages were not  dog-eared, the book did show definite signs of wear.  I used what I considered one of my favorite books for more than a paper or two in high school. And never tired of reading it.

As a college sophomore I donated my copy of “Africa’s Gift to America” to the library because I believed it needed to be shared.

Close to three-decades after my father gave me “Africa’s Gift to America,” I wrote a story greatly influenced by the book.


Black History was always more than a month for me.

The Tin Man’s heart goes out to all the victims of the latest “unnecessary” tragedy at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, to their families, friends and the surrounding community.

How many more tears need to be shed?

crying tinman two

Meaningful art from: https://only-enemy.deviantart.com/art/The-Tin-Man-Lost-His-Heart-208524222

fur coat


(Back in 1972 I wrote a Christmas story I included with my Christmas card. It became a tradition.  Just sharing my story for 2017)

Xmas 2017 The Coat


Tweeting on the YBR.

Looking back to a seven year old blog.

Along The Yellow Brick Road

Dorothy completed her journey along the yellow brick road without the benefit of any manner of technology. The jury is still out on how much better out lives are because we live in such high-tech times.

Indulge me in a “what-if” moment. What if Dorothy did have access to some 21st century wizardry? What if she had had the ability to ‘tweet.’ What would she have tweeted. Perhaps some of the following might have been found on her Twitter account:

You call that a gentle breeze, Aunt Em? Gentle breeze my fanny. It was a twister. And yeah, hanks for locking me out of the storm cellar.

Just dropped in on this woman. Have to be a little more careful if I ever expect to get a driver’s license.

The vertically challenged citizens say they’re Munchkins. Whatever.

Talk about being over-dressed. Glinda, the hat was a bit much, but thanks…

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ybr in fall

There is something about autumn that I like…even a little more than the other seasons. And since today (Friday, September 22, 2017) autumn will begin at 4:02 pm (EST), what better way to extol the virtues of his amazing season.

Autumn doesn’t come in like the Lion on the yellow brick road. Rather it creeps up on us often masquerading as summer until one morning we wake up and all the leaves on the trees have turned from green to a painter’s pallet of reds, oranges and yellows.

I think autumn is a season to reflect on where we’ve been and where we’re going. If summer is the season where we inhale, autumn is the season where we slowly exhale. It’s the season that gives us a chance to catch our breath.

My time on the YBR has told me that people don’t really want to exhale. People would rather hold their breath than to let it out.  I think people are so afraid of letting go.

British novelist, Samuel Butler, once said “Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.”

Despite the political chaos that is spinning out of control like a wicked twister, we would be wise to welcome the mellow and let it wash over us.

There’s nothing better than autumn on the YBR.