Why Richard Lakin Was the Last Person I Expected to Die in a Terror Attack

The details of the terror attack were chilling. Shot and stabbed on a Jerusalem bus, the 76-year-old grandfather fought for his life for two weeks before succumbing to his injuries. To many of us, such news of an horrific event half a world away would have little meaning, other than to prick our consciences in an effort to remind us that the world is still an uncivilized, cruel place. We watch the nightmare that is Syria drive people of faith from their homes, desperate people in search of sanctuary. But in Israel, a hot bed of unrest and unending civil war? Why should we care about what an angry Arab terrorist did to Richard Lakin?

I’ll tell you why we should care. Richard Lakin was a teacher in my school when I was growing up. He was someone we respected because he “played fair”. He wasn’t a boisterous, loud, charismatic leader. I remember him as dignified, dedicated, determined. He expected us to behave and in return for our cooperation, he opened doors for us — to a world we had yet to explore. He was a man who brought a sense of community to our school, who asked us to treat our fellow students with the same kindness we sought for ourselves. He encouraged us to be the best human beings we could be and instilled in us the conscious realization that we were all in this together.

Years later, when I was a student teacher, I had the pleasure of working in his school when he was principal. He hadn’t changed his philosophy. Every student mattered, even the difficult ones, even those who didn’t quite “get it”. He was the epitome of the quintessential educator.

And yet, somehow, through circumstances that are beyond our comprehension, this kind, compassionate man, who spent a lifetime shaping the lives of his students and guiding minds to develop their social consciences so that they might reach out to make the world a better place, lost his life on a bus in Jerusalem.

Mr. Lakin was a true man of faith. He believed in God, and because he believed in God, he believed in humanity. We who had the opportunity to meet him on the road of life were affected by his actions in ways that encouraged us to choose to make a difference. And yet, Mr. Lakin died at the hands of an angry, disaffected Arab terrorist, the very sort of person he would have wanted to help before the hate claimed his heart. The very sort of child Mr. Lakin would have taken under his wing and nurtured, opening doors to a world beyond the violence that is epidemic in the Middle East.

I never expected to hear that Mr. Lakin was that victim on a bus that was halted on a Jerusalem street, stabbed and shot in some random act of violence that purported somehow equal the score between Arabs and Jews. No, Mr. Lakin was a peacemaker, a healer, a respecter of people. Did the terrorist who took his knife and thrust it into this kind, decent man realize the wrongness of his actions? Did the terrorist who then shot this man of peace realize just what he took from all of us? Above all, did he understand that in committing these horrible acts, he harmed himself, his people, his cause?

Mr. Lakin believed in children. That’s what made him a great teacher. He believed we could all co-exist in this world. That’s what made him a great man. His death is but another reminder that the world is becoming a less civilized place. As we let go of that tether that kindles our awareness that we live on the same planet, when we isolate ourselves in anger and bitterness, the world becomes a darker place, a more dangerous place. Mr. Lakin asked us to think of others, to respect their needs with as much intensity as we do our own. He chose to do that himself. Surely that is the very principle behind the belief that the struggles of our fellow human beings could be our own. Wouldn’t we want to feel connected in our hour of need, to know that people care? “There, but for the Grace of God, go I.”

Richard Lakin may have perished at the hands of a terrorist, but that poignant loss reminds those of us who were lucky enough to meet him on the path of life that we all bear a responsibility to encourage, nurture, and seek goodness in our fellow human beings. We must not be silent in doing so, not if we are people of faith. When you think of Richard Lakin, when his name is spoken on the news or written about in the media, don’t think of him as a statistic. Don’t see him as a victim of a senseless terror attack on a Jerusalem street. Think of him as a man who genuinely sought to make the world a better place for all. Let him inspire you to undertake that little act of kindness that your conscience calls for you to make. Remember that the people you meet on the road of life are counting on you to try a little harder, to do a little more. Be a candle in the dark night. Shine.

Worst Dog Attack Story I’ve Heard in a Long Time

I love hiking. I love my dog. But as a dog owner of a tiny terrier, I’ve given up hiking with him because of a growing problem with irresponsible dog owners allowing their dogs to run free.

Before you think I’m just being a fusspot about this, I’ll tell you that I know big, strong dog-less men who have given up certain hiking and biking trails because they’ve been jumped by unattended dogs. Nothing spoils a beautiful afternoon faster than a hundred-pound canine leaping at you from out of nowhere.

And it’s not like I’m a nervous Nellie in the woods. Heck, I grew up playing serious hide-and-seek, where stepping on skunk cabbage could give away your position and sometimes the best place to conceal yourself included sharing space other critters. I know enough to make a lot of noise when I come upon a skunk at night, because they don’t like to be startled. I’ve sprinted away from a rattlesnake I didn’t mean to disturb, had a delirious woodchuck with a brain parasite try to bite my feet, and even caught a red hawk lying in wait for my little pooch to wander by. When coyotes set up a den in the neighborhood several years ago, I learned to track them when I walked the dog because I know that when you see one coyote, you have to assume there’s a second, since they hunt in pairs. Then a family of foxes developed a taste for cats, and our neighborhood kitties started disappearing. The concern was that little dogs were next on the menu, so I had to be vigilant. Recently, there’s been a small bear wandering around, in addition to the wolverine-like fisher cats that can be found in the deep woods. As a nature lover, I know that safety on a hike is always my responsibility. I never step onto a trailhead without reminding myself that I must be prepared at all times to react to whatever danger pops up.

But for me and many other dog owners, it’s the loose, roaming “nice” dogs that pose the greatest threat to our pets and ourselves. This is a case in point. About a month ago, in a popular hiking area where I used to go, a woman’s 35-pound “goldendoodle” dog was attacked by one of two pit bulls off-leash. In the process of trying to rescue her dog, she was bitten on her hand and arm.

And the owners? Well, they had reassured the woman that their pit bulls were friendly just moments before one of the canines sunk his teeth in the “goldendoodle’s” hind quarters.

So, by now you’re probably trying to imagine the rest of the story. You’re probably thinking that the owners of the two pit bulls rushed forward to contain their dogs. They came forward, and yes, they pulled their dogs off the poor little “goldendoodle” eventually. But here’s where the story takes a nasty turn. Did the dog owners offer assistance to the bleeding woman or her bleeding dog? No, they scurried away with their two pit bulls. And the conversation overheard? The woman told the man she couldn’t believe it happened AGAIN and that this time, the dog would have to go to the pound. Say what?

What would possess anyone whose dog has previously attacked another animal or human to allow that dog off leash in any public space? And how in God’s name can you leave an injured woman and dog in the middle of the wilderness? Think about that a moment. In an area where the wildlife includes fisher cats, bears, foxes, coyotes, and other carnivores, where the nearest house is a good twenty minutes away, you have the audacity to leave two bleeding victims? That’s unconscionable.

You might think that’s the end of the story, but it’s not. Whenever there is a dog bite to a human, the human requires treatment. In this case, the offending dog was not apprehended. That meant that the victim had to receive more than just a tetanus shot and a bandage or two. She needed a series of rabies shots. After all, anyone who lets an aggressive dog attack more than once might just be the same kind of person who doesn’t bother to get the dog vaccinated.

We have leash laws for a reason. The public has the right to hike without unwanted interference from aggressive or “overly friendly” dogs. Most dog owners understand this and respect the need to control their animals. But for those of us who are subjected to dog attacks because the owners are irresponsible, sometimes the risks just aren’t worth taking. This particular dog owner tried to do everything right, but she was sabotaged by dog owners who refused to accept responsibility for their pets. They left without even trying to make it right. If that isn’t the epitome of antisocial behavior, what is? The phrase “depraved indifference” seems an adept description of this behavior.

Will the owners of the attacking pit bull get away with this? It hardly seems likely. It turns out they were known to frequent that area, so other hikers were able to provide animal control officers with information. With two pit bulls in tow, the tall strawberry blonde woman and her companion are now on the “most wanted” list of area hikers, armed with cameras and cell phones. The couple may think that moving to another trail in another town will save them, but it won’t. They will eventually get caught when their “friendly” pit bulls are yet again off-leash. Let’s hope that no one else is injured because of their blatant disregard for the rights of others.

Is Your Age-Related Hearing Loss Making You Feel Like an Idiot?

It’s your fault you didn’t hear what was said….You weren’t paying attention….You’ve changed….You can’t keep up any longer….You’re old! 

Has age robbed you of your ability to keep up with conversations? I’m not here to sell you a hearing aid. I’m here to tell you that you’re not an idiot when you don’t understand what is said to you. You haven’t lost your grip or turned into an ancient crone overnight. You’re still you and you need to make sure folks understand that.

I didn’t lose my hearing as the result of aging, although I do admit it has gotten worse over the last few years. I have spent decades navigating the world without normal hearing. That’s why I want you, as someone who has developed hearing difficulties later in life, to understand that how you handle this can make a difference. I also want you to know that you have rights and protections under the Americans with Disabilities Act when you find yourself in a serious situation where your ability to understand what is being said to you is compromised.

Most people who used to hear normally often tend to apologize when they realize they can no longer follow conversations. Part of that is due to the perceptions of and the reactions from many people with normal hearing. Nothing will make you feel old faster than losing your hearing, unless you’ve been that way for decades. (For me, it’s my changing eyesight that makes me feel old. Where are them ole granny glasses o’ mine, dagnabbit?)

When your grandson mumbled something about that awesome concert, Suave Dave, did you miss it because you’re an old fogey? Little Skippy thinks so, but that’s because he can’t picture you grooving to Cream, the Stones, or Credence Clearwater Revival back in the days when you were his age, let alone imagine you sporting sideburns hairy enough to look like there were a pair of tarantulas setting up shop in your ears. No, he thinks the reason you two can’t communicate is because you’re old.

And what about you, Savvy Abby, when you go to lunch with the “girls” (all of whom are well over fifty) and you can’t understand what’s being said about the hot and heavy affair Olivia just had with her hunky trainer at the gym, even though the “girls” are using their trademark stage whispers? Do you get that heavy sigh, like you’re just too slow to keep up with them any more, all because you made the cardinal sin of asking them to repeat the gossip?

It’s a lot of work to keep up with people who have normal hearing, but it’s work that’s worth doing. I learned to read lips as a child (oh, yes — you do wind up knowing too many people’s secrets without really trying). I always take a proactive stance. I move closer the source of the sound, even when it means sitting in the front row at a lecture or concert. I watch the person who is speaking to me, looking for facial clues to help me decipher the words I don’t hear. And when I can’t understand what is being said, I speak up.

In your own personal circles, it won’t be easy to come to terms with your hearing loss. It’s a learning curve over time for most families and friends. But in public situations, where you’re conducting business, you can bet your sweet bippy that you have the right to be accommodated.

Recently, I had to conduct business over the phone, something that always makes me cringe. I can never be sure I heard things correctly. (I learned the hard way during a contract negotiation once that it’s necessary to see things in writing.) The moment I began to have difficulty understanding what was said to me, I informed the company representative. The reaction? He talked faster and louder. I asked to speak to someone else, noting that I am hearing-impaired. The second company representative came on the line and did exactly the same thing. By this time, I was fed up in more ways than one. I asked for a supervisor and got bounced to a company representative in another state. The supervisor passed me back to the original two guys, who then bounced me back to the supervisor, who passed me off to a woman in another office in yet another state, who then proceeded to lecture me on how she was there to help me, but I wouldn’t “let” her. Honey, if I can’t understand what you’re saying to me, you’re not accommodating me.

By the time I raised a stink all the way to the corporate office, I finally got someone who actually had been trained to help hearing-impaired people like me. In a very short time, she was able to help me navigate the situation and get it fixed. The irony? She had a thick accent, but because she understood how hearing-impaired people function, she made adjustments so that it was easy for me to follow her conversation. Before we finished our business, I told her that the treatment I received from other employees was unacceptable. She agreed. The company’s official policy is to accommodate hearing-impaired customers, and like many big companies, it has specially-trained personnel for this purpose. Unfortunately, there was a screw-up somewhere in the training process. Thus, the employees I had spoken with earlier thought all they had to do was keep shouting at me and that was accommodation enough. Honey, if I can’t understand what you’re saying to me, you’re not accommodating me.

Why do I tell you about this? You need to understand that when you are conducting business and you have a hearing loss, you may not understand the contractual implications of the conversation you’re having. You could wind up agreeing to something that isn’t what you want. You could possibly be held to that verbal contract you didn’t know you made and that could prove to be an expensive mistake. That’s why you need to be sure you understand the conversation you are having.

The company I was dealing with had changed my phone service without my permission during an “upgrade” of the system. The young employees who were trying to field my call were prepared to switch things around, deleting this and that, but not in ways that I wanted or needed. Had I agreed to let them proceed without getting that clarification, it would have been a costly disaster. And If I hadn’t eventually found someone to accommodate my hearing loss, there would have been no way to fix what the well-meaning employees did.

Many people don’t understand hearing loss or how it affects everyday life. But when your ability to make arrangements with utility companies, service providers, medical facilities, and other critical businesses are negatively impacted, you really do have to stand up for yourself, by recognizing and exercising your rights under the ADA. Unfortunately, you sometimes have to kick and scream when people don’t feel they need to accommodate your hearing loss.

At the drive-up window of the bank today, the usual tellers weren’t there. I handed over my deposit slip and some checks to the unfamiliar woman, who said something I didn’t understand. I explained I was hearing-impaired and asked her to repeat it. She proceeded to chide me for doing something, but dadgummit, I had no idea what I supposedly did or didn’t do. She carried on a conversation in heavily-accented English with herself. I tried to explain that I couldn’t understand what she was saying, given the physical distance my car was from the teller’s window. I told her I was too far away to read her lips. I asked her to write down what the problem was. “That’s not an account.” What’s not an account? I told her multiple times that I couldn’t hear her, but she just continued to talk over me. Honey, if I can’t understand what you’re saying to me, you’re not accommodating me.

By this time, I told her that I wanted everything returned to me, so I could go to the main branch of the bank and speak to someone who would accommodate my hearing impairment. She refused to do this. Instead, she told me everything was fine now. Fine? It’s not fine if I don’t know what went on and if I don’t actually know that the problem was correctly resolved. I’m not willing to take her word for it. What if she deposited my checks into someone else’s account? I had asked for a balance on the account, but she was so busy talking at me, she never bothered to write it down. That’s something I need to see in print, in case there is an error. I want to know what the bank does with my money. More importantly, I have a right to know. Honey, if I can’t understand what you’re saying to me, you’re not accommodating me.

And that’s what I want you to know, now that you are someone who has lost your hearing due to aging. You don’t need to apologize for not being able to understand conversation. You don’t need to feel less than human because you struggle to keep up with what is said to you. You don’t need to feel dumb, stupid, lazy, ignorant, or slow. You do, however, have to look out for yourself.

It helps to meet people in the hearing world half-way. Look at people when they speak to you. Maintain eye contact. That shows you are making the effort to communicate effectively. When someone speaks too fast, it’s okay to tell him to slow down. You are probably not going to hear every word of a sentence, but you need to hear as many words as you can in order to properly extrapolate the context.

Remember the old kiddie game we called Telephone Operator? By the time the original whispered message got all the way around the circle, it no longer made any sense. Hearing loss sometimes causes a similar phenomenon when we get it wrong.

Neighbor says:

“Mind if I borrow your weed whacker this afternoon? I’m having the relatives over for dinner tomorrow night at six and I want to get the yard cleaned up.”

You hear:

“Mind…weed whacker…over for dinner…at six…clean up.”

What happens? Your brain takes those few words and tries to configure them in a way that makes sense. Sometimes there is just not enough information. That’s when things get really hairy.

You think you heard:

“Mind using your weed whacker tomorrow? I want to have you over for dinner at six, after you clean it up.”

If you show up on your neighbor’s doorstep at six, even with a bottle of Chardonnay in hand, it’s going to be awkward. Don’t place a lot of faith in your own abilities to fill in the blanks.

My own favorite experience in “mishearing” a conversation still makes me laugh to this day, but that’s because it happened at a gathering where almost all of the people were hearing-impaired. Someone mentioned that he was participating in a charity event for polar animals. The foundation was in the process of raising money to build new shelters to house them. My mind went into overdrive. It’s got to be expensive to care for polar animals. The shelters must have to have refrigeration units, chain link fencing….Are we talking seals, penguins, polar bears? My curiosity finally got the better of me, so I asked: “What kind of polar animals are being rescued?” There was a long pause. “Polar animals?” And then the laughter started. All these deaf people understood what I had thought I heard. “Oh, no! This is a foundation to rescue older animals! Dogs, cats….”

And on that note, I give you my final piece of advice on living with hearing loss. Keep a sense of humor. Sometimes the only thing you can do is laugh it off.

What Big Dog Owners Need to Know About Little Dog Owners

It’s been just over three years since my little Yorkie, Sweetie, was killed at doggie daycare, all because no one expected a “nice dog” to attack her. That tragedy should never have happened, but it did, and it taught me a very valuable lesson. When it comes to little dogs, you can never let your guard down.

I’ve had it happen more than once — the “nice dog” that comes charging at my little dog from out of nowhere. Not long after adopting another Yorkie, a male with a sweet disposition, I found myself fending off an attack by a bulldog. “Gee,” said the surprised woman standing there as I pushed her dog off mine, “she usually only goes after female dogs.” A dog with a known habit for attacking other dogs was off-leash? It’s an accident waiting to happen. (And making a statement like that after your dog attacks mine is likely to get you hauled into court for irresponsible behavior, especially because you’ve acknowledged your dog’s aggression on previous occasions. )

Today, as I was walking my little dog in a nice neighborhood, enjoying the fine spring day, I never saw the attack coming until it was too late. My little guy was leashed, wearing his harness. Suddenly, I heard shouting. Someone seemed upset, so I turned to track the noise. Much to my horror, I found a white poodle charging us. Desperately trying to grab my dog as this “nice dog” lunged for him, I fully expected the owner to step in and deal with his dog’s aggressive behavior. Instead, I found myself on my own, using that life-saving harness to pull my dog from harm’s way. Without that owner’s help, I had no choice but to protect my dog the second that dog tried to bite him. And that’s what big dog owners need to know about little dog owners like me. I am not afraid of your dog. I’m afraid of what your dog will do to mine. And that means that I am going to do whatever I have to in order to keep my dog safe when your dog attacks.

Vets and dog trainers will tell you that you can’t ever really trust dogs to get along on their own. Even that “nice dog” will become a domineering aggressor if he (or she) perceives the situation to involve prey. And for too many big dogs, that’s exactly what little dogs appear to be.

In this case, the dog ignored not only his owner’s commands, but mine as well. “No, damn it!” The only way for me to get the dog to retreat was to use force. That, in and of itself, creates a huge liability for the owner. While many people presume there are no real consequences when dogs tangle, even big ones going after little ones, there is a much more serious issue to consider. If I am injured because I am trying to protect my dog from an attack by your dog, you can be fined. In this state, it’s a minimum of $1,000. But more importantly, if I am injured while protecting my dog, you’re going to be paying the medical bills. I can also sue you for putting me in that position, not only for pain and suffering I experience because you failed to control your dog, but also for the emotional trauma of the attack.

But the real bottom line is this. If your big dog attacks my little dog, your dog may have to be put to death. Is it the result of your dog being unsociable? No. It’s the result of you not being a responsible dog owner, providing effective training, exercise, and control of your dog. Is that what you really want?

As a responsible dog owner, I am vigilant in not only protecting my own dog, but also in trying to protect yours. I know that the poodle that attacked my dog today was probably not a vicious dog. But I also know something else. When that dog owner finally corralled his dog and dragged him away, he never offered me an apology. In fact, he never said a word to me. He acted like it was no big deal that I actually had to resort to force to get his dog off mine. That’s antisocial behavior, not just from the dog, but more importantly from the owner. Responsible dog owners do the right thing because they respect all dogs, not just their own. They accept the job of not only keeping their own dogs safe, but all dogs.

Don’t assume that just because I have a little dog, I will be intimidated by your big brute. There’s no way I will stand by and allow your dog maul mine. When the dust finally settles, my dog will still be in one piece. Yours may not be. And I’m going to hold you accountable, not only for everything that happens to me and my dog, but also what happens to yours. There will be legal consequences. That’s your wake-up call to heel, my friend.


As the author of several mystery series, I often feature dogs as characters. I am a big believer in pet adoption. Here are two of my free pet-friendly cozy mysteries for your reading pleasure:

Does Valley, AL Really Want the Green Giant as School Safety Officer?

Ho, ho, ho…ut-oh! It looks like it might be time to register all your canned goods as dangerous weapons!

A middle school principal in (of all the possible names) Valley, Alabama sent a letter to parents, informing them of the new safety procedures in the case of a school intruder. Priscilla Holley asked parents to provide each child with an 8-ounce canned item. As quoted by the New York Times, she said: “The canned food item could stun the intruder or even knock him out until the police arrive….The canned food item will give the students a sense of empowerment to protect themselves and will make them feel secure in case an intruder enters their classroom.”


I can see so many reasons why this is a bad idea, having worked with children of that age. Their propensity to panic suggests that a room full of shrieking children tossing cans through the air is more likely to result in significant injuries to the children, rather than the intruder. Little Suzie might not have the proper technique to achieve any great distance. What if she whacks little Bobby, the pride and joy of the Little League, on the head and takes him out of the game? If he’s the only kid with an arm that can aim that can of peas at the dangerous intruder, the class will be left unprotected.


Can safety is very important. I say this because I can still remember the moment, as a 16-year-old, when I first heard my late mother swear. She reached up for a can of Green Giants Niblets, lost her grip, and the can bounced off the counter, landing on her big toe. Boy, was it a shock to hear her utter that profanity!


Do the teachers plan to hold training classes, to instruct each child exactly how to throw the 8-ounce cans? Is the Jolly Green Giant now going to be the school safety officer? Will he be the coach and adviser for the program?


Canned food…empowerment….If an eight-ounce can is sufficient, what about a 12-ounce can? Should that be only allowed for the teachers? In that case, perhaps the school district will provide that old school snack-time favorite, Hawaiian Punch. Think of the sense of empowerment just from the brand name! Why, teachers will feel invincible!


What happens if the children become proficient in can hurling? Will there be can hurling contests among students? Will this replace the biathlon at the Winter Olympics? Skiers shush down the mountainside, cans in hand, and take aim at snowmen?


Should we really believe that a can of corn will ever replace sensible adults, acting to protect students in the classroom? School safety should never be taken lightly, whether the threat is from a student or an outsider. It’s far more reasonable to equip every classroom with a “panic button” and have the office alarm system hooked up with the local police, so that they can respond in a timely fashion.


More importantly, no child should ever be given the idea that tossing a can at a menacing intruder will be a legitimate deterrent to someone who is determined to harm the children. That’s the stuff of cartoons and Hollywood special effects. The Valley, Alabama school system would be better served by consulting with professional security experts on ways to improve safety and sending those canned goods to the cafeteria, where they can feed hungry children.

Are You a Control Freak for Practicing the Golden Rule?

What ever happened to the Golden Rule? Has it gone out of style? Is it foolish to think that what we do as human beings makes a difference?


I admit it. I have a penchant for moving shopping carts at the grocery store. Too many times I’ve found a perfectly good parking space taken up by a wayward cart left behind by a busy shopper, often just a few feet from the cart corral. What does this say about us as a society?

There was a time we thanked people for holding the door for us as we came upon them. We appreciated the effort made. It told us that people were aware of our existence. We were part of society and we knew it by the way our fellow citizens treated us. Those little measures of civility made us feel connected, especially because the majority of us felt compelled to return the favor in some way, passing it along to the next person we met. There was a sense of camaraderie reflected in simple gestures. We made eye contact and recognized our connection in that gaze. We smiled and saw the power of a friendly curl of the lips. We felt emboldened to look out for other people and felt good to be a productive part of society.

Ah, but society is now the devil, the root of evil conformity and repression of individual rights. Society is some mindless conglomerate of oppressive practices, where things as arbitrary as speed limits and traffic lights prevent us from driving unimpeded down life’s highway. Too many rules. Too many bosses. Too many affronts to our choices. Shouldn’t we be free to pursue our own desires without interference from those around us? Aren’t we the best judges of what we should do and how we should do it? Why should we consider what other people think or want?


The other day I returned my cart to the corral, where I found a tangle of carts spilling out into the path of ongoing cars. It took me less than sixty seconds to put them together, but what did that gesture say about me? That I’m a control freak and I have to have things neat and tidy? I’m sure that’s what the smug thirty-something woman who shoved her cart at the corral told herself, even as I was walking away. She had watched me put all those carts together as she loaded her groceries into her trunk. She saw them all nice and neat within the confines of the metal fencing. And yet she shoved her cart in the direction of the corral, knowing that another five steps would have allowed her to add the cart to the orderly line. That sideways glance at me made it clear that I was, in her view, some control freak, some oddball, some wacko with a compulsive disorder. (Good thing she wasn’t judgmental, right?)


What would I say to her if she had voiced her opinion of me? How would I answer her blind arrogance? I would say this. Every time I am in a public place, like a grocery store, I think about how many people are affected by my actions. I think about my fellow shoppers, including the mothers and fathers with young kids in tow, the elderly, and the handicapped — those people who need to pull into the best available parking space. I think about the store employees, trolling the parking lot to gather the shopping carts. Who am I to make their jobs more difficult by being sloppy and insensitive to their efforts, especially when the weather is brutally hot or cold?


What do I get out of my effort to make the parking lot a little better for those who come after me? I get the reminder that I am a part of a greater whole, a community. I realize that every time I push my cart into the corral. There are other people affected by my actions, and because of that, I have a responsibility to do right by them. I take that knowledge with me wherever I go. That’s why I look at people as I pass by. That’s why I offer a smile or a compliment or a friendly remark to the cashier who scans my groceries. That’s why I thank the person who bags my purchases. It’s my way of saying, “I see you and I recognize you as a person. I hope you show me the same consideration.”


We do not, as individuals, live in a bubble world, untouched and out of reach of our fellow human beings. A conscious decision to do right by others, the essence of the Golden Rule, is a practice of every good citizen. It transcends any organized religion. In a world of chaos and cruelty, where bad guys think they can act without consequences, it’s easy to become dismayed and disheartened. The world seems on the brink of disaster as human values seem to slip away from us. The only real remedy is to recognize the reality of human behavior. Those without a conscience are free to wreak havoc on the rest of us because they do not see us as having worth. They are set on their course and they will not allow themselves to have a change of heart. They will do what they will do regardless of consequences and in spite of the plight of their fellow citizens.


If we want the world to be a better place, we don’t have to cross the Sahara to do it. We don’t have to scale Mount Everest or sail half way around the world. Every time we practice a little kindness, every time we reach out with simple gestures, we weave the fabric of our society. We encourage those around us to take a chance and gain a little self-respect in the process.


No man or woman is ever an island in a world of people. We may feel alone or abandoned, but that’s because we’ve allowed our society to fracture. Every time we jettison our good sense, every time we ignore or excuse our own bad behavior by believing it’s someone else’s job to do these simple little things, we give ourselves and everyone else the permission to pretend the rest of society doesn’t matter. “We are the only people on the planet with any value.”


The Golden Rule was never a path to religious zealotry. It doesn’t make us idiots or fanatics when we practice it. It’s a means of recognizing that other people exist in this world and we need to get along with them. It makes us mindful of the reality that each of us has the power to influence the people around us. Every little effort we make defines us as people. We choose to empower good over evil. We choose sharing and caring over hoarding and selfishness.


Do I think that young woman who shoved her grocery cart at the corral understood that? No. She was busy thinking that she had so many things to do and her ten seconds was too valuable to waste. But someday…somewhere…somehow, she will be in need of an act of kindness. In that moment, when she feels her back is against the wall and there is no hope, her heart will open up and she will begin to understand that she is of this world. Her eyes will see what she has missed all these years and she will recognize her hunger for that human compassion she believed was meaningless. It will matter. And that’s when she will become a responsible member of society, aware of the people around her and willing to do her part to make this world a better place in which to live.



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Is Motherhood Really Instinctual for Women?

As an author with several mystery series under my belt, I am always curious about how readers perceive not only my stories, but also my characters. In Henry Hartman’s Fall Guy Crisis, career woman Sydney Stansfield Hartman suddenly finds herself saddled with the care and feeding of someone else’s baby, thanks to a series of unexpected events involving her husband, an FBI agent. Poor Syd, used to coming and going at all hours of the day and night, suddenly has to juggle her work as an interior decorator to keep someone else’s child safe from harm. It’s a big adjustment for her. Recently a comment in a review caught me off guard. My reader thought this was ridiculous — any woman should be able to handle an eight-month-old baby. I don’t know about you, but this assumption took me by surprise.


The reader questioned why Syd wouldn’t know how to take care of this tiny stranger…as if every woman somehow instinctively knows how to care for children…as if Syd is being portrayed incorrectly in the struggle to get it right as a foster mom, without any hint of realism provided by me, the author.


I grew up babysitting, starting when I was ten, and later became a “mother’s helper” and a nanny. Once I earned a degree in early childhood education, focusing on child development and psychology, I spent many years working with a wide range of children — some with handicaps, some with behavioral disorders, some with learning disabilities, some with catastrophic illnesses, and sometimes even just ordinary children.


In all those years, I saw many adults floundering as they tried to understand these wondrous little beings. They were in over their heads, at their wits’ end, baffled by the behavior of their offspring and at a loss for what to do. While parents delved into long, involved descriptions of how their normally well-behaved toddler had a complete meltdown in public, I just asked a simple question: “What time of day was it?”  An inexperienced parent might inadvertently drag a child out to an event during nap time, but not one who’s “been there and done that”. The mom who’s gone through this scene and wised up knows nap time is sacrosanct. Her child’s body expects him to rest at the same time every day and wants to shut down. If little Nathaniel’s mind is over-stimulated by unexpected activity, it’s going to lead to a major conflict. “Your child is tired and can’t think straight,” is the logical explanation for why the little guy lost it at his brother’s soccer game.


As an adult, you learn over time that you can’t work against a child’s internal clock and expect to succeed — that’s just foolish. We’ve all been to the grocery store and had the experience of walking down aisle after aisle, listening to the wailing and whining of a small child while the parent tries to reason, cajole, threaten, or otherwise command obedience. Good luck with that if it’s mealtime. If adults find it challenging to wander through all that food without giving into the urge to splurge, how do you think impulsive, emotional, unfiltered kids feel, when all they hear is no?If you want cooperation from little Wendy, take her shopping when she’s not hungry and surrounded by all that tempting stuff on the grocery shelves.
That’s why I laughed at the notion that any woman will automatically know how to take care of an eight-month old child. Having been in that position many times over the years with different children, I can assure you there were plenty of times I had no clue what was going through a screaming baby’s brain. Did the diaper need to be changed? Was his little tummy upset? Did his ear ache? Was he teething…coming down with a cold…hungry? Whenever I had a fussy infant on my hands, I automatically went through my checklist, trying to find the right solution to the problem. I didn’t do it by way of instinctual knowledge, but by training. I learned and observed. I gained insight and wisdom. I paid attention to the clues. Having also observed a number of confused parents as they struggled to understand their children, I know that it sometimes takes a detective to follow the clues and find the root cause of a problem.


But where are women supposed to get the insight into a child’s behavior if they, like Syd, aren’t exposed to children? Babysitting isn’t as popular an activity as it was during my teenage years. In this day and age of instant Internet connections, is it too tempting to turn to strangers for advice on raising their kids, shunning the wisdom of women who have real-time experience? Gone are the days when mothers helped daughters learn how to bathe their first infant. Families are now so scattered across the country, the extended family is far removed from the everyday interactions that are so precious in a child’s formative years. Instead, new mothers and fathers often struggle to figure out how babies “work” on their own, missing out on so much family wisdom.


Parental expertise isn’t something we can download on demand, at a moment’s notice. Children don’t come with user manuals, any more than parents come with built-in “wisdom genes”. It takes interactive learning, some good guidance from experienced mentors, and a whole lot of hands-on training to raise a child.


Sadly, what the reader missed about my book was that Syd has the older and wiser Hartman ladies to guide her through the parenting process. Two vivacious and often funny senior citizens, Prudence and Charity, join forces with Faith, the no-nonsense lawyer, to help Syd care for her unexpected little ward, along with the invaluable experience of  a man who’s changed many a diaper over the years and isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. Together, the extended Hartman family gets involved in nurturing a child in need.


We forget sometimes that, in this age of high-speed technology, people are still people. We’re born innocent, and if we’re lucky, we grow in wisdom as we experience life. We need to help each other along the way and share those important life lessons that weave the strength into our society and make us decent human beings.



“Henry Hartman’s Fall Guy” is free at Barnes and Noble, Kobo Books, Apple, and other digital retailers. Amazon charges 99 cents, unless you can get them to price match it for you.

Why I Have a Dumbphone

I admit it. I sometimes think about buying a smartphone. I watch all the folks around me who flip through emails, videos, and maps, pulling up all kinds of goodies from the Internet, even as they make calls, and I think, “I should get one of those.”

Recently, I was in Goodyear, Arizona for a business conference. Everyone there was Twittering away while I sat back, listening to the presentations. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how folks could send tweets and still actually hear what was being said. How can you effectively do both? And why isn’t it rude to be buried in your communications when someone else is communicating with you? I understand that these days media conferences are all about getting the word out. People are encouraged to tweet in real time, whether it’s all about business or the latest entertainment event. But is that really the way to go? What do we really gain from that behavior?

Me, I need to sit down and concentrate when I want to share information. I don’t just want to spit things out. I want to digest them first and only regurgitate the important facts. I’m a proponent of self-editing, even though I know I don’t do it often enough. In this age of instant communications, are we connecting enough? I worry about the social implications of the current social media trends. We’re skimming the surface. Are we creating the climate for the new disaffected masses, not really meeting human needs as we embrace our new digital culture?

As I was traveling, I found myself in the Charlotte Douglas airport to make a connecting flight. In the ladies room, I was greeted by a lovely older lady, who gave me a cheerful hello. I looked into that kind face with the warm smile. I made eye contact. And even as I did, other women flew past us. No human contact could pull them away from their smartphones. How sad, I thought to myself, that we can’t spare time to be pleasant, polite. In Phoenix, the ladies room attendant was disgruntled and disinterested. Can we really blame her, when no one seems to see her as a human being?

And then today, I found confirmation that maybe, just maybe, I’m not on the wrong track. Dr. Keith Ablow was talking about new studies of how this digital technology negatively impacts children. What’s missing? The human interaction we all need.

That reminds me of the day my mother and I sat and watched a four-year-old girl try to communicate with her mother at a Panera Bread restaurant. Every time the young child tried to ask a question, she was shushed. Every effort she made to connect with the twenty-something woman was cut off. It made us sad to watch this display of unmotherly behavior. Why? Because we always made the effort to talk. Did we always succeed? No, but we tried. I couldn’t imagine having a mother who told me to be quiet every time I reached out. That strikes me as cold and unfeeling. Oh, did I mention that the entire lunch was spent by the mother having a phone conversation with a friend? Do you know how hard it is to sit and watch a child fidget that long without wanting to approach that mother? Back then, I was too polite. Now? Now I think I would grab the bull by the horns and just invite the child to sit with us. The hell with her mama. I’d be more than happy to chat with a four-year-old child. A mind is a terrible thing to waste, isn’t it?

Ever found yourself trapped in the supermarket by the Aisle Wanderer armed with a smartphone, who drones on throughout your shopping excursion, whining about whether or not to get those crackers? How come we always seem to be headed in the same direction at the same time? How come it’s so impossible to put the smartphone down when the cashier is rining up the order? Why not use the self-serve checkout, where you won’t insult humanity by maintaining your ever-so-important conversation about that awesome vacation you just took?

Every time I am tempted to buy that smartphone, I remind myself how nice it is to have a dumbphone. A plain, ordinary flip cell phone. I even had the phone company disconnect the Internet features because I kept hitting the wrong button and hooking up online without meaning to, racking up the monthly charges.

The way I look at it, I don’t want to stumble into my communications like a drunk loading up on cheap gin and peanuts. I actually want to be effective in what I say and do. I want to be conscious of my own thoughts. Most of all, I want that “down time”, those lovely little moments when I sort out the hours of my life. What’s working? What’s not working? What did I do wrong? What did I do right? What can I improve? If I’m always hooked up to my smartphone, when will I have time to actually be smart?

Sure, I’m probably insulting a lot of people by not instantly messaging. I actually only just found I had Twitter messages in my account that I had never read in the year plus I’ve been connected. And as for Facebook, I still am not convinced it’s the way to really get together with people and have a meaningful dialogue. Call me a rebel. Call me an oddity. I think we need to put the “social” back into social media. I hereby grant each and every one of you the right to shut off your smartphones, to set up “safe zones” and “safe times”, when the world can just hold its water while you do something else. It’s okay to make your own rules about how, when, and why you connect to the Internet. The world will not fall apart if you don’t check every ping that pops up on your smartphone. People can wait. When folks know that you only check in a few times a day, that tells them the window of opportunity to communicate with you is defined. It gives them the chance to pace themselves. Better still, it means there’s no rush to get in touch with you.

Years ago, back in the days of snail mail, a letter was a communication that brought the written word to the reader in ways that could make us feel. Soldiers and sailors longed for letters from home, provided it wasn’t the dreaded “Dear John”. Lovers and sweethearts clutched envelopes to their breasts, their hearts flying at the thrill of those affectionate words. From a distance, we could hear about the lives of those we love and imagine ourselves with them, enjoying every moment. It’s time to get back to really connecting with the people in our lives, whether we do it long-distance or in person. People should always matter more than the technology, and the technology should enable us to be more human, not less. Never forget that the heart is the heart. It needs what it needs, to feel that when it speaks, someone is actually listening. Next time you find yourself rushing around like a chicken with its head cut off, stop yourself. Look folks in the eye. Listen when they speak. We’re losing a very important part of our humanity and we need to reclaim it, but we can only do that by being genuine. The younger generations are counting on us to teach them the way, even if it means we get ourselves dumbphones.

Is It High Time to Legalize Marijuana — What We’re Missing

Wow, I must have had my head under the proverbial rock, because I was shocked today to learn that a recent Pew poll, the majority of Americans now favor legalizing marijuana. And this is a good idea because?

Leave aside the criminal aspects of the drug. I’m not going to argue about the decades battling the cartels. Let’s just talk about the health care aspects.

If cigarettes cause lung cancer, what is the effect of marijuana on the lungs? Some research shows marijuana actually has up to 70% more carcinogens than tobacco.  If cigarettes do so much damage to blood pressure, what does marijuana do?

I’m never impressed by what the majority of people think. I’m impressed by what the majority of well-informed people think. You can poll people about what they think of just about anything:

“Do you think clowns with blue hair are funnier than clowns with orange hair?”

“Are drivers in red cars faster than truck drivers who eat too many donuts at the truck stop?”

“Should you be able to clone yourself at the office without losing vacation days or should you collect double your salary because there are two of you?”

Before we go rushing into legalizing marijuana, let’s ask ourselves how we are going to pay for the long-term health care costs. I don’t know about you, but I’m not really willing to foot the bill for Ted and Bill’s Excellent High or Harry and Kumar’s White Castle Munchies Fest.

While marijuana may not entice people to try stronger drugs, it still impairs the brain. I don’t really like driving on the same road with someone under the influence of anything, be it alcohol or marijuana. If we legalize it, won’t that create more problems?

Studies show that long-term, heavy use of marijuana can lead to impaired thinking skills and memory problems. How are we going to deal with this and who is paying for it? I’d rather contribute to a worthy college student’s education than pay for some idiot’s wackadoodle daze. I don’t want the guy behind the counter at Subway to be high when he’s putting together my sub, and I don’t want his co-worker fixating on the ingredients. “Hey, Dave, that’s a gnarly sandwich you just made, man. How’d you do that, dude?”

Studies determined that the effects of the marijuana remain in the body for up to three hours. In other words, when Harry and Kumar show up at the drive-up window an hour after smoking some weed, they are far more likely to rear end your car with your grandkids in the back seat, because driving is impaired by marijuana use. Think about that. Our greatest risk isn’t some pothead speeding on the highway. It’s the joker behind us who doesn’t have the capacity to judge time, distance, and speed. It’s the epitome of creating a new generation of space cadets.

And what about the effects of marijuana on people who have a predisposition to mental health issues like schizophrenia and paranoia? Do you imagine that being high is helpful to someone with a tenuous grasp on reality? Think again, my friend. If a person can’t tell the difference between an hallucination and a real-time event, maybe our society is at greater risk for these mass murders. Did any of the recent serial killings involve marijuana use prior to the killers lugging their automatic weapons to the scene of their diabolical slaughters? Before we legalize marijuana, let’s consider what happens to people with mental health issues when they have access to the drug. Who’s going to keep it out of the hands of those most vulnerable?

Maybe before we rush to legalize it because of popular opinion, we ought to ask ourselves what the long-term effects will be on the brain. Will we lose our creativity, our productivity, our social interactions? Will we find that we dumb down America even more by taking the path of least resistance and just going with the flow? Are we too close to the smoke wafting over our fences from our neighbors who like to light up? All I know is that I work hard because I enjoy challenging my mind. I get a thrill every time I accomplish something new, whether it’s a skill or a talent. I love to be creative, active, and intelligent. Will legalizing marijuana make people like me a dying breed? It’s not bad enough that our younger generations now mistake Facebook and Twitter for real social interaction so much that they don’t know how to have a conversation face-to-face?

These days, life as we know is changing fast, and at some point we have to stop accepting what is becoming the “new norm” as inevitable. As our parents used to say, “Just because your friends jump off the bridge, does that mean you have to do it, too?” Now we have bungee jumpers who toss themselves over the railing in search of a thrill. That’s fine, as long as that cord is tethered tightly to a support that can and will hold the jumper safely, and provided there are no obstacles in the flight path that can and will maim or kill the jumper. (We’ve heard too much lately about thrill-seekers who go to extremes and lose their lives in pursuit of that one long shot.) But should we all jump off the bridge of Common Sense and toss ourselves into the River of the Unknown Depths below without first taking a long, hard look at the consequences?

When I read the results of the Pew poll on legalizing marijuana, the inevitable images sprang to mind. This is a poll that stinks to high heaven. One whiff and we’re all up in smoke. That’s the problem with polls. It’s all about what’s popular, not what’s healthy or smart. We’ve got a lot of obese people in this country as it now stands, folks who eat and don’t exercise. Can you imagine what will happen when it’s legal to light up a joint? Fast food restaurants will have to stay open all night to accommodate the masses with the munchies. Think you have a problem now with relatives raiding the fridge? That piece of chocolate cake you’re hiding behind the brussel sprouts ain’t gonna be there for you when you finish your workout on the treadmill, my friend.

And what happens in the workplace? Will workers under the influence slow down our already stagnant work place? We’re trying to get people back to work, but do we want them high while operating heavy equipment? Do we want our financial advisers, our cops, our air traffic controllers under the influence? What about our school bus drivers? Can they be high and share their stash with students, maybe make a little cash on the side?

For those of you who advocate legalizing marijuana because you’ve always been one toke over the line, you can tell yourself I’m exaggerating the dangers. You can tell yourself I’m an old fuddy-duddy. Knock yourself out. You’re too mellow to get off your duff and get involved in real life. Isn’t that really the bottom line? Being high was always about numbing yourself, not about living life out loud. All I can say is I’m going to miss you and your buddies when you (cough, cough) slowly fade into the distant haze, you old geezer.

My Version of Comfort Food — Quick Macaroni and Cheese Feeds the Soul

What is it about macaroni and cheese that makes us so happy? It’s the ultimate comfort food that we all seem to love, but why? Is it all that flavor and soft, gooey goodness? Is it that it’s easy on the eye, the simplest of foods, or that it satisfies us in a way that no other meal does?

I’ve found that serving it at a holiday meal generates all kinds of positive comments. It’s always the first dish to get gobbled up. After years of having this one not eat ham and that one not eat lamb, it’s become the go-to dish for the whole family. It doesn’t matter what I serve any more, because all folks really care about is the macaroni and cheese.

But it’s also often a dish that fussy, fidgety eaters will indulge in even as they reject that shrimp dish I slaved over in the hot kitchen. It entices us, beckons us, seduces us. It is a sensual food, tongue-pleasing and self-indulgent. Macaroni and cheese offers no resistance to our teeth. It doesn’t fight back or leave us struggling to chew. It goes down smooth. It slides into our tummies like a big, warm, fuzzy hug.

The reason I love it most? I can make it in my sleep. I’ve got it down to a science of sorts. I picked up a few tricks on cooking shows. Bobby Flay taught me to heat my milk for my Béchamel sauce. Mary Ann Esposito taught me to boil my pasta water, take it off the heat, and stir in the macaroni — no need to worry about boil-overs, because the pasta cooks on its own. I don’t even bother with following a recipe anymore. I just throw everything together.

So, what do I do with the time I don’t waste fussing on dinner? I work longer. On nice days, I get outside, whether it’s a walk around the block or a hike up a mountain. This weekend, I made my mac and cheese before I took the little pocket pooch for his second official hike. Adopted last year, Dino had little experience for long walks, so I had to condition him. We started last year with twenty-minute walks in the woods, so he could work his way up to the real deal.

I’ve worked over the last few months to get him used to hopping over logs, tree roots, and the like, even as I increased the length of our walks. My last pocket pooch was a natural in the woods. She adored scrambling up the mountain. A nervous, high-strung little Yorkie, Sweetie had a tough time in the real world, but felt right at home in the middle of the woods. People used to marvel at the fact that she made it to the summit on her own power.

Will Dino be as agile and adept? It’s hard to say at this point. He’s certainly off to a good start. We hiked the base of the mountain for about an hour, and he thoroughly enjoyed the adventure. On the way home, he napped in his car seat. I was only sorry that I don’t know the doggie equivalent of mac and cheese, because I would have whipped him up a dish of it.

Here’s my recipe for 4 servings:

8 ounces of your favorite pasta (I like macaroni or ziti, to absorb all that lovely cheese sauce) cooked al dente

1/4 cup butter or margarine
1/4 flour
2 cups hot milk
8 ounces shredded cheddar
1/4 cup good grated Parmesan
1 teaspoon prepared mustard
pinch of nutmeg
1 teaspoon Adobo seasoning
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon onion powder

Nuke the two cups of milk in the microwave while you cook the butter/margarine and flour over medium heat, stirring often, for about 3 minutes. Pour in the hot milk and whisk to break up any clumps. When the sauce is thick and smooth, add the cheddar, Parmesan, mustard, nutmeg, Adobo, garlic powder, and onion powder, stirring until the cheeses are melted. Pour over the cooked macaroni.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. If you like a crumb topping, melt 1/4 cup of butter or margarine in the microwave for about 20-30 seconds, and stir in about one cup of seasoned bread crumbs. Bake for 25-30 minutes, until heated through. If you’re in a rush, you can nuke it for 5-6 minutes, and then finish baking it in the oven for 15-20 minutes. As Julia Child would say, “Bon appétit!”