Moonrise Soho

  

 Friday October 6, 1978 London:

               

        The day started out normal enough. 6:00 a.m. sharp, I awoke to the soothing clamor of my alarm clock; as per usual. Stretching and yawning I reached over, slamming my hand down on the snooze button. Fumbling around for the remote on the nightstand, I turned on the morning news.

              

       “Carry an umbrella when you head out folks! It looks like it’s going to be raining cats and dogs all day,” said the ghastly polyester garbed weatherman, with manufactured cheer. Shuffling the papers in front of him “Oh…..err and a full moon tonight,” he said vaguely, adjusting his wig.

                 

     Outwardly groaning, I seriously considered calling in sick, before I petulantly resigned from the peaceful embrace of my bed. With slow measured steps I migrated towards the bathroom. Squeaking; the shower knobs protested as I set them to full blast, and then I drew the shower curtain closed. While the water heated I turned on the bathroom faucet and mindlessly brushed my teeth. Gazing at my disheveled state in the clouded reflection before me, I tried to bolster enthusiasm for the day ahead.  Turning off the tap, I stepped into the shower. As the steamy jets of water hit my skin; I had not made up my mind yet as to whether or not I wanted to drop everything, and join a hippie caravan.

Being a square in a suit; working a job I loathed (a promotion hopefully loomed in my future), paid the bills. Once presentable, (which means suit and tie) a piece of toast stuffed in my mouth, an umbrella tucked under my arm; I left my flat and joined the throng of joyous rush hour rushers. Working Harrods customer service counter occupied my daily 8:00-5:00 activities slot. After a hard day’s work, my smile dull and wilting; I slogged my somnolent frame home through the deluge.

               

  That evening found me crashed out on the sofa watching reruns of ‘The Benny Hill Show.” The dregs of a Tangle Foot beer and a mystery meat (was it beef or pork?) TV dinner sat in peripheral view on the coffee table. “Do unto others, then run!” said Benny; the studio audience roared with laughter.  “Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzz,” drowned out the laughter as the buzzer rang. “Hold on!” I shouted, extricated from my comfortable position on the couch.  There was only one person who would call at this time of night; without invitation.

                 

   Removing the lock from the door, “Jim,” I said in terse acknowledgment; somewhat annoyed and pleased to see my best mate standing before me.

Without waiting, Jim burst into my flat. Striding over to the pea green fridge; running his fingers through long, lush, damp Leif Garret hair. He looked rather disheveled in a denim jacket, orange Wheaties t-shirt; blue bell bottoms and baby blue waffle trainers were spattered in mud. Flinging open the fridge, he browsed through the contents; holding up the last beer “Do you mind?” he asked smiling apologetically.

“Oh no, please make yourself at home,” I replied sarcastically, closing the door; securing the lock back in place.

Pacing back to the couch, I sat. Jim seated himself in the recliner opposite. He looked at me expectantly for a couple seconds.  Breaking the silence, sighing I asked “Jimmy, what are you doing here?”

Drinking deeply from the last beer, he replied “Ok, I’ll tell you but don’t freak out.”

I nodded, this had better be good.

“I saw a Werewolf,” Jim said without preamble, in hushed tones.

“Quit fucking around,” I responded, laughing loudly with disbelief.

“I am serious,” his eyes intense; begging me to believe him.

“What happened then?” my voice colored with skepticism. I sat forward to listen.

The story he related to me is as unbelievable as the day is long; yet truth rang out in Jim’s voice. I knew he was not intentionally having a go at me. A man sees what a man sees.

‘“Earlier this evening, I was walking through Soho. When I got to Wardour St., I popped into ‘The Hobbit,’ for some smokes. As I exited the shop, I realized that I had forgotten to buy a lighter. Mentally kicking myself, I dug through the pockets of my jacket for change; without any luck. As I stood there the smell of wet dog filled my nostrils. I turned to go back to the shop, when I noticed a man; who looked like he had a bad reaction to steroids or something, walking briskly towards me. His red plaid shirt and jeans torn to shreds. In his hand he held a soggy menu.

“Can I bum a light?” I asked apprehensively, thinking it better not to inquire about his appearance.

“Sure,” he said in a gravel tone. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he fished out a lighter. Which I thought was odd, seeing as he was not wearing a jacket. As he lit the lighter, I noticed thick, black sharp nails that looked like they might be caked in blood.

“Thanks man,” I said eyeing the stranger. “You know Halloween isn’t until the end of the month?” I asked jokingly, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Smiling widely (snarling?) and quite amused, the stranger revealed sharp white teeth.

“What you got there?” I queried conversationally; nodding, indicating to the menu in his hand.

Glancing nonchalantly down at the damp piece of paper; then back at me, he answered “Have you heard of Lee Ho Fooks?”

I thought for a minute, shifting from one foot to the other; becoming uncomfortable in his probing stare.

“I can’t say that I have,” I replied, trying to avoid the stranger’s magnetic gaze.

At that moment a woman passed us. She was walking a Toy Yorkie. His eyes glowed like yellow flame as he observed at the dog. Turning back to me, he growled “I’m going to get a big dish of beef chow mein.”’

“Without another look at me, he continued to walk down the street. It was the weirdest thing.” Jim finished, disturbed and subdued.

“You’re sure it was a Werewolf?” my eyebrows raised.

“Quite certain,” he held firmly, running his fingers through his curly locks.

Jim was goon, there was no doubt about that; he was not one for making up stories. A “Good Times Charlie,” womanizing was his main game. I think I found it hard to wrap my mind around the thought that Werewolves were roaming the streets of London; where I had been born and raised. Part of me was suspicious that it was not cigarettes that Jim was smoking but another recreational herb.

In the days that ensued, it became apparent Jim’s hallucinogenic story was indeed footed in reality. Being a London denizen was about to become much, oh muchly more interesting. It was brought to my attention a couple days later on my day off from work. Flipping through channels, BBC news flashed across the TV screen.

“Bump bum, bump bum,” introduced the news team. Almost mirror images of one another, two tackily clad news anchors sat before the camera shuffling papers busily. “You’re on!” hissed the soundman.

“We interrupt your regular broadcast to bring this breaking news,” announced the older of the duo in a slightly nasal voice. “Late last night, in the Westminster district; near Vincent Sq., an elderly woman was savagely mutilated. Some are saying it was a Werewolf. I think it is safe to say if you hear them prowling around your kitchen door, you better not let them in. Barbra Fields has more on the story. Barbra.”

“Hello, Ken?” Barbra asked tapping the microphone, sweeping Farrah Fawcett style tendrils out of her face with a manicured hand. Adjusting her black and white hounds tooth s suit skirt, she asked one of the crew members “Is this thing on?” He nodded encouragingly and gave her a thumbs up.

  

 “Sorry for the mix up Ken,” Barbra apologized “there has been quite a bit of confused excitement here since last night. We are standing outside the victim’s home.” The camera panned over; catching a shot of the house, then panned back again. ”With me I have Mrs. Milena Leopold,” she said beckoning a stooped woman with a cane over. “Milena, I can call you Milena can’t I? I was informed that you heard the attack and called the police, can you tell us more? Barbra prodded, raising her eyebrows with feigned concern.

Mrs. Leopold overstepped Barbra, placing herself in main focus. Smiling into the camera, she revealed moss green teeth. What little hair she had left was wrapped in a turban. A small group began to form around the camera crew. If the greater London area was not enough, she sought to call even more attention to herself. She wailed “Gladys Winters was my best friend in the whole world! Now she’s gone, gone, gone!” Sniffling; crocodile tears flooded her unfocused eyes.

“Yes, but can you tell us anything about the events that unfolded last night?” Barbra inquired impatiently.

Patting at her eyes, with a handkerchief; then peering around at the crowd “It was most dreadful!” Mrs. Leopold announced. “Why the screams were almost deafening!” she proclaimed dramatically, then paused. The eyes of the reporter and crowd now glued to the old woman. Very much akin to a train wreck; don’t want to look, can’t look away.

“Please, tell us more,” asked Barbra urgently, her eyes burned with vicious glee.

“Gladys and I have been neighbors going on well over forty years. Every morning we had tea together. Yesterday, she told me that her good for nothing son had decided to put her in a home. He would be coming by the next day to help her pack up her things. Real underhanded like; didn’t even ask her if she wanted to go.” Mrs. Leopold said conspiratorially.

Without warning; Mrs. Leopold raised her cane, jabbing it at the camera “Punks these days, don’t have no respect for nobody!” She cried angrily, spittle spraying the cameraman.

Regaining her composure, acting as if nothing had happened “Now where was I?” she questioned adopting a wizened voice. “Oh yes, last night I thought I heard somebody shuffling around in the back garden; so I grabbed my binoculars from the nightstand. Drawing back the curtain, I looked out of my bedroom window; I didn’t see anything suspicious at first. I noticed Gladys opening her back door, calling for her cat Mr. Tittles.

“You all right?” I called down to Gladys through my open window. She said she was fine and continued to call for Mr. Tittles. I was about to put my binoculars away; when I saw a hairy youth in tattered clothing slide out from the shadows. He lunged at Gladys, and attacked her!” Mrs. Leopold said energetically.  The crowd gasped.

“Well, I nearly toppled out of the window in shock; Gladys was screaming. Fumbling with my binoculars in one hand and the phone on the nightstand, I called the police. They assured me they would be sending somebody around. Then I hung up the phone,” said the old woman, providing a comprehensive play by play account.

 “I crept over to the window and peered out. Outside the whole kit and caboodle had gone silent, the assailant had disappeared. On the back porch steps lay Gladys in her night dress, covered in blood; she was not moving. Large chunks were missing from her face and torso, as if something had tried to eat her,” continued Mrs. Leopold, relishing her no holds barred description. The crowd winced in unison.

Drawing in a deep breath, prepared to share further grisly details; Mrs. Leopold was interrupted by a detective that was disbanding the crowd “Alright!” he shouted “Get moving you lot, this is an official crime scene!” The crow groaned and began to disperse.

“Here, let me help you,” he said kindly to Mrs. Leopold; supporting her elbow as he tried to escort her home.

“Don’t touch me!” She hollered, beating the detective around the head and shoulders with her cane. Eyeballing the constables that moved in closer to assist their comrade, she raised her cane threateningly.

 “Let her go!” cried the detective raising his hand, exasperated.

Mrs. Leopold turned and toddled home, tripping passerby’s with her cane if they got to close.

“That’s a wrap,” Barbra mouthed to the cameraman, drawing her finger across her throat. The screen switched back to the news anchors who were watching in open mouthed astonishment.

“Well, it looks quite action packed in Vincent Sq.,” laughed Ken uneasily “Now for the weather; what can we expect for the upcoming week Berry?”

I clicked off the TV, not very keen to hear what Berry had to say about the weather. Werewolves in London? I fully expected to see Rod Serling walk across my living room with his hands clasped behind his back: “There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.”

The next few days seemed to pass by without incident. Police assured concerned citizens that they would do everything in their power to bring the furry assailant to justice; lulling the public into a false sense of security. As usual whatever was being done was not quite enough; things began to progressively spiral out of control around midweek.

Wednesday, I was set to meet Jim after work; at the Shakespeare’s Head on Great Marlborough St. Strolling on the rain slick sidewalk adjacent to the pub; I noticed a grotesque parody of Shakespeare dangling from an upstairs window. It appeared to be scrutinizing passing pedestrians from its perch, ready to spring into the street below, performing extraordinary prose in the Queen’s English.

I noted that the pub was unusually busy for this time of day. Exiting the street and entering the crowded pub, I looked around then glanced at my watch. Waiting for Jim to make an appearance, I sat at the bar eating typical bar fare (peanuts) and nursing a pint. The muted TV over the bar was playing a mind-numbing sitcom. The Smiths ‘There Is a Light That Never Goes Out’ played in the background. An hour later, when I was ready to pay my tab and leave, Jim entered the pub. Spotting me, he waved an edition of The Evening Standard excitedly, weaving his way through the crowd.

“Sorry I am late,” Jim apologized, sitting on the bar stool beside me.  

“Fashionably,” I mumbled, irritated. If the world ended tomorrow, Jim would be late.

Not registering my annoyance; Jim proceeded to open the paper with a sharp snap, spreading it out on the bar before me. “Look!” he said, enthusiastically jabbing the paper with his index finger. On page two of The Evening Standard:

Werewolf Runs Amok in Ramsgate Cemetery, Kent

Tuesday October 10, 1978. Late visitors to the Ramsgate Cemetery received a startling surprise. At 6:45 p.m. near dusk, observers say the reputed werewolf made an appearance. The main witness (who has asked to keep her identity private) was laying flowers on her mother’s tomb; when she glanced up. At the edge of the graveyard, a man was staring at her intently. Unnerved, she watched as the man suddenly doubled over; dropping to his knees like he might be sick, groaning loudly. Cautiously, the concerned witness walked in the direction where the man had been standing minutes before; now shielded by headstones. As she approached, she was horrified by what she saw. A large bulky creature was kneeling on all fours, covered in thick coarse black hair. It turned, fixing its large yellow eyes on the witness; growling low in its chest. Terrified, the witness fled screaming loudly; running in fear of her life as the creature stood up on two legs and advanced rapidly. A pair of witnesses nearby heard the woman’s screams and hurried to her aid. They claimed to see a large beast in a frenzy, knocking over gravestones; chasing down the frightened woman. As quickly as the ordeal began, the creature turned in the opposite direction. With inhuman speed, it hurdled over tombstones and propelled itself over the cemetery wall into oncoming traffic; causing a minor traffic accident. Police were called to the scene to investigate. No arrests have been made.

Belvidere Mills, Minnesota

      My Grandparents house is in the valley nestled comfortably amongst wooded bluffs, about 10 miles or so from the Great Big Mississippi. The house in which I grew up in wasn’t a mansion by any means. A white, 1920’s style house with six bedrooms, one bath, kitchen, dining room, living room, both a front and back porch  and a large creepy basement. Down the hall and up the stairs, my bedroom was the first on the landing; adjacent and sharing the same doorway was my brothers Jordan’s room. A bit further down the hall was my Grandparents bedroom and the room at the end of the upstairs hallway is where my brother Joseph resided.

  

 I moved in with my Grandparents when I was eight and left when I was eighteen. The years in between were some of the best and happy years of my life (so far that is to say). For the greater part of every summer, my brothers and I would best be referred to as heathens. We ran barefoot everywhere, got extremely dirty, ate blackberries (ha sounds a bit like Tom Sawyer, no?), sat in the large garden eating warm cherry tomatoes when they were ripe. Of course we got into our own brand of mischief; not anything to cause too much trouble, enough to get scolded. Being surrounded by brothers, it could be said that I was quite the tomboy or more so than my counterparts at school.

There was one summer my brother Joseph talked me into catching spiders with him (even though I am deathly afraid of them), which really amounted to me hollering for him if I saw a spider. I loved taking walks “back to the pond” as we called it, with my Grandpa. Sometimes he would stroll ahead, around a wooded bend and then jump out and scare us. Grandpa would show us all the different animal tracks and plants. Located just near the pond was a large ravine with a large rope swing.  Under the bridge near the house is Wells Creek. We would go there and play in the creek when it got really warm; well until my Grandma found out and put a stop to that because she was afraid we would drown.

It was almost as if it was a different world, or maybe many worlds wrapped into one? I know that I lived many lifetimes in that house. As the years have passed, there is one thing that stands out to me: I had a very unique childhood that I remember vividly.  I do believe that there was a kind magic where I grew up. Not the kind with wizards and fairies, but of high moral character, good will and simplicity. The magic of children, who dream dreams that they hope one day will come true.

 On cold clear winter nights, if one stands really still; the faint whistle of the train can be heard passing through nearby Frontenac. When it rains, nothing is better than sitting curled up and reading on the back porch. It is a bitter sweet ache. So then why don’t I pack up and go home? Things are much more complicated than that. I would if I could.

Summer 2006

 I was drinking coffee this morning, reflecting on times past. I'm not exactly sure what made me think of this memory in particular, but it surely brought a cheesy smile to my face :)

 June 2006, I was fresh out of high school; my family and I (when I say family, I mean the whole motley crew of about 16 of us)went on vacation to Itasca State Park (which is located at the very northern tip of Minnesota, bordering the land of Bon Iver). I was actually conned into going......I was not privy to the fact that our cabin was in the middle of nowhere.At 18, stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with my entire family.....I couldn't think of anything more horrifying (Where we were located would be a perfect set up for a horror film). 

 I thanked my lucky stars that my cousin Alex (who is like a sister to me)also got conned (or was it forced?) into going. Being the rebellious jaded duo that we were, we decided to set off and explore the park. Alex had arrived earlier in the day and had set out a surveillance of the area. There was a bike trail and a lake nearby that she thought might be worth checking out. 

 My bike had a flat tire, and I being the lazy teen that I was, decided to not put air in it before setting off. The bike trail was surrounded with thick trees, and led to a lake (which turned out be a laugh, because the "lake" smelled like raw sewage and was a cesspool for mosquitoes) about 2 miles from our cabin. 

 In any event, we came, we saw, we conquered and threw rocks into the lake, watching with sick fascination as the gunk swallowed them up (which lasted all of ten minutes)before turning around and returning to the house on haunted hill....oops I meant cabin.

 The return journey was turning out to be as entertaining, not very. Halfway back I saw something moving in the bushes.It had not dawned on me what it might be, so I said "Alex what is some fat chick doing in the bushes?" It took Alex even less time, I looked back at her and her eyes had gotten big "Bear, bear, bear," she muttered and turned her bike around as fast as she could,headed in the opposite direction. I turned for one last look, confirmed,then followed Alex in hot pursuit. 

 We were all in a flurry about how we were going to get back, with there being a bear loose on the trail (honestly it probably ran off the same time we ran off.)Finally we found the main road which ran along the bike trail. By this point Alex and I were feeding off each others fear. We had convinced ourselves that if we got near the bike trail that this cannibal bear that ate obnoxious teenagers was going to jump out and eat us. 

 This is where I wished I had put pumped air into my tires earlier before heading out on this adventure. Alex sped ahead of me, with me shouting "Hey wait for me!" 

"No, no," she yelled over her shoulder "I'll go ahead and get help!"

"Over my dead body," I thought, so I had to pump twice as hard just to keep up with her. 

 We made it back to the cabin in record time. Throwing our bikes on the ground and ran into the cabin. My Grandma was sitting on the couch conversing with my Aunts (Monica and Melissa). To be honest I think she was quite frightened at the sight of us! She held out her arms and we ran to her, our hearts beating; about ready to jump out of our chests. 

 There was a lot of ridiculous wild hand waving and huffing and puffing before we caught our breath. "Bear", we said in solemn unison. I sure my Grandma was relieved that no one had died.

 The rest of the trip was rather uneventful. Well except for my Mom telling stories of Bigfoot, how each tree might conceal one, she was sure she would see one on this trip. Oh, there was also the consumption of S'mores.I never saw Bigfoot, only a bear with its big bulbous butt sticking out of the bushes. As Paul Harvey says "Now you know the rest of the story." 

Grab A Tiger By The Tail......

“Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me ... Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.”

                                                 -Shel Silverstein-

     

Toccoa opened his eyes, The sparkle in them seemed to say,

"What kind of mischief can I get into today?"

The worlds so big, and I so small,

How can I ever hope to see it all?

Kisses and hugs for Mommy 
Kisses and hugs for Daddy
Heart so big, arms so small
Wish they were bigger so
I could hug you all.

Fast feet fast feet!
I move as fast as I can
Running to and fro
And all around
Will I ever slow down?

Oh brother!
Here comes that silly kitty!
Mommy says be gentle
Will she notice
If I grab it by the tail?
(Yep, Mommy noticed.)

Day turns to night
Lay me down to sleep
My soul so gentle
And sweet it will keep
However I cannot resist
Opening my eyes for
One last peep.

Dedicated to my nephew Toccoa

Celestial Sun

Faraway on the other side of the world

Where light beams dance

And velvet shadows are far-reaching

The Sun challenged the Moon

 “Who goes there?” Rumbled Sun

“‘Tis I, your old friend” slyly answered Moon

“Why have you come here?” questioned Sun

“I come bearing the boundless night,

Peaceful darkness.” Moon whispered

“Since the beginning of time, when the

Great trumpet sounded, it was decreed

That we each would cover one half of

The earth,” strongly held Sun

“You and I both know that a second

Sounding of the trumpet is coming,

And the world that exists will be

 Plunged into obscurity.” alleged Moon

The Sun passed over Moon

Stars in the heavens applauded

“On the day you speak of, the world

Will undeniably meet its end.

However that is not this day,” declared Sun

Moon, defeated, slowly crawled

Shadows receded

Sun mounted on top of the earth, exulted.

 

To Change The World

William Shakespeare penned the words; "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts..."

Many men and women have had the privilege to dance across the stage Shakespeare spoke of. In fleeting moments of mortality, they used their voices to make them immortal. They set the bar, so that the ones that would come after, would strive for excellence. So that they too, could also be amongst the great men and women in history.

J.M Barrie wrote the well-known play “Peter Pan.” Which at first glance, many would say it is just a children’s story. However it has an underlying, deeper meaning which is this: Never give up your innocence. The world will throw many punches at you, some knocking you down, seeking to change you. Keep the purity that resides in you, guard it like a precious gift. Adventure, always seek to expand your boarders, in every direction possible. Never be thrust into one role that “defines” you.  One of the most memorable quotes to me from Peter Pan is : “To die would be an awfully great adventure.” Live your life to the fullest. Fit in as many adventures as you can. When the ticking time clock comes for you and me,  know that it is not the end, it is the beginning of another adventure.

Jane Austen has graced the literary stage more than once. Well known for romantic novels like Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park, Emma, Northanger Abbey and Persuasion. The fact is, at  heart every human has a yearning to love and be loved. A love unconditional, transcending time, that bears your entire soul. Being vulnerable and not caring. It is so easy to get caught up in one of her novels. She stirs up your hearts desires, you too begin hope and dream of a love like that, and wait for that person who will come and sweep you off your feet.

“Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely allowed [Elizabeth] to be pretty; he had looked at her without admiration at the ball; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticize. But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she hardly had a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To this discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying. Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness. Of this she was perfectly unaware; to her he was only the man who made himself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought her handsome enough to dance with.”

                                                                                                                    -Jane Austen-

Sometimes  major issues, many would rather avoid, are thrust into center stage. Harper Lee wrote ‘To Kill A Mockingbird.’ She presents before the reader, what racism was like in the deep south during the Great Depression. People come in all different sizes, colors, and creeds. That is the beauty of this world, everyone shining out as an individual. There is no tolerance for those who would choose to alienate an individual because of their racial background, religion, or be they tall, short, fat or skinny or any other reason, really. We also need to keep in mind that at one time we have run into a ‘Boo’ Radley, or know somebody who fits the bill. Gossip is a terrible thing. It is the recreational sport of tearing someone else down. Don’t feed into gossip, because more often than not, the information you heard was wrong, and you don’t know as much as you think you do. A person should be judged on their merit, the content of their character and not the package they come in.

Mark Twain. Well known for his wit, humor, and satire. He authored such novels as Huckleberry Finn and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. His work shows the ironies of life. Laughter is the music of the soul.  There are so many things in this world that are upsetting (this does not apply to everything) sometimes though you have to stand back and ask yourself, “ Is it worth it to be mad or laugh instead?”

“Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.”

          -Mark Twain-

“Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn't.”
                                                                                           -Mark Twain-

“A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way.”
                                                                                            -Mark Twain-

                Ok, so the point that I am getting at. Long after each of these authors have left the world, they continue to teach. What is listed above are things that these authors have taught me.  So this is what I say to you: Sing out, let your voice be heard. Do what you love to do most in this world. Life is too short to look back on and have regrets. We only have this one life, so live it. Who knows, one day you might find yourself listed amongst the great men and women in history.