The Cat We Don't Have - Part 4

Part 4 –  How do you make time stand still?

Long about half way through summer of 2013, my curiosity piqued as to where The Cat We Don’t Have was spending her nights. The coming winter concerned me because reports of a really bad one ran rampant. Yes – even in summer, we Philadelphians are worried about the coming cold weather. Winter 2012 was a breeze, really, with hardly any snow fall to measure. I had 100 pounds of rock salt stored in my shed, which I never had to dip into because winter 2012 brought us so little ice or snow. Something told me our luck would not hold, and between that and rumors circulating around for a nasty time of it  in 2013, I was more than a little worried about the cat.

The little “house” I bought for her the year before still remained unused. It was really a kind of covered litter box, complete with little swinging door, and a soft, cozy blanket that I added to it. I thought she would go for it, but no – all it did was sit in our yard and collect dust and age, thanks to rain, sun and what-not. The blanket turned into a gooey, leaf-covered mess, which I had to toss out.

So, I would watch for signs of her comings and goings. As near as I could figure it, she seemed to spend a lot of time in my next door neighbor’s yard, which had countless bushes, flowers, and trees. Looking for signs of fur balls, or loose cat hair under or around these plants proved fruitless. I never found any, nor any signs of a nice little tamped-down bed. As for checking the flora and fauna, pardon the pun, but I was stumped! Where, oh where could this kitty cat be going each night? If I only knew, I thought, then maybe I could convince her somehow to find shelter in our yard, at least.

Our gazebo needed to be replaced; the cedar wood in the original one was rotting, piece by piece, and therefore made the structure risky at best, and dangerous at most, to use. However, our new one did not have a sliding door. It had a door that could be opened, closed, and even locked, just like any other door. I worried that this would mean a loss of shelter to her, but it could not be helped. They just did not make the older model gazebo any longer, so sliding doors were out of the equation.

The summer wore on, and turned to a lazy, brilliantly colored fall. Every morning, TC would either be waiting for me on the back porch for her breakfast, as well as again, at 4 o’clock in the afternoon, for her evening feeding. It delighted me that she would meow to me (through the closed screen door, of course), often initiating our conversations. With glee, I would meow back and forth with her, happy to have my furry little companion visit me once again. The funny part of all this is that sometimes, if she wasn’t there in the morning, I would call out, “Here Kitty, kitty, kitty! It’s breakfast time!” and that would cause a virtual stampede of squirrels, birds, and goodness only knows what else, along with the cat. I believe we have a pet squirrel that thinks its name is “Kitty”. The clever little animal never fails to appear once I start to call out!

By late fall, I was really starting to become worried. After all this time, TC still did not allow me to get up close to her. At least, we did make some progress: she did not bolt away if I came outside anymore. She would walk very quickly to a distance of about 10 feet away, and continue to meow. I respected that and did my best not to upset her. 10 feet closer is 10 feet closer, after all.  I hoped that by winter’s first chill, I could coax her into the house and show her what she had been missing. That was the goal I wanted to achieve, more than anything else. This beautiful cat deserved a nice, warm, and loving home and I intended to give it to her.

Finally, winter arrived and the reports did not disappoint us. We had so much snow that we topped an old record for the most snow in one month – a total of 13 storms’ worth. All I could do was keep feeding my precious little pet that we didn’t own, because I felt that she owned us. She depended on us for food, and I was never going to let her down.

Each time she would come up on the porch, I would meow to her and then gently try to coax her to come inside. I was making progress! She went from running down the stairs once I opened the storm door, to remaining put on the top landing, and finally with great curiosity, peering inside.

I will never forget the “conversation” we had. It was mostly instinctual, but something passed between us, of that I am certain. It went something like this, with me using my voice, and she using her eyes:

Me: “Please, sweetheart! Come inside! Look how cozy and warm it is!”

TC: ‘Oh, my! I never looked inside a big box like that before!’

Me: “See? A pretty little braided rug, just for you – right there, in the kitchen where you can easily look out the back door if you want to.”

TC: ‘But…but…what lies beyond what I can see? How do I know there won’t be something there to scare me, or maybe even hurt me?’

Me: “Oh sweetie! You don’t ever have to worry. I would never, ever allow anything to hurt you! I just want you to be safe and warm, and to feel the loving touch of people who would treasure you!”

TC” ‘I don’t know …(peering even harder, stretching her neck forward as if that would help her to see more) It looks interesting, but….’

Me: “Please, Kitty, let us give you a good home. I really love you and don’t want to see you get sick, or hurt.”

TC:  (standing stock-still for another moment or two, during which time I held my breath) ‘Maybe another time…I - I’m just not so sure…”

And with that, she turned and went back down the steps, walking – but not running -- quickly toward my neighbor’s yard. With a hop, she was on the crate by the fence. With a skillful leap, she was over the fence and on her way to God only knew where.

I only knew we made a great stride that day and I was very encouraged. Very hopeful, now, that we were very close to having TC become an indoor/outdoor resident of our home, I smiled to myself and allowed myself to feel really happy with anticipation.

I wish now I could turn the clock back to that moment in time, and could have frozen it for a while. Maybe I would have handled things far differently. I would have had a little more time to encourage her, and convince her that I meant no harm.

In fact, now I am pretty sure that  I very well might have.

She would scamper away, much too fast for me to follow

To be continued….

The Cat We Don't Have - Part 3

Part 3 – The Munch Bunch Plus Three  

As that summer wore on, things settled into a kind of easy and familiar routine. TC would stop by for breakfast each morning, often waiting at the bottom of the stairs for me to open the door, and put food in her dish on the top landing of our little back porch. Needless to say, the rest of the “Munch Bunch” as I came to call them, were all fed, too.  It was like feeding time at the zoo, or the wildlife clinic where I had volunteered for 6 years. It was natural and normal for me to feed any and every living creature within my reach. Squirrels, chipmunks, birds, gophers, even a turtle at one point. If it lived, it got fed.  The really neat thing is that the cat seemed to be an accepted part of the whole gang – no one showed any fear of her. Nor did she give them any reason to fear. It was all pretty ideal. Except for the one weak link in her armor, her fear of my getting too close to her, she was for all intents and purposes our cat.

The other, larger cat made occasional guest appearances and the two of them seemed to become friends. They would often lie together in the sun on the deck of our gazebo, and I could imagine what they were saying to one another:

TC: “Did you hear the two-legger this morning? She was actually making a sound like us!”

Cat 2:  “No! Really? I thought it was you!”

TC: “It was easy to teach her how to do it correctly. I showed her how it should sound, and believe it or not, she was starting to get pretty good at it!”

One day, Cat 2 decided to come inside, after letting me pet her, something that surprised and momentarily delighted me to pieces! She strolled through our house, perfectly at ease, and settled herself on the bed in the guest room. I had to make a decision: it was clear that this cat belonged to someone. She was very trusting and very at ease around people, and I could not in good conscience kidnap someone else’s pet. So, after letting her rest for a little while, I encouraged her to go back outside. The really strange thing is that she only came back to see us just a few more times; then, I never saw her again.

But, the Universe had some more surprises in store for me. To my utter astonishment, one morning another new cat was waiting on the back porch. This one was all smokey gray with maybe a tiny spot of white on its chest. Its head was its most outstanding feature: it was enormous!  I had a feeling just by watching the way it walked, almost like a human weight lifter, with shoulders that swaggered in counterpoint to his foot steps, that this was a male. I opened the door to see if he was accepting of people and no, he was not. But….he didn’t run like the wind, either. He just moved very quickly down the steps, then turned around and looked at me as if to say, “OK. Now what? Do I get any food, or what?”  There was no sign yet of TC, and I found it hard to turn any animal away, so I put some food in the dish on the porch and he swaggered back up the steps to enjoy a nice breakfast. Then, he was gone. About 15 minutes later, TC came along and took her spot on the porch. It was all “business as usual” from that point on.

What on earth was going on, I wondered! Three cats, two of them being possible strays and all of them gray and white. Could they all be from the same family? A few years earlier, there was a stable neighboring our backyard. It was torn down to make way for new houses. Unfortunately, the family who lived in the house at the stables moved away, and left their barn cats behind. All of us neighbors tried to catch them all, but it was impossible. We did the best that we could, but a few of them ran away. Was it possible, I wondered, that these cats were the offspring of some of those abandoned cats?  No matter what, I felt that I had to try and take care of them in some way. IF I could catch them, I would have them neutered. IF I could catch them, I would give them a forever home once they were neutered. And all of that was contingent on IF they would let me touch them, or get close enough to catch them. A lot of “ifs”; too many, really, to hope for.

So, there we were, from no pets to two part-time pets, and trying to avoid cat piracy with the third one. Very curious, I thought. The rabbit hole was clearly no place for a woman who was still heart-broken from the loss of her dog, and who fell in love with a cat that would have no part of her – but said cat would make the sacrifice of eating the food offered to her. Everything just felt out of whack (but for me, that is actually quite normal).

Gus peeked out from under the shed one hot summer day, and I saw the front part of  him lying on the sidewalk, with the back half of him still underneath shed. He head was lying on his front paws, which were crossed one over the other. He was looking somewhat peaceful, but I swear he was trying to send a message to the cats:

“I don’t care what you all do with the porch and the food bowls, but stay away from my shed! This is MY turf…and don’t you forget it!”

Curious, Curious and hilarious, all at the same time.

                          Second cat                                              The Cat We Don't Have, or simply, TC
              

To be continued….

The Cat We Don't Have - Part 2

Part 2 – Getting to Know You

When Max’s battle with cancer was over, I was so emotionally devastated that I vowed to never again have a pet. Max and I had been through a lot together. My constant companion for nearly 15 years, he was there for me when my husband had to be out of town, which was quite a bit, or was simply too preoccupied with his own life’s events to have much time left over for me.  My faithful dog was there for me when my mother passed away, and curled up on the spot where her hospital bed had been, as if to say, “I will watch over your spot, Grandma.” 

 Over the years, I spent a lot of time recovering from some pretty difficult surgeries, and Max always cheered me up with his kind, gentle mannerisms and loving antics. So, when he died, it was as if I had lost a real child, someone who loved me without question or conditions. There was simply no way I was ever going to open myself up to that kind of pain again – so I promised myself, ‘No more animals. Ever.’

Suddenly, I was facing a minor dilemma once again: a stray had singled me out, most likely for food alone. And, I was OK with that. At least, I was ok with it for a while. I made sure The Cat We Don’t Have (which I shortened to “TC’) had the best cat food, and  I unashamedly spiked it liberally with all kinds of good stuff: steak, roast beef, fish, shrimp, and turkey, and so on. I always saved her a few bites or more of whatever we were having. It tickled me to see her dive in to her food dish, which in time was moved from the bottom of the steps to the top landing, which she surprisingly allowed me to do. There was just one condition: I was never, ever to try to approach her once she began to eat. I had to remain hidden on the other side of the door, peeking out carefully through the curtains.

The days turned into weeks, then months, and finally one whole year had passed. I was beginning to feel a little bit impatient with TC, so anxious was I to form a real bond with her. More than anything else, I longed for the day when she would approach me herself and allow me to touch her. Visions of her curled up in front of our fireplace, or on my lap,  on cold winter days and nights filled my head with hope and eager anticipation.  But, try as I might, TC showed great fear and would run away as fast as she could, running from the human monster that she was sure was going to hurt her. So, I hit upon an idea that I hoped would help to convince her that I meant no harm, and only love:

I started meowing to her through the door.

She heard me and to my great delight, she began to meow back at my voice! So, day by day, I would crack the door open a little bit further and ‘sing’ to her with my poor attempts at her language. At last one day, the door was fully open, and still protected by the outer storm door, she looked me dead in the eyes and meowed back to me. I could hardly believe it! So, together, we meowed back and forth for a while until I realized she must be hungry and wanted to eat. So, I left her to her food. A little while later, I looked out through the window and saw that she was gone. The bowl was totally empty.

In excitement, I called out to Peanut one through five and tossed out their usual trove of peanuts, dried corn,  and sunflower seeds. Within moments, my yard was full of squirrels, birds, and even Gus poked his head out, grabbing for the pieces of melon I tossed toward the shed. I had to laugh – all was right with the world. Everyone was being fed and showed signs of harmony, of being happy to all be eating together. All, that is, except for TC. She would not come back my way until later on, at dinner time.

Then, it hit me. What was I doing, I asked myself. Somehow, I had allowed myself to feel an attachment to this stray, feral cat and it felt too late to turn back, to turn the emotions off. For some stupid reason, it felt as if her name, ‘The Cat We Don’t Have” proved she was not our pet – so I clung to it. As long as we did not have a pet cat, I would be OK, I thought.

How wrong I was, it turned out. But it was way too soon to know that. I could still fool myself into believing that ‘we did not own a cat.’  Not much, that is.

Looking back at me through screen door

To be continued....

The Cat We Don't Have, Part 1

Part I- No more pets

I thought that I would never forget the year 2012 because of the sadness that it brought into my life.  That, of course, being the death of our Max, our beloved 16 year old German shepherd, black Labrador mix.  Right before Max passed on, he was lying in the grass out front one day.  He was quietly watching the cars go by on the highway, when all of a sudden a tiny little puff ball of gray and white hopped into view.  The little puffball had huge, wide blue eyes and tiny pointed ears.  Quite obviously it was a very small kitten.  Max did not seem to mind this little visitor, and before long they seem to become friends.  There was just one problem: the little puffball did not appear to like humans. At all. Any time it caught even the slightest glimpse of me it would take off as if running for dear life.  I tried to coax it to come to me, but the kitten would have no part of it.

Well, in late May of that year Max crossed the rainbow bridge and it was a very long time before I could even think of him, let alone mention his name, without my eyes welling up with tears.  So, it was best to try not to think about his last few weeks on this earth, which, of course, meant trying to forget about the puffball as well.  I was determined to never, ever again let myself get attached to a pet.  The pain of losing them was just too strong and I was not about to put myself in that position again.  Or so I thought…. 

Spring turned into summer, and with it came a slight surprise.  A beautiful young cat appeared in my backyard one day.  It didn't look very old, nor did it look like a baby any more.  Strangely, it had the same coloring and marks as the little puffball did that I first saw a few months earlier.  It had boundless energy, and the cutest gray and white face I had ever seen on a cat.  Its tail sported perfect, concentric rings from beginning to end, much like that of a raccoon.  I guess you could call it a tabby cat but I swear, it seemed to be a perfect blend of different kinds of species.  Part cat, part raccoon, and part clown, its white beard and bib gave the cat an almost distinguished tuxedo cat appearance. 

Over the years, I developed a very bad habit of feeding the wildlife in my backyard.  I guess you could say that's what led Wicki the Wat to  me in the beginning (If you didn't read that part of my blog, please go back and read it.  You won't be sorry!)  Anyway, I have an entire gang of animals that come to me every day looking for hand-outs.  I have a family of squirrels that I have named “Peanut one through five”, and all kinds of birds, plus a very lazy groundhog named Gus, who now lives underneath our shed.  I figured, what's one more animal?  So I bought a box of dry cat food and started leaving some out for the young cat.  Needless to say, the cat food was a big hit with her.  For some strange reason I decided that her gender was female.  I don't know why – she just looked very feminine and small, so I always thought of her as a she.

There was just one little problem: the cat was simply terrified of me or any other human being.  As hard as I tried to make friends with her she made it very clear from the start that I had to keep my distance.  Her eating food that I offered to her was perfectly okay; but for me to come within 20 feet of her was out of the question.  So I became determined that one way or another I was going to make friends with this cat and offer her a home of warmth and love, and all the food she could ever hope or want to eat.

After a few months it was quite clear to me that it was going to take some time before this cat would accept my friendship, let alone my touch.  It used to really bother me to see the fear in her eyes, and see the snapping turn of her body to flee from me, should I break the 20 foot rule.  Still, I persisted.  I began adding canned cat food to her menu which she ate with gusto.  But I had better make sure to stay out of sight while she was eating, or she would bolt away from her dish leaving it for Gus and the birds, who all would invariably finish it off for her.  Feeding this cat was getting to be quite expensive!

Then one day, I was in for another surprise.  Placing the food in her dish at the bottom of my porch steps, I turned and went back into the house to hide behind the curtained window of the back door.  To my astonishment another gray and white cat walked up to the food dish began to eat!  This cat was quite a bit bigger, and reminded me more of a painted horse rather than a tabby cat.  Huge gray and white patches adorned its body, and over all, the cat looked to be a pound or two heavier than the former puffball.  That was when I decided the first cat definitely needed a name!  Nothing came to mind right away, nothing that seemed to do her justice.  I asked my husband and he suggested the name Scraps, because she was also by then eating a lot of table scraps.  At first I thought it was kind of cute and did start to call her that, but somehow it didn't quite fit.  She looked much too elegant to be associated in any way with the word scraps!  And, I was determined not to have another pet.  So, the name came to me one day, a name that fit her perfectly, and it was this: The Cat We Don’t Have.  This way, I was free to pursue establishing a relationship with her yet keep my emotions in the clear by not considering her a real pet.  Safety.  I vowed I would never cry over another animal again.

All during the rest of that summer, and into the fall and winter The Cat We Don't Have came to me daily for her food, and even camped out in our gazebo once or twice when it was really snowy.  The larger cat would make very infrequent appearances, however.  Because it did not seem to be afraid of me or other people, I guessed that it was somebody else's house cat that had perhaps gotten out of the house. 

No matter – I seemed to have at least a cat and a half, and although things were neither black nor white they truly were another shade of gray. 

Two, in fact.

To be continued.....

My "Mini-Bio"

Writers Group Assignment - Feb. 2014

My Mini -Bio

Sometimes I like to fantasize about reincarnation – what it might be like to come back to earth again and again, choosing what kind of lifestyle I would like to try – kind of a “re-birther’s choice.”

I really think this is what happened with me!  This time, my little angel-soul-spirit-whatever you choose to call it, said to the Lord, “Let me try a life that is a little different!”

“What do you mean, different?” the Lord asked. “You mean, like a bird, or a fish, or perhaps some type of four-legged mammal this time?’

“No,” I carefully replied,” I mean, can you please let me try being a person with a little bit of challenge to it. Nothing as severe as total physical or mental deprivation – but perhaps a life with some strange twists and turns. I’d like to see how I weather the storms of the unexpected, and truly bizarre.”

“Ok, “said the Almighty. “This, we can do! Just don’t forget to call on me if you really get jammed up and remember that this time you have to be ready for any and all really weird things that I toss at you,” He finished with a nod of his massive head, and called a special Guardian Angel to accompany me to this next flight to Earth. The angel had a pained expression on its face, yet was totally obedient to the One Most High,  and firmly taking my chubby little cherub arm in his hand, together we flew back down to earth.

The first thing I remember as I entered the world was being very, very cold! There were lots of voices all around me – some yelling, some talking in hushed tones. Of course, I could not see but I could hear! Beautiful church bells filled the air. I later on found out that I took my first breath as we passed St. John’s church in Beacon, NY. , Having made my first over-the-water trip at the tender age of minus 1 to 2 hours, my tiny body was nestled in loving arms and under a huge tweed coat – in the back seat of a 1945 Plymouth, on the Duchess Ferry boat, as it bumped and coursed through the choppy ice on the Hudson River – between Newburgh and Beacon, NY.

Well, so far, the good Lord kept his promise! My birth made the local newspapers and was talked about for a long time to come. I even earned a knick name – Duchess – before the age of two days old. How many kids can claim that?!

The rest of my life pretty much followed in the same fashion: if the world zigged, I zagged. If it crumbled, my head peeked out through patches of either clover or weeds. But, I refused to give in, or call it a day. If the teenage citizens of the world were all scooting off to college, so did I – for a while. Then, I decided to give marriage and motherhood a try. As a result, my kids and I grew up together and while we survived some really stormy seas, we all became the best of companions, blood-line friends and confidants. This put me in the curious position of being a kind of counselor to my friends who all got married and had kids later than I did – and who turned to me for support and my thus far acquired knowledge.

That had a very curious up-shot, many years later! In middle age, I was slammed with a very rare disease, called Entamoeba histolytica, which caused me to get another very rare disease.  The first one nearly killed me, thanks to a flesh-eating microbe that devoured my entire lower intestine, live. The second one, called Osteonecrosis, or 'dead bones',  was caused by the medications given to me during that time (powerful corticosteroids), and which in turn, began to kill off my skeleton, joint by joint.Undaunted by these weird turns of events, 19 years ago I started a support system for all those who suffered from Osteonecrosis, or Avascular necrosis. The result? The world's first -- and so far only -- non profit Association for that disease, which became international with literally thousands of members. Stop by my website sometime at http://avnsupport.org

Years later, I beat the “C” monster, too, thanks to ovarian cancer. I now have several body parts up in heaven ahead of me, waiting for my eventual return. It’s really strange that I am still here, when I stop to think about it. But, “strange” is what I asked for! Sporting multi-artificial joints, and with now more than 30 surgeries to my credit, I let nothing stop me for very long, and today I enjoy a very rich, full and often energetic life.



I tried  much, sampling all kinds of things the world offered. Of them all, music remained my mainstay – and I became what some call an accomplished musician and pianist/organist. Music became my anchor and it saw me through some pretty tough times, such as divorce, death of my parents, dealing with my sometimes off the wall teen age kids. And now, as an older adult, music is like the tapestry that I wove along the years of my life, a tapestry I can enjoy dragging out and examining over and over again. As a professional pianist-accompanist for a local performing choral group, my life has only gotten busier in my later years. Wow! Who would have thought?!

Yes, the good Lord kept his word: my life was filled with the bizarre. But, I kept mine, too and turned to Him more often than not. So far, my life has been an adventure just  chock-full of the unexpected and truly unusual. You know what they say: be careful what you pray for - you just might get it!

Peace, all!

Why I Love Philadelphia!

Why I love Philadelphia – Philly “outside the box” 

Writers Group Assignment - August 2013

The parades. The museums. The theaters. The Mann and Kimmel Centers, Reading Terminal, The Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, The Seaport Museum, The Michelou, The USS America, The Spirit of Philadelphia, and the water front. The Eagles, Phillies, Flyers, the 76’ers, and let us not forget the statue of "Rocky", his fists perpetually risen to the sky on muscular arms, in front of the Museum of Art – all wonderful reasons to love Philadelphia! But, those are the obvious ones. There is another side to Philly that often goes unappreciated, or not appreciated enough!

The Wissahickon Creek and Park, the massive stone statues of the Quaker, and the Indian chief Tediescum set high on the hills in the park. The finger bridge, the red covered bridge and the wonderful stone bridges that cross the creek, with historic Valley Green Inn nestled quietly beside it, with diners gently clinking glasses of iced tea on the front terrace. Joggers, walkers, mothers pushing upscale strollers with their babies strapped safely in. Move over! Here come two horses with their riders cheerfully talking back and forth with each other.  A few walkers take out their camera phones and snap a few pictures, as the riders greet them with shy smiles. With the Monastery and Northwestern stables at each end of the park, horses are a common sight. In fact, “Forbidden Drive” meant at one time, “No cars or other mechanical moving machines on this drive. It is intended for horses and riders only.”

 The plaintive call of a red tailed hawk, the scatter of a chipmunk making a mad dash across Forbidden Drive, weaving in and out between people and dogs and baby strollers,  and too many bicycles to count!  Ducks, geese, birds of many species all vying for their place on the water, hoping to catch a fish in the shallow, cool waters of the creek.

Looking out my front door and seeing a herd of horses, burros, and sometimes a llama or two – and knowing that my mailing address says “Philadelphia, PA” makes me smile a goofy grin! A huge city, no less! Yet, I expect to see Rebbecca of Sunny brook farm picking up chestnuts off the ground, dropped by the aging chestnut trees that border Saul Agricultural School Field.I am fortunate enough to live very close by to Saul School; its sprawling fields are my amphitheater. It is the only school of its type on the entire east coast, as it proudly calls Philadelphia its home.

The antique car shows that spring up now and then around the area like wild mushrooms that grow overnight! The wonderful festivals that honor all sorts of things: holidays, cultures, ethnic groups, and the greatest ethnic gathering of all, St. Patrick’s Day parade, at which time everyone becomes Irish! And the Mummers! Unique to Philly, the Mummers are in a class of entertainment by themselves.Wild colors, toe-tapping, foot stomping music fills the streets, as people do the "Philly Strut" along with dancing marchers. It is a spectacle to behold!

Let us not forget King of Prussia Mall, at one time the largest mall in the entire country! Even though I hardly ever go there, it is nice to know that it is waiting for me to return whenever the need to do so may arise. Speaking of Malls, there are so many within a 30 mile radius that it almost seems ludicrous! This just doesn’t happen in a sleepy little upstate NY community, such as the one I hailed from.

Cheese steaks, soft pretzels with mustard, macaroni and cheese served with diced tomatoes, and pork loin served on New Year’s Day – plus the absolutely must-do corned beef and cabbage on St. Paddy’s day.

Everything in this essay is a part of the tapestry that makes up wonderful Philadelphia – and I for one am very happy and proud to be a part of it!   

44 different Philly ‘attractions’ mentioned

51 if you add in the ducks, geese, birds, horses, llamas, dogs, and chipmunk!

Writers' Group Assignment: Why People Lie

Why People Lie 

– Writer’s Group assignment for 9-20-13

Lying has always been a topic of interest for me for one basic reason:  my mother absolutely prohibited it. She told me my tongue would turn coal black, and fall out. She told me my soul would go to the eternal fires of hell. She told me she would beat the stuffing out of me, which to me, was the worst fate of all. So, I tried very hard not to lie when I was a kid. As a result, I had a somewhat uneventful childhood, while my friends were all having a ball and sopping up the joys of unbridled and nearly worry--free youth.

Then, I grew up. Things changed. First, there was college, back in the dinosaur days before the beauty and ease of computers. How do one hundred and fifty four freshmen do a 10 page report on The Great 100 Books, when there are just one set of them in the library? Easy – you lie. “Sorry, but my car broke down and I couldn’t get to the library in (whatever city).”  It didn’t help. My grade was still a great big “F” for that assignment.

Next lie, to my parents:  “My professor was a total jerk! She lost my paper and refused to give me the grade I deserved!”  Their stony stares told me my lie fell pathetically flat, but I stood by it, no matter what.

I just gave a great example of one of the top 3 reasons why people lie: to avoid trouble.  I once heard that there are mainly 3 reasons why people do lie and they are:

1. To avoid trouble

2. To make oneself seem more important

3.  For personal gain

All other lies would come under one of those topics, such as reason number 1:  to avoid trouble can mean to avoid problems in relationships, or bodily harm,  or avoid punishment of any type, and so on. It can even mean lying to avoid hurting someone’s feelings – which, of course, could translate out to be troublesome to the liar. It if means “trouble” in any flavor, the lie falls under reason number 1.

Then, reason 2: to make oneself seem far more puffed up than he or she is. That can mean lying to appear smarter, or more educated, or more experienced than one really is. And, it can also mean lying to appear richer than one actually is. Lying to influence others is also an ear-mark of this reason, and can have deadly consequences. Just look at most politicians!

Reason number 3 is probably the grand-daddy of them all. People lie to acquire things more easily, with as little work involved as possible. A great example of this is cheating on one’s income tax returns. A very real, yet sad, first cousin to this is stealing – the two go hand in hand.  Example: claiming something belongs to you when you know it belongs to someone else is a combo sin: lying and stealing.

I guess my mother was right. I’ve tried to live my life as honestly as possible, telling little “white lies” hear and there like we all do. But all in all, she was a very wise woman and I trusted her teaching. And, to think that at one point in my life, from about age 15 to age 22,  I thought she was the dumbest simpleton I ever knew. 

To say otherwise would be a lie.