A HEARTWARMING TALE OF COMPASSION

In desperation, he twisted and turned, attempting to extract his trapped leg. Sapped of energy, over time his efforts weakened. In distress, his mother's high pitched, heart piercing piping sounds increased in intensity. With an evening forecast of high winds and heavy thunder storms, the situation had become dire.

The AEF (American Eagle Foundation) maintains a series of live nest cams across the U.S. Viewed by thousands of followers worldwide are Washington D.C.'S National Arboretum two cams set up in the nest of bald eagle parents, Mr. President and The First Lady and their two, yet to be named eaglets, DC4 and DC5. (www.dceaglecam.com) For many who follow their development from chicks to fledglings, these eaglets become like adopted children.

During the early evening of April 20, as he ventured to the edge of his nest, DC4's right leg became lodged in a hole in the stick rails. Watching the drama unfold were thousands of distressed viewers who began contacting the AEF in unprecedented numbers. So overwhelming was the outpouring of concern for the flailing eaglet that the AEF posted online, "Thank you for the phone calls and emails alerting us to the stuck eaglet in D.C. We are aware and monitoring the situation. We will update as we can".

Three organizations, the AEF, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Sevice, and the National Arboretum, in evaluating the situation, determined that the best course of action would be to rescue the eaglet and have him checked out for injuries. An eagle with a badly injured leg would never be able to survive in the wild. Racing the severe incoming weather, Matt Morrison, a professional arborist, climbed 80 feet to the now heavily swaying nest and freed little DC4. In radio contact with a veterinarian, Mr. Morrison reported that DC4's leg exhibited abrasions and swelling. It was decided to bring the eaglet down to the Maryland Zoo for blood work, X-rays and a total check. The ultimate hope was to return DC4 quickly to his parents and home.

What followed next could not have been written any better. DC4 passed his physical and on April 21st, just 24 hours later, our hero rescuer re-ascended to the 80-foot high nest, announced that "the eagle has landed" and released DC4 to his home.  Before descending, Matt Morrison bent forward, kissed DC4 on the head and....

.... as he began his descent, shook his finger at our little eaglet warning him to "stay away from the nest's edge".

To cap the happy ending, anyone watching the cam that night would have had to smile at DC4 and DC5 as they slept.

One cannot help but be warmed by the love, caring and compassion that took place over these two days. Oh, that we could spread this kindness and goodwill everywhere.

CAN WE ALL JUST TAKE A CHILL PILL

As a child, no boogie-man threatened me from the corners of my room nor did a monster reside under my bed. I was not even conscious of nightmares disturbing my sleep until I was around twelve years of age, but by then those dreams haunted even my daytime thoughts. It was the era of a heated up Cold War, NATO versus the Soviet Union, and the Cuban Missile Crisis. It was the era in which we worried that a leader's hair trigger madness could launch nuclear armageddon. And it was the era of air raid siren testing and war preparedness rehearsals in school classrooms. Not surprisingly my fertile adolescent imagination became haunted by horrific dreams of war. A recurring night terror found me alone, unable to find to my family as air raid sirens screamed and bombers thundered overhead. With over 10,000 nuclear weapons worldwide and current international conflicts, I can only wonder how my youthful mind would have reacted today.

Assad of Russian-backed Syria dropped sarin-based chemical bombs from war planes on his own citizens. Forever seared onto my brain cells are the horrific images of children gasping for air, foaming at the mouth, choking and writhing. What monster perpetrates such a crime, especially in full knowledge that innocent children will die horrible deaths? Justifiably, our world was outraged. Without any long-range policy in place and against all of his election rhetoric on not allowing the U.S. to remain international policeman, Trump launched a missile strike against the offending Syrian airfield. Now heavily armed U.S. and Russian destroyers patrol the Mediterranean and not in a friendly alliance. What is that old international relations rule about the danger of two opposing super powers filling the same vacuum?

The bombing of the Syrian air base was followed soon after by the dropping of an MOAB in Afghanistan against ISIS. The MOAB, nicknamed by U.S. Forces " The Mother of All Bombs", is the most powerful non-nuclear ordinance used thus far in combat. Its mushroom cloud is visible for 20 miles. At 30 feet in length, weighing in at 21,000 pounds and with 11 tons of pure TNT, the MOAB allowed Trump to live up to his election promise to "bomb the shit out of ISIS". I am not opposed to ridding our world of ISIS, but here's the crunch. Not to be outdone, the Russians announced that they have created "The Father of All Bombs" with 44 tons of pure TNT. Wow! That must be some mushroom cloud! Oh goody, a non-nuclear arms race.

And we mustn't forget the seriously unbalanced leader of North Korea, Kim Jong Un, who with nuclear power, has announced that he will test long range missiles weekly. Trump has ordered a naval strike group to move into position near the Korean Penninsula. Into the vacuum.......you get it! Russian and Chinese ships have now moved into place to shadow American ships. Dear God!

Does anyone else feel that our world is again like a chess board gone mad? I just want to scream at the offenders, STOP! CAN WE ALL JUST TAKE A CHILL PILL. Remember. This isn't a game. We are talking the survival of mankind.

I ACCEPT THE CONSEQUENCES

Carved over the ages, crevices and deep folds criss-cross the battered and weathered landscape. Deep grooves have developed into gaping valleys. Oh, what Father Time has wrought. No, I am not gazing at the glorious Grand Canyon, although I wish I was. Instead, in the harsh light of our ensuite, I am examining my aging face. When did those facial fine lines morph into such heavy wrinkles? Oh my!

I figure I have three options. 1) totally freak out and search for a mega-talented plastic surgeon longing for the ultimate in professional challenges or 2) do as a sign I once read suggests, "Go bra-less; it pulls the wrinkles from your face", or 3) view my wrinkles as a reflection of the awesome lifetime experiences I have enjoyed. Although the bra-less suggestion holds great appeal, I am opting for #3.

Wrinkles, experts hypothesize, are caused by a life of excess - too much sunshine, to much exposure to pollution and too much drinking.

Yes, I have enjoyed a life of excess.......sorta'......but I have loved every moment of those awesome experiences. For sure I have exposed myself to excessive sunshine - beach walks and exploring Barbados, hiking and golfing in Arizona, sailing Lake Ontario and the Caribbean, travel to the Mediterranean..........If that sunshine has created the thick lines that carve their way through the skin between my eyebrows, I happily accept the consequences.

Excessive pollution? I don't think so. Excessive drinking? Not really. Weeellllll! I  do admit to loving a glass of wine and have, on the rare occasion over-indulged. Don't fret, my friends. I shan't name any accomplices. If wine has caused the wrinkles which carve their way down my cheeks, I merrily accept the consequences.

Those crevices, once mere crows feet, that grace my mouth? I love nothing more in life than to laugh. Zany laughter with my sons and husband, contagious chuckles with my grandchildren, rocking guffaws with my colleagues and friends. "Laughter is the sound of the soul dancing." If the imperfections around my mouth are due to excessive laughing, then I joyfully accept the consequences.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, this vision is not the face of the child my Mother patted to comfort or my husband caressed as a young newlywed. This face and its wrinkles do though tell the story of my blessed life. A life of sunshine, laughter and wine. It doesn't get much better and thus I accept the consequences. My face may be wrinkled, but I don't feel old. As aged wisdom knows, "There are no wrinkles on the heart."

WHO ARE YOU WEARING?

Conversation in the dressing room at Uxpool after swimming last week:
Fellow swimmer: "Ooooo! I love those pale gray jeans. Whose label?"
Me: No immediate response, just my usual stunned expression accompanied by the scrunched eyebrows of total puzzlement.
Fellow swimmer: Filling in the silence, "When you get home, check the label. I would love to get a pair......if you don't mind".

Moments later, sitting in my car, preparing to drive home, I lay my head on the steering wheel and laughed, laughed until my sides ached and tears rolled down my cheeks. For a nano second, just a nano second mind you, I had felt as if I was in a procession of stars parading down the red carpet during awards season wearing a major designer's one-of creation. You know..........that moment when the celebrity interviewer asks, "and who are you wearing?"

After thirty-five years in the real estate industry, I am no stranger to high quality, smart 'labelled' attire. As a new sales representative, "You only get one chance to make a first impression" had been drilled into me by my first broker. I was deeply, in hindsight too deeply, influenced by the 1975 Malloy book, "Dress For Success". My closet today still contains some of those name brand blazers, pants and what Jim refers to as his favourite (not) "here come de' judge," suit. Yes, they still fit. Problem? I have very few places to wear them. To be honest, I thankfully have no one I need to impress but myself. Such is my glorious retirement. Don't get me wrong. Clean and neatly dressed, I appear neither like a drug addict nor homeless lady, so you can remove that image.

One afternoon a week, I volunteer at Chances Are, a second hand store that sells gently used or unused clothing, linens, small housewares and books at very reasonable prices. Thanks to the generosity of Uxbridgeans, a high percentage of the donated goods are of extremely high quality. Annually, our little store donates in excess of a quarter of a million dollars to the Uxbridge Cottage Hospital. Staggering! One afternoon a month I also volunteer in the Hospital Gift Shop, a surprise little gem of a store. It is difficult during these volunteer hours not to stumble on bargains.

Those gray jeans? Jones of New York. $4.00 at Chances Are. Leaving the pool, I began imagining my answer that day to the reporter's, "and who are you wearing?" and that is when my uncontrollable laughter ensued.

Soft gray Jeans. Chances Are ($4.00)
Matching long-sleeved top. Chances Are ($3.00)
Quilted knee-length winter coat with fur lined hood. Chances Are ($10.00)
Leather gloves, new. Chances Are ($8.00)
Scarf, new. Uxbridge Cottage Hospital Gift Shop. (A whopping $19.00)
Sketcher shoes with snow-tire like treads. Mark's......and that's a story for another day.

And that, ladies and gentleman, is what I was wearing. There is just no denying my fashion plate status!