Many have written of the Ages of Man, from Shakespeare's soliloquy in As You Like It  to the psychologist Erik Erikson's 7 steps of human development. I have decided to render these into a river of life. As a river is born from a spring or glacier, just a trickle, that grows wider and deeper with time and faces periods of calm and turbulence, life  flows into a calmer, slower existence as it approaches the final All, the unknown, large deep expanse that water calls the Ocean and we call  Death. Take a ride down the river and enjoy the stops along the way.  The Ocean awaits some day.but not before you have partaken of the pleasures afforded by each stage of the journey along the River of Life.
Most of the images are of the Rhein River, taken from Flik via Weebly. (The photos are without names or titles, so I can't vouch for their accuracy or cite the source.Non are to to be reposted or altered.)

We humans create holidays in our cultural world. The animals know the Earth's seasons. Migratory birds follow the seasons and act accordingly. Around Winter Solstice, Richie begins visiting the nest more often, laying claim to it. He knows that the days are getting longer and that means Rosie will return in due time. The year's rhythm is built into his system. So too must other bird, butterflies, dragonflies and all migrators tune into the seasonal rhythm to know when it is time to migrate. Christmas is for humans but Solstice is for animals attuned to the Earth. Happy Solstice to Everyone, especially the Ospreys who will be returning to the Bay Area in just a few months. 

Solstice 2020
  
The days wane cold and dark upon the shore
Of our beloved Bay where ospreys fly.
I watch the sun part slowly from the sky
And wonder what the new year has in store.
 
Will this, the longest darkest night dawn bright,
Bring freedom from disease, from war and strife?
Will it set us on a new path of life?
Will this, the coming year dawn dark or light?
 
Just as the endless turning of our Earth
From day to night, to dark to light again,
From storm to calm, from drought to welcome rain,
An endless cycle of death and rebirth,
 
May our health be restored, our worries stilled
May we return to peace and to goodwill

                                            ​MW 2020

Santa Lucia was a martyred saint in the 4th century who brought food to Christians who were hiding from the Roman in the catacombs. She was wearing candles on her head to light her way. Her feast day, December 13, is celebrated both in Italy and Scandinavia. In the Northern countries, it is a harbinger of Christmas and the bringing of light to the citizens to face their long dark winter (mørketid in Norwegian). Children dress in white and wear crowns of  (now electric) candles, carrying saffron rolls. This may be done at home, in school, or at homes for the elderly. They sing a special song. One feature I like is that the procession is often by children of all ages. And they do not have to be perfect singers to participate. The look on their faces as they proceed, singing, says it all.  Santa Lucia is a day for children. So here is another story for families to read aloud and discuss. What special Christmas (or other holiday) customs does your family celebrate? Why are they meaningful to you?
(The reading of Dicken's Christmas Carol is from my own childhood. Every year, my father would take out his old copy of the story and read it to us over the evenings before Christmas. I first heard it long before I could understand all the words, but I loved it nonetheless, and it became a cherished tradition. He also took us each out for a special shopping trip and dinner out.Those special evenings are still imprinted on my brain. I can tell you where we ate and even where I shopped or what presents I bought.)

                    Christmas in the Time of Corona
 
“Yay! No more Zoom for two weeks!”  Sam shut down his laptop and ran into the kitchen.
“Be quiet.” His 8 year old sister scowled. “I’m still working and Mom is on a Zoom call.”
Sam looked at his mother, whose eyes were still on her computer.
“Zoom, zoom, zoom. I’ll be outside if anyone cares. Which no one does,” he muttered under his breath.
Outdoors the sky was blue and the air cold. A perfect December day. Sam breathed deeply. Maybe he couldn’t see his friends much this vacation, because of that crazy virus, maybe the family couldn’t go up to the snow, but at least they had the outdoors. And no online school for two weeks. He whooped, before he saw his father working at the picnic table. “Sorry,” he whispered.
His father closed his laptop. “Maybe it’s time for a break. Are you ready for vacation, Sam?
“Boy, am I! Dad, will we do anything fun this year? Or do you and Mom have to work every day?”
“Your mother is involved in a project and will probably have to work most of the vacation. But I thought I would take some time off. Spend time with my three beautiful children.”
He smiled at Sam, who grinned back.
“What are we going to do?”
“Well, I think that’s something we’ll have to decide as a family. Because of the pandemic restrictions, we’ll have to be creative. But I’m sure we’ll come up with something.”
“Just as long as it doesn’t involve the computer,” Sam said. “I am sick of online learning, sick of screens.”
“And to think we had to limit your screen time last year.”
“Yeah, well that was last year. I had friends then and could go out and do stuff. So when I was home, I wanted to be on the computer.”
“Well, why don’t you write down some ideas, Sam? Figure out what activities we always do that we can still do, new ways to do others, and perhaps some exciting new opportunities. You can use a pencil and paper if you don’t want to open your laptop.”
“Okay, Dad. I’ll do that. After I run around the block and let off steam.” He smiled wryly at his father. “Wearing a mask, of course.”
His father was already back on his computer and didn’t answer.
As he ran, Sam remembered past Christmasses. What did they do every year? What did he really like doing? Going to the mountains to ski and have snowball fights. That was out this year.  Decorating the tree. Could they get a tree this year?  Sissy would want to visit Santa. Then he thought of his favorite activity, the nights his father took each child out to the city to shop for presents. He treasured that time alone with his father, dining together, just the two of them, at a restaurant of his choice, the buying of a special present for his mother,.. He guessed that wouldn’t happen this year. With the surge in illnesses, the city was shutting down businesses. You could only shop by standing at the door and requesting items. There was no browsing. And the restaurants had take-out only. Sam sighed heavily. Oh well, there was always next year. But what about Sissy? She was only four. She wouldn’t understand why she couldn’t visit Santa. Maybe… Sam’s brain went into high gear.  Maybe there was a way. His father had said to be creative after all. He ran back home. He had to talk to his father while he was still outside, alone.
Monday morning, Sam had a list all ready. His father and he had spent an hour on Sunday taking a walk, just the two of them, and talking.
“No school today, Amanda.” He punched his sister playfully on the arm. “We can do whatever we want.”
“Boring,” Amanda grumbled, not looking up from her cereal.
“Why?”
“I can’t go see Tina, I can’t go shopping, we won’t go to the snow. I’d rather be in school.”
 “But Tina, there are all sorts of fun things to do to get ready for Christmas.”
“Yeah, like what?”
Sam was ready. “Well, for starts, I thought we’d make our own Christmas cards this year. We have to mail them by the end of this week. Even Sissy can help. And Mom can do her work without us bothering her.”
Their mother smiled gratefully at Sam.
“I’m sorry to be such a spoilsport,” she said. “But I’m in the midst of a project at work. Sam, it would be such a help if you and your sisters made the cards,”
“We can even write the annual Christmas letter, Mom. I know Dad would do it, but-well, I think we kids might do a better job.”
She winked at him. “Well, go for it. Just tell me what you need.”
“I was scrounging around. I think we have everything except stamps.”
“Sorry kids, I’m already late for work. Gotta go.” Their mother made a show of pretending to look for her car keys, but really just went into her office and shut the door.
“Have a good day at work, Mom,” Sam shouted after her. “We’ll take care of ourselves.”
He turned back to Amanda. “Well, are you in or not?”
“Yes, of course. You need me. I am the artist.”
“You are,” he acknowledged.
While Amanda crafted cards with fancy cut-outs of stars, trees and angels, Sam worked on their Christmas letter. First he wrote a list of what the family had done that year. It wasn’t a long list. Since March, when the pandemic hit, they had mostly stayed home. Well, he could write about what they had done at home then. His mother had learned to bake bread and had planted a vegetable garden.  His father had gotten out his guitar and started playing again. Amanda had taken art lessons online. And Sam had taken up the clarinet. Sissy hadn’t really noticed much difference. She played inside with her stuffed animals, played outside on the swings, and went on walks with the family.
“Do you guys want some lunch?” Sam looked up, startled at his father’s voice.  Was it lunchtime already?
“Working hard, I see.”
Sam nodded and showed his father his paper.
“Good job, Sam. I’ll type this up on the computer. And Amanda, those cards are beautiful.”
Sam looked to see a full array of cards standing on the table. “Wow, Amanda, you were right. You are the artist.”
“I learned to do paper cutting in my online class.”
“Where’s Sissy?” Sam suddenly remembered.
“I played quietly in my room so you could work,” Sissy said, coming into the kitchen with her favorite plush dog. “But Mopsy is hungry now.”
That afternoon, Sam got busy with his next project. He wouldn’t let anyone see. But he did get permission from his parents to use the family computer and order some things online. On Friday, at the supper table, he told his family about St. Nicholas Day.
“In other countries, St. Nicholas comes the night before December 6 and leaves a present. I talked to the gnome in the garden. This year, St. Nicholas will visit kids here too, if they’ve been good and followed all the rules like wearing masks. So we need to leave some hay in a wooden shoe for his horse and maybe he will visit us.”
“How can he ride a horse all the way here?” Sissy asked. “Where does he live anyway?”
“Well, when he was alive, he was a bishop living in Turkey. I guess he gets around like Santa does, with special magic. Only on a horse instead of using reindeer. In Europe, they see him riding down the street sometimes.”
“Ooh, I want to see him!” Sissy squealed.
“Yeah, well where are we going to get a wooden shoe?” Amanda demanded.
Sam reached into the box that had just been delivered and pulled out a set of decorated wooden shoes. “Ta da!”
Seeing his parents’ raised eyebrows, he whispered, “Remember when you said I could post on Nextdoor?”
“And hay?”
“Mrs. De Kruif down the street raises chickens. She said we could have some clean straw. You can go with me to pick it up. She said we can have some eggs too.”
So that afternoon, the three children went together to pick up the straw.
They greeted Mrs. DeKruif staying outside six feet away, wearing masks. But they could go in the chicken pen to gather eggs. Mrs. DeKruif gave them two bags, a large one with straw and one with grain.
“Straw is not hay,” she explained. “Horses like to lie on straw but it doesn’t have seeds and isn’t good to eat. So here are some oats.” Then she handed them a large decorated tin. “Stroopwaffel, a Dutch cookie,” she explained. “St. Nick loves them. And there are enough so you can have some too.”
The children thanked her and left.
“That was so much fun,” Sissy said as she skipped all the way home.
“Yeah, it was,” Amanda admitted. “More fun than shopping, I think.”
Sam just smiled to himself.
The children put out the wooden shoes, straw, oats and cookies that evening before going to bed.
“But you don’t have a shoe,” Sissy pointed out.
Sam shrugged. “I think I’m too old for presents now. It’s okay.”
In the morning, the straw was gone and Sissy found a little toy cat in her shoe. Amanda found a set of colored pencils.
“St. Nicholas leaves good presents,” she said, grinning.
“Well, that’s because you were both so good this year.”
“But you’ve been good too, Sam.”
He shrugged.
“What’s that over there, Sam?”
“Where?”
“In the corner by the table.”
Sam looked. A brand new bicycle stood there. A red bike,with blue racing stripes.
“Oh.” He looked at his father and mother. They smiled.
“Yes, Amanda’s right,” his mother answered. “You’ve been wonderful this year, Sam. doing your online schoolwork by yourself, helping your sisters. I think St. Nicholas noticed.”
Sam stood stroking his new bike. “May I go out to try it now?”
“Sure, go ahead, Sam. Be careful though. Drivers are a bit crazy now. And-“
“I know, I know, wear my mask and a helmet.”
Everyone laughed. They all knew the drill by now.
Sam stayed busy. Every few days there was a surprise activity for the girls or even the entire family. He memorized and recited the Night Before Christmas to the girls, who were mesmerized. He found his father’s old copy of Dicken’s Christmas Carol and cajoled him into reading it to the family each evening.  He was such a great reader, using different voices and adding sound effects that even Sissy listened although she didn’t understand many of the words. His mother enjoyed it so much, she declared that it should become a yearly tradition. He organized a snowball fight for the family, using foam balls he found cheap online. One afternoon, they pretended that it was snowing and they rode down the nearby grassy hill on pieces of cardboard. Sam found out the place in the foothills where you could cut your own tree was open, so they drove out there and spent a great afternoon outside looking for a perfect tree.  There was even a little snow on the ground. His mother took time out from her work schedule to bake cookies as she always did and the kids helped. That gave Sam an idea so he asked his mother to mix gingerbread and they baked it into slabs to make a gingerbread house.
Sam decided they should celebrate St. Lucia Day on December 13 just as the Scandinavians do. Amanda took on the task of dressing herself and Sissy in white dresses and made crowns. Sam found electric candles online and got permission to order them. He found a video with the song the girls sing. Amanda learned it and taught it to Sissy. He found the recipe for the special saffron buns. He and his mother made those on Saturday when she didn’t have to work. Sam wouldn’t tell her why he needed them, just that he wanted to try that recipe. On Sunday morning, the girls, dressed in their white dresses, with a crown of candles on their heads, walked into their parents’ bedroom, carrying the buns and singing. Their parents were taken by surprise and there were a lot of exclamations and hugs. Sam stood nearby, videotaping the celebration.
Time passed quickly. Now it was almost Christmas. But there was still one activity missing, Sam’s favorite.
“Sam,” his father said one morning, when the two were alone. “You’ve been such a great help this vacation. I think Sissy has had more fun than ever, Amanda hasn’t mentioned going shopping once, and even your mother and I have had a great time. Thank you.”
Sam sighed. “It’s been fun for me too, Dad. I learned that helping others can be fun.But-“
His father waited.
“It’s that, well, my favorite time every year is when we have our special shopping trip, just the two of us. And we can’t do that this year.” Sam felt tears coming to his eyes.
His father sat there in thought. “What is the best part of that, Sam?”
“Being alone with you. And buying Mom something special.”
“Hmmm. Well, what would you get her this year if you could go shopping? We could always place an order.”
“That’s not the same.”
“Still, what would you give her?”
“Time.” The words popped out of Sam’s mouth without warning. “But you can’t wrap time.”
“His father smiled. “Maybe you can. Maybe it’s time for me to have an idea. I’ll get back to you.”
Sam nodded happily. What idea would his father have?”
It turned out that their mother had an idea as well. At the dinner table that night, she said,
“You know, kids, I’ve been thinking. We are so fortunate. We have our family, we have a warm house, we have more than enough to eat, you kids have toys. But this year especially, there are families without these things. We can’t go out shopping, we can’t go work in a soup kitchen, but we could make up a packet to give to a needy family.”
Amanda, always practical, answered, “That’s a good idea, Mom. But how could we deliver it? We’re not supposed to be around other people. And where would we get the things?”
“The firefighters are having a toy drive. They might know a family we could help. And they could deliver. And I think it’s okay if we give used things, as long as they’re clean and not ragged. You three have so many toys and books, I’m sure you can find something. And I can add to our grocery order for the food.”
The three of them nodded.
So the next morning, the kids scoured their rooms for toys and books. Their mother told them to choose just one toy and two books for a child their age. She went through their closets and found some clothing. Then she and the kids all piled into the car and went to the fire station. The kids stayed in the car while their mother took the bags into the station. But the firefighters came out and waved at the kids. One of them was dressed as Santa. “Thank you.”
“Ooh, that was fun,” Sissy squealed. “Even Santa came. We’re doing so many fun things this year. I want us to be shut inside every year.”
“No, you don’t!” Amanda and her mother shouted in unison. Sissy put her thumb in her mouth and started to tear up. Sam smiled and mouthed to her, “It’s okay, Sissy.”
When they got home, their father was at the kitchen table.
“We have some business to attend to. Not you, Carole.” He nodded at his wife. You can go take a nap.” She rolled her eyes at him and went into her office.
“Good, she will be busy for a while,” their father said. “Now kids, we need to plan our annual shopping trips.”
“But-“ Amanda stuttered.
He held his fingers to his lips. “No buts, Amanda. Wait until you hear what I have planned.”
He pulled out a box filled with clear round ornaments. “I found these in the attic. We bought these the year we were married, thinking we would make our own ornaments but then we had a baby, and another, and yet another. We never found time. But you three are old enough now. I think the time has come.”
The three children sat quietly, waiting to hear the plan. How did this fit in with shopping?
“I got the idea from Sam. He said the shopping trip is special for two reasons. First is eating at a restaurant. So what if each night this coming week, one of you gets to choose a restaurant and the menu for the two of us to eat together. We can set up a fancy table in the garage.Then Sam said getting a special present for your mother was what he liked. Well, your mother doesn’t really need a gift. But she could use some encouragement. This year has been particularly hard on her, trying to work, help you with school and keep the household going. I thought each of you could make her a card and paint an ornament. I will meet with each of you alone for a few hours to help.”
Sam thought for a moment. His eyes met Amanda’s eyes. She nodded.
“That’s a great idea, Dad. We all love being alone with you, but this year is different. What if instead each of us gets to order the meal for the whole family. That kid could be the special kid that night to set the table and make things fancy and choose the entertainment. And I think we should include you and Mom too. There are five weekdays after all. Then maybe we could all work on the ornaments and the card together. I think a special letter from all of us together might mean more to Mom.”
“What a great idea, Sam!” his father answered.
“Yeah, Sam, you have great ideas,” Amanda seconded. I agree, Dad. Let’s do it Sam’s way.” She smiled wickedly. “That way I can supervise the artwork on the ornaments.”
“What about you, Sissy?” Their father turned to the youngest child.
“I like it when we do things  together,” she said, nodding.
“Okay, well let’s get started then. Sissy, since you’re the youngest, you can choose first. What is your favorite restaurant?”
So that week, they had a special take-out meal every  night. Their mother was hard at work, trying to finish up her project before Christmas and was grateful not to have to cook meals. She even seemed to really enjoy her special night, ordering from her favorite restaurant and putting on the Messiah for their listening pleasure. The others did the clean-up, even on their mother’s special night.  Little did she know what else they had planned.
Saturday afternoon, the three kids and their father went into the basement. They spent all morning there. First they penned a letter together, telling their mother how much she meant to them all. Amanda said she would copy it, using her best handwriting and decorating the borders.
“Now for the ornaments,” their father said. “Go to it.”
“Wait,” Amanda said. “We need a theme.”
“Well, you could each draw what you would like for Christmas. Then maybe Santa will see your ornament on the tree and leave that for you.”
“No, I think we should think less about presents this year.”
“You know, in my class, we were discussing what this year has taught us,” Sam said. “And we came up with some good stuff as well as bad. We discovered we had much to be thankful for and things to remember.”
“Like what?” Amanda asked. She was ready to listen not retort for once.
“Uh, well someone said they had learned compassion for others. Another said family. They did much more as a family now.”
“Yeah,” Amanda agreed. “We have seen each other much more this year. And you know, you are all okay. I miss my friends but not as much as before.”
“Outdoors,” Sissy said. “I get to play outdoors more than before. Mom even lets me be alone in the backyard sometimes. I have animal friends out there.”
What animals?” their father asked, a bit alarmed.
“I have a pet snail, I talk to the squirrel but he won’t get close and the birds hop around me.”
“Those are great pets, Sissy.” He sighed with relief.
“Okay, should we write one word on each ornament? In fancy writing? And decorate it appropriately? Amanda can be in charge and help as needed.”
They all nodded.
By lunchtime, they had an assortment of ornaments. Amanda had gone into her room and come out with glitter glue so they wrote the words with that, using cursive. Amanda wrote lightly on Sissy’s ball and she traced it with the glitter glue. There were red hearts, green holly and multicolored butterflies and flowers on the balls as well.
“These are beautiful,” Amanda breathed, stepping back to look at their work. She read the words aloud. “Time, love, Nature, goodwill, compassion, helping others, family, respect, other points of view.”
“Good reminders, all of them,” their father said quietly.
“Oh, I have two more,” Amanda said. She quickly wrote two more words. One said “Hugs.” The other “Masks.”
Their father held out his long arms and they came together into a group hug.
“Be glad we don’t have to stay six feet apart and wear masks in the house,” Sam said.
“I like wearing my doggy mask,” Sissy said.
“Good,” Sam said. “I like hugs.”
I”ll clean up,” Amanda offered.
“Okay, Sam and I will pack up the ornaments and store them some place safe,” their father answered. “And Sissy, it is warm out now. You could go out and play with your animal friends. Tell the snail hello for me.”
When they were in Sam’s room, putting the box of ornaments in his closet, Sam thought of something.
“Dad, we did all of this for Mom, but what about you? We love you too.”
“I know, Sam. It’s okay. Your mother does so much, I like to do something special for her each year. I learned long ago, just as you have learned this year, that making others happy can be the best gift of all for yourself.” He smiled at his son. “But since you like hugs, could I have one?”
Sam hugged his father hard. What a great family he had.
That was the last big activity before Christmas. The three kids were happy just to play together now. They didn’t even miss their friends so much. Their mother finished her project the day before Christmas Eve and the family took a long walk in the nearby park. It was a beautiful day. On Christmas Eve, they gathered together on the sofa to listen to the last chapter of Dicken’s Christmas Carol.
Bah, humbug.” Their father grinned. The children looked at him, puzzled. “I haven’t heard any bah humbugs since the first day of vacation,” their father explained. “I guess it wasn’t such a bad holiday after all?”
“Thanks to Sam,” Amanda said.
Sam opened his eyes wide at his sister. Such praise was unusual for her.
“And there wasn’t any snow in the mountains this year anyway,” Sam pointed out. "So we didnt miss that. Maybe it will snow late and we can go skiing at Easter.”
“Perhaps. These days, we seem to have to take things one day at a time.”
“I got the best present of all,” their mother said. She wiped a tear from her eye. “I wasn’t happy that I had to take on this project right during the holidays. But you have all been so wonderful. Sissy took care of herself, Sam planned such great activities, Amanda cooperated and helped, and my wonderful husband took care of the household and the family. I love you all so much.”
Sam looked at his father, who winked. Then he looked at Amanda who barely stifled her laughter. They held their fingers to their lips, just as Sissy got ready to tell their secret.
Their mother had no idea what the morning would hold. When Santa had come.
Well, what do you think? Was it a happy Christmas Day for the family? Did their mother appreciate the special ornaments? Did Santa come and leave presents for the children?
I will leave that to your imagination. Just know that along with presents from Santa, their mother found two letters in her stocking that morning, each kid found a letter from Santa, and even their father found a letter (this one penned by Sam). Sam, sitting on his new bike, told his father that the memories of that Christmas were the best present of all. 
The words of the ornaments that had been carefully hung on the tree were well represented that day and for many days afterward.
May the same be true for you and your family this Christmas and always.
 
MW
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

St. Nicholas Day starts the Christmas Season. It is a day for children. In some countries, Nicholas comes riding in on his horse or walking from house to house. He is invited in and asks each child about their behavior the past year. If they have been good, he hands out sweets. If they have not been good, legend is that he gives them coal. I don't think any child gets coal now. In some countries, children put out a wooden shoe on the Eve of Dec. 5. They may put hay in the shoe for the Saint's horse. In the morning, the hay is gone and the shoes are filled with toys and treats. 
St. Nicholas was a real saint, He was born in the third century in a Greek town in what is now Turkey. He became a bishop and was known for his kindness to others, especially children. His day of death is his feast day, December 6. 
So for the children, and the child in all of us, here is a story about a boy and his dog who learned to deal with their bullies. I dedicate it to Píccola, who occasioned the story and helped me deal with my own bully. 

                                                   Will and Doxie
 
 Will had wanted a dog as long as he could remember. But his parents said no. “Maybe when you are older and can take care of it yourself.” Will wondered when that would be.
The day after Thanksgiving, Will and his little sister sat down and wrote a letter to St. Nicholas. According to family tradition, St. Nicholas arrived on December 6 at their house and left a special present just for the children. Christmas was celebrated on Christmas Eve with smaller presents under the tree for the whole family. Will liked this tradition. They told him about the past year, what good they had done, what they still needed to work on, and politely suggesting ideas for a special present.
This year, Will helped Carrie first. She was only three and couldn’t write yet. “I want a wagon, and a great big Clifford dog, and..”
“One special present,” Will reminded her gently. “What do you want most of all?”
She sucked on her pencil. “Clifford,” she decided finally.
Will wrote the letter for her, then she wrote her name. “Now draw a picture,” he said. “Draw carefully so St. Nicholas knows exactly what you want.”
While Carrie was drawing, Will wrote his own letter.
“Dear Saint Nicholas. I have been responsible this year. I take out the garbage without being reminded and I make my own bed. I help Carrie and play with her. Sometimes I ignore my mother when she tells me to get off my video games. I will try harder to listen to her. I would like a new bicycle this year. My old one is too small and the brakes don’t work. If possible, could it bea red bike with racing stripes and at least three gears? Thanks.”
He took his letter to his mother to be proofread. “No dog request this year?” she asked.
Will shrugged. “I’ll never get one, so why ask? Maybe when I’m a teenager.” He sighed. “But that’s a long time from now.”
“It can’t hurt to ask,” his mother suggested. “You’ve been really responsible this year, Will, since I started work. You take care of your own breakfast dishes and you help with Carrie”
“Okay,” Will said. Just to please his mother, he took his letter back and added, “But what I would really really like is a dog of my own. I promise I would take care of the dog and it wouldn’t be a bother for my parents. And I would teach it to be gentle with Carrie.”
He signed his name and addressed the envelope his mother gave him. Of course, he knew there was no St. Nicholas in Greece, but he played along. His parents had told him there once was a real St. Nicholas there, so that’s where he should send the letter. Maybe the Saint’s spirit still resided there. Anyway, it was fun to play along, and he always did receive a special present on the Saint’s feast day.
School began to be more fun now that it was December. Of course, they still had work to do, but report cards had been received and the teachers relaxed a bit. Fun learning activities were planned and more talking was allowed. Math lessons revolved around problem solving in groups, such as figuring out how many gifts were received on the Twelve Days of Christmas. Best of all for Will was his afterschool art class, where they were working with clay. Will was planning to make some Christmas ornaments for his family.
But the fun was ruined on Monday morning, when Will saw the school bully headed for him. This large older boy named Bubba had been teasing Will for weeks, calling him a weakling or sissy. Will tried to ignore him and get away as fast as possible.
But this morning, Bubba walked up just as Will entered the gate.
“Hey, kid, give me your lunch money.”
“I don’t have any,” Will mumbled, trying to sidle past the big boy. But Bubba blocked his path.
“Sure you do. How much do you have?”
Will shook his head. “I brought my own lunch.”
“Show me.”
Reluctantly, Will pulled out his lunch bag, which his mother had decorated with dog stickers.
“How cute,” Bubba sneered. “Give me something good from your lunch.”
“My mother makes healthy lunches,” Will answered. “You know, things like yogurt and carrots.”
“Yeah sure, how about candy? I’ll bet you have candy in there.”
Will shook his head. He didn’t mention the homemade ginger cookie.
“Okay, well I’ll let you go this time,” Bubba said. “But tomorrow you had better have something good for me, or else.” He shook his fist in Will’s face.
Will didn’t want to think about what that or else might be.
The next morning, Will made sure to be early at school and he hid out in the boy’s bathroom until the bell rang. And after school, he didn’t linger but left the playground before the big kids’ bell rang.  He did that all week and managed to avoid Bubba.
St. Nicholas Day fell on Saturday this year. Just as the day was dawning and Will was still asleep, Carrie ran into Will’s room.
“Will, come on, get up. We have to see what St. Nicholas brought!”
Will sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Okay, just a sec, Carrie.” Then suddenly he was awake. Would there be a new bike downstairs?
Carrie slid down the bannister, with Will holding her hand. Then they walked hand in hand into the living room. Carrie squealed and ran over to a large red Clifford dog. It was almost as big as Carrie.
Will looked for the hay they had put into a large rain boot. It was no longer there. And the plate filled with his mother’s homemade cookies from an old Dutch family recipe was empty. He grinned, wondering which parent had eaten them. That was a lot of cookies.
Then he looked around the room. No bike. Maybe it was outside? He would wait.
He sat on the sofa to watch Carrie play with her dog. It was great how easy it was to make a little kid happy. And him? Well, a bike would be nice. But a real dog would make him just as happy as Carrie. A big dog, one that would scare Bubba. He smiled at the thought and began to daydream of a German Shepherd straining at its leash, just trying to reach the bully. And Will saying, “You’d better leave me alone or I will let him off leash.”
Finally, their parents came downstairs.
“Happy St. Nicholas Day,” their father said. “Did he bring a special gift to the greatest two children in the world?”
“Oh Daddy, “ Carrie squealed. “Yes. A big big doggy.”
A big, big dog. That’s what I need too, Will thought. He waited for his father to tell him to go look outside. He was sure the bike was out there.
No one said anything. Will looked at his father. What was that in his arms? Something wiggling?
“Well, Will, don’t you want to come meet your new dog?” his father asked.
Will just stared as his father set down a very wiggly black and tan dog.
Will knelt down and the dog ran to him, sniffing him all over. Will just sat there staring. No, he wasn’t crying!
“She’s a miniature dachshund, Will. Not a puppy, maybe a year old. We got her at the shelter. She’s a bit skittish. We had to convince the people there that you were responsible and would take good care of her.
“Oh, Dad, Mom, thank you! I will do everything for her. She won’t be a bother to you at all.”
 “No, she just kept us up all night.” His father smiled wryly.
“She can keep me up tonight,” Will answered. “I don’t care.”
“My doggy’s bigger than yours,” Carrie broke in. She looked a little jealous.
“Yes, your dog is very big. He can protect you, Carrie. And Doxie. And maybe he and Doxie will be friends.”
“I see she has a name already,” his mother smiled.
“I guess so,” Will answered. “The name just popped into my head.”
“Well, who is ready for a special St. Nicholas Dutch breakfast?”
 “I have to take care of my dog first, Mom. Then I will come in. Do we have dog food?”
“Yes, Will. And today we’ll go out and get whatever else Doxie needs. The shelter called us late yesterday so we didn’t have much time.”
“Mommy, Clifford needs things too,” Carried pouted.
“Of course, Carrie. you can pick out his things.”
Will took a small bowl from the cupboard and poured kibble into the bowl. He filled another bowl with water. Then he led his dog to the food and sat by her while she ate. Only then would he eat his mother’s special pancakes. His mother gave him an old blanket for the dog and she curled up on the floor beside his chair.
“I see Doxie has already adopted you, Will,” his father remarked.
Will just smiled happily.
Will spent every waking minute with his dog that weekend. And some sleeping minutes too. Doxie quickly learned to sleep on his bed. Will didn’t tell his parents, but he decided it was okay.
Sunday evening at supper, Will suddenly remembered.
“Mom, I can’t go to school tomorrow.”
“Why, Will? Are you feeling ill?” His mother reached over to feel his forehead.
“No, it’s not that. But I have a dog now, remember? I have to take care of her.”
“Oh, Will, I am here. I can take care of Doxie.”
“She can play with Clifford and me, Will,” his sister added.
“But I promised you I would do everything and you didn’t have to do anything.”
Don’t worry. Doxie and I get along well.” She reached down to scratch the dog’s ears. “And as soon as you get home from school, you can have her all to yourself again.”
Will heaved a big sigh.
His mother peered closely at him. “Will, is there something else bothering you? Did something happen at school?”
N-no, but I want to be responsible. I promised you, and St. Nicholas that I would be responsible.”
His father spoke up. “It’s your responsibility to go to school to learn as well, Will.”
Will sighed again. “Alright. Well, at least we have time together now.” He stood up. “Come on, Doxie, couch time!”
Doxie, who had already learned this expression, jumped up, grabbed her little toy bear and ran to the living room. Will followed. Cuddling her on the sofa, he whispered to her, “What are we going to do, Doxie? How am I going to face Bubba? You won’t be there and you’re so little anyway.” He immediately felt guilty for saying that. I love you, Doxie. I don’t want you to be any other way, but I have to figure out what to do about Bubba.”
Doxie looked up and licked the tears from his face.
The next morning, Will tried to leave the house early. But he had to eat breakfast and feed Doxie, then he took her out to do her business and she wandered around sniffing instead. By the time she was finished, Will had to rush to get to school before the bell.
Sure enough, there was Bubba at the gate.
“Lunch?” he demanded, holding out his hand.
“Nothing good,” Will mumbled.
“Give it to me anyway.”
So Will gave him his lunch bag and hurried off to line.
At lunchtime, he told his teacher he had forgotten his lunch. She made sure he got a peanut butter sandwich and milk, so he didn’t starve. And the teacher assured him she wouldn’t call his mother just for forgetting his lunch once.
After school, Bubba was there with two friends, also big big, mean-looking guys.
“Hey, kid, your mother makes good cookies. Bring me some more tomorrow.”
Will just hurried past.
But Bubba called after him. “Kid, didn’t you hear me” I said to bring me cookies tomorrow. Let’s see, two each. That makes six. Do you think you can count that high?”
They all laughed, while Will nodded and hurried out the gate.
Will hurried home. Doxie jumped up on him, whining. He rolled on the floor with her, rubbing her ears, and letting her climb all over him. And even forgot Bubba for a few minutes.
“Will, I got a collar and leash today for Doxie. I thought maybe you could take her on a walk today.”
“Okay, Mom. Doxie, did you hear that? Do you want a walk?”
Doxie cocked her head. She obviously had not learned that word. Will wondered what her life had been like her first year. Well now she had a good home.
He buckled on her collar and attached the leash and they set off down the driveway. She didn’t pull much at all but stayed just ahead of Will, alert to everything around her. Such a smart dog, Will thought proudly.
But when they approached the house at the corner, the big white house with the picket fence, a large bulldog charged at them. Will saw the dog was chained so he didn’t worry. But Doxie sat down suddenly and wouldn’t move.
“Come on, Doxie, you can go by. He’s on a chain.”
Will tugged on the leash a bit. But Doxie pulled back. He called. He tugged again. But she wouldn’t move. The bulldog gave up and went back to his porch.
“See, Doxie? He isn’t interested. He’s gone now.” Will tugged on the leash again.
But Doxie turned around and started trotting back towards home. Will didn’t know what to do, so her followed her. When they reached their house, Will sat on the front step to pet Doxie.
“You don’t have to be afraid, Doxie. I will protect you.” Then he thought, But I can’t even protect myself. He buried his face in his dog. “Why do we both have to be such scaredy cats, Doxie? What are we going to do?”
The rest of the week, Will avoided Bubba at the gate and Doxie refused to walk by the big white house with the bulldog. Will kept thinking about ways to deal with his bully and with the bulldog, but mostly he came up with fantasies of himself as a Ninja or Doxie as a snarling beast.
On Friday, Will had his afterschool art class. He loved art. He sketched pictures of Doxie, sleeping, barking, begging. His favorite was of her standing alert, tail up, looking up. He would use that sketch to make a clay sculpture next week.
When he left class, the big kids were already getting out. Will kept his head down, looking at the picture he had drawn. But he heard snickering behind him. Someone grabbed his shirt.
“Hey, kid, do you have any cookies left over? You never brought me the ones I asked for. I really like your mother’s cookies.”
Bubba spun Will around. Putting his face close to him, he added, “Whatcha got there? Lemme see.”
“No!” Will pulled away. But Bubba had grabbed his picture. It ripped in two. Tears came to Will’s eyes.”
The two big boys with Bubba began to snicker. “Hey, look. The little boy is crying. His little picture is torn. Be glad you don’t have to do real work like we do, kid. Like Math, fractions, that stuff. You just get to draw all day.”
Bubba threw the picture back at Will. “Hey, kid, I’m sorry I tore your picture. But you can draw another one, right?”
Will grabbed his picture and left, trying to hold his tears back. All the way home, he seethed at himself. Why was he such a baby? Why couldn’t he stand up to these kids? Why were they so mean to him?
He reached home, where Doxie was out on the steps to greet him. He sat down and held her tight. And now the tears flowed freely.
“Why can’t you be a big fierce dog that would rip those guys apart?” Will whispered to her. “Instead, you’re as much a scaredy cat as I am.”
Immediately, Will felt bad. “No, no, I don’t mean that, Doxie,. I wouldn’t trade you for any dog. But what are you and I going to do? We can’t go on being scared forever?”
Will spent much of the weekend drawing Doxie in different poses. His teacher had said they would use their drawings to make a clay figure on Friday. And drawing kept his mind off Bubba. Every day he took Doxie on a walk and every day she came to a sudden halt at the white picket fence and wouldn’t budge until he turned back to their house. Will thought about asking his parents for advice, but he had promised to be responsible. Didn’t that mean figuring things out for himself?
Friday morning, Will woke up thinking of art class. It would be a fun day. But no—he would probably meet Bubba after art class. He could say he was sick and skip the class. But then he wouldn’t get to make his sculpture. Better to face the bully. Maybe he would come up with some solution. He thought of taking some money out of his piggy bank to pay Bubba, but that would only encourage the big boy to bully him more.
Art class was fun. Will made a clay figure of Doxie standing on her hind legs, her tail wagging. He worked so hard on his sculpture that he didn’t hear the bell.
“Will, class is over,” his teacher said. “That’s a fine dog you made there. Is that your dog?”
“Yes,” Will said proudly. “She’s the best dog ever.”
He put his sculpture in the box the teacher gave him and hurried out of the classroom. But he was too late. Bubba stood by the gate. This time he was alone. Will tried to hide his sculpture, but the box was too big to put in his pocket.
“Hey, kid, whatcha got there? Some cookies for me?”
Will had had enough.
“No,” he said. “It’s my guard dog. Don’t touch! She might bite you!”
Bubba grabbed the box.
“Don’t you dare touch her!” Will yelled.
“Hey, relax, I just want to see. Hey, did you make this?”
“Yeah I did. What of it?”
“It’s good. Maybe you’re not such a wimp after all.”
The big boy handed the box back. “But your dog is sure a wimp. I watch you walking her every day. She’s so scared of that bulldog. It’s funny.”
“I don’t think it’s funny. But she’ll learn.” Will turned and walked away.
“Hey, kid, I know you don’t have lunch money now. But bring me some cookies on Monday.”
“There is no school on Monday,” Will called back. Then he had an idea. “But you said you see us on our walk. I’ll bring out some cookies in case we see you. Special Christmas cookies. My Mom will be baking all weekend.”
He looked back and saw Bubba standing there, for once with no words. Just staring. Will wondered what the other boy was thinking? Plotting some revenge? Or maybe…
As soon as he reached his house, Will grabbed Doxie’s leash and called her. She came running. Will grabbed a few cookies as well. He had an idea.
“Come on, Doxie. Time for a walk. I stood up to Bubba, it’s time for you to stand up to that bulldog.”
They ran down the block together, Doxie’s long ears flapping happily. But she turned tail as soon as they reached the white house.
Will knelt down and stroked her muzzle.
“Look, Doxie, he is on a chain. He can’t hurt you. I will stand right by you. Just try it, okay?”
Will stood between the fence and Doxie. Then he held out a piece of cookie. Doxie took a few steps. The bulldog rushed the fence, growling. Doxie shrank back. But Will kept talking and holding out the cookie. “Come on, girl, you can do it.” She took another step. Then another. The bulldog gave up and went back to his porch. Will and Doxie got beyond the fence and crossed the street.
“You did it, Doxie, you did it!” Will gave her the piece of cookie. Doxie jumped up on Will, wagging her tail.
They walked two more streets, with Doxie prancing the entire way. On the way back, she only hesitated a minute before walking right by the white house. She ignored the growling coming from the porch. When they were past the house, Doxie looked up at Will, wagging her tail.
“She did it, didn’t she?”
Will flinched when he heard Bubba’s voice. But then he remembered his promise. Bubba bend down to pet Doxie.
“You may be little but you’re okay, hotdog.” He added in a quiet voice, ”Sure wish I had a dog.”
“Maybe you could ask Santa, I mean your parents,” Will suggested. “That’s what I did.”
“I’ve asked over and over. It’s always the same answer. My Mom says a dog costs money and she doesn’t have any time to take care of it. We live over there, kid, not in this neighborhood.” He pointed down the street to the ramshackle apartment building that Will always avoided.
“Oh, well uh, maybe you could help me with Doxie. You seem to know something about dogs.”
“You mean it?”
“Yeah, but she’s little. You can’t go around calling her names. And if you hurt me, she might bite you.”
Bubba actually smiled. Maybe he wasn’t so mean after all, Will decided.
“Why do you come over to my street?”
Bubba shrugged. “I like seeing all the Christmas lights people put up. And at suppertime, I smell good food.”
“Doesn’t you mother cook?
“I told you, she’s real busy. She cooks but at work. I get my own supper.”
“Oh.” Will didn’t know what else to say.
“Hey, Bubba, have a cookie.” He held out one of his two remaining ones.
“Thanks.”
“And if you come on Monday, that’s the day after Christmas, you could help me train Doxie. I think it’s time. And there will be lots of cookies to eat. And maybe someday, maybe…. you could have supper at my house. My mom is a great cook.”
Bubba smiled. “You may be a wimp, but you’re okay, kid. Yeah, thanks, I’ll come.”
 “Okay, see you Monday then. Merry Christmas. Oh, and Bubba, my name is Will, not kid.”
Bubba nodded.  “My name is Bill,” he said.  “Merry Christmas. I hope you get all you want, Will.” A fleeting smile crossed his face. . “And then maybe you’ll let me play with your stuff?”
Will nodded. Then he picked up the leash. “Come on, girl, race you home.”
 
 
-MW
 
 
 

I have been thinking about the third child, both in humans and in other animals. For the ospreys, biology is the clear determinant to the third chick's future. It appears that the third chick may be at a disadvantage. Of four osprey families raised in view of the cam on the Whirley Crane nest, there has been one set of three successful chicks to fledge. The first year, there was a third egg laid and removed by Rosie, apparently unviable. The second year, all three chicks fledged. The third year, the third chick, Gamma, died at four days of age.Gamma appeared from the start to have possible neurological problems, wobbly and often facing the wrong way to be fed(this is lay person's observation). And this year, Tam, the third chick, fledged but then faltered during the fledge and never recovered. We don't really know why. So the third chick would seem to be weaker and less viable. (This is not necessarily true of other osprey nests, however.)
With humans, I have noticed that the third child is often less confident than the older siblings, perhaps closer to the mother, and more of a loner. Also I have noticed more empathy in third children. Perhaps with more health issues as well. Again, this is just my observation, but it has intrigued me and led to the following tale and poems. Read, enjoy, ponder and come to your own conclusions. And if you are the third child, welcome to the club!
(JM is not a third child and Píccola has no idea if she is, so they are both taking a rest this month.)

 Are you the third child too?
What does that mean for you?
Do you go to bed first?
At games are you the worst?

You have a sister or a brother,
And you'll always have one another.
Sometimes a bother but a help too,
Help when you're hurt or to tie your shoe.

Sometimes they might tattle on you,
But then they will protect you too.
And if you want to be alone,
You must seek a place all your own.

When you grow up and you leave home,
You will soon come into your own.
You can shine as much as they do,
Show them that you have talents too.

And feel secure knowing that they
​Will be there at the end of day.

​Time passed slowly for the father. He often wondered how his sons were doing. And finally, five years to the day they had left, he heard a knocking on the door. There stood his eldest son.
“Greetings, my son,” his father exclaimed, hugging his son tightly. You must be tired. Sit down and rest. Have some soup and bread.”
His son gladly took the chair and soup bowl he offered. While he was eating, there was a knock at the door and in walked the second son. He too, sat down to eat. And then, just as the sun was setting, in walked the youngest brother. When they had all finished their soup, the father spoke. 
I will ask you each  three questions,” he said. "After you have all three  answered, you can tell us of your adventures."
.He turned to his oldest son.
“What did you achieve?”
“ I became a scientist and made a great discovery."
“What do people say?”
“They acclaim me far and wide. I have become famous.”
“And how do you make them feel?”
“Oh, they admire me for what I have done.”
The father turned to his second son.
“And you my son? What did you accomplish?”
“ I became an artist. I am employed by a large and famous company and earn good money.”
“What do others say about you?”
“They love my art and pay good money for it.”
“And how do you make them feel?”
“My art brings them pleasure whenever they look at it.”
Now the father turned to his youngest son. 
“And you, my son? What did you accomplish? Which path did you choose?”
The youngest son hung his head. “I tried science but it was not enough. So I tried art. But I wanted to play my fiddle. So I played music. I just couldn’t choose. I wanted to do them all. In the end, I chose to teach. Then I could do all three.”
“Well, then, what did people say?”
“I don’t know, father.” He hung his head. 
“And how did you make them feel?”
“That I don’t know either. My students seem to like me but they don’t really tell me how they feel. Perhaps I have not accomplished anything of great worth. Perhaps I am a failure. No one has ever acclaimed me as they have my brothers.”
“Not so!” the other two spoke at the same time.
“One day I was walking through a town,” the oldest brother said. “I heard two young men talking. They were talking about their favorite teacher. One liked his science teacher the best. 
‘He makes learning science such fun,’ the man said. ‘And I learn ever so much.’ 
‘My music teacher is the same,’ the other said. ‘What is your teacher’s name?’
“Well, it turned out they both had the same teacher and that teacher was you.”
He clapped his brother on the back. “You are famous, my brother.”
“And I,” added the second brother. “I came across an art show. The artists were all magnificent. I asked how they had learned. They all said they had the same teacher. And that teacher not only taught them well, he encouraged them and made them feel successful, so they kept at their art until they had perfected it. And guess who that man was?”
“I don’t know,” the youngest brother answered. 
“You, of course.” 
“So you are a successful teacher,” the father spoke quietly. "You help others to be successful. You make them feel capable and good about themselves. I would say that you have achieved much, my son. As much as your two brothers. You only need to apply that to yourself as well.”
He looked at his three sons. 
“I am well pleased with all three of you. You have taken what you have learned and used it to make the world a better place. You have accomplished something and helped others in return. Stay here a while and keep me company, then go out again and continue along your paths.”
The brothers nodded. Then the oldest spoke.
“If we have done so, father, it is because of your example. You gave us the tools to achieve and the knowledge that we must help others as well as ourselves. Thank you.”
The three brothers stayed with their father for a while then each set off again. But the youngest found a job teaching nearby so that he could visit his father often and continue to learn from his wisdom. And all lived in happiness and  fulfillment.
 
-MW

​

Píccola says: In these times, humans need a tail to wag and a chew toy to help them relax.

                                                       The Man Of Many Masks
 
Once there was a Very Important Man who had also become Very Famous. This man enjoyed his status and strutted about like a Tom Turkey leading his flock the day before Thanksgiving.
One day a virus entered the land. The VIM wasn’t worried. He knew he was healthy and besides, he could buy his way out of any illness. He continued to trot around the land, calling his people together. And they came, despite the doctors’ exhortations to stay at home. If their Great Leader did not fear this little virus, why should they worry?
More and more people became ill. They were weak, the VIM said, but he was strong. He wasn’t worried. And if the weak people became ill, that was their worry, not his. 
Until the day when the VIM himself became ill. At first, he poo-poohed the diagnosis. “I just have the sniffles,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.” But he became sicker. The finest doctors in the land gathered around to help him heal. And soon he felt better.
“See,” he proclaimed. “I am bigger than this virus. Nothing can stop me.” He tore off his mask and called to his Believers to join him in a big party.
But the VIM did not feel as well as he proclaimed. And soon he felt so sick he had to return to the hospital. Again, the  doctors did their best to heal him. But the virus had hold of him now and he became very ill.
One day, a small, white-haired, unassuming man came to the hospital. 
“I am a doctor,” he said. “I would like to see the VIM. I think perhaps I can save him.”
At first, the other doctors were skeptical, but as they talked to this doctor, they became convinced of his experience and expertise. At his insistence, they put a mask on the VIM and brought him to see the doctor. 
The doctor wasted no time with introductions. Nor did he flatter the VIM.
“Take off your mask,” he said, although he himself was wearing a mask and protective garments.
“Gladly,” the VIM said. He tore off his mask and grinned. “I guess you are one of my supporters.”
The doctor didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Now take off the other mask.”
The VIM was confused. “I don’t have any other mask,” he said. “I hate masks.”
“On the contrary,” the doctor said. “You wear many.”
“Who are you anyway? You are such a small man, with a tiny voice. Why should I listen to you?”
The doctor didn’t take offense. He just repeated, “Take off that mask.”
Reluctantly, the VIM reached up to find a mask on his face. He tore it off angrily.
“How did that get there?”
“What does it say?
The VIM peered at the writing on the mask. “Very Important Person. That’s me.” The VIM grinned. “So I’ll put it back on.”
“No, set it aside. It does you no good in here. Now take off the other mask.”
The not-so-VIM was confused. He reached up tentatively and found another mask. This time he did as he was told.
“Read it.” 
“World’s Richest Man.”  He grinned. “I made tons of money. I had buildings built. And they’re all named after me. Rich people are always on top.”
The doctor didn’t answer. He just said, “The next mask please.”
Now the once VIM was worried. What was this doctor doing? Nevertheless, he removed the mask he now found on his face. 
“TV Personality,” he read unprompted. “Yes. I was on television and everyone looked at me. They loved me. They laughed at everything I said. Oh, that was a great time.”
“The next mask,” the doctor prompted quietly.
The man removed the mask he now found on his face. It was made of a silky material and very ornate. 
“Woman’s man,” he read. He winked at the doctor. “Oh yes, I am a veritable Playboy. I can have any woman I wish. They all flock to me.”
“Put it over there,” the doctor said, pointing to the bedstand.
“No, I want to wear it. I need it.”
“It will do you no good here,” the doctor replied. 
“Oh yes, it will. There are plenty of nurses on this ward. Even if they are all wearing masks.”
The doctor just pointed to the bedstand. “And the last mask,” he said. 
The man reluctantly reached up and pulled off the mask he found. This one was made of plastic. It was of a Superhero, the one he had admired as a child.
The man did not speak this time. He was remembering the first time he had worn the mask. His father was yelling at him for the poor marks he had gotten in school. He cursed at his son and told him he would never amount to anything. The boy had run to his room, grabbed his Superhero mask and cape and run back to his father, yelling, “You can’t tell me what to do. I am Superhero. I can do anything. I can even make you disappear.” Then he had snapped his fingers and run out the door. 
The man gave a little sniff. He looked at the doctor who looked back at him with a small smile of compassion. Compassion? What was that, the man wondered. Where had he heard that word before? He looked away.
“Now that you have removed the masks,” the doctor spoke quietly, “it is possible that you might heal. It is up to you. And time. I can do no more."
The doctor walked out of the room. 
The man looked at all the masks. He found the surgical mask and put it on. Then he sat there in silence for a long time.
Did the man heal? Did he put the masks back on or discard them? Only time will tell.

​-MW

​                                                      The Un-Masqued Ball
 
Once there was a population of citizens somewhere in the world. They behaved as all citizens, sometimes good and kind, sometimes selfish and nasty. And they learned to conceal their true feelings most of the time, as these emotions seemed to just get them in trouble. Each person wore a mask or two, or many, to present their best side to their co-workers, their friends, and even their families. 
There came a time of great plague. The authorities exhorted the citizens to stay inside and avoid other people. They were to wear a mask over their face any time they went out to be with others. The people obeyed for the most part. Gradually, they became accustomed to the masks and the littlest children were even allowed to wear a mask as well. Everyone became accustomed to seeing only a person’s eyes. One never knew if the person next to them was smiling or frowning. Was that clerk annoyed? Was the pedestrian passing by on the sidewalk happy or sad? Who could tell? Some people took to giving a little wave just to make a friendly connection. 
Throughout this period, the people kept their old masks as well. It was even more important, they reasoned, in this time of peril and unrest to present one’s best face, to avoid confrontation.
The plague lasted several years. The citizens adapted, as people are wont to do. Wearing masks, staying away from others, and being careful it became a new way of life. 
Finally the plague faded away. It did so slowly and imperceptibly, so that no one really noticed. But the doctors noticed and they told the authorities to gradually reduce the restrictions. Finally the great day came when the governments told the people they might remove their masks. 
Well, the people felt this called for a great celebration. A group of them arranged a large party. They called it the UnMasqued Ball. Everyone would attend the Ball wearing one or several masks and remove them during the festivities. Many people liked this idea and people began making fancy masks to befit the occasion.
Expectations were high on the night of the Unmasked Ball. Many people stood before the ballroom hours before the doors opened. Dressed in their finest clothes, they wore masks of all colors and shapes, masks that concealed their true identity. Families were there, friends with friends, lovers, co-workers, all glad to be able to come together finally. 
The doors opened. There was food and drink and dance. The people had a great time. Finally, it was announced that the unmasking would take place. At the first ring of a bell, everyone was to remove one mask. Then again, after a few minutes, the bell would ring again and they were to remove another mask. And so on, until all the masks were gone and their true selves revealed. 
Excitement was high. Ding! Everyone peeled off their mask. Many had another mask beneath that one, so no much of their face was revealed. On the second ring, people began to recognize each other. Most had worn only two masks and assumed this was the end of the game. But the bell rang again. The people reached up to their faces and found a thin film on their faces. Some peeled this off. Again the bell rang. More people peeled off the thin masks they had not known they wore. Again. Another filmy mask. Ding. And yet another.
Finally the people stood with naked faces before each other.
 A woman looked at her husband. “Why, I never have seen you look at me like that,” she said. “Such a loving look.” The husband was embarrassed, but he let his wife gather him in her arms. 
A worker looked at his co-workers and his boss. He saw the colleague who was always so brazen and rude. Now the man stood in confusion, almost scared. The worker, who had always avoided this man, went over to talk to him. A female worker went up to her boss. “Such a kind look on your face,” she spoke. “I am no longer afraid of you.” The boss tried to smile. It took a while, as he was unused to doing so. 
This went on all through the room. There were some unpleasant surprises as well. A woman found that her group of friends, their frozen smiles gone, really didn’t appreciate her. She shrugged and went off to find new friends. At least she knew now and no one had to pretend. For better or for worse, the people recognized who their real friends were, and began to better understand their coworkers. Families began to talk in earnest. Instead of engaging in small talk of movies and memes, they revealed their hopes and expectations, and in doing so, the families became closer. Mothers and daughters formed a new bond, fathers counseled sons, siblings ran off to play together rather than fight.
The Un-Masquing Ball was a great success. The people felt free, not only from the Plague but also from the plague they had created for themselves. This is not to say that life was perfect from then on. They had to learn a new way of life and many slipped back into old patterns. But they had seen a different possibility and returned to it often, relishing their new unmasked lives. And the Plague never returned. 

​-MW

​Distancing
 
Instead of stepping forward
 Into an embrace,
He stepped backward, 
Then held his hands
In prayer position
To say farewell,
Thank you, and
May you be well. 

​-MW