I saw a man running, early New Year’s Day.

I grinned at his determination,

to start his goals with intention,

But wondered if they would continue ‘til May.

The problems with resolutions are not the intent.

It’s when we let life get in the way

to slow down our resolve to pay

For those sins we fall back on to vent.

Mistletoe = kissing. That's how I associate the parasitic plant that is oftentimes hung above a doorway during the holidays. But what is the true history of it? Research told me that there were several theories about how mistletoe became associated with kissing.

Naked, flat on my stomach,

     Face down in a hole.

Arms at my sides,

     Anticipating the goal

Of relaxation and tensions released

            As I hear soothing sounds of flutes for more peace.

The plan was for me to text one of the guests waiting at our house to let her know we were on our way back home to get the car. That way the group would be ready for the big surprise.

Simple plan, right!? Not so much, as it turned out.

Rain, rain won’t go away,

And will be back another day.

Our roof has large leaks galore,

Especially when the heavens pour.

Its great big heart out

To give us more

Moisture,

The soil a drink,

The lakes to restore,

Levels of their normal reserves.

Perhaps it was the power of suggestion from my husband’s comment, “I’ve never seen such a ghost town as this,” or maybe it was the fact that the place was indeed, a true ‘ghost’ town, complete with its haunts that made me quiver. I’m not sure, but as we drove down street after street seeing the many empty and forlorn houses that were neglected by humans, yet overly nurtured by Mother Nature with overgrowth and decay, I couldn’t help but feel that we were more in a ‘Twilight Zone’ rather than in a town where I had once lived and enjoyed being in.

Chet and I drove into Boise City, Oklahoma, population of 1,142, yesterday afternoon with plenty of time to nap and have a nice happy hour. However, finding a campground, which showed many on the google map, turned out to be difficult. There were only two in town, both tiny, and one was full.

My favorite time is early morn,

In the hot tub before starlight fades.

The half-moon is shining bright,

As I lay back to gaze.

I see a satellite pass by the moon,

And soon the brightness showed,

A meteor shooting past,

Its long tail and embers glowed.

As I grew older, I became curious about past lives and reincarnation and became an avid reader on the subject. So, when I met Cassondra a few years ago, she was one whom I felt I had known my whole life, and the longer I was around her I sensed with certainty that I had been in one or more of her lives. But the curious aspect was the fact that I seemed to know without question that she had been a prostitute.

As I continued my research in order to glean a more definitive answer for the differences between a cult and a religion, I began to look at the topic in a different frame of mind. I had been ready to malign all organizations that seemed ‘cult-like,’ and write all the nastiness I could find out about them, which was a lot.

In my continued quest to find definitive answers about the difference between a cult and a religion, trying to piece together a pattern or a sign that would be obvious, I read more horror stories than I expected. In many instances, as with the previous written accounts, the answers were obvious that those groups would be considered cults. But why? Was it the destructive ends? Would we have known that one of those organizations was a cult instead of a religion if there were no sensational ends? Likely not.

There aren’t many people who have not heard of Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple and his horrifying execution of over 900 followers that came in the guise of a mass suicide. How could that have happened? How could anyone have that kind of power over such a large mass of people to make outsiders think they volunteered to drink the cyanide concoction? It was not voluntary. On November 18th, 1978, the people were forced at the point of a shotgun to drink the Kool-Aid. The question then becomes: how could anyone who supposedly loved his flock do that to them?

The exact definition of ‘cult’ seemed a bit nebulous, when I researched the term because opinions varied.

One definition claimed that a cult was: having a charismatic leader, self-appointed, who required devoted followers to obey his/her teachings without question.

Another definer stated that a cult was: a group of individuals with the same religious philosophies and beliefs.

We moved to a small town in the Cascade Mountains of Oregon six years ago after buying a business with our partners. Each partner thought the place was lovely but me. I thought the town seemed backward and uncared for.

The sudden fatalistic sound of a huge train engine coming at us made the building shake and made me want to throw up from the terror that overwhelmed me.

People began to scream and hold their hands over their ears. Our kids asked, “What’s that sound, Dad?” and “I’m scared, Mommy!” and “What about Charlie?”

What is it we seek,

When the world looks so bleak,

With all the hatred, chaos and strife?

I seek to be like a bubble we blow,

That can put on a great show,

As it meanders and changes...like life.

“She was frightened of me at first, until I mentioned that I’d seen her at the dinner tent in El Cameron the night before, and the realization dawned on her who I was. I could see that she also realized how much help I might be to her because she gave me a hug as if we were long-lost friends.”

She froze. Two women dashed toward the girl and grabbed her arms pulling her toward the group. I could see the women scolding her as if she were a child and then came the tears. The women put their arms around the girl to soothe her or to hide her, I wasn't sure, but before I could assess the true situation the men came back with a couple of blue vans, and they all piled in and drove away.

The women were plain of face with dull brown hair under their caps and some carried babies of various ages. But one young woman was pregnant and looked nothing like the others. She was naturally pretty with a peachy complexion, blonde hair, and big, blue eyes. She seemed to be looking for something. Without turning her head conspicuously, her gaze was darting about almost frantically.

Yesterday - at the time of this writing - was Father's Day. We celebrated the two fathers in our little family who are close by, texting others who are farther away. Yet, the fathers with whom we celebrated, surprisingly, do not consider themselves fathers. Their reasons prompted me to investigate: what is a father?