If you enjoy writing, as I do, you will like reading this article at A List Apart.

Cheryl Dannothy went into the Dunkin Donuts at the corner of Main and Bridge streets and placed her order with a slender Pakistani man who was very polite. She ordered an extra large coffee with extra cream and 4 sugars. She didn't have enough money for lunch, and figured all that cream and sugar must have some nutritive value.

She carried her coffee out toward the sidewalk and waited patiently while a large tractor-trailer with photos of giant candy-covered donuts on its sides backed laboriously into the parking lot, blocking the entire intersection as it did. The truck was so big and ill suited to the small streets of this New England town it made Cheryl laugh, putting her in mind of a huge slug passing by an ant hill; she imagined the ants shaking their tiny fists at the slug and shouting angrily at it to move. The truck made the motorists irate. A few of them began honking their horns to to ensure no one missed the fact of their displeasure.

As the truck pulled its last few feet out of the intersection, cars sped into its vacuum. The sound of a distant siren suddenly distracted everyone. A pickup truck driver backed up toward a parking space to make room for the ambulance to pass, and another car tried to pull forward into the same space. Neither was aware of the other until it was too late, and the pickup had punched a pretty good sized dent into the driver's door.

Cheryl stood watching and sipping her coffee and wondering if they would ask for her testimony: She had been standing right there, and had seen it all. She leaned on the telephone pole and let her mind wander as she watched the two drivers share license and registration information and try to reach agreement on what had happened and why. In a remarkably short time, it seemed they had negotiated a mutually agreeable version of events, so they got back in their vehicles and drove off. Cheryl wondered if their version would be anything like hers.

A middle aged woman sat on a porch with an orange cat in her lap. The cat was struggling to get down, but the woman held on. Cheryl Dannothy was walking by, and looked, and remarked conversationally, "That's a nice-looking cat." Cheryl had noticed that people always responded favorably to people who complimented their pets or children, and made a habit of doing so.

Even though the woman had been struggling and frustrated by this cat's failure to respond to her with affection at that moment, she did appreciate the remark. She released the cat, which took four steps, sat in a patch of sunshine, and began licking its paw as if nothing had happened. The woman, too, acted as if nothing had happened.

"I've had him a long time," she said. "I don't know why he won't sit with me. He used to all the time."

She motioned to Cheryl to come up the steps and sit with her, and Cheryl, being a friendly sort and not terribly busy at the moment, complied. At the top step,she stuck out her hand and said "I'mCheryl Dannothy."

The woman pushed a strand of graying hair back from her face and smiled, taking her hand. "Louisa Drummond. Sit on that gray metal chair-- it's quite comfortable."

Cheryl Dannothy sat down, and the two women talked briefly of weather, gardens and pets.

Louisa Drummond stood up abruptly and, talling Cheryl to wait there, went in the house. Shortly, she returned with a black-framed photograph. "Oh, how nice! Is that your family?" asked Cheryl. "Well the dark haired children are not me and my brother; they are my brother and the girl next door. That little blond kid in the background is me."

Cheryl looked, and saw a child of about 3 sitting on the step apart from the family, struggling to hold on to a small black and white kitten, and scowling fiercely.
"I have always felt separate from the others. Even at that age I felt resentful," she said.

I am trying to talk myself into something here...

There are four or five people in town I very much dislike. Over the years, I have developed three levels of dealings with such people when I pass them on the street.

First, if they dislike me for some reason (such as, they are still mad about something my then-husband did in 1986) I am civil but non-committal. They get "G'morning" with a brief nod. (a modification of the kill-em-with-kindness mode) when we pass near the Post Office..

Second if I dislike them for some reason (I used to know, have forgotten now, but it really was something) they get a curt nod.

Third, if they are manipulative, power- and money-hungry s.o.b.s (there is really only one person in this category, but also a couple of runners-up, s.o.b. wannabe's), I make them invisible -- they are simply not there. No smile, no nod, no "g'morning', not even a look. I do not see them, in the way I do not see strangers who pass when I am engrossed in my own thoughts, or specks of dust on the ground (or in my house, for that matter).

There are two schools of thought on how to treat your enemies (for such these are, I guess): Flatten them, do whatever it takes to destroy them; or, Treat them with loving kindness. As to the first, it would be pretty hard for me to get into the destructive mode -- I get guilt pangs when I swat a mosquito -- but loving kindness? hmmmm-hm, don't think so. My Ignore Mode has over the years worked as a compromise between these two poles.

Now, however, I am wondering if I cannot do better. After all, Ignore Mode has a high cost in energy; it rquires constantly sweeping the sidewalks ahead visually lest I accidentally let slip a smile or cheerful 'hello' before I realize who I am talking to. I have been reading Buddhist tracts, and they seem to suggest that I should move into the loving kindness mode towards All! Everybody? excuse me, everybody??? The trouble with this is, the category 3 guy would not hesitate to use any opening to weasel into one's life. I must learn how to deal with that before I can go fully into the LK mode.

I would take suggestons from any who have thoughts or experiences to share. Please email me at pamshorey@bronzefrogs.com. Sorry I am shopping around for a functioning comment thingie.

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Rachel Ammon sent me a comment :-)

0(zero)format Back on the farm, it wasn't uncommon for a kitten to be taken by field mice. Usually, they got the runt. They waited for the runt to die, or so we believed, and came together in a pack like mini-wolverines. We'd never heard of mice working together, but then again we'd never heard of kittens being taken, either... There's more, go there.

This guy Dennis Mahoney tells storylets! There's more than what I quoted -- but not a lot more. Wonderful. What a good idea! I might steal from him... not the content of course, but the idea of tiny stories. Maybe it's not his idea; I think, in fact, I have seen a writing contest somewhere that limited stories to 250 words (one page). That's a big challenge to write a story that takes you somewhere in so small a space. Mahoney's kitten story is a bit less, 244 words.

Good boy, Mahoney! ::: patting his head :::

The tramp of jackboots still echoes in the minds of old people. How could such a horror happen in a civilized country?

I fear it will happen here, too. Wealth becomes a scarece commodity and more of us will follow the shouting, posturing leader who tells us what the trouble is.

The good of the country is cynically ignored in favor of corporate gain. For the rest of us, misery.

OK, I guess I lied when I said I write every day. There are some huge holes in this weblog. I confess. There! Does that make us feel any better?

I have been praticing a smirk like that used by Pres. Bush. I feel sure that once I master it, people will let me get away with murder (not literally... well maybe but not here in the U.S. I hope.)