Canton, MA – The Dunkin’ Donuts Corporation lost almost $2.2 million in farm subsidies today, a spokesperson for the Federal Department of Agriculture announced this morning. He went on to state that the corporation may have to pay back most, if not all, of past years’ subsidies. The loss stunned Dunkin’ Officials who immediately promised to appeal the decision.
The multi-billion dollar corporation lost the subsidies when agriculture officials made the finding that D.D. was not engaged in "legitimate agricultural activity," a fact revealed by federal investigators. After years of study, testing and review, we have not been able to reproduce a single donut in the fashion described by Dunkin’ Officials. We have planted thousands, if not millions, of Cheerios and we have yet to grow a single donut. They are just not donut seeds as the company has stated in applications for the subsidies.
A Dunkin’ Donuts spokesperson stated, “We have thousands of outlets the world over and they have followed our program to the letter, making billions of donuts and millions of dollars. Each day, Cheerios are planted and they are harvested and served to millions of satisfied customers.” “Cheerios are just donut seeds.”, he continued.
A separate investigation is underway, being conducted by the Federal Trade Commission and Food and Drug Administration, regarding allegations of fraud that deal with Dunkin' Donuts franchisees being scammed as a result of this growing donut controversy. Federal officials state that these investigations may take several years to complete, given the requirement to complete several growing seasons.
When contacted regarding the allegations, spokespersons for General Mills, makers of Cheerios, could not stop laughing long enough to offer a comment.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
How To Make A Bad Day Better
I got the call while she was on her way home. She was clearly upset and was not making a lot of sense. I invited her over, offering a shoulder on which to lean and a non-judgmental ear with which to listen. She accepted, as I suspected she would, because I knew this was a time when she needed to talk. She really needed someone that would just listen. Before she got here, I fixed a drink for her, put a pillow and a comforter on the couch and brought out my secret weapon, placing it cleverly under the end table where she would not see it.
When she got here, I gave her a lingering hug, kissed her gently, guided her to the couch, had her stretch out, covering her with the comforter, and offered her the drink. I sat with her feet in my lap and asked her to tell me about her day. The problems were really not as important for me to hear, as my advice was not being sought, merely my comfort. I slowly removed her shoes as she described the trials and tribulations of her day; the boss did this, Betty said that; and how all of it made her feel.
I reached down under the end table and discreetly brought out my secret weapon, a bottle of sesame massage oil. I poured a small amount in my hands, rubbing them together to warm the oil. As she talked I rubbed her left foot; first the underside with my thumbs; the ball of the foot and the arch, up and down the foot. I used a firm pressure, but not painful, enough to reach the sore and aching muscle deep within the foot. She sighed at the attention to her foot and continued to describe the ordeal that had been her day.
I rubbed the bottom of her foot with my fingers and the tops of her foot with my thumbs, moving up and down, steadily, feeling the tension working out of it. When the arches and sole of her foot had relaxed, I took each toe, one at a time, between my thumb and fingers, gently stretching each one ever so slightly while rubbing up and down on it. Again, I could feel the toes relax and I could see them almost uncurl, as they held the tension within them by gripping like little clenched fingers. Slowly they relaxed and straightened.
She had slowed her talking now, but was still describing everything that was wrong with the place where she worked and the people she worked for, but her voice occasionally trailed off to a deep relaxed sigh as I felt her foot relax and unwind. I moved my hands to her ankles and rubbed the strong and stressed muscles that had held her up on her feet most of the day. I rubbed with that perfect firmness the muscles in her ankle that had moved her foot as she had walked all day, my fingers cupping her heel, thumbs rubbing up and down each side of her ankle.
Her foot was limp at the ankle now and her toes all straight, the tension exorcised by the ministrations of my hands. She held her drink on her chest, having sipped most of it down during brief pauses in her account of the idiocy of that day. Her chest rose and fell more slowly now and she had stopped talking. She was too relaxed for speech, in too much pleasure for complaint. I could hear her sigh when I hit one of those just right spots she had that felt so good when they received the attention of my strong hands.
I laid her foot down, only to have her sigh in protest, but the protest quickly ended when I crossed her right ankle over her left and began to rub that foot. Careful not to pay more or less attention to the right foot than the left, lest one be jealous of the other. I rubbed her other foot in the same strong, deliberate fashion as I had the other. Her words had ceased by now and she was only moaning in response to my attention to her right foot, more so than she had to my working her left foot, but she had relaxed by now and her stress was clearly cut my more than half, so she could truly enjoy the attention.
As I rubbed that remaining foot and felt the tension flowing out of her body through it, I finished to find that she was sound asleep, breathing deeply and completely relaxed finally. As gently and carefully as I could, I lifted her feet and got off the couch, taking from her hand the drink, now containing nothing more than melting ice. I quietly walked into the kitchen and started cooking the dinner I knew she would be hungry for when she awakened.
When she got here, I gave her a lingering hug, kissed her gently, guided her to the couch, had her stretch out, covering her with the comforter, and offered her the drink. I sat with her feet in my lap and asked her to tell me about her day. The problems were really not as important for me to hear, as my advice was not being sought, merely my comfort. I slowly removed her shoes as she described the trials and tribulations of her day; the boss did this, Betty said that; and how all of it made her feel.
I reached down under the end table and discreetly brought out my secret weapon, a bottle of sesame massage oil. I poured a small amount in my hands, rubbing them together to warm the oil. As she talked I rubbed her left foot; first the underside with my thumbs; the ball of the foot and the arch, up and down the foot. I used a firm pressure, but not painful, enough to reach the sore and aching muscle deep within the foot. She sighed at the attention to her foot and continued to describe the ordeal that had been her day.
I rubbed the bottom of her foot with my fingers and the tops of her foot with my thumbs, moving up and down, steadily, feeling the tension working out of it. When the arches and sole of her foot had relaxed, I took each toe, one at a time, between my thumb and fingers, gently stretching each one ever so slightly while rubbing up and down on it. Again, I could feel the toes relax and I could see them almost uncurl, as they held the tension within them by gripping like little clenched fingers. Slowly they relaxed and straightened.
She had slowed her talking now, but was still describing everything that was wrong with the place where she worked and the people she worked for, but her voice occasionally trailed off to a deep relaxed sigh as I felt her foot relax and unwind. I moved my hands to her ankles and rubbed the strong and stressed muscles that had held her up on her feet most of the day. I rubbed with that perfect firmness the muscles in her ankle that had moved her foot as she had walked all day, my fingers cupping her heel, thumbs rubbing up and down each side of her ankle.
Her foot was limp at the ankle now and her toes all straight, the tension exorcised by the ministrations of my hands. She held her drink on her chest, having sipped most of it down during brief pauses in her account of the idiocy of that day. Her chest rose and fell more slowly now and she had stopped talking. She was too relaxed for speech, in too much pleasure for complaint. I could hear her sigh when I hit one of those just right spots she had that felt so good when they received the attention of my strong hands.
I laid her foot down, only to have her sigh in protest, but the protest quickly ended when I crossed her right ankle over her left and began to rub that foot. Careful not to pay more or less attention to the right foot than the left, lest one be jealous of the other. I rubbed her other foot in the same strong, deliberate fashion as I had the other. Her words had ceased by now and she was only moaning in response to my attention to her right foot, more so than she had to my working her left foot, but she had relaxed by now and her stress was clearly cut my more than half, so she could truly enjoy the attention.
As I rubbed that remaining foot and felt the tension flowing out of her body through it, I finished to find that she was sound asleep, breathing deeply and completely relaxed finally. As gently and carefully as I could, I lifted her feet and got off the couch, taking from her hand the drink, now containing nothing more than melting ice. I quietly walked into the kitchen and started cooking the dinner I knew she would be hungry for when she awakened.
First Date
I saw her as she walked in the door. She had hair the color of chestnut and eyes the color of the turquoise seas one only finds in the islands. Her shape was athletic, but the kind of athletic that comes from work, not working out, and her skin had a tan that was healthy. She looked like a model of the girl next door, a description that each and every man understands the minute he hears it, and she was here to meet me.
She saw me seated at the bar, a bar at which I was well-known, not because I hang out at bars, but because it was owned by a friend of mine. I hoped that being on a first name basis with the bartender would be seen as somehow impressive, and I felt like I needed every advantage I could get. The nervousness was palpable as she approached me with a smile on her face. She had recognized me from a picture we had traded online, and I was glad to see that it was a smile and not that ”oh my God” look that usually results in a mid-date phone call that requires her to leave on an ”emergency” of some imagined nature.”
We shook hands and said hello, then I kissed her lightly on the back of her hand, looking her in the eyes. I could smell the light aroma of her perfume on her hand and it was an aroma just like her, simple and understated. She sat down at the bar stool and ordered, much to my shock and delight, a Scotch and water. This was my kind of woman and I figured that both of us drinking Scotch as a guest enhancer would have many advantages.
I assessed that she did not have any idea how beautiful she was and lacked the self-confidence that would have come with seeing in the mirror that which I saw in front of me. She had dreams and visions of the future, but she always couched them in terms of the unobtainable. She knew better what she was never to be than what she could become. It was the one less-than-attractive thing about her and it would haunt us both.
We talked for a couple of hours, eating appetizers to ward off the hunger pangs, neither of us wanting to have a full dinner for some reason. We really didn’t need the food to quickly stuff in our mouths when there was that pregnant pause in the conversation that we both had expected, for that pause did not come. We left the bar, a slight glow from the alcohol within us, and walked to the seawall that held back the waters of the Intracoastal Waterway. There we sat for longer than we had planned, once again talking and once again feeling like we had known each other far longer than the time we had spent together.
As we sat on the seawall, the moon hung low over the horizon and gleamed off the water, which lay flat as glass, giving the impression of being frozen. We held hands as we talked about the beauty of the water, both of us stalling, waiting for the moment we both hoped would come, the sooner the better. Finally, there was a pause, we leaned towards one another, and our lips met softly, slightly parted, just a hint of our tongues brushing each other’s lightly. The softness of her lips was incredible. This was the kind of kiss that men go to war to protect. It was the kind of kiss that keeps them going, with a deep breath and a sigh at the memory of it. It was beyond wonderful. It was the kiss that makes you dare think, "could she be 'The One'?"
We parted that night more because we had to than we wanted to, but it was the first night of many that would be indelibly etched into my memory and burned into my soul. It would become the evening to which all others would be compared and the evening that was to begin the breaking of my heart.
She saw me seated at the bar, a bar at which I was well-known, not because I hang out at bars, but because it was owned by a friend of mine. I hoped that being on a first name basis with the bartender would be seen as somehow impressive, and I felt like I needed every advantage I could get. The nervousness was palpable as she approached me with a smile on her face. She had recognized me from a picture we had traded online, and I was glad to see that it was a smile and not that ”oh my God” look that usually results in a mid-date phone call that requires her to leave on an ”emergency” of some imagined nature.”
We shook hands and said hello, then I kissed her lightly on the back of her hand, looking her in the eyes. I could smell the light aroma of her perfume on her hand and it was an aroma just like her, simple and understated. She sat down at the bar stool and ordered, much to my shock and delight, a Scotch and water. This was my kind of woman and I figured that both of us drinking Scotch as a guest enhancer would have many advantages.
I assessed that she did not have any idea how beautiful she was and lacked the self-confidence that would have come with seeing in the mirror that which I saw in front of me. She had dreams and visions of the future, but she always couched them in terms of the unobtainable. She knew better what she was never to be than what she could become. It was the one less-than-attractive thing about her and it would haunt us both.
We talked for a couple of hours, eating appetizers to ward off the hunger pangs, neither of us wanting to have a full dinner for some reason. We really didn’t need the food to quickly stuff in our mouths when there was that pregnant pause in the conversation that we both had expected, for that pause did not come. We left the bar, a slight glow from the alcohol within us, and walked to the seawall that held back the waters of the Intracoastal Waterway. There we sat for longer than we had planned, once again talking and once again feeling like we had known each other far longer than the time we had spent together.
As we sat on the seawall, the moon hung low over the horizon and gleamed off the water, which lay flat as glass, giving the impression of being frozen. We held hands as we talked about the beauty of the water, both of us stalling, waiting for the moment we both hoped would come, the sooner the better. Finally, there was a pause, we leaned towards one another, and our lips met softly, slightly parted, just a hint of our tongues brushing each other’s lightly. The softness of her lips was incredible. This was the kind of kiss that men go to war to protect. It was the kind of kiss that keeps them going, with a deep breath and a sigh at the memory of it. It was beyond wonderful. It was the kiss that makes you dare think, "could she be 'The One'?"
We parted that night more because we had to than we wanted to, but it was the first night of many that would be indelibly etched into my memory and burned into my soul. It would become the evening to which all others would be compared and the evening that was to begin the breaking of my heart.
Honor, Values and Love
I used to think that being a good person was all about telling the truth, doing good deeds, and basically being a Boy Scout. I learned this as a young man as a real, live, honest to God, Boy Scout. I learned the words: Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean and Reverent. I lived these words, as best I could, my entire adult life; sometimes more successfully than others to be honest, but I did my best. I have started to think differently and I learned that values must sometimes be sacrificed on the altar of love. I have not abandoned my beliefs in any of these values, but I have grown, gained experience and, at the risk of appearing arrogant, and I admit that I can be arrogant, I have become wiser. I have gained a different kind of insight, an insight I did not have before and I hope that I have not gained it too late in life.
A good life can be lived by finding that one thing that means more than anything else in the world to you, and when you do find her, you fight for her. You risk it all. You put her in front of everything; your future, your life, all of it. Maybe the kinds of things you do for her are not so clean and honorable, and maybe they do not fit into the kind of values that I learned as a Boy Scout, but it doesn’t matter, because in your heart you know that the juice is worth the squeeze. That is what moral fiber is all about, and that my friends is what love is all about.
Love is all about sacrificing, but the sacrifice brings you joy and pleasure and the kind of satisfaction that doing something for someone you love can only bring. It is the sacrifice that does not require a return and is given as a gift with no expectations. I was once told that a successful relationship has two people in it giving more than 100%. If two people are giving 100%, then the relationship can never fail, for when one, for whatever reason, cannot give that more than 100%, there is always enough left over to make the relationship keep working.
I have learned that often you cannot be all the things I learned to be in my youth all at the same time. Sometimes you cannot be trustworthy and still be kind. You cannot always tell the truth because you will hurt someone. Sometimes you cannot be obedient and be loyal, because you have been asked by someone to do something that is wrong. Sometimes you cannot be cheerful in the face of adversity or the suffering of another, especially the one you love. And sometimes, it is an act of kindness not to be helpful, for the act of kindness can create dependence.
Thinking about love makes me think about what I would do for someone I truly loved and I have learned that, for myself, it is just about anything. I would steal to feed them, kill to save them, lie to protect them and spend all I had to make them happy, but first I would try all within my power to make sure that it is never necessary to do any of these things for them and, in a perfect world, they would never make me do any of them.
A good life can be lived by finding that one thing that means more than anything else in the world to you, and when you do find her, you fight for her. You risk it all. You put her in front of everything; your future, your life, all of it. Maybe the kinds of things you do for her are not so clean and honorable, and maybe they do not fit into the kind of values that I learned as a Boy Scout, but it doesn’t matter, because in your heart you know that the juice is worth the squeeze. That is what moral fiber is all about, and that my friends is what love is all about.
Love is all about sacrificing, but the sacrifice brings you joy and pleasure and the kind of satisfaction that doing something for someone you love can only bring. It is the sacrifice that does not require a return and is given as a gift with no expectations. I was once told that a successful relationship has two people in it giving more than 100%. If two people are giving 100%, then the relationship can never fail, for when one, for whatever reason, cannot give that more than 100%, there is always enough left over to make the relationship keep working.
I have learned that often you cannot be all the things I learned to be in my youth all at the same time. Sometimes you cannot be trustworthy and still be kind. You cannot always tell the truth because you will hurt someone. Sometimes you cannot be obedient and be loyal, because you have been asked by someone to do something that is wrong. Sometimes you cannot be cheerful in the face of adversity or the suffering of another, especially the one you love. And sometimes, it is an act of kindness not to be helpful, for the act of kindness can create dependence.
Thinking about love makes me think about what I would do for someone I truly loved and I have learned that, for myself, it is just about anything. I would steal to feed them, kill to save them, lie to protect them and spend all I had to make them happy, but first I would try all within my power to make sure that it is never necessary to do any of these things for them and, in a perfect world, they would never make me do any of them.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Unconditional Love
There is a theory in our human existence we call unconditional love. It is a mysterious and elusive concept, much more applicable to pets than people, really, but each of us searches, sometime endlessly for it. I am not certain I have known unconditional love in the human realm. I am not sure I needed to test it if I did find it, but I have most certainly tested it, assuming I have ever experienced it, and with that test, I have lost it. You see, if we test that love, we know only how to test it to the breaking point, but theoretically, unconditional lover has no breaking point. A conundrum is it not?
The closest I think humans get to unconditional love is that which we experience with young children and pets. Young children will love you regardless of what you do to them and our history is replete with examples of children that have loved their parents, truly, deeply and unconditionally even while enduring the worst abuse imaginable. Eventually however, children grow up and learn that their circumstances are unacceptable and learn not to love abusive parents, and this is as it should be, in my estimation. The love of an abused child for their abuser is based on more of a dependence than love. Pets on the other hand, never really figure out that they really should bite the hand that feeds them sometimes. Getting kicked when their so-called master/owner comes home from a bad day at work is not in their job description, but, for whatever reason, they still wag their tails and love them in spite of it all.
Their remains, however, that concept, that yearning and that hunger we all have for unconditional love, no matter how unlikely it may be. I am a romantic, and there are those that would say I am a hopeless romantic. I prefer to think of myself as a hopeful romantic. I still believe in the concept of almost unconditional love. I think, like most men, I may have even found it a couple of times, but foolishly tested the limits of that love and lost them. I think it was a result of youthful stupidity or maybe a disbelief that anyone could love me as deeply as I loved them. A friend of mine told me years ago something wise and brilliant. He said, "You cannot truly love another until you have learned to love yourself. For if you are not worthy of your own love, then how can it be a gift you value enough to give to another. Certainly, if you are not worthy of self love then any love you give is worthless."
I do not look into the mirror each morning and marvel at what stares back at me and anyone that stands behind me and does is blind, but the woman that sees through the faults and the years, and particularly the miles, and sees something I have just come to see myself is the woman I seek in life. She is the woman that sees everything there is to see about me, knows everything there is to know about me and likes me anyway. This is unconditional love; the kind of love that endures and the kind of love that does not need to be tested. It is there. It is constant. It is true, and it is as unconditional a love as we humans are able to give and receive.
I Think I have felt that love three times in my life. Twice I felt it from another and once I offered that love to another. Unfortunately, as they say about life, timing is everything, and what I felt from others was not what I felt for them and the one time I felt that way for someone, they did not return those feeling for me. Hearts were broken and lives changed, some for the better, some for the worse, unfortunately; then we cry, but we change. We improvise, we adapt, we overcome, but mostly we learn, and we become wiser, and we begin our search anew, wiser and smarter to be sure, but also with the knowledge that the adventure of finding unconditional love, though difficult and oft times painful, will bring us unimaginable joy that will make up for the pain, sorrow and heartache that we encounter on the journey to unconditional love.
The closest I think humans get to unconditional love is that which we experience with young children and pets. Young children will love you regardless of what you do to them and our history is replete with examples of children that have loved their parents, truly, deeply and unconditionally even while enduring the worst abuse imaginable. Eventually however, children grow up and learn that their circumstances are unacceptable and learn not to love abusive parents, and this is as it should be, in my estimation. The love of an abused child for their abuser is based on more of a dependence than love. Pets on the other hand, never really figure out that they really should bite the hand that feeds them sometimes. Getting kicked when their so-called master/owner comes home from a bad day at work is not in their job description, but, for whatever reason, they still wag their tails and love them in spite of it all.
Their remains, however, that concept, that yearning and that hunger we all have for unconditional love, no matter how unlikely it may be. I am a romantic, and there are those that would say I am a hopeless romantic. I prefer to think of myself as a hopeful romantic. I still believe in the concept of almost unconditional love. I think, like most men, I may have even found it a couple of times, but foolishly tested the limits of that love and lost them. I think it was a result of youthful stupidity or maybe a disbelief that anyone could love me as deeply as I loved them. A friend of mine told me years ago something wise and brilliant. He said, "You cannot truly love another until you have learned to love yourself. For if you are not worthy of your own love, then how can it be a gift you value enough to give to another. Certainly, if you are not worthy of self love then any love you give is worthless."
I do not look into the mirror each morning and marvel at what stares back at me and anyone that stands behind me and does is blind, but the woman that sees through the faults and the years, and particularly the miles, and sees something I have just come to see myself is the woman I seek in life. She is the woman that sees everything there is to see about me, knows everything there is to know about me and likes me anyway. This is unconditional love; the kind of love that endures and the kind of love that does not need to be tested. It is there. It is constant. It is true, and it is as unconditional a love as we humans are able to give and receive.
I Think I have felt that love three times in my life. Twice I felt it from another and once I offered that love to another. Unfortunately, as they say about life, timing is everything, and what I felt from others was not what I felt for them and the one time I felt that way for someone, they did not return those feeling for me. Hearts were broken and lives changed, some for the better, some for the worse, unfortunately; then we cry, but we change. We improvise, we adapt, we overcome, but mostly we learn, and we become wiser, and we begin our search anew, wiser and smarter to be sure, but also with the knowledge that the adventure of finding unconditional love, though difficult and oft times painful, will bring us unimaginable joy that will make up for the pain, sorrow and heartache that we encounter on the journey to unconditional love.
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