When I lived in West Africa, I learned very quickly that nobody likes snakes.  It may sound like a broad generalization, but I'm not lying.  Nobody liked snakes.  They hated worms because they looked like snakes.  I saw grown men run away in terror as someone brought a very large worm into their presence.

I know that not all snakes are evil.  They eliminate pesky rodents and serve a useful purpose.  Yep, I was an educated American in their midst.  And, I did my part to change people's minds.

I was such a fool.

One day my friend Timothy spotted a little black snake in my front yard.  It looked like a garter snake.  He wanted to kill it immediately.  Again, I took this as an opportunity to educate my friend.  "Not all snakes are dangerous.  You don't have to kill every snake you see."  But, he looked at me and I could see what he was thinking.  "You fool!  What do you know about snakes?"

W H O P!!!!

He took a long stick and smashed it across that innocent little creature.  That's when I saw the back arch up and the neck flare out.  It was a cobra.  That's right, a cobra in my front yard.  I had no idea that there were any cobras in Liberia.  Now, my mama didn't raise no fool.  Sometimes I'm a quick learner.  I was a convert.  I immediately told Timothy, "You know, you can kill any snake you see in my yard." 

It's my observation that bugs don't get any more respect than snakes.  There are some that serve a very useful purpose.  Others are simply beautiful.  But, most people don't want them in their homes.  And, that's the same in the United States and across the far corners of the globe.

I've come to realize that the food I like the best is what my mother served me when I was a child.  Mom never prepared any kind of insects for me to eat.  So, as I wander the planet, I still don't want to eat anything with six legs, a couple pair of wings and possibly a stinger.  I know that insects are a valuable source of protein, protein that is so important for a healthy diet.  That's head knowledge but not stomach knowledge.  I still don't want to eat a handful of bug-a-bugs (termites) like I do popcorn.  I'm not interested in roasting a gbargor (rhinoceros beetle) like a marshmallow.  Fried up and crispy grasshoppers do nothing for me.  And, even with a healthy dose of chocolate, I'm still not interested in ants.

But, like I said, some bugs are good.  I just got a big bite from one of the not-so-dangerous kind of bugs.  I went to my all-time favorite play, "The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee".  It was my fifth time to see the play, and I got a serious bite by the acting bug.

Since I've been to the play before, I knew that they would select four members from the audience to participate in the bee.  So, before the play started, I was on the lookout for anyone auditioning possible spellers.  It was my fourth time to attempt this.  Now, I know when you audition for anything, it's always good to make sure you stand out in a crowd.  I met with the official spelling bee pronouncer.  He asked what I did.  When I said I painted murals around the world, he asked if I had done anything locally that he might see.  I told him about the NNEMAP mural I did near a huge intersection in Columbus.  And, that mural came with a memorable story.  While we were painting, there was a three-car pile-up.  Now, I've always seen in movies where a beautiful female jogger causes accidents.  But, this was the first time I ever saw an accident caused by great art.  And since nobody was hurt, I just couldn't force myself to feel guilty about the accident.  I was just too pleased.

So, I stood out in the crowd.

After the opening number of the play, I was one of the four people from the audience called up to participate.  I could not have been any more delighted.  But, I wasn't done yet.  My nephew, Hunter, was in this play the last time I saw it.  He gave me insider information.  That pronouncer wheeled a lot of control in the play.  After all, he determined if you had to spell "lysergic acid diethylamide" or "cow".  And if he liked you, which means if you were an entertaining spelling bee-er, you stayed in the competition longer. 

I was briefly introduced to the crowd before spelling anything.  That's when the audience - and I - learned that I had just recovered from head lice.  Naturally, I started scratching underneath my hat.  Those kinds of nasty bugs are not welcome in homes or schools, on heads or under hats.  Nobody will disagree with that except for the people who make head lice shampoo.

My first word to spell was actually "cow".  As soon as I was given that word, the other bees went nuts.  If I had been thinking fast enough, I would have said, "If you don't like it, mooooooove on out of here."  I didn't think that quickly.  But, I still knew how to stand out.  I was supposed to ask two questions.  "What is the definition?" and "Can you use it in a sentence?"  I asked a third question.  "Can you spell the first syllable?"

Already a standout!

For my next introduction, the audience was informed that I had a birthmark the shape of the Philippine Islands.  Right away, one of the other spellers called out, "Where is it?"  I said, "I'll show it to you if I win."  Neither contestants, judges nor audience members expected that reply.  I, however, knew I was safe.  I wasn't about to win the spelling bee. 

Other audience spellers fell by the wayside.  My next word was "dengue".  The only reason I knew the correct spelling was because I had lived in the Philippines where it was a problem.  So, I leaned into the microphone and said, "If you had a birthmark the same shape as the Philippine Islands, you might also know that they have dengue fever.  D E N G U E."

I'm so pleased to report that I was the last audience participant.  When it was time for me to go, I miraculously spelled a word I'd never heard of, can't remember, and couldn't believe I got right.  I started to return to the contestants' row, but my name was called again, and then again.  I finally went out because I couldn't spell "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious".

When the play was over, I had several people in the audience come up to congratulate me.  One woman asked if I was a plant in the audience.  She couldn't believe I had no advance preparation for what I did.  Another man told me that I stole the show.  Now, I'm always pleased when a minor character steals the show.  I'm even more pleased when that character is me.  So, I'm guessing you can understand why I tell you that I just have been bitten by the acting bug.  I think I might have to seek out an audition.

There is another bug that is also looming in my future.  It's not as innocent as the acting bug.  It's more like that cobra in my yard.  In my last blog, I mentioned how I was hoping for an "international God thing".  It happened.  I just got the invitation to return to Liberia for another round of murals.  I'm not sure how many I'll be doing.  It could be anywhere between three and five.  So, that's a long time in the country and a lot of opportunity for nasty malaria-carrying mosquitoes to find me.  The best way to avoid malaria (And who needs it for the sixth time?) is to take the proper medicine and go during the dry season.  That's December to February.  So, it looks like I might have more adventures with snakes and bugs sooner rather than later.

Suffering?  No, thank you.  I'd seriously rather pass.  It's high on my "druther" list.  I'd druther not go down that path.  Please lead me in another direction - probably any other one would do.  I'm just not that into it.

But, we don't always (ever?) have that choice.  Do we?

I've had foot problems for about six months.  I'm the first to admit that other people have suffered a lot longer than that.  Again, that's something I'd like to pass on. Fortunately for me, the swelling is down.  I'm mobile once again.  But, life isn't exactly back to normal yet.  However, throughout this entire ordeal, and I consider five weeks in bed unable to walk an ordeal, I've had several events in my life that a number of people have described as "a God thing". 

I have to agree.

I have a few friends who tell me they are agnostics or atheists.  I just don't understand how that is possible.  Okay, maybe not everyone has a guardian angel like mine who has protected me from so many disasters in so many corners of the world.   My angel has done a miraculous job, but I think that's what they are supposed to do.  But, if everyone has a guardian angel (and I certainly hope they do) then perhaps my friends aren't examining their own lives for their own God things.

Here's the current list going on in my life.

Perfect Timing     I have a few neighbors that I really enjoy.  However, life is always busy.   We don't actually get together nearly as often as I like.  In fact, I might not see them or hear from them for weeks or months at a time.  And, I agree that is too busy.  However, when I found myself unable to walk back in August, both of my neighbors contacted me within twenty-four hours.  Neither of them had any idea that I was in need.  They had not been in communication with each other.  They each decided it was time to check on me.  That can only be a God thing.

Saint Peter to the Rescue     You may have the impression that since my cartoons are all over the Internet that I am one famous and wealthy cartoonist.  You would be wrong.  Yes, my cartoons are used around the world, but most people seem to recognize my art but not my name.  And, they certainly aren't inclined to want to pay me for my work.  I put the starving into artist.  And, I know the truth.  I am the most non-famous world-famous artist you'll ever find.

On occasion, and it doesn't happen nearly often enough, someone contacts me about commissioned art work.  During this time when I was trapped at home and could barely walk, I was unable to go out and color the world with my murals.  And if I am not painting murals, I am not earning a living.  It was during this time that I was contacted by Kingsgate Church in the United Kingdom. 

It's a huge church with their very own art department that creates their own Sunday School materials.  I can't even imagine a church with their own art department.  And, they must be busy, because my connection at Kingsgate asked if I could do a project that they were too busy to complete.  It was a huge project all about Saint Peter that required my art as well as my making some children's craft projects and photographing them. 

The task had a short amount of time to get everything completed.  But, I wasn't going anywhere.  I whipped out the work as fast as I possibly could, delighted the people at Kingsgate, and was thankfully able to pay my bills.  Yep, it had to be a God thing.

Walnut Elementary    Over the summer, I painted nine mini-murals at a very rural elementary school in the Columbus area.  It's smack in the middle of Ohio farm country and the drive getting there is simply beautiful.  The principal wanted ten murals.  It was my first time to ever decorate a school.  I wasn't able to complete the last mini-mural because the fifth grade teachers had not given me an idea for their mural design.  I figured as soon as school started, the fifth grade children would demand a mural.  It didn't happen that way.  And, even if they had, I couldn't walk when school started.  That mural would have to wait.

Almost three months into the school year, I finally had my design.  The fifth grade teachers and principal loved the sketch and the project was a go.  I had some help over the summer with my murals, but not as much as usual.  I was determined to change all that with the final mural.  I wanted fifth grade participants.  I'd take as many painters as I could in fifteen-minute sessions.

Not every fifth grader had the chance to paint, but I'm pretty sure they all wanted to.  The teachers made the selections.  However, when the kids were trapped indoors for recess, Barret asked me if he could paint.  I'm always honored when kids want to paint during recess.  It means they consider the mural a really special project.  I couldn't say yes.  He had to get permission from his teacher.  But, I have to admit, I hoped he could paint.  With his red hair and freckles, as well as a red flannel shirt and cap, he looked like a little farmer.  In my mind, it made him the perfect participant for a mural in this very rural location.

As it turned out, four kids had permission to paint during their recess.  I'm not sure why, but their fifteen-minute session stretched into about forty-five minutes, maybe even an hour.  Nobody came to take their place.  No teacher called them back to class.  And, I assure you, no visiting artist was going to send them away.

Since I had a longer session, I was able to talk more with this group.  That's when I learned a little more about Barret.  At the end of the last school year, he was diagnosed with cancer.  He spent the summer and most of the school year in the hospital or at home.  Finally, miraculously, he was now free of cancer and had only just returned to school the week of this last mural.  If I had come to school any earlier, he would have missed out on the mural experience.  You can be an agnostic or atheist if you choose to do so, but I'm completely convinced this was a God thing. 

Now, when you talk to a ten year old cancer survivor, what kind of questions can you ask?  I wasn't going to ask him what kind of cancer he had or anything about his treatment.  But, how did one so young have such strength, grace and determination to face cancer and walk away victorious?  There has to be a great story and he has to be one awesome kid.  But, I didn't have nearly as much time to talk as I would have liked to have had.  I said that I knew it was a terrible experience, but I was curious if there was anything he thought that was good about what happened to him.  Barret was quick to say that he met a lot of nice people.  He also said that he'd gotten a lot closer to his family.  I'm thinking that Barret has his own God thing going on.

The Next God Thing     I'm nearly finished with illustrating the book about Andrew and I have cleaned up my brushes because I've completed painting all of my murals at Walnut Elementary School.  So, I'm ready for a new project.  I'm not only ready, I need a new project.  It's one of those unfortunate facts of life that bills need to be paid.  So, again, let me repeat that I'm ready.

Most of my recent God things have fallen into my lap.  I've not gone looking for them.  It's been out of my hands.  So, there is a good chance that whatever comes my way next could also be something I never imagined.  HOWEVER, I have had recent communication with U.S. Embassies in Africa, the Caribbean and Oceania who have expressed interest in community murals.  Nobody has confirmed anything.  No dates have been set.  No artist has been dancing around his computer, celebrating an invitation.  But, I'm gonna put it out to the universe so my guardian angel is well aware.  Yep, I'm open for this.  I'm ready, willing and able for an international God thing.
                                                                                     _____

* In an earlier blog, I posted a photo of my feet when I thought the swelling was down and they looked better.  Well, upon a second look, they were still horribly swollen.  Things are looking a whole lot better now.

If you read my last blog, you know that I have gained a new appreciation for friends and family, far and near.  You just never know what the future holds for you or those you love.  You need to take the time to let them know how important they are while you have them.  And in the past few weeks, when one of my friends "fell off the map", I was a wreck.

Those of you who read my blogs might remember that I've written about my friend Patrick - not once, but twice.  He's the art prodigy who I met while I painted murals with the U.S. Embassy in Liberia.  He's a master with pastels, painting and ink, but it's his portrait drawings with pencil that blow me away.  His work is almost photographic.  Simply amazing.

His birthday was a couple of weeks ago.  I wished him greetings, and then he went missing.  He just disappeared.

His Facebook account was deactivated.  His website was cancelled.  He stopped answering email messages.  I even went to Twitter, which I almost never do, with no reply.   He was gone. 

Like I said, I was a wreck.

I know that anything can happen to anyone at any time.  Unless you have a guardian angel as gifted as mine, it's not always good when those things happen.  In my travels, I've been in multiple bus, car and motorcycle accidents.  I've been hospitalized a couple times with weird tropical diseases which include malaria (five times).  My home has been broken into at least four times (once when I was in the house).  And, it's not just me.  I have friends who have been robbed, beaten, and a couple perished in plane crashes.  Even my friend Patrick was surrounded by four thugs who mugged him.

Anything can happen.  And, I was so very worried.

What do you do when someone disappears?  I mean, besides panic.  You say your prayers and seek all the help you can get.  I couldn't just call Patrick to see what's the problem.  First of all, I didn't have his telephone number and, second of all, my stupid phone won't call as far as Africa.  But, that didn't stop me.  I was a man with a plan - actually four of them.

Plan A -  I contacted two of his friends.  Although his Facebook account had been closed, I could still look up old messages we shared.  When I found two names, I located his friends on Facebook and sent messages.

Plan B -  The daughter of my friend Daniel, in Liberia, has been in telephone communication with Patrick.  I also sent her a message to contact Patrick.

Plan C -  Patrick has been in communication with the president of a college in Liberia.  His connection is at the top, with the president of the college, so I sent email messages to the top.

Plan D -  I had the telephone number of one of Patrick's friends.  Since I couldn't make the call, I contacted the Public Affairs Office of the U.S. Embassy in Liberia.  I painted murals for them in Zwedru and Zorzor.  They know me, so I thought this was a good time to ask a favor.

None of these brilliant ideas worked. 

Nobody contacted Patrick.

After two weeks with no communication, and a serious weekend of fret, Patrick finally +decided it was time to write to me.  His Facebook site had been hacked.  He'd been sick a few days.  He lost his scholarship to that college.  And, needless to say, he was down in the dumps.  Down in the dumps but communicating is way better than falling off the deep end of the planet and missing.  I was so very relieved that he was alive and well.  Because, I have to admit, I feared the worst.

But, I also learned a lesson and it's that lesson that I want to drive home to anyone who reads this blog.  You need to have a plan.  You need to be ready in advance.  You can't stop a hurricane, tornado, blizzard, forest fire, earthquake, flood or any other disaster that may come your way.  They come.  Life happens.  And, sometimes it's messy.  However, one thing that we can all do to prepare is have a designated contact.  When something happens, there should be someone everyone knows to call.  Someone to check in with.  Someone who cares.

That someone should also live a distance away from you.  If something terrible happened in Ohio, there's a very good chance that a close contact in Ohio might also be in need, without electricity, transportation or telephone service.  The designated contact should be far away.  Far away is certainly nowhere in Michigan, but any other place will do.

Believe me, Patrick and I have now exchanged information.

I never knew John very well.  He went to the early morning church service.  I rarely ever am cleaned up and ready to leave the house by 8:00, especially on a Sunday morning.  I preferred the later service.  However, in between those services was a gap in time when some people went to Sunday School, others mingled in the gathering hall behind the sanctuary, and those members of the congregation with taste visited the art on display in the small church gallery.  That's how I met John

He was a photographer.  I'm sort of a photographer.  I have an artist's eye and doctor absolutely every photo- graph that I take with PhotoShop.  But, John was a photographer  He didn't need PhotoShop.   He had the knowledge and all the necessary toys to take breathtaking photographs.  He loved landscapes like the barn scene included here.  But, he also did amazing things with still life photography.  I have a print of an orange and pomegranate that looks like an oil painting.  I have no idea how John did that with a camera.  He tried to show me once during a photography lesson in his basement studio.  I still have no clue.

I'm not sure which of us had an exhibition first.  But, I loved his photographs and he loved my portraits.  John retired and the plan was to pursue his photography as he traveled.  It was a great plan.  Great plans don't always happen.  Shortly after retirement, John developed cancer.

I didn't see him as much as I should have, but our loitering overlapped one Sunday morning.  He was on his way home and I arrived early for my service.  We had a nice time catching up.  At this point, John could only speak in a whisper, but he was confident that he could beat the cancer.  Throughout the entire conversation, I had an argument going on inside my head.  "This guy has cancer.  He's in the fight of his life.  Should I give him a hug?"

I didn't hug John.  And, I regretted it almost as soon as it didn't happen.  So, I emailed John and filled him in on situation.  He agreed that I should have hugged him.  Plans were made immediately to meet again the following Sunday in the overlap time between services for a hug.

It happened.

And then, he took a quick turn for the worse.  The cancer flared up.  He rapidly withered away.  And before I knew anything about the turn of events, John died.

I learned my lesson.  And, unfortunately, it seems that I have to learn lessons the hard way to actually learn them.  When given the opportunity to hug someone you care about, do not let the opportunity pass you by.  When I attended John's funeral, his niece was my main contact.  She saved a photograph for me that I wanted and I shared my "John story" about the hug with her.  And as soon as she heard the story, she opened up her arms for a hug.      

I wish I completely learned my lesson the first time around.  But, sometimes life has to hit me over the head a second or third time to let the message fully sink in.  And, that's what happened to me this week. While I was on Facebook, I saw a suggestion to "friend" one of my friends in Morocco.  I didn't know Lahcen had an account, and I was thrilled to send off the request.  I hadn't seen him in almost two decades.  What can happen in that amount of time?  or even a week?

I'm very blessed in my travels.  I tend to meet the most wonderful and gracious people along my path.  Lahcen was one of the best and dearest.  And, really, seriously, it was a friendship that probably should never have happened.  At least, it wasn't too likely.  If you ever take the bus from Marrakech to Ouarzazate, you have to cross over the Atlas Mountains.  And, the bus stopped for lunch in Taddart.  (If you ate what you should eat, there were piping hot bowls of tagine along the roadside.  Tagine is a stew made of potatoes, onions, tomatoes, carrots and some kind of meat.  In Taddart it was often goat heads.)

If there were places to eat, it makes perfect sense that there were also souvenir shop with exotic treasures.  It may surprise you, but I preferred souvenirs over goat heads.  And, that's how I wandered into Lahcen's life.  Lahcen spoke Arabic, Berber and French.  You may notice that English was not included in that list of languages.  That's why the friendship was a little unlikely.  My three years of high school French helped me some, but not enough to really communicate to any satisfaction.  I usually traveled with one or two Moroccan friends who spoke English.  They did a lot of translating.  But, a lot of words were not really needed to like Lahcen.  He had such a warmth and kindness about him.  I liked him immediately.  So, I came to Taddart frequently.

Whenever I needed to escape from the busy city life of Casablanca, I headed to Taddart.  At first, I stayed in the local hotel.  Nothing to write home about.  Eventually, I was adopted into Lahcen's family and stayed at his home.  No plans or invitations were needed.  When I showed up in town, I was taken home.  There was no road to his little village.  The trail lead down the valley from Taddart and then up the side of the next mountain.  The family lived among a cluster of adobe homes.  The dirt from the mountain was used to build the blocks and the village blended perfectly into the landscape.

It was always a trip back in time.  Lahcen's home had no electricity.  There was no running water.  Bread and butter were made by hand.  In the evening, when it got cold, we wrapped up in homemade blankets.  And, when I told Lahcen I wanted a hand-woven Moroccan pullover gown called a djellaba, I bought one that someone in his family made.  It was about as close as I've ever come to getting the shirt off of someone's back.  Lahcen had been wearing the gown.

Lahcen not only welcomed me into his life, but he also welcomed my family and friends.  On occasion, co-workers from school ventured off into the Atlas Mountains with me.  And, when my mother, sister and brother came to Morocco, Taddart was a "must see" destination.  On that occasion, I guess Lahcen's home was considered too small.  We stayed in the mayor's home.  Both Hassan (the mayor) and Lahcen thought my sister was a "gazelle".  I guess that's considered quite a compliment.  The mayor was heartbroken to learn my sister was married.

As we hiked around the mountains, Lahcen always held my mother's hand to guide and protect her.  She adored him.  We all did. 

The last time I saw Lahcen was at the end of 1999.  If you are old enough to remember then, it was during the Y2K scare.  Nobody knew what would happen to the world and it's computers as we entered the new century.  Some people felt the world would end.  I decided if computers failed, technology crashed and the world was coming to an end, I might as well be in my favorite location on the planet which happened to have neither computers nor technology - Taddart. 

At this point in time, Lahcen had a new souvenir shop about three miles north of Taddart.  We walked there.  Upon arrival Lahcen set about to prepare tagine. His recipe didn't have a goat head, but it was stuffed full of guilt.  This was the season of Ramadan when Muslims fast all day until sunset.  The last thing I wanted was my friend preparing a meal for me when he would have no part of it.
 
There is no arguing with Moroccan hospitality.  I was going to eat and feel so very guilty.
 
While I watched Lahcen prepare the tagine, my friend Salah rode the bicycle two or three miles down the mountain to get me some bread.  Yes, all of this was done just for me, the non-fasting Christian among Muslim friends.  Lahcen set the table up outside but we waited inside the warmth of his shop while the tagine cooked.  When the meal was about to be served, Lahcen frantically searched around for the bread.  It was gone!  A passing dog snatched it away.  I said it wasn’t a problem, but apparently you don’t eat tagine without bread.  It just isn't done.  Lahcen sent one of the nearby kids home for a loaf of bread.  When it arrived, Salah said it looked like a baseball glove.  It was about as tough as one and probably tasted the same, but I had bread.

Since those days, Lahcen moved to Marrakech to run a beautiful hotel.  I have friends now studying Arabic in Morocco and I directed them to Marrakech for a wonderful weekend.  And, this week, another contact new to Morocco was given the same advice.  If you want a wonderful experience in Marrakech, drop my name at the Riad Honey Hotel when you meet Lahcen.

So, these were the memories that flooded me as I sent the friend request over the Internet to Morocco.  And, I had the same warm glow when the request was accepted a couple of days later.  Neither of us sent an actual message.  We both knew how we felt about each other.  I was going to write a message soon.  I was busy with a big project at the moment, but the message was on my mind.  Best of intentions.

Lahcen died this week.

It took a couple of days to get the information I wanted.  His son Brahim, who was about ten the last time I saw him and spoke no English, wrote to me to let me know about his papa.  As I later learned, Lahcen also had cancer and was sick for about six months.
 
Enough already! 

I know this lesson.  I don't need to be reminded, but I guess I really do.  And, maybe you do as well.  Nobody on their deathbed ever says, "I wish I would have worked harder."  "I wish I had put in a few more hours on that project."  "I wish I had done more for my boss."  We know what we're supposed to do.  Hug your family.  Tell someone that you love them.  Hug your friends.  Surprise someone with something special just because.  Hug those in need of a hug.  Praise, encourage, thank, acknowledge and love as much as you can.  And, when you've done all you can, squeeze out a little more.  I know that almost nobody ever sends hand-written cards any more.  I sent one this week.  I plan to send more.

And, seriously, when it only takes about a minute to send someone a message telling them what they mean to you, don't miss that opportunity.