You may or may not have seen the television series A Million Little Things. Personally, I think the writers came up with an especially clever title. The show centers around a close-knit group of friends who support each other in times of crisis. And, this group of friends has a lot of problems; perhaps a million little things go wrong in every episode. They have faced suicide, betrayal, sickness, problems with children, problems about not having children, depression, guilt, loneliness, separation, financial obligations, new jobs, job loss, moving, addiction, physical rehabilitation, haunting past, failure, grief, break-ups and perhaps a million or so other issues. But, it really does not do anyone any good to focus on everything that goes wrong around you, especially if there are this many little things (or huge disasters) taking place. Yep, it's a good time to follow the example set by Bing Crosby and "Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive". That said, in the case of A Million Little Things, these friends have a lot of good things going for them as well. They are very loyal. All of them appear to have remarkably flexible work schedules that allow each friend in the group to always be there for the other, whether day or night. And, they really care about each other and consider them their real family. The list of good things happening in their lives may not total a million, but it's a good list. It certainly is the kind of list most people would like to have.
So, this got me thinking. What are some of the little things going on in my life that make me thankful? There are some things - not nearly a million of them - that surprise me from time to time and make my day. If you've read my book Triple Gratitude with Assorted Monsters, you know that every day I try to look for the three best things that happened to me in the past twenty-four hours. I thought I might just share a few of them with you. Relax, it's nothing close to a million.
Covid Recovery - It was a very long four weeks that I spent in bed with that nasty little virus. I know that I was very blessed. My symptoms were not so critical. Many people have suffered so much more than I did. I was simply achy and exhausted. Now, if I were the type of person glued to my telephone like most people on the planet, I would have suffered so much more. I didn't have the energy to bother with my telephone. I didn't have the energy to tell anyone I was sick. I had no energy. I didn't touch my phone.
Well, now I'm doing much better. I still need an occasional nap if I overdo things, but I'm fine. So, I wrote my blog to tell friends about my experience. The responses I've gotten from all over the world have been interesting. Friends in Africa wrote, "You should have told us! I'm so glad you are better, but you really should have told us!" I explained, I really didn't have the energy to tell you or anyone else what was going on. I let people know as soon as I was able to do so.
I might be forgiven.
Then, I heard from friends in Brasil. They were also upset in learning things so late. But, this conversation was over a Zoom meeting and I could actually see what they wanted to do to me. My mural host wanted to grab me by the ear and give me a good shaking. He wanted the message to be received loud and clear that I was to communicate better if problems ever arise in the future.
And, I'm not sure if I will ever be fully forgiven.
So, this got me thinking. What are some of the little things going on in my life that make me thankful? There are some things - not nearly a million of them - that surprise me from time to time and make my day. If you've read my book Triple Gratitude with Assorted Monsters, you know that every day I try to look for the three best things that happened to me in the past twenty-four hours. I thought I might just share a few of them with you. Relax, it's nothing close to a million.
Covid Recovery - It was a very long four weeks that I spent in bed with that nasty little virus. I know that I was very blessed. My symptoms were not so critical. Many people have suffered so much more than I did. I was simply achy and exhausted. Now, if I were the type of person glued to my telephone like most people on the planet, I would have suffered so much more. I didn't have the energy to bother with my telephone. I didn't have the energy to tell anyone I was sick. I had no energy. I didn't touch my phone.
Well, now I'm doing much better. I still need an occasional nap if I overdo things, but I'm fine. So, I wrote my blog to tell friends about my experience. The responses I've gotten from all over the world have been interesting. Friends in Africa wrote, "You should have told us! I'm so glad you are better, but you really should have told us!" I explained, I really didn't have the energy to tell you or anyone else what was going on. I let people know as soon as I was able to do so.
I might be forgiven.
Then, I heard from friends in Brasil. They were also upset in learning things so late. But, this conversation was over a Zoom meeting and I could actually see what they wanted to do to me. My mural host wanted to grab me by the ear and give me a good shaking. He wanted the message to be received loud and clear that I was to communicate better if problems ever arise in the future.
And, I'm not sure if I will ever be fully forgiven.
Clip art at the Kibbutz Phillip Martin Clip Art - My clip art been out there on the Internet since the 1990s. It certainly makes me the most non-famous world-famous artist on the planet. I truly never know where it will pop up next. One of my friend spotted my art - illegally - on T-shirts in a Manila mall. The artist who helped me mural in Moldova said his childhood English text books used my art. Others have recognized my cartoons at an orphanage in Cambodia. Friends traveling in Israel saw my artwork at a kibbutz that they visited. Even my sister and I discovered my art at a Maya museum in Belize. Yep, as I said, it's all over the world.
Most recently, one of my former students contacted me. I've not seen Ryan since he was ten years old. He now has a daughter two years older than that. Ryan said that he was with his daughter at her school when he saw a bulletin board that had a large drawing of a Greek woman. If you ever were one of my students, you would have learned my step-by-step cartooning method. They are simple cartoons, but they are still so unique that they are recognizable anywhere. Ryan told his daughter, "I know who drew that. It was my fourth grade teacher."
Of course, his daughter didn't believe him.
Of course, Ryan wasn't going to leave his daughter with any doubt. He contacted me right away to tell me about the display. Yep, I confirmed that it was my drawing. And, I think his daughter is a believer now.
Most recently, one of my former students contacted me. I've not seen Ryan since he was ten years old. He now has a daughter two years older than that. Ryan said that he was with his daughter at her school when he saw a bulletin board that had a large drawing of a Greek woman. If you ever were one of my students, you would have learned my step-by-step cartooning method. They are simple cartoons, but they are still so unique that they are recognizable anywhere. Ryan told his daughter, "I know who drew that. It was my fourth grade teacher."
Of course, his daughter didn't believe him.
Of course, Ryan wasn't going to leave his daughter with any doubt. He contacted me right away to tell me about the display. Yep, I confirmed that it was my drawing. And, I think his daughter is a believer now.
The Mural Man - Not a lot of community murals get painted when communities are not allowed to gather. I didn't paint one mural in 2020. I'm hoping that life might, hopefully, turn around a little in the second half of this year. I am so ready to pick up my brushes and paint more murals in any corner of the planet. And, there are a few possibilities brewing. Possibilities.
-- Brasil One of my best options in the works is back in Brasil with the ear-puller. I painted one of my murals at APAI, a center for people with special needs. That's where I met Claudinei and had one of my most touching moments as a muralist. My host who originally invited me to Brasil, is hard at work trying to bring me back. And, he has a big dream. He wants to again work with APAI and have me paint murals around the country. He asked if I would be willing to come to Brasil for an extended stay of perhaps three months. Nobody who asks me a question like that expects to hear "No!" for an answer. I said I was ready to get on the plane tomorrow. Well, before that actually happens, funding has to be located and a virus needs to be eliminated (or seriously slowed down).
-- Liberia Now before this nasty virus came our way, I was in serious talks with three embassies in West Africa about a muraling tour of Liberia, Togo and Benin. Discussions were only in the beginning stages. Previously in Liberia, in 2016, I painted community murals at the American Corner Libraries in Zorzor and Zwedru. The Public Affairs Officer wanted to bring me back to paint at the other two American Corner Libraries in Buchanan and Kakata, as well as maybe a couple more locations around the country. You know I'm willing.
Alas! The guy I was in communication with is no longer in Liberia. He's preparing to go on to Norway where he'd like some murals. And, oh, so very fortunately, his replacement in Liberia loves what I do and is interested in bringing me back home. But, just like in Brasil, nothing is going to happen in any of these countries until this nasty little virus situation is closer to under control.
-- Norway I really want to go to Norway. I can already hear you, "You want to go anywhere!" And, you would be correct. But, I have a very good reason to want to go there as well. One of my former students, who I haven't seen since he was a second grader in Zambia, returned home to Oslo more than twenty years ago. One time he invited me to Norway and I actually went for the weekend. (That isn't something you can easily do from Ohio, but it's not that bad when you are in Belgium.) I went, and my student got the dates mixed up. I never saw him, but I visited the National Museum to see "The Scream". I was the only visitor in that gallery room! Well, I wasn't really alone. There was a security guard right at my side. Perhaps I stared too long or too closely at the art? But, I was thrilled with the personal viewing and the information the guard had to share. That same week I had seen the "Mona Lisa" in Paris. But, it was with at least 100 other tourists flashing their cameras and there was no private security guard to answer any of my questions. So, yes, please bring me back to Norway!
The Stone at the Door - While trapped at my home in Ohio, unsuccessfully avoiding nasty viruses lurking about, I have spent a lot of time working on children's books. I just finished my tenth one. (If you want to look over the entire collection, I have them all up on my website.) Over the years, I have gathered and rewritten over 250 folk tales. I have two volumes, each with 50 tales, of West African and Southern African stories. I have two more collections of 50 tales each from Burma and Thailand that have been sitting around inside my computer gathering dust for at least 20 years. It just takes so long to illustrate 50 tales that I have had a hard time getting started. I still lack the motivation. ANYWAY, all this is to say, my most recent folk tale, The Stone at the Door - a Moroccan Tale of Love, is my very favorite tale that I have discovered from anywhere on the planet. Yep, top of the list with no competition even close.
My distant runner-up favorite tales are Spider and the Honey Tree and The Chief Who Was No Fool, both collected when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Liberia. I absolutely love to tell my spider story. I've done it enough that I have learned how to interact with the audience and keep their attention. It's a great listen. But, still, The Stone at the Door wins out. You know how you are supposed to get better with practice? It may not always work, but I think my writing has gotten better the more I write. The two volumes of 50 stories each were edited, modified and perfected more times than I can even count. And, all that practice did its job. I took the best story I ever found and rewrote it at my finest. I just love this tale.
My folk tale books remind me of people along my pathway because I have gathered many of these stories as I wandered the globe muraling. I think of Greg, my mural partner, when I read the Jamaican tale of Anansi and the Market Pig. I never would have returned to Albania for two mural projects or discovered The Half-Rooster, if I hadn't met Vita and Haxhi. My best friend from my Peace Corps days, Daniel, and so many other gracious Liberians warm my heart as I read Once Upon West Africa. And, it's the same for The Stone at the Door. This tale takes place in the Atlas Mountains of Morocco where all the homes and fortresses are made of adobe bricks and stone. It's where my friend Lahcen lived, and I fled to his home outside the village of Taddart whenever I wanted to escape the hurried life of Casablanca. Sadly, Lahcen passed away not so long ago. This book is dedicated to my friend and his family. I can't wait to share this labor of love with them. When you read the tale, you can already guess the only name I used throughout the story.
My distant runner-up favorite tales are Spider and the Honey Tree and The Chief Who Was No Fool, both collected when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Liberia. I absolutely love to tell my spider story. I've done it enough that I have learned how to interact with the audience and keep their attention. It's a great listen. But, still, The Stone at the Door wins out. You know how you are supposed to get better with practice? It may not always work, but I think my writing has gotten better the more I write. The two volumes of 50 stories each were edited, modified and perfected more times than I can even count. And, all that practice did its job. I took the best story I ever found and rewrote it at my finest. I just love this tale.
My folk tale books remind me of people along my pathway because I have gathered many of these stories as I wandered the globe muraling. I think of Greg, my mural partner, when I read the Jamaican tale of Anansi and the Market Pig. I never would have returned to Albania for two mural projects or discovered The Half-Rooster, if I hadn't met Vita and Haxhi. My best friend from my Peace Corps days, Daniel, and so many other gracious Liberians warm my heart as I read Once Upon West Africa. And, it's the same for The Stone at the Door. This tale takes place in the Atlas Mountains of Morocco where all the homes and fortresses are made of adobe bricks and stone. It's where my friend Lahcen lived, and I fled to his home outside the village of Taddart whenever I wanted to escape the hurried life of Casablanca. Sadly, Lahcen passed away not so long ago. This book is dedicated to my friend and his family. I can't wait to share this labor of love with them. When you read the tale, you can already guess the only name I used throughout the story.
Silver Boxes - As I sit, (formerly) quarantined, (currently) socially distanced, and (still) otherwise sequestered in front of my computer, I listen to a lot of YouTube videos, podcasts, and radio programs while I work on book illustrations. The listening is kind of like that box of chocolates mentioned by Forrest Gump. You never know what you're going to get. Sometimes the listen is something pretty good. Sometimes I can't even finish the video. (I never have that problem with chocolate.) Usually the message is informative. And, sometimes, very rarely, I stumble across a treasure. That was my reaction to the inspirational speaker, Florence Littauer, who shared words of kindness and healing.
Littauer's story began as she sat in a church service, minding her own business seated on a pew. The pastor stood up and said, "I see that Florence Littauer is in our audience this morning. I think it would be nice if we had her come up front and share a few words." Now, I personally would have liked a little more warning. I do pretty well with public speaking, but I still like to mull things over in my mind a while before I'm called up front.
As Littauer made her way up to the front of the church, the preacher got even more specific. He suggested, "In fact, why don't we have Florence give the children's sermon this morning?" As she wracked her brain for an idea of what to talk about, children throughout the congregation gathered at the front of the church to hear just what she had to say. Fortunately, the kids walked faster than she could so she had a few seconds to gather her thoughts.
When she arrived at the podium, Littauer decided to teach the children a Bible verse and selected Ephesians 4:29 which declares: "Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers." Personally, if I were called upon to do this, I would have selected a verse with much simpler vocabulary. She had to break the verse up in sections and discuss each part with her young audience. I have to admit, Littauer did an excellent job communicating this verse to the children. She ended up her explanation saying that the words that we speak should be like gifts to others. I'd never thought of conversation that way. I suddenly liked this verse a whole lot more.
Now, you still may wonder whether the concept was successfully conveyed to the young audience. There is no need to worry. One little girl got it. And she, too, apparently wondered if the audience understood the lesson. She stood up, faced the congregation, and declared, "What she means is that our words should be like a little silver box with a bow on top."
That sentence stopped me in my tracks.
Everyone wants this kind of silver box given to them. Everyone needs them as well. I know times when I definitely have not given someone a silver box. I may not have thought they deserved one, but we all do. Words have consequences. They wound. They uplift. They tear down. And, they delight. I'm very sure that everyone can remember when they were not given words even close to a precious metal. But, hopefully, we can also think of times when we've received them and the person who gave them. In this blog, I've tried to share little things that have happened to me recently that made me grateful. But, what I want you to remember most of all is the importance of giving silver boxes with a bow on top. Give them often. Give them every day. Give them wherever you go. It's okay to give away a million little silver boxes.
Littauer's story began as she sat in a church service, minding her own business seated on a pew. The pastor stood up and said, "I see that Florence Littauer is in our audience this morning. I think it would be nice if we had her come up front and share a few words." Now, I personally would have liked a little more warning. I do pretty well with public speaking, but I still like to mull things over in my mind a while before I'm called up front.
As Littauer made her way up to the front of the church, the preacher got even more specific. He suggested, "In fact, why don't we have Florence give the children's sermon this morning?" As she wracked her brain for an idea of what to talk about, children throughout the congregation gathered at the front of the church to hear just what she had to say. Fortunately, the kids walked faster than she could so she had a few seconds to gather her thoughts.
When she arrived at the podium, Littauer decided to teach the children a Bible verse and selected Ephesians 4:29 which declares: "Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers." Personally, if I were called upon to do this, I would have selected a verse with much simpler vocabulary. She had to break the verse up in sections and discuss each part with her young audience. I have to admit, Littauer did an excellent job communicating this verse to the children. She ended up her explanation saying that the words that we speak should be like gifts to others. I'd never thought of conversation that way. I suddenly liked this verse a whole lot more.
Now, you still may wonder whether the concept was successfully conveyed to the young audience. There is no need to worry. One little girl got it. And she, too, apparently wondered if the audience understood the lesson. She stood up, faced the congregation, and declared, "What she means is that our words should be like a little silver box with a bow on top."
That sentence stopped me in my tracks.
Everyone wants this kind of silver box given to them. Everyone needs them as well. I know times when I definitely have not given someone a silver box. I may not have thought they deserved one, but we all do. Words have consequences. They wound. They uplift. They tear down. And, they delight. I'm very sure that everyone can remember when they were not given words even close to a precious metal. But, hopefully, we can also think of times when we've received them and the person who gave them. In this blog, I've tried to share little things that have happened to me recently that made me grateful. But, what I want you to remember most of all is the importance of giving silver boxes with a bow on top. Give them often. Give them every day. Give them wherever you go. It's okay to give away a million little silver boxes.
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