No snivelling today, Look for the Heroes

Among the many things I am passionate about, the things that give me joy, is owning the privilege of watching my fellow humans do the most amazingly unselfish, self-sacrificing, difficult, dangerous and too often death-defying things on behalf of complete strangers and animals alike. I envy their stamina for staying in the good-deeds department day in and day out. There is so much to do, so very much that I sometimes think my heart will shatter under the weight of it all.

In no particular order of adoration I offer Jane Goodall, the Dalai Lama, my father Christie Kiefer, the Monks of New Skete, Jacques-Yves Cousteau, Cesar and Ilusion Millan, Wendell Berry, and my partner, who lovingly supports my attempts to share some coherent scribbling with you, and confesses shameless gratitude that I've moved my rants out of the living room and into a Blog.

Frankly, there are plenty of days when I would rather stay in bed and watch Lassie reruns, eat bon bons (Sees’ Candy variety if you’re ever inclined), take a nap, seduce my partner back into bed, read trash, take another nap and pretend that what really counts is that my little circle of family and friends are mostly safe and perfectly okay without me. Which they usually are anyway, but that’s not the point. It’s NOT enough to feel your conscience only when the next horror story downloads itself into your private little inbox. You must make a difference, no matter how small you think it is. The smallest gesture of love and sacrifice can save a life without you ever knowing it. I’m pretty sure you get pink clouds at sunset for that kind of act. Pretty nifty payback.

 So okay, sometimes, I DO stay in bed and pretend. I’m entitled to a walloping good bad day as much as the 

Yes, I'm Trying to Seduce You

I am no more, no less, than a woman with just enough chutzpa to think I might make a difference in a world that seems to need so much more talent and brains than I have on offer. I also own up to a generous dollop of Pollyanna naiveté that lets me go on thinking anyone cares. Both traits have served me delightfully well all my life.

I'm an empathetic, scatterbrained know-it-all who secretly believes she really doesn't know a damn thing. However, it turns out I happen to know just enough to be a burr under the saddle of anything that smacks of prejudice, wastefulness, disregard, zealotry, unkindness, and plain ignorance. Which means I spend a lot of time being annoyed with myself. It helps that I seem to write well enough to make people either puce with indignation, or smile and nod happily to be sharing a similar point of view. Either way, my intent is to create enough of an itch to get people scratching,