What If Mary Had Chosen Otherwise

 
You see the oddest things at Christmastime in America. The bigger the city, the stranger the sights.
 
I was driving downtown to buy gifts for the family and enjoying bouquets of beautiful people bundled in big coats and colorful scarves. They were clustered on corners and shopping in good cheer amid petals of snow dancing in the sun. 
 
One of the people was a beautiful young lady who had stopped to take issue with an old woman in a shawl picketing Planned Parenthood. The old woman was picketing on a motor scooter designed for the elderly. She held a sign bigger than she was and kept motoring back and forth. She was as resolute and granite-faced as my Aunt Polly who had been renowned for protesting any injustice she had perceived. 
 
Saving the seals wherever human beings might be clubbing them to death had been very important to Aunt Polly. She left all of her money to an organization devoted to saving the seals.
 
On this day, however, the beautiful young lady who had taken issue with the old woman on the motor scooter was livid. She marched behind the scooter and yelled at the old woman, pounding her fist into her palm and screaming things I could not hear. The old woman appeared oblivious to the chaos in her wake. Maybe she was deaf, I thought, like my aunt. That can be an advantage when loud people disagree with you.
 
The letters on the sign were huge but I couldn't read them so I drove around the block and found a spot at the curb. It was then that I realized that the sign said, "What might have happened if Mary of Nazareth had been pro-choice?"
 
Now I understood why the young lady was ranting and raving and why the old woman kept motoring to and fro. At Christmastime in America people get excited, more so than usual.
 
When I got home I hid my packages and told my wife at supper what I had seen. I also told her that if Mary had chosen otherwise, I wouldn't have had to go shopping today.
 
That's obvious, she said. 
 
 
Donal Mahoney
 
————————————————————————--
Donal Mahoney, a native of Chicago, lives in St. Louis, Missouri. His fiction and poetry have appeared in various publications, including The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, The Christian Science Monitor, The Chicago Tribune and  Commonweal.  Some of his work can be found at http://eyeonlifemag.com/the-poetry-locksmith/donal-mahoney-poet.html#sthash.OSYzpgmQ.dpbs=

About the Book: A complete history of one of the world's most iconic cocktails--now the poster child of the modern cocktail revival--with fifty recipes for classic variations as well as contemporary updates.

No single cocktail is as iconic, as beloved, or as discussed and fought-over as the Old-Fashioned. Its formula is simple: just whiskey, bitters, sugar, and ice. But how you combine those ingredients—in what proportion, using which brands, and with what kind of garnish—is the subject of much impassioned debate.

The Old-Fashioned is the spirited, delightfully unexpected story of this renowned and essential drink: its birth as the ur-cocktail in the nineteenth century, darker days in the throes of Prohibition, re-ascension in the 1950s and 1960s (as portrayed and re-popularized by Don Draper on Mad Men), and renaissance as the star of the contemporary craft cocktail movement.

Also featured are more than forty cocktail recipes, including classic variations, regional twists, and contemporary updates from top bartenders around the country. All are accessible, delicious, and elegant in their simplicity, demonstrating the versatility and timelessness of the Old-Fashioned formula. 

With its rich history, stunning photography, and impeccable recipes, The Old-Fashioned is a celebration of one of America’s greatest bibulous achievements. It is a necessary addition to any true whiskey- or cocktail-lover’s bookshelf, and destined to become a classic on par with its namesake beverage.
 
MY REVIEW: 5 stars! This is a fun and interesting read. The history of the drink was great to read, and of course the recipes are nice.  I got this book for my husband, who enjoys a cigar and a drink most evenings. I knew he would like this book, and he did! I’m not a fan of the drink myself, but did enjoy reading the history. I have noticed this drink has gained favor lately with the young “hipster” crowd. One bartender told me they have noticed young men asking for this drink, when before it was only the older crowd who asked for it, and even then rarely.  It was interesting to read that the drink, served with the fruits, was more of a lady’s drink, and that the men preferred it without the fruit.  It was also interesting to read about the preferred ice in the drink, and that some people used it as a morning drink.  Overall, I really liked this book.  Good pictures, good information.  I recommend it.
 
 
I received this book for free from the publisher through the BookLook Bloggers <http://booklookbloggers.com> book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review and the opinions and thoughts I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255

About the Book:  I can’t tell you what it’s about from looking at it because it doesn’t say.  There is no back cover description, or a description inside the cover.  The only thing that tells me this is a fiction book is the “Disclaimer” page.

My Review: 1.5 stars.  The cover is great, by the way.  The cover artist gets a 5 stars for the front cover. I also like the matte finish much better than the glossy finished that I see on a lot of books.  This artist will go far.  Then I flip to the back cover and there is no info there, only what looks to be an MRI scan of the brain.  No “back cover description” of the book, which means if I were to see this book on a shelf, I would immediately put it back because there is nothing to tell me what’s inside – nothing to help me decide if I want to read it or not.  As I flipped through, I saw too many punctuation and grammar errors, which also told me right away that if I were to try to thoroughly read this book, I would stumble and get frustrated due to the errors.  Therefore, I was unable to read this.  The only reason for a 1.5 review instead of a 1 is because I liked the front cover.

About this Book: This is an autobiography of the author’s life and “willpower and resilience to rise above issues of alcoholism, neglect, and abuse.”

MY REVIEW: 1 star.  I couldn’t even read the book due to the numerous grammatical and sentence structure errors.  From the front and back cover, I could tell immediately that it was a self-published and unedited book.  It does say within the cover that it is a proof, and I know proofs have errors sometimes, but not this many. I read the ‘About the Author’ which had so many grammatical errors in it that I got frustrated and didn’t want to read the book.  I flipped through the book and wanted to get into the story, but was too distracted by the errors to be able to read it.  I was disappointed, because this is the type of book I usually love.  I think it is a great thing for someone to write a book about their life, especially with a story like this to tell. It’s cathartic to the writer, and it helps other people have the courage to tell their story.  I would like to see this again one day after it has been professionally edited and cleaned up.  No matter how good the story is or how good of a writer one thinks they are, remember, even bestselling authors have editors.  A good edit can make or break a book, and this one needs some thorough editing.

Christmas Eve at Rosen's Deli

 
It's Christmas Eve and Paddy Kelly is on his way home from work at the Post Office. He stops at Rosen's Deli and orders a brisket of beef sandwich on pumpernickel rye with a smear of horseradish and a "new" kosher pickle on the side. 
 
Ever since he came from Ireland to Chicago years ago, Paddy has preferred the "new" kosher pickle to the standard kosher pickle because it's crunchier, he says. It's more like a cucumber, he told his wife, because it isn't cured as long as the standard kosher pickle. He loves the sound as he bites into one, a sound he magnifies whenever he brings his wife to Rosen's. Maggie Kelly likes the new pickle but doesn't like the sound of Paddy chomping on it in public.
 
"I'll take a potato latke, too, Sol," Paddy says to Mr. Rosen, the proprietor of the deli and eldest son of a rabbi killed at the Treblinka Concentration Camp by the Nazis during World War II. Sol was the only survivor in his family. His parents and four siblings were gassed at Treblinka. At 76 Sol has now almost come to grips with the murders except on Jewish holidays when everything about the Treblinka camp dashes back into his mind. If it weren't for the American soldiers getting there on time, he would have gone to the gas chamber as well.
 
"You want coffee now Paddy?" Sol says, stationed in his white apron at the big silver urn, cup in hand. The apron is a patchwork of all the condiments Sol has dispensed during his long day. Mustard stains are particularly hard to get out, according to Mrs. Rosen, a tiny woman, who reminds Sol of that whenever she's behind the counter helping out. 
 
"Coffee later, Sol, with a piece of cheesecake. No dinner tonight. Maggie's not feeling well. I'll eat here and take noodle soup to go. I hope she'll feel better in the morning. She'd never forgive herself if she's too sick to go to Mass on Christmas Day."
 
It's always quiet on Christmas Eve at Rosen's Deli but this time it's quieter than usual. Two regulars, Ruben Cohen and Ruben Goldberg, are the only other customers They are sitting on their usual thrones at the counter, with an empty throne between them, facing each other in almost matching fedoras and arguing as always about the definition of certain Yiddish words.
 
Cohen and Goldberg have been arguing about the fine points--and not so fine points--of the Yiddish language for years with no sign of detente. Right now, the argument is over whether "kunilemel" and "shmendreck" are Yiddish synonyms--or not. Ruben Cohen says it's worse to be called a shmendreck than a kunilemel and Ruben Goldberg maintains that is not accurate. 
 
"They're both the same, Cohen!" Goldberg proclaims, prior to a slurp of coffee.
 
"Are you telling me you'd just as soon be called a shmendreck as a kunilemel," Cohen yells at Goldberg. 
 
If a selection had to be made, Goldberg would probably be judged the scholar of the two in that he usually completes the crossword puzzle in the Chicago Sun-Times in half an hour. Cohen, on the other hand, is currently a cab driver with a degree in accounting. He's between jobs, which is usually the case for Ruben Cohen, and he hasn't got time for crossword puzzles. But he'll do your taxes accurately for a lot less than H&R Block.
 
"Time is money," Cohen says to Goldberg as he heads for the door. "I got no time for crossword puzzles on Christmas Eve. I'll be getting quite a few fares for Midnight Mass. It's tough for the old-timers to walk a few blocks. Ask Kelly over there. He'll tell you that's the truth.
 
Paddy Kelly, in the meantime, is lost in thought as he finishes his cheesecake and coffee and walks up to pay his tab at the front of the store. Once again Sol is there wrestling with his ancient register. Some days it works and some days it doesn't. Sol shakes it at least three times before putting in a call to the repairman. On Christmas Eve, the charge would be higher and it's high enough, Sol says, on regular days.
 
"How's Mrs. Rosen, Sol?," Paddy asks. "Haven't seen her in weeks."
 
"Cancer, Paddy," Sol says. "They operate next week. Things don't look good. The docs say everything depends on what they find. Up until now she's had good health for a woman her age."
 
Paddy has no idea what to say. He knows Minerva Rosen better than Sol. Years ago it was Minerva Rosen who handed him his first new pickle. And then she gave him his first knish. Two days after that, she brought over his first steaming bowl of sweet and sour cabbage soup. 
 
Paddy had eaten a lot of cabbage in Ireland but nothing as delicious as Mrs. Rosen's sweet and sour cabbage soup. He always comes in for a bowl on St. Patrick's Day before heading to the party at the Knights of Columbus Hall. 
 
The Rosens cater that event every year. For weeks afterward arguments continue among the guests, most of them immigrants from Ireland, as to which corned beef is better--Rosen's kosher corned beef or the version they ate on holidays back in Ireland, provided their families could afford it. Otherwise they ate boiled cabbage and potatoes with a piece of pork tossed in for flavoring.
 
Paddy has always preferred Rosen's corned beef but he would never risk his life by saying so in front of the other Knights.  
 
"Sol, at church tomorrow, Maggie and I will pray hard for Mrs. Rosen. I hope to God the surgery works. Sometimes praying is all that anyone can do."
 
"I know," Sol says as the register finally springs open. "You have a good Christmas, Paddy, and we'll see what the doctors say next week. The best to you and Maggie."  
 
Donal Mahoney
 
————————————————————————--
Donal Mahoney, a native of Chicago, lives in St. Louis, Missouri. His fiction and poetry have appeared in various publications, including The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, The Christian Science Monitor, The Chicago Tribune and  Commonweal.  Some of his work can be found at http://eyeonlifemag.com/the-poetry-locksmith/donal-mahoney-poet.html#sthash.OSYzpgmQ.dpbs=
 

Love Is All That Really Matters

His name was John. He was a quiet man.
He cared not about living according to the precepts of humanity.
He preferred life to be simple,
For in simplicity he saw grandeur.

When he spoke, his voice was meek;
Most times others ignored his unassuming nature.
His peacefulness was seen as weakness,
His generosity a flaw of the human condition.

Quietly he walked through life in the most ordinary way.
The corridors he passed on his journeys were well populated
Though he was hardly noticed;
It was as if he hadn’t walked them at all.

When he spoke his voice was but a whisper;
A breeze passing by the others who were near.
His words fell silently around them,
And they scarcely took the time to even glance his way.

A select few did notice his passing;
They stopped to smile and nod at his peaceful candor.
After he had spoken, their hearts soared with new life,
For they saw John’s beautiful nature, and intelligence.

As humanity swarmed around him,
Rushing and darting to keep pace with the craziness that society expects,
John noticed the stars in the sky and the warm summer breeze.
He felt the green grass beneath his feet and warmth of the sun on his face.

Children surrounded him and listened to him speak,
Laughing and smiling at the stories that he skillfully told,
Just as a spider spins a beautiful, glistening web,
Were his observations of life and life’s journeys.

He always stopped to feed the birds and to watch the butterflies
Flit through the air like colorful, miniature kites;
His day was complete when he had the opportunity
To pet a neighbor’s dog or feed a squirrel in the park.

John appeared to be elusive, but that was only because
Everyone around him was too busy to stop for a moment;
To meet as one heart to another, to find a place
Of commonality or interests shared.

“He’s different,” they would say. “Too quiet. A bit off.”
He heard their comments but it didn’t bother him.
He knew what was truly important.
“They must only learn,” he thought quietly in his head.

He remembered the gunshots in the war,
His friends dying around him; his best friend
Pleading as he bled to death in his arms,
“Tell my son I love him.”

John knew life was brief. He valued the things
That others took for granted; things like
Peace; happiness; soft, puffy clouds in the sky,
A quiet place to sleep at night. The hug of a child.

And he knew their indifference was not deliberate,
It was just that they hadn’t known what he had known:
That life was a gift, it was not something to be taken for granted;
And that its purpose was to give love to others;

Even if they didn’t understand why it was being given,
Or what they were supposed to do with it once they received it.
Love’s grand purpose would make itself known at just the right time,
In just the right place with just the right people with absolute perfection.

And that, John knew, was all that really mattered.

-Diamante Lavendar

Maybe I Had It Better in 1955

 
In 1955 there were four newspapers published every day in Chicago. I was one of hundreds of kids in the city who rode bikes seven days a week to deliver one of them. I had 100 papers or so in a canvas bag mounted on my handlebars. Had to deliver Saturdays and Sundays, too. 
 
I don’t know why I did it. My parents didn’t make me. It must have been for spending money. But the jobs were there in 1955 for any kid who wanted them. Those jobs aren’t there today.
 
I can’t remember what I earned but it was good money for a boy in his teens. When I collected from customers once a week, the tips were good unless someone had lost a job, had sickness in the family or was just a grump. 
 
After a while you knew the homes at which you might get an extra dime. That was a big tip. The paper, Sunday edition included, cost 50 cents a week, a little more than $2 a month. 
 
A dime in 1955 would get you a candy bar and a bottle of pop, or soda as it’s called in some places.
 
I picked my papers up at an old garage called “the branch” run by a man who must have once been a marine. His name was Spencer. That may have been his first name or his last. I don’t know if he had any teeth because I never saw him smile. 
 
Organizing 30 boys to deliver hundreds of newspapers seven days a week was not a cushy way to make a living. And if one of his boys missed a delivery, Spencer is the one the customer called. 
 
And Spencer was the one who summoned you to his desk for a proper chastisement, nice and loud for the other boys to hear, so no more calls like that from your route would come in. 
 
The job itself would take about two hours to handle from start to finish. Spencer gave you your stacks of papers and you sat on a bench with the other guys and rolled them into makeshift tubes, put them in the canvas bag on your handle bars and then rode off to deliver them. 
 
Every paperboy was taught to lob the paper from his bike so it landed on the door mat of the bungalow porch. Some guys had pinpoint accuracy. Usually they were the ones who had been doing it for a few years. 
 
One of those guys trained me. I can still see him hit those mats, three out of every four, if memory serves. I never got to be as good as he was but I was better than some.
 
Most of the houses were small brick bungalows with a few big frame houses on the corners. Sometimes you hit the mat and sometimes not but if the paper fell off the porch, you got off your bike, put the kickstand down and put the paper on the mat. 
 
I can still hear that kickstand going down, the sound of error ringing in my ears.
 
I thought about that this morning 60 years later when I walked out in the pouring rain to try to find my paper in the dark somewhere on the soaking lawn. It’s always wrapped in plastic that sometimes keeps it dry. It's tossed there every day by a man or woman I’ve never met who whizzes by in a small van hours earlier and tosses it somewhere on the lawn. He or she just has to hit the lawn, no worries about hitting a mat or even getting it on the porch. 
 
Sometimes the paper lands in a bush. Once it landed in a tree. I saw it out the window that day when the sun came up. 
 
Whoever delivers the paper doesn’t have to collect from customers. We’re billed monthly on credit cards. Recently the charge went up to $24 a month. Quite a bit more than the $2 a month customers paid in 1955.
 
I live in a different city now. There’s only one newspaper and it’s on life support. But as someone who once read four newspapers a day in Chicago, I can’t stop reading it. A harmless addiction.
 
Sometimes I wish they would bring out an edition with only the sports scores, the obituaries and the letters to the editor. But the big thing is that in 2015, unlike in 1955, there are no paper boys on bikes seven days a week earning a little money and more than a little responsibility. 
 
Maybe, in that respect at least, I had it better in 1955. 
 
Donal Mahoney
 
————————————————————————--
Donal Mahoney, a native of Chicago, lives in St. Louis, Missouri. His fiction and poetry have appeared in various publications, including The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, The Christian Science Monitor, The Chicago Tribune and  Commonweal.  Some of his work can be found at http://eyeonlifemag.com/the-poetry-locksmith/donal-mahoney-

ABOUT THE BOOK: “I am a well-loved wife.” Is this something your wife would say?
Here’s your guide to making those words a reality in your marriage.

What do women want? This question has stumped the greatest male minds for centuries. Of course, if you’re married, a much better question is, “What does your wife want?”

As Darrin and Amie Patrick reveal in this profoundly practical and transformational book, God designed your wife to want—to need—to be loved. And that design is an invitation for you to love her deeply, intentionally and passionately.

Practicing ten powerful actions—including listening, pursuing, and serving—will transform you into your wife’s lifelong champion and have her nominating you for the Husband Hall of Fame.

The Dude’s Guide to Marriage is for guys who want to grow, who want clear steps to improving their marriage. It’s for men who want a marriage that thrives rather than just survives.

Grab this guide, and get ready to be a better husband by becoming a better man.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Darrin Patrick is the lead pastor of The Journey and the vice president of Acts 29, a global church-planting network. He also serves as the chaplain to the St. Louis Cardinals. Patrick is the author of The Dude's Guide to Manhood and Church Planter and co-author of Replant and For the City. He and his family live in St. Louis, Missouri.
 
MY THOUGHTS: This book is written from a Christian perspective, and has sound psychological advice in it as well.  As a counselor myself, I agree with the tips in this book.  I give it a 5 stars. My detailed critique of each chapter is below.

The first is LISTEN and (accurately) describes how most men don’t really listen to women the way women need and want to be listened to.  I like the statement “If you think having a wife who talks too much is the worst thing, just wait until she stops.”  How true!  As a woman, I can definitely identify with this statement.  Women talk to connect.  When we stop wanting to talk, that’s when something is wrong, when we don’t feel safe and connected.  Really good material!  The author gives what to me as a counselor is basic and well known communication and active listening tips, but to the average layman, is probably much needed advice.  True listening (and connecting) is not done often enough in relationships.

Chapter 2 follows the communication theme and discusses TALK.  Men tend to not want to share their thoughts, feelings, hopes, and dreams with their wife. The author makes this statement: “Men don’t talk to their wives because they don’t understand what is going on with themselves.”  Again, how true!  From a counselor’s perspective, what he is talking about here is what we call emotional identification.  You have to know what you are feeling and why before you can communicate this to someone else.  Women are often better at identifying and expressing these things than men are.  Men are often taught as boys not to get in touch with their emotions, so when their wives ask them to do this, they don’t know how.

Chapter 3 is FIGHT.  Let’s face it, the question is not IF a couple is going to fight.  It’s WHEN.  You can learn to fight constructively or destructively. This chapter helps you understand things like your personality differences, how your family of origin handled conflict, and not to see each other as enemies.

Chapter 4 is about GROWTH, and the different ways we grow individually and as a couple over time.

Chapter 5 is about the husband being a PROVIDER.  I will admit, I was skeptical when I saw the title, but I like the way the author handled his point.  Of course in a traditional marriage, and especially from a Christian point of view, men are seen as the primary financial provider.  Modern families are not always like this, and in fact, many wives earn more than their husbands.  The author points out (and I agree) that even though women have achieved more in the way of equality in the workplace and it is not seen by everyone as the place for a women being in the home, the fact is that even though couples think they do a good job of equally sharing the workload and raising children, women still usually carry the brunt of this load.  Therefore, many working women feel doubly burdened by having a career and still doing most of the work of caring for the children and the housework.  If a woman earns more than her husband and is still doing the majority of the work with the children and house work, she will feel doubly burdened by her load and will become resentful.  I cannot argue with this statement.  To put it in my own words, we want a partner and an equal – not another child!

Chapter 6 is REST.  It discusses the need to actually slow down, rest, not be so stressed out and overworked, and to get away from life’s demands and have peace within your soul.  Get away from the TV, cell phone, computer, and electronics that always keep your mind on other things, and take the time to truly focus on resting your mind and soul.  Meditate. Pray.  Renew your spirit.  This is also a good time to focus on your relationship.  Without the distractions, you can share your most intimate moments with your spouse.  Stay late in bed and cuddle and talk. Get intimate.  Stop everything and focus on each other.  This is so important, and I will be the first to admit that I don’t do this often enough.

Chapter 7 is titled SERVE.  If you are familiar with the popular book “The Five Love Languages” then you are already familiar with this chapter.  This is discussing the ways you can serve your wife (this author’s word) but really it is guiding husbands to find her “love language” and act in ways that show her she is loved.  Everyone’s will be different, and if you do not connect to hers, she will feel unloved and unappreciated.

Chapter 8 is SUBMIT.  Remember, this book is specifically talking to husbands, but this goes for both partners.  Men might have a harder time submitting to their spouse, though.  What this means is, when there are things that she does better than you, ways that she helps you be a better man – rather than get an attitude or try to act like you know more than she does, submit to your spouse in these areas.  I could give many examples, but I won’t.  Suffice it to say that if you have a partner that is strong where you are weak, you complement each other very well, let her take the lead in those areas in which she is stronger. Maybe she handles the money better than you do, or has a particular gift or skill in another area.  Maybe she is the main breadwinner.  You can submit by allowing her to take the spotlight in these areas that she shines and by boosting her self-esteem and making her feel appreciated.  It takes a strong man to do this.  A weaker man will try to put her down and belittle her in order to make himself feel better.  This isn’t helping your marriage if you do that.  You do not have to be better than your wife in everything, or put her in a role or position beneath you.  No way.
 
Chapter 9 is PURSUE.  To my, self-explanatory, yet everybody stops doing it after they get married!  If you pursued her in the marriage the way you did before you got married, there would never be divorce.  Don’t stop the romance.

Chapter 10 is WORSHIP.  This chapter discusses how we should worship the Lord, but discusses how we often worship ourselves and hold a egocentric view of the world, thinking that our view is everyone’s view when in fact it is not.

Each chapter has 5 discussion questions at the end.  I was quite impressed with this book and would highly recommend it.

Disclaimer:  I received a free copy of this book in exchange for writing a review.  I was not required to write a positive review, and all opinions are my own and are given honestly.

I called you mom, I depended on you.
As a little girl I was scared with no one to run to.
It broke my little heart every time you would drop me off at a different place,
Mommy I would cry my eyes out, then after you I would chase.
 
I was so young, and innocent,
Yet so broken, I only wanted mommy time spent.
How could you just leave me anywhere?
How could life be so unfair?
 
Now I am all grown,
You are forever gone.
I will never know what it is like to have a mommy,
But I have learned what it is like to have ones who love me.
 
My fiancé and my three boys are lovely,
The best family I ever dreamed to be.
Although, Jesus is still in the midst of healing me,
I am on my way to being set free eternally.
 
by Christy Bozeman