Crazy things happen in life. How might these be explained? You may need help in finding the answers.

 

The world can become dark before the light shines again and illuminates the direction in which you must go. But a time comes when you know . . .

 

 

I Found My Way

 

     The clouds blanketed the sky. These fluffy white creatures flowed gently through the air. I stared in awe. Then I heard screaming coming from behind me.

     “Jacob, what are you doing standing on the front lawn in your underwear?”

     “Huh? Front lawn? Underwear? Not me.”

     “Well, look down, Your socks are soaking wet from the dew on the grass. And you’re not wearing pants.”

     “But I’m going for a walk.”

     “You’re what?”

     “A walk, just around the block.”

     “An almost naked person strolling through the neighborhood. Someone’s going to call the police.”

     “For what? I’m not allowed to walk anymore?”

     “Not when you’re undressed!”

     This didn’t make any sense to me. It was a beautiful day. Blue skies everywhere. No sign of the rain that flooded the streets the past week. I stepped off the lawn onto the driveway. I felt invigorated. It was a new day and I was a new person.

     I pranced down the street. Life was great. Then a car pulled over to the curb and its window rolled down.

     “Hey, Jacob, where’re you going?” a male voice echoed in my ears.

     I ignored it and continued walking.

     “Jacob, it’s me, Eddie,” the voice blurted.

     I smiled, but said nothing. I was too preoccupied to get involved with a passerby.

     “Jacob, you’re not dressed,” the voice shouted. “Get in the car and I’ll take you home.”

     Without turning my head, I replied, “My mother told me never to speak to strangers—never!”

     “But I’m not a stranger. I’m your neighbor, Eddie, from down the block.”

     I didn’t pay any attention. His words flowed through the air as if being pulled by an airplane. And I danced toward the corner. As I turned onto Heavenly Valley Lane, an elderly woman peered at me in dismay.

     “Are you lost?” she asked.

     “No. I’m found.”

     “Found? What are you talking about?”

     “Why do you want to know?”

     “Because it appears you need help.”

     “Help? How did you come to that conclusion?”

     “Well, you’re not fully dressed.”

     “How can you say that?”

     “You’re not wearing pants.”

     “Yes, I am.” I smiled and wiggled my butt.

     “But those are underpants. You shouldn’t be out and about like that.”

     “You’re not my mother, so keep your opinions to yourself.”

     “Where do you live?”

     “That’s none of your business.”

     “I’m just trying to help you.”

     “I don’t need your help,” I stated emphatically, stuck my nose in the air, and left her standing there bewildered.

     A slight wind blew through my hair. I was on a mission and nobody was going to prevent me from completing it.

     “You are on the right track,” a melodious female voice chanted.

     But I had no clue where it was coming from or what she was talking about. “Track, what are you saying?” I inquired. But there was no response.

     Then I heard a siren in the distance. Did someone call the police? Maybe I needed to go home, I thought.

     I started to turn around, but before I could, I heard the comforting, soft woman’s voice again. “Remember, you’re on a mission—one you must complete.”

     Stunned, I believed she must be right. It was what I needed to do, for it would change my life.

     As I plodded down the street, a car pulled over to the curb. A lady yelled, “Jacob, I thought you were lost. Now get in the car. We have to go home.”

     I started to say something, but the sound of the siren got louder. I’ve got to get out of here, I believed. But then an ambulance raced by and I knew I wasn’t going to be arrested.

     Not looking back at the car, I started to run. As the day wore on, it became chilly and my naked legs began to shake. Going home was an option, but I knew, in my heart, it was not the appropriate choice.

     “Keep going, you’re almost there. Your mission will be fulfilled,” the mysterious, female voice said in a way that empowered me.

     “I am?” I asked.

     “Yes, you are?”

     “But how will I know?”

     “Relax. Take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. The picture will become clear.”

     “Picture? What picture?”

     “You’ll see.”

     I knew I had to listen to her. She would make everything right. And my mission would be complete. But things don’t always go as you want them to, for the woman, my savior, screamed, “Get out of here. Leave me alone!”

     “Why are you yelling at me?” I asked. It made me feel quite uncomfortable. 

     She didn’t answer. But then I was driven to the edge of a cliff, the fall from which I knew I might not survive.

     “Don’t do it!” my protector demanded. “You’ll regret it, if you do.”

     “Okay, I won’t,” I whimpered.

     “Not you, Jacob. Her!”

     The loudness of my guardian’s voice shook me out of the darkness of the hypnotic trance I was in. A masked creature held a gun to my psychiatrist’s head and was about to pull the trigger.

     She mumbled, “You’re the reason my husband left me. You ruined my life and you deserve to lose yours.”

     “But I’m just his therapist, nothing more.”

     Without thinking, I jumped up off the couch and wrestled the gun away from the intruder—my wife. She fell back and hit her head on the end table.

     “Thank you, Jacob. You saved my life and yours,” Dr. Marie murmured, with a sigh of relief.

     I stood speechless. But with my mission accomplished, I knew I’d found my way.

    

 

Copyright © 2025 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

You make a life-changing decision. However, it needs to be approved.

 

You approach the person with the power to make it happen. But you discover . . .

 

 

There’s Trouble In Paradise

 

     There comes a time in your life when you have to make a major decision. Your wife looks at you, as you exit your office in the rear of the house, and says, somewhat frustrated, “This is the third year in a row I will be asking this question. Each time before, you’ve said, ‘No.’ So, for the last time, are you retiring? We need to move on to the next stage of our life.”

     With a smirk on my face and my retirement letter in hand, I replied, “Yes.”

     “That’s fantastic. Amazing!” Sarah screeched. “I’ve got to call your mother and post it on Facebook.”

     “You don’t have to do anything. Just keep everything under wraps until I tell my boss, tomorrow.”

     “I . . . don’t know if I can do that.”

     “Well, for once, try.”

     Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. It was a beautiful day, in the middle of March. A slight wind blew, as I exited my office on the Paradise Valley College campus. I loved my job as a college administrator, but the hours and daily stress were starting to get to me. I believed the timing was right to retire and move on.

     As I went into the building next door, my stomach became queasy. I walked slowly toward my boss’s office and entered the reception area, but Darla, her secretary, wasn’t at her desk. So I headed toward my boss’s door. As I did, I thought, How would she, the college president react? Would she accept my decision to retire? Did she have a choice?

     I knocked on the door. A pleasant voice chanted, “Please come in.”

     A bit nervous, I opened it. Vicky was sitting at her desk, her head buried in a document she was reading. Not wanting to frighten her, I murmured, “Vicky, it’s me, Aaron.”

     She lifted her head and uttered, “Aaron, you look a bit uneasy. Is anything wrong?”

     “Well, I have something to tell you.” I paused and said nothing.

     “Okay, I’m waiting.”

     I began to shake.

     “Are you all right?” she asked.

     “It depends on how you react to what I have to say.”

     “Just spit it out already. I can handle anything you want to share with me.”

     “Anything?”

     “Yes.”

     I leaned over and placed the envelope with my retirement letter in it on the desk in front of her. Taking a few steps back, I said, “It’s all yours now.”

     “This looks rather ominous. Should I call Darla in to witness the grand opening? I believe I heard her come back to her desk.”

     Stuttering, I said, “Uh, I . . . I don’t think that’s necessary.”

     She picked up the letter, but didn’t open it. “Why don’t you just tell me what it says—get to the point.”

     Frozen in place, my lips moved, but nothing came out. She didn’t react. Sucking in my gut, I blurted, “It’s my retirement letter.”

     “Well, I can’t accept it.” She handed it back to me.

     Looking bewildered, I stated, “But you have to.”

     “I have to? I’m the boss. You have to do what I want you to do. Not the other way around. I can’t get my job done without you. Aside from your regular job as my Vice President, you’re my editor of reports and documents the other administrators submit—the only person besides myself I trust to do this. And I’m not doing it.”

     “Uh, I . . .”

     “That’s a very big compliment. And you know I don’t give those very often.”

     “Thank you, but . . .”

     “No buts.”

     “You can’t retire until I do.”

     “But . . . your four years younger than me.”

     “So?”

     I was miffed. Not knowing what to do, I tossed the letter back on her desk. “This is over. You’ve got it. So act on it. I’m retiring in June.”

     “I don’t agree, but I guess I have to accept it,” she stated in a way that made me even more uncomfortable.

     However, I breathed a sigh of relief, turned, and left her office. Retirement was my future.

     Doing this wasn’t easy. But I guess I should be feeling good about her not wanting me to retire. With a smug look on my face, I felt important—someone who’d helped her do her job and wouldn’t be forgotten.

     A week passed. I didn’t share my great news with anybody. I would do that after the Board of Trustees approved my retirement at the Board meeting next Tuesday.     

     Sitting at my desk thinking about my future as a retiree, I knew I’d made the right decision. Then the phone on my desk rang. “Hello, this is Aaron Loch.”

     “Aaron, President Jansen is here to see you,” my secretary, Lois, announced.

     “Okay, send her in.”

     The door opened and Vicky strutted in carrying an envelope in her hand. She looked me in the eye and stated, “Aaron, I can’t accept your retirement letter.”

     “Oh, no! Not this again. You can’t do this. If I can’t retire, then I quit.”

     “Well, I’m not going to let you do that. It’ll affect your pension. And it isn’t your retirement I want to stop. It’s the letter.”

     “Why? What about the letter?”

     “You’re the best VP I ever had. And your ability to edit anything and everything I asked you to review has made you a legend with the Board.”

     “So, that sounds great. But what does that have to do with my letter?”

     “I can’t give it to the Board.”

     “Vicky, stop messing with me.”

     “I’m not.”

     “Then what?”

     “I don’t want to embarrass you. I want you to leave with a stellar reputation.”

     “So, just give them the letter and sing my praises.”

     “I can’t.”

     “Why not?”

     “It has two spelling errors in it.”

 

 

Copyright © 2025 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Leaders can be self-absorbed. They believe they make the rules.

 

However, there may come a time when this no longer works. And this change will be . . .

 

 

For All Eternity

 

“What is your name, sir? It is important I know.”

“It’s none of your business. Why would I want to tell you?”

“It is my job. I must make sure that all who enter are meant to be here.”

“I’m meant to be wherever I want to be. I’m one of the privileged few.”

 

“Please show me some identification—your driver’s license or other photo ID.”

“Why should I? You’re looking me straight in the eye. I’m not a mystery.”

“I need to be certain you are the right person to go beyond this point.”

“I’m more than the right person. I’m a maker of history.”

 

“But everyone who enters is just that, so what makes you unique?”

“I’m the leader of the pack, a man to be followed down the road of life.

I’ve paved the way for others who have the desire to succeed.

They cherish my leadership, for I help them avoid strife.”

 

“But you are entering the domain of love, and doing it alone.”

“I do nothing on my own. Others will soon fall in line behind me.”

“I must inform you, you are no longer the first in line—the chosen one.

You are a follower of the Lord, and will be such for all eternity.”

 

 

Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved. 

Relationships may fall apart. When they do, we want to make amends for what we did.

 

But how can we do this? We cherish the thought of a new bond between . . .

 

 

You And Me

 

It was the middle of the week, the halfway point—a day to remember.

The leaves were starting to fall from the trees in mid-September.

 

I had a dream and hoped it would come true.

I had a dream and it was all about me and you.

 

I wondered why you hadn’t returned my phone call.

I needed to tell you the truth about what happened that day in the hall.

 

It wasn’t my intent to do what I did and embarrass you.

It just happened, and, yes, it was unkind and also untrue.

 

I stared out the window and thought about what my next steps should be.

Life without you was discouraging, but I had no idea how to change history.

 

What I did was wrong and I’d like to take it all back.

It is my desire to explain why and get our lives together back on track.

 

The world is not the same without your hand in mine.

I wish to see the clouds fade and again see the sun shine.

 

Will it ever happen? How can I make it be?

Will it ever happen—a future of you with me?

 

 

Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Is it real or just a dream? Life can be confusing.

 

Questions drift through your mind. Answers are hard to find. You wonder if you can awaken from . . .

 

 

The Dream

 

     I stood at the stove in our home on Marvelous Lane, as Nancy entered the kitchen. She looked at me and smirked.

     “You seem to have something on your mind,” she murmured.

     “I had a weird dream last night,” I said, as I poured a cup of morning tea. I cherished the tea, as it was a cold autumn day and I was shivering.

     “What was it about, Tony?” she asked, with a lilt in her voice.

     “I don’t know if you can handle it if I tell you.”

     “Try me.”

     I hesitated before responding. “Are you sure you’re up to hearing this?”

     “If you keep stalling, I won’t be, because it’ll be bedtime.”

     “Okay, sit down.”

     She pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and collapsed into it. “All right, I’m seated. Are you going to join me?” she asked, as she stared at me, wondering what this was all about.

     With my cup of tea in hand, I shuffled over to the table and sat down across from her. I remained speechless.

     “Well, are you going to say anything?” she requested.

     “I’m not sure how to start,” I muttered.

     “I presume from the beginning. Wouldn’t you?”

     “But there was no beginning.”

     “What does that mean?”

     “I’m not sure I can tell you. I’ve got to go.”

     “No, ‘Mr. I’ve Got Something To Tell You,’ you’re not going anywhere.”

     She glared at me as if I’d committed a crime. I bowed my head in shame.

     “I’m waiting.”

     “All right, but don’t hate me.”

     “Hate you? I love you, or I wouldn’t put up with your bizarre antics.”

     I got up from the table and started walking out of the room. I looked back and . . .

     “Where are you going?” Nancy asked, confused.

     “To set the stage.”           

     “For what?”

     “The dream.” I pulled the blinds down and shut off the lights, leaving us in total darkness.

     “This is not making me comfortable. Can’t we have a little light.”

     “No! Dreams occur in the dark.”

     “Are you coming back?”

     “All in good time.” I wasn’t sure I knew what I was doing, but I had to do it.

     “Are you comfortable with this?” my soft inner voice whispered.

     “I don’t know. Do you have another suggestion?”

     “Let me think.”

     “Think. That’s how you always avoid facing the inevitable.”

     “Well, you can’t do it without me, so you’re just going to have to follow my lead.”

     “What lead? This is getting ridiculous.”

     Do I dare share my dream with Nancy? How will she react to what I have to say? I thought. I can’t keep her waiting in the dark. I’ve got to go back.

     “Are you awake yet?” the inner me chimed.

     “You mean I’m still asleep?”

     “That’s exactly what I mean. And you know you’ve never been married.”

     “But she’s in the kitchen waiting for me. We’ve been together seventeen years.”

     “Yeah, since you were born.”

     “But I’m thirty-seven.”

     “In your dreams you are?”

     “This is not real. It’s all a dream.”

     “Did you ask her to the homecoming dance?”

     “Homecoming dance?”

     “The one in December. She is the girl of your dreams, after all.”

     “Oh, my! I’ve got to wake up! I screamed.

 

 

Copyright © 2025 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Some things happen that are unexplainable, so I had to seek professional help.

 

Although I did, it was taking longer to fix the problem than I wanted it to, 

and I believed . . .

 

 

My Marriage Is Falling Apart

 

Growing up, I was told marriages should last forever. You must do

     what is right.

My parents’ marriage lasted sixty-one years and, "until death do us part,”

     they held each other tight.

 

My marriage was strong and I wore the ring on my finger with pride.

The sun shined most weekends, as I took my morning walk

     with my wife by my side.

 

Now don’t get me wrong, my relationship was not absent of flaws.

We did have our disagreements, which sometimes included

     the slamming of doors.

 

However, we followed a mostly straight path and raised two children,

     who we loved and adored.

As we aged, we retired and tried to keep busy—playing cards, going

     to the movies and plays, and out to dinner, so we wouldn’t get bored.

 

However, even the best partnership can suddenly come apart, no matter

     how hard you try.

My ring finger began to hurt in a way I couldn’t believe, and I couldn’t find

     the reason why.

 

Was this a signal that something in my marriage was going wrong?

     And how should I tell my wife?

I wanted to ignore what was happening, but, if I did, it could mess up

     my life.

 

Then one day, when I was out and about, I felt a weird sensation

     in my left hand.

 I stared at my fingers and noticed I had a spiral hook stabbing me

     from my two-tiered wedding band.

 

In disbelief, I knew I had to make this right, so I headed to my town’s

     closest jewelry store.

I entered, and a smiling salesperson asked, “What can I do for you?

     We sell beautiful jewelry, watches, statues, and more."

 

With a tear in my eye, I moaned, “I need your help. I believe my marriage

     is falling apart.”

She looked at me, in a somewhat confused way, and said, “I’m not sure

     what I can do, but I don’t want to break your heart.” 

 

I thrust my hand in front of her face, displaying one tier of the ring around

     my finger, with the other now standing straight up like a knife.

It’s been over a month now, they haven’t fixed my ring, my marriage is still

     falling apart, and I don’t know what to tell my wife.

 

 

Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

You want to understand the reality of the situation. However, this may not be easy to do.

 

This troubles you. So you try to find the answer . . .

 

 

In The News Today

 

I sat at the kitchen table scanning the articles in the Sunday paper. Most were about how our new president had done this, that, or something else I had trouble understanding. But politics has never been my love, so I just pushed what I’d seen into the back of my mind.

 

Looking out the window, I wondered about the weather, as my wife and I were planning to take a drive in the country this afternoon. But the weather information wasn’t in the paper. I went through every section, most not worth reading beyond the headline, and couldn’t find it. I muttered, “Dammit, our paper keeps getting smaller, but more costly.”

 

I leaned back and stared at the ceiling. What I saw blew my mind—speech bubbles drifting across the room.

 

“You wanted news, so that’s what will give you. Okay, Lionel, you may begin.”

“Today is a day you’ll never forget. Buckle up for the road is going to be bumpy.”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Where was this coming from, I thought.

“This is what you wanted? Isn’t it?”

“Holy crap, are you reading my mind?”

“Isn’t that what a good reporter does?”

This isn’t happening. I must’ve dozed off, I believed. I’m dreaming.

“If you were dreaming, it would be about girls in bikinis. You seem to think about that a lot.”

I began to shake. How did he know this?

 

I got up from the table and walked into the hallway. “Oh, crap, the bubbles are following me,” I mumbled.

“Yes, I am. You haven’t given me a chance to tell the story.”

“What? That a storm is coming, and we shouldn’t go for a drive in the country? You can’t be serious.”

“If it were that simple, you would have found it on page four of the paper.”

“What if I want to end this now—and forever?”

“Just call the paper. But nobody’s going to answer. You have a lifetime subscription.”

“I have a what?”

“If you live? We live with you?”

“This is a joke? Right?”

“If my humor was that good, I’d be on stage and not stuck in some godforsaken windowless office.”

“So, if I believe you, then what’s the rest of the story?”

There was no response. And then . . .

 

The headline read, “TODAY WE CELEBRATE THE LIVES OF HARRIS AND MARIE WYKOFF. These two wonderful people died on the somewhat bumpy highway of life last Sunday afternoon.”

 

 

Copyright © 2025 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Marriage can be an uphill battle. You try to fix the problems, but sometimes nothing works.

 

Mending fences can be a challenge, even when . . .

 

 

You’re Such A Tool

 

My wife sat at the kitchen table and looked at me in disgust. To her, I could do nothing right.

She, on the other hand, walked life’s road in complete control and never backed down from a good fight.

 

One morning I came in from the garage and groaned, “I think I wrenched my back.”

She replied, “Why is today any different than all the others? You’re always traveling down the wrong track.”

 

Three days later, I came home late from work and complained about being screwed over by my boss.

She looked at me in disgust and said, “You never handle anything well and that’s your loss.”

 

A month later, I decided to ply our life together and took her to a nice restaurant to dine.

However, the food was cold, the service awful, and they were out of fine wine.

 

“You never do anything the way it should be done,” she drilled into me, with a weird look on her face.

I felt like the bit had entered my heart, as I moaned, “But I thought that restaurant would be a great place.”

 

Our world seemed to be going down the drain, with a plunger sucking the love from my life.

I asked, “What can I do to make this right? How do I dig out from the muck and overcome this strife?”

 

She replied, “Use your shovel and clear the mess you’ve made and maybe there’s a chance we can straighten this out.”

“But I’ve fought hard to make us work, so what more can I do?” I thought, I don’t want to lose another bout.

 

I pleaded, “I feel like I’m being raked over the coals and treated like a fool.”

“Oh, my God! How did I deserve you. I can’t believe you’re such a tool.”

 

 

Copyright © 2025 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Life has its twists and turns and can be confusing. Navigating this sometimes bumpy road can provide us with food for thought.

 

We seek clarity. Such may be found in . . .

 

 

Mia Pasta

 

The Tuesday night meeting of the Pasta City Council opened with flair.

Seven members assembled, sat with pride, and received recognition from those there.

 

Mayor Andrew Fettuccine, tall and smooth, at times could be quite a meany.

He called the meeting to order and frowned and glared at Harry Linguine.

 

Mr. Linguine, long, thin, and flat-chested, bowed to his honor with a weird grin.

What he’d done that afternoon in a pool of hot water might be considered a sin.

 

Maria Ziti, had been there and was invited to join him, but rejected his invite,

They had been romantically involved at one point, but she broke it off, believing it wasn’t right.

 

With a smile on her face, Penne Rigatoni, a child from a mixed marriage, yelled, “Let’s get this meeting started.”

Marco Vermicelli, holding his flat belly, announced his presence, spun around, and farted.

 

Mayor Fettuccine banged the gavel as loud as he could to get the attention of his crew, but this didn’t sit well with Carlo Macaroni.

He looked at the Mr. Mayor in way that made him shake, and shouted, “You’re nothing but a phony.”

 

Things seemed to be getting out of control when a somewhat screwed up guy made his presence known.

Antonio Fusilli, Vice Mayor, reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

 

“Yes, please send her in. We’re ready to hear her request to fulfill her wish.”

Hearing this, the council members looked in awe, as entering the meeting was a beautiful dish.

 

On this hot summer day, she was baked to perfection, an utter delight.

Mia Spaghetti, wiggled in a way that made all believe granting her wish was right.

 

 

Copyright © 2025 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

People dream of becoming wealthy, as it will shape their lives in the way they desire.

 

But money is not the only way to accomplish the dream. There are other ways to determine if . . .

 

 

You’re Rich

 

Wealth comes in many forms, shapes, and sizes.

It can occur when least expected, so be aware and enjoy the prizes.

 

Partnerships form that provide togetherness and love.

Matches made in heaven, richness endowed from above.

 

Then, as parents-to-be, you embrace the good fortune of having a child.

As your children grow, a house full of precious love can drive you wild.

 

Education fills your brain with a wealth of information that enriches your mind.

You watch your children travel through life, their growth and development makes 

    them one of a kind.

 

Successful at a job, you enjoy and appreciate, helps you thrive.

Living each day without losing sight of your dream puts a smile on your face 

    and keeps you alive.

 

Good health, a good fortune, a priceless achievement to value with all your heart.

Aging with grace, in a life of your own making, places you high on wealth’s chart.

 

 

Copyright © 2025 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.