Are you ever alone, as you move through life? Do you have a confidant with whom to share your thoughts?

 

Who may this be? And have they said,

 

 

“I’ll Be Watching Over You”

 

Come with me, I’ll show you the way.

Don’t hesitate, for there is a price to pay.

I’ll help you navigate life’s path, if you listen to me.

At the end of the road, the sun shines bright, as you will see.

Take a chance; it’s the way to win.

You’re not alone; ignoring my words is a sin.

 

Come with me, I’ll show you the way.

Don’t hesitate, for there is a price to pay.

The world may be confusing, not easy to understand.

Just suck in your gut, by your side I will stand.

I’ve watched you develop through all your years.

I’ve helped you overcome your many fears.

 

Come with me, I’ll show you the way.

Don’t hesitate, for there is a price to pay.

The wind blows in all directions; you can go with the flow.

However, where you end up, you may never know.

Pray for direction, listen to the words from above.

Honor them by showing compassion and love.

 

Come with me, I’ll show you the way.

Don’t hesitate, for there is a price to pay.

Be a person with dignity, one who knows right from wrong.

Treat others with respect; show them they belong.

Don’t be afraid to take the turns in the road.

Believe, on you, praise will be bestowed.

 

Come with me, I’ll show you the way.

Don’t hesitate, for there is a price to pay.

The costs may be high, if you break your word.

Not hearing my voice may prove to be absurd.

Believe in your heart and free your soul.

I will guide you, as you perform your role.

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

What happens in the classroom can be unpredictable. You may not be prepared for what occurs.

 

You think you know your students, but then one day you are stunned by . . .

 

 

An Amazing Confession

 

I learned a lesson from my inspirational teaching session that led to a most intimate confession.

 

It was an expression of guilt, which left a lasting impression, one I had not experienced before in my profession.

 

A young man, appearing to be in a state of depression, exhibited signs of aggression that I needed to confront with discretion.

 

His suppression of feelings lessened and his obsession with something hidden beneath his desk made me hesitate to ask him a question.

 

What he might have in his possession bothered me and my digression from the day’s lecture triggered his manic depression.

 

He began to scream, his self-expression over the top, and then a procession of words flowed in succession.

 

His indiscretion apparent, he yelled out, a clear expression of regret, “I did it, I killed him,” an amazing confession.

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Most body features change over time. These changes can have an impact on how we live our lives.

 

At times, the unexpected can occur. This is the case in . . .

 

 

Hair Apparent

 

     You wonder if you might inherit something during your lifetime. However, if you do, it may not be what you hoped for. A strange “inhairitance” may become yours when you least expect it.

     I grew up in New York and was close to my extended family. On my father’s side, no one was in need of hair. Curley locks flowed. And family members had plenty of facial and body hair, as well. When I was about eight, my dad looked at me and said, “Alan, you need to get a haircut this weekend.”

     “Every two weeks,” I moaned.

     “If you think that’s bad now. Wait until you have to shave every day.”

     “I wish I was a girl!” I screamed.

     “He looked me in the eyes and said, “You know, if your grandmother had a mustache, she’d be your grandfather.”

     I stared at him, with a strange look on my face, and muttered, “But she does have a mustache.”

     The next significant hairy experience in my life occurred when I was twelve. Saturday morning, my father came into my bedroom and said, “It’s time.”

     “Time? Time for what?” I asked.

     “Your haircut. You’ve been putting it off long enough. It’s growing over your ears.”

     As an almost teenager, I dreaded this moment. My long hair didn’t bother me and I hated sitting in the chair as the barber snipped away at my mane, my hair flying everywhere and going into my shirt collar and down my neck and back. It itched like hell.

     However, it was not my choice to make. Dad handed me a $1.25 and said, “Thank heaven, you still qualify for the children’s haircut.”

     I stuffed the money into my pocket, left the house, and walked the three blocks to the barbershop. When I entered, there was one barber who didn’t have a client. I’d never seen him before. He just stood by his chair looking off into space.

     “Sir,” I said. “I’d like a children’s haircut.”

     He turned and looked at me and started laughing. “A children’s haircut? You’ve gotta be kidding,” he said.

     “But I’m only twelve,” I pleaded.

     “Yeah, right. With all that facial hair you gotta be at least fifteen. Thirteen is the limit for a child’s haircut.”

     “But, I am . . .”

     “Then show me your birth certificate,” he snarled.

     Just as I thought I was going to take off running out of the shop, the owner, whom I’d known for years came through the front door. I breathed a sigh of relief and got a children’s haircut.

     My hairy life didn’t get any better as I got older. Now I was in the eleventh grade. I was running late getting ready for school and didn’t shave. As I entered my chemistry class, Mr. V took one look at me, pulled a razor from the drawer in his desk, and said, “Young man, we’ll welcome you back when you’ve cleaned up your face.”

     As I exited the classroom, with head bowed, I felt like I’d been charged with a crime. And the laughter coming from the other students was overwhelming.

     In 1970, at the age of 26, I grew a “circle beard,” a type of goatee. I was proud of what I’d done and held my head high. What I didn’t expect is that back then people didn’t always see guys with beards as trustworthy. Now living in California, I walked into a small clothing store in Los Angeles. A female salesperson perused me in a manner that made my skin crawl. She followed me around the store, making sure everything I picked up I put back, and then counted every item I took into the dressing room to try on, counting them again when I checked out and left the store. After this experience, I avoided tiny clothing shops for a long time.

     I started teaching in 1969, while working on my doctorate at UCLA. At Moorpark College, where I taught, my beard seemed to be acceptable. In 1971, I completed my doctoral dissertation, had it typed by a professional, and made copies on a brand new Xerox machine at the college. It looked great. I did all this to impress the librarian who had to approve my dissertation for publication and placement on a shelf in the UCLA library.

     Everything was ready to go, and then a fellow doctoral student told me that he’d heard that Mrs. Welch, the librarian, was very conservative and my beard could cause her not to accept my dissertation for publication. Not wanting this to happen, I shaved my beard off.

     The day arrived and I entered the room in the library where my creation would be scrutinized. I stood in a long line with others hoping for approval and waited my turn, and then slid my dissertation down the table to Mrs. Welch. I awaited her words of acceptance, when she looked at the clean-shaven young man standing before her.

     As she turned the pages, what I heard made me feel good. “This is fantastic, so well done, everything is in the right place. This meets my expectations. Approved!” she stated, and moved on to the next thesis. To my surprise, she never lifted her head to look at me.

     That weekend I went to visit my parents, in Orange County, to share my good news. I thought my mother would be ecstatic about my accomplishment, but even more excited when she saw her clean-shaven son, as she’d been telling me for months I needed to lose the beard. I knocked on the door. It opened. Mom took one look at me cried out, “Grow it back!”  And I did.

     Over forty years passed and my beard remained an important part of who I was. However, both my son and daughter had never seen me without it. My son longed to know what I’d look like if it was gone. So, as a computer professional, he photoshopped my picture and sent it to me. I gasped when I saw it. My face was naked and I had the widest chin I’d ever seen.

     In 2018, retired for ten years, I felt it was time to see if I could grow a long full beard. To my surprise, I did. What amazed me was that I began to make new friends—people who’d never paid attention to me before—homeless men, tattooed men and women, guys with ponytails and braids, and those with beards longer than mine.

     My wife and I went to Oregon that summer and the tire of our Nissan Murano went flat outside the office of the motel where we were staying. I called AAA and within minutes “my best friend” arrived. He had a short beard and long ponytail and more tats than I could count.

     He said, “Let’s get the car up on my truck and I’ll take you to the tire shop where they’ll fix it.” After the car was loaded, he ushered me into the front passenger seat, and stated, “We’re going to take the scenic route, so I can show you where I’m taking my wife on our anniversary.”

     We talked about everything under the sun until we arrived at the shop—almost twenty-five minutes later. He stayed with me until he was sure my tire would be repaired. Then he shook my hand and said, “To get back to the motel, make a left when you leave the parking lot, then a right at the light, and a left at the stop sign. It should take you about five minutes.” I stood there stunned, as he got into his truck and drove off.

     In November of 2022, I decided it was time to become my old self again, so I clipped my beard—full but short—“hair apparent.” Those new friends haven’t approached me anymore, but the old ones remain, with praise—telling me how good I look.

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Life happens. Things don’t always go the way we want them to.

 

At times, we feel confused and alone. It can be difficult to . . .

 

 

Escape The Past

 

Twelve years—twelve miserable years.

Will the torment ever end?

I don’t know what to do.

Nothing I’ve tried is right.

I’m confused—alone in a strange world.

Overwhelmed, I’m filled with anxiety.      

Memories flow through my mind—

Pictures of a past in disarray.

They’re driving me crazy.

My mind.

My mind.

I’m losing my mind.

Twelve years—twelve miserable years.

What did I do to deserve this?

I took your hand?

When?

Twelve years ago?

Where?

In City Hall?

Why?

I said, “I do?”

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Don’t close your eyes or you can miss the turn. Be aware of the road ahead.

 

Life has its twists and turns. And we may question if . . .

 

 

It Is What It Seems

 

Could it be, we couldn’t see?

Was it you or was it me?

A world of confusion,

Down a path of illusion.

Walking slow, then picking up the pace,

Would it be possible to win the race?

A journey to somewhere we had to go,

Resulting in what we didn’t know.

Chances taken, lives awaken.

Did we take the right turn, or were we mistaken?

Bless you, bless me.

Trust each other, and we will see

A future with doors opening wide,

A future full of love inside.

Hold on tight, the ride can be rough.

Don’t lose sight; we’ve got to be tough.

Watch the birds fly; give it a try.

Soar through the air; don’t ask why.

It can happen, if we believe.

Believe in each other and don’t deceive.

Move like a gazelle on the run.

This is our adventure; it’s just begun.

With passion and zest we will fulfill our dreams.

Yes, my darling, it is what it seems.

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

It can be difficult to navigate life’s road. The darkness can be overwhelming.

 

Then when all seems lost, you reach an unexpected . . .

 

 

Climax

 

A bitter wind whistled through the bare branches of the oak trees.

A young man looked out his window into the dark night

and quivered at the thought of what life held for him.

At twenty-two, he stood alone in a world that rejected him

and sent him spiraling into despair.

 

The young man turned away from the window.

His eyes fell on the room that mirrored his existence—a pathetic setting 

furnished with rummage sale rejects.

He walked toward the mirror that hung askew on the wall

and stared at the creature reflecting back at him.

What he saw frightened him.

    

“What am I here for?” he murmured. “I have no purpose.”

As his world grew dimmer, there was a knock on the door.

”Go away!” he screamed. “My life is over. My time has come. Just let me go.”

 

Another rap on the door jarred him back to the reality of the moment.

He dragged his tired, aching body to the door and reluctantly turned the knob.

He pulled it toward him and looked into the pleading eyes of a young boy—

a boy who looked much like he did at age twelve—lost and alone.

He extended his hand and the boy grasped it in a way that sent chills 

through his body.

    

“Please help me,” the child whimpered. "I am your younger brother."

He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tears 

from the lad’s eyes.

He ushered him in and sat him down on a rickety chair and knelt before him.

 

A bright light illuminated the room, for now he knew what his purpose was. 

He couldn’t let this child—his brother—lose his way, as he’d done ten years earlier.

He’d been given a second chance to avoid the mistakes of his past.

He’d reached the peak of a mountain he’d never thought he could climb—

the climax of his long journey.

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

I read nursery rhymes to my kids when they were little. They enjoyed them.

 

The other day I got to thinking that nursery rhymes didn’t have to be just for children.  And so, I’d like to share with you . . .

 

 

Nursery Rhymes For You And Me—The Inspiring Dozen

 

Note: Each of the twelve new nursery rhymes has a rhyme pattern similar to that of a famous nursery rhyme. See if you can guess the famous nursery rhyme on which each poem is based. You can find the answers at the bottom of this blog post.

 

 

Larry Carey

 

Larry Carey reached for the ball.

Larry Carey was not that tall.

All the boys who had made fun of his size

Couldn’t believe Larry would get the prize.

 

Larry Carey was not a fool.

Larry Carey did well in school.

He played baseball in quite an amazing way.

Rich and famous, he’s a big star today.

 

 

Her Looks, Her Smile

 

Her looks, her smile,

A soft French kiss is my style.

In close I move, inside the car.

It must be, I’ve come so far.

 

Her look, no smile,

Should I have waited awhile?

I pull back fast, inside the car.

It won’t be, I’d gone too far.

 

Pete And Liz

 

Pete and Liz were in showbiz

To get a smile and laughter.

Pete told jokes

To laughing folks,

But Liz was a disaster.

 

Pete and Liz gave up showbiz

To have a family.

Liz loved kids

And raised them well,

But Pete was a mystery.

 

 

Handy Dandy Candy

 

The handy dandy candy sat on the closet shelf.

Then the door did open by a tiny elf.

He reached up and tried to get the candy down,

But it was out of reach, which left him with a dismal frown.

 

 

Wrinkle, Wrinkle, Aging Face

 

Wrinkle, wrinkle, aging face,

How did I get to this place?

In the mirror is this guy,

I see him and want to cry.

Wrinkle, wrinkle, aging face,

How did I get to this place?

 

When the day is done, I sigh.

My aching body asks, “Why?”

I recline in my chair and sit,

Knowing it’s not time to quit.

Wrinkle, wrinkle, aging face,

How did I get to this place?

 

 

Sally Ran A Romance Scam

 

Sally ran a romance scam

To find a wealthy man.

And she told rich guys big lies.

To win them over, her plan. 

 

Poor James came to her home one day.

Had her scheme gone amiss?

She didn’t know how to treat this,

So she blew him a kiss,

 

And thought he would go on his way.

But no, he didn’t leave.

With head held high, he waited.

For love, he did believe.

 

Sally wondered if she’d been wrong.

Was wealth the key to love?

She left the house to join James,

As heaven glowed above.

 

I’m The Man Of The Hour

 

I’m the man of the hour,

Good and bright.

This is my story.

You know I’m right.

 

Follow my every word,

I’m the man.

This is it.

I have a plan.

 

This you’ll soon discover,

For it is true.

Now let me show you

What I can do.

 

Just believe me, and see.

It is my way.

This is my game,

And you must play.

 

 

Sam Green

 

Sam Green could be quite mean.

His wife would curse and yell.

And so on their nice street, you see,

They were neighbors from hell.

 

Sam would make a scene.

Jean pointed and glared.

They stood like king and queen,

And made the neighbors mad.

 

 

Quiet Sue Chan

 

Quiet Sue Chan had lost her man

And didn’t know how to find him.

Her friend, Pat, said, “He’ll soon come home.”

She kissed him and hung up the phone.

 

Quiet Sue Chan fell fast asleep

And dreamt about seeing her man.

When she awoke, she shook in dread,

As she saw a man standing in front of her bed.

 

The man knelt down on one knee,

And said, “Will you marry me?”

She gasped and couldn’t reply.

“If you say, ‘Yes,’ my sister, Pat, will be   happy,” he said with a sigh.

 

 

Flush, Little Laddie

 

Flush, little laddie, don’t be absurd.

The potty won’t swallow you, just the turd.

And if it does, don’t be afraid.

That’s why Mommy hired a very good maid.

 

And if the maid can’t help you,

Mommy will get a skilled plumber, who knows what to do.

And if the plumber finds no way,

Mommy’s handyman will save you today.

 

And if the handyman should fail,

Mommy will throw you a very big pail.

And if the big pail doesn’t do it,

Mommy will leave the bathroom lickety-split.

 

But don’t cry son, Mommy did her best.

Mommy will call 9-1-1; they’ll do the rest.

And if that doesn’t work very well,

Just wipe your butt clean, get off the pot, Mommy won’t tell.

 

 

It’s Mind-Blowing, It’s Glowing

 

It’s mind-blowing, it’s glowing.

The conductor’s all-knowing.

He raises his hand and leads the band,

And beautiful music starts flowing.

 

 

Trickery Pickery Hock

 

Trickery pickery hock,

The thief stole a jeweled clock.

The clock glowed bright

This seemed so right.

Trickery pickery hock.

 

Trickery pickery hock,

The thief stole a jeweled clock.

The clock alarm blared,

A police siren aired.

Trickery pickery hock.

 

Trickery pickery hock,

The thief stole a jeweled clock.

He went to jail.

The clock went on sale.

Trickery pickery hock.

 

 

 

Famous Poem/New Poem

 

Humpty Dumpty/Larry Carey

Star Light, Star Bright/ Her Looks/Her Smile

Jack And Jill/Pete And Liz

Itsy Bitsy Spider/Handy Dandy Candy

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star/Wrinkle, Wrinkle, Aging Face

Mary Had A Little Lamb/Sally Ran A Romance Scam

I’m A Little Teapot/I’m The Man Of The Hour

Jack Sprat/Sam Green

Little Bo Peep/Quiet Sue Chan

Hush, Little Baby/Flush, Little Laddie

It’s Raining, It’s Pouring/It’s Mind-Blowing, It’s Glowing

Hickory Dickory Dock/Trickery Pickery Hock

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

We have demons in our life that haunt us. How to get rid of them can be a mystery.

 

We seek help, but can be surprised by . . .

 

 

Death By Prescription

 

     Crash! Bang! Oh, my God! What’s going on upstairs? I can’t handle the noise anymore. His erratic behavior is going to be the death of me.

     Oh, Lord, he’s coming down the steps. Now what? I cringed in fear.         

    Hide. I’ve got to hide, I thought. But before I could do so, he burst into the kitchen. His eyes bulged out. He had the meanest look on his face.

     He glared at me and screamed, “You ugly hussy. What the hell did you do with my watch?”

     “Uh.” I hesitated for a moment. “It’s on your wrist.”

     He didn’t say anything. He clenched his fists, grit his teeth, and left the house. I heard the car door slam, and then the car roared down the driveway. I trembled and struggled to catch my breath.

     I picked up the phone and dialed Dr. Learner’s number. Sophia, a respected psychiatrist, is my trusted therapist. I share my most personal thoughts with her.    

     “Hello. This is Dr. Learner’s office. How can I help you?”

     “I need to talk to the doctor, and I have to talk to her now!” I blurted.

     “But that’s not possible. She’s with a patient.”

     “I don’t care. Interrupt her.”

     “Who am I talking to?”

     “Lori Weaver.”

     “Well, Miss Weaver, I can take a message, and the doctor will call you back later today.”

     “It’s ‘Mrs.’ Weaver, and that’s why I must talk to her, now!”

     “Okay, I apologize, ‘Mrs.’ Weaver, but the doctor still can’t talk to you. So give me your . . .”

     “Are you deaf? Put . . . her . . . on . . . the . . . phone!”

     “Can you come in at four o’clock today? We had a cancellation.”

     “What don’t you understand about talking to her, now?”

     The phone went dead. I sat, trying to control my anger. And then . . .

     “Hello, Lori, what’s happening?”

     “He’s doing it again? ”

     “You’re talking about your husband, Leopold?”

     “Who else would I be talking about?”

     “Okay. Take a deep breath and relax.”

     “I don’t need to relax. I need to talk about Leopold.”

     “All right. What did he do now?”

     “He’s being himself.”

     “What do you mean by that?”

     “Don’t put me through this therapy crap. You know what I mean.”

     “Maybe I do. But I need to know if his behavior is the same as it was before, or, if it’s different. Has it gotten worse than when we talked about him at your last appointment.”

     “Worse. Much worse.”

     “In what way?”

     “He treats me like a piece of crap.”

     “Has he hit you?”

     “I wish he would. Then I’d know I mean something to him.”

     “So you want him to be abusive?”

     “I didn’t say that. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

     “Then be more specific.”

     “He yells at me, and then walks away and ignores me. I don’t exist.”

     “Do you think there’s another woman in his life?”

     “You think he’s cheating on me?”

     “I don’t know, but it’s something we must consider. He is good looking.”

     “What? How do you know? You’ve never met him.”

     “I apologize if I’m jumping to conclusions. At one of our earlier sessions, I thought you said he was handsome and had a nice smile.”

     “Nice smile? How would I know? He never smiles. You’re confusing me.”

     “I’m sorry. Let’s change the subject. When you first started coming to me, you told me your father wasn’t the nicest man.”

     “No, he wasn’t. But what does that have to do with Leopold?”

     “They both looked at other women, didn’t they? And your father cheated on your mother.”

     “Yes, my father was unfaithful. But, Leopold? He’s too self-absorbed. This line of questioning doesn’t make sense and it’s making me very anxious.”

     “Perhaps it’s best we stop this conversation. Let me call in a prescription to help calm you down.”

     “An anxiety drug?”

     “Yes, I think it might help. I’ll also set up an appointment for two weeks from today, at three o’clock.”

     “Okay. Thank you for listening. Maybe I’m just too uptight to have a productive discussion. The pills will relax me, right?”

     “They should. Pick them up this evening and begin taking them, only one per day, as needed. I’ll see you in two weeks. Good-bye.”

     “Good-bye.” I hung up the phone. I couldn’t get our conversation out of my mind. Was Leopold cheating on me? And, if he was, with whom?

     I went into the backyard and began watering my plants. I’d always found this to be relaxing. My cell phone began to vibrate in my back pocket. I grabbed it and muttered, ”Hello.” A recorded message told me my prescription was ready.

     Then it vibrated again. I tapped answer. A harsh voice said, “Lori, it’s Leopold. I’m going to be a little late. I have to make a stop.”

     “Leopold, I have to pick up a prescription my psychiatrist wrote for me. Since the pharmacy’s close to your office, could you get it?”

     “What’s it for?” he asked.

     “My anxiety.”  

     “I’ve been on edge all day,” he said. "Mind if I take one or . . ."

     “Just one. Where do you have to stop?”

     “I need to drop off some paperwork. Gotta go. See you soon.”

     Before I could say anything else, he hung up. I completed my watering and went into the house to prepare dinner. I turned on the TV to watch the news and awaited his arrival.

     Two hours passed and I became worried. And then the TV blared, “’Breaking News.’ A man driving a black Lexus died in a head on collision on Highway 55.”

     “No!” I yelled. “That’s Leopold’s car.”

     I grabbed the phone and called the Highway Patrol. They confirmed it was Leopold who died in the accident and said they were sorry for my loss. Since the cause of the unfortunate incident needed to be investigated, his body and car and its contents couldn’t be released to me for at least a week.

         A week passed and nobody got back to me. I got up the next morning and picked up the newspaper from my driveway. On the front page, the headline stated, “Driver Killed on Highway 55 Died from Ingesting a High Dosage Anxiety Pill.” The article stated that the warning on the drug container label read, “COULD CAUSE DEATH.” Because of an undiagnosed, weakened heart condition, the driver should not have taken this medication. It further specified the car was demolished, but they found a beautifully wrapped package, with a red rose on top, in the back seat. Amazingly, the package was unscathed.

     An officer appeared at my door a couple of hours later and handed me the package. How could I have believed such bad things about Leopold? He was coming home to give me a gift, probably to make up for his behavior that morning. I guess I’m the bad person, I thought.

     I hugged the package and walked over to the living room couch and sat down. I opened it and saw a card on top of the tissue paper, in which the gift was wrapped.

     I pulled the card out of the envelope and gasped for breath. It read, “My dearest Sophia, thanks to you, the awful demon will soon be put to rest, by the drug overdose you prescribed, and will no longer curse me. I look forward to our future together. All my love, Leopold.”

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.