"I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody." - Bill Cosby

At 12:47 am, May 16, 2012 my life changed permanently. After almost 24 hours of my daughter's drug-free labor, many hurried texts to the father-to-be in the labor room, countless cups of horrible hospital coffee and several walks around halls, up and down stairs and out to the parking lot for some fresh air, I became the grandmother of a beautiful baby boy named Benjamin Alexander.

"But we don't just disagree. Disagreeing is civilised. No one throws crockery when they disagree, they keep on talking until one person is convinced or ....... they both agree to disagree."

"That's just 'Women's Magazine' stuff, nobody is convinced or disagrees politely unless there's a referee watching them."

"That's what we needed then."

"What?"

"A referee. Save us a fortune on crockery."

"For the last time, I did not throw that cup. I dropped it."

Empty and scared, the lost girl cried.
A bouqet of daffodils wilting against her side,
tightly grasped in hands which appeared to be aging,
despite her obvious youth that was unchanging.

'You can only become immortal after you die' the words where burned into Amelia's mind, it echoed through her as she stared at the lifeless body in front of her.

'If that's true then why doesn't one rise from the dead?' she thought to herself. Remorse filled her as she placed the name tag back on the body. Looking around the clearing she saw more people, like herself, looking for someone they loved who had been left dead from the war.

All collectivists, socialists, communists, etc. are middlemen by profession and if inspired, often ascend into the rarified air inhabited by the gods. Although they produce nothing of tangible value, their vision of equality for all mankind is unparalleled. Their heightened social awareness and superior intellect enables them to quickly identify social inequities, the victims thereof and formulate programs designed to "level the playing field".

The day her husband died, Mrs. Donnes was sweeping the hallway that led to the back porch. It was a Sunday afternoon, the day after my eighth birthday, when my little sister and I walked out the door of our first-floor apartment and almost ran into her back end. This was the end my siblings and I were most familiar with. Our landlady, was always bending over at some cleaning task around the house, making her look like one of those wooden, half-a-woman garden ornaments-the behind and legs only. She was an endless source of entertainment for us kids because of her customary posture, her slow reflexes, and our propensities toward meanness.

Lightning streaked across the sky. A lone figure stood at a window watching the storm rage outside. When there was a break in the thunder the sound of quiet sobs could be heard.
"Sweetling," a weak voice said, "Come back to my side." The figure moved to the king size canopy bed and sat on the edge. "Light the candle, I want to see you."
A candle flared to life and illuminated the tear stained face of a young woman.
"Sweetling don't cry, everything will be all right, I promise. Bad things happened but I accept it. Please, accept it too."

Hello, who are you? What have you come in my room for? There are so many people who come in my room and I never know what they're going to do next. Some come in and check my blood pressure and temperature. Some come in and take my blood. Some come in and I think they're feeding me, because after they leave I feel like I've just eaten something, but I never see any food. There are even people who come in my room just to watch my TV or to pray over me. It's confusing to me, because I talk to them and they don't seem to hear me.

Death was always good at what he did; he hardly ever erred in his work. And even if he did, if by some incredible circumstance a person escaped his hand, went on talk shows to tell his incredible story, wrote books, and lived armless but in riches for the rest of his life, Death still took him. It was just the way things were for him-he was too good for anyone to keep up. But even the best chess players in the world want to play checkers sometimes. So, one summer afternoon, Death decided to retire.