Tuesday, July 1, 2025

Editor's Corner

 

By Mary E. Adair

“July is hollyhocks and hammocks,
fireworks and vacations,
hot and steamy weather,
cool and refreshing swims, beach picnics,
and vegetables all out of the garden.”
— Jean Hersey

I had the rare opportunity to travel for my birthday present and the timing meant being away from a computer at the end of May. That is what precipitated the combining of June and July issues this 28th year of our eZine being online. When begun, thanks to the ingenuity and willingness of our co-partner and webmaster, he chose the name Pencilstubs, which I love. We have broken records for many unique facets of the eZine, like choosing not to do subscriptions or include commercial ads. The only prompting to get something is when our authors tell about their writing.

It was begun as a tribute to my late husband AG Adair, a life long newsman, recognized (while in High School when he and a friend leased and operated a commercial newspaper that was published twice weekly) as the youngest such publishers by the Associated Press.


Our authors also had time free of having a column to produce, as one mentioned once, "Not an easy task." John I. Blair has two new poems for us, "Masked Bandit" and "My Freckled Hands." We agreed to encore two more of his verses, "These Old Hands" and "Old Bear."


Bud Lemire's poems for this dual issue are "Hidden Truths," "Not AI Assisted," and "Hey Baby, I Need An Apple Gift Card." Bruce Clifford shares "Imperfectly Perfect" and "You And Me." Walt Perryman, who grew up in my county, sends "Another Rambling Thought-June," "Today," and "Didn't Write This To Make You Cry."


Marilyn Carnell gives us another brief peek into the Civil War era novel she's writing in her column "Sifoddling Along." Thomas F. O'Neill does a June and July greeting with some pertinent facts in "Introspective." Judith Kroll sent along a piece thoughtfully written a few years ago for this issue's "On Trek," titled "Create Your Reality."


Our Dublin Columnist Mattie Lennon managed to fairly well include news in his area for both months. Quite an agenda and well done as usual in his "Irish Eyes." Melinda Cohenour, widowed this year when Rod passed away, chose to continue the cooking column chores in "Cooking with Rod's Family" which features recipes and instructions from various kinfolk. This issue features M's New Orleans Pasta and includes a dab of history.


The "Armchair Genealogy" is a bit of a departure as it represents tales such as this shared by the author, as personal events that can be shown properly in one Family Tree. Melinda Cohenour recalls a childhood adventure in this column.


We must thank our dear friend and webmaster Mike Craner, who though retired or semi so, stays busy as a bee, and we know about bees don't we. Forever thanks, Mike for undergirding this revelation in what an art and literary magazine online (an eZine) can accomplish as we are midway through this 28th volume. Bless you and yours.


See you in August!


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


 

Armchair Genealogy

By Melinda Cohenour

The Clubhouse and Ant Colony

As I was researching family history this month and receiving such joy reading stories shared about old home places or memories that made these relatives "come to life" as real people, it occurred to me I had many wonderful memories of my own childhood I could share. Thus, I offer the story of The Clubhouse and The Ant Colony.


A story headline I recently received about a child or children being saved from a collapsed hole they had dug in damp dirt reminded me of the "clubhouse" my cousin Gayle Arthur Joslin and neighbor and I "built" in the field between our houses. We dug a hole - big enough for 5-6 little kids to get into, pulled a rusty old sheet of corrugated roofing tin over the top, got some broken panes of glass and took down inside with us (to block off the tunnels of the red ant bed we'd accidentally abutted). We then proceeded to put an old rubber tire balanced on the tin "roof" and a couple of rotted boards for our entry point. Then we covered the tin and all with all the dirt we'd dug out - a coffin waiting for the cave-in, for sure.


For the few days we managed to meet in our little clubhouse, we took in flashlights - and the most educational part of it was viewing the underground activities of the ants. Remarkable - that part.


The ants had separate little circular rooms set aside for distinct purposes. The seed heads, grass seeds, plant seeds, Chinese Elm seeds, etc. that they hauled tirelessly into the anthill ended up very carefully sorted by type of seed, one room reserved for the Chinese Elm seeds, one for the grass seeds, one for the goathead sticker burs, etc.


There was also a nursery and, amazingly, the attendant "nurses" were WHITE (they never went above-ground, apparently). We had accidentally caved in part of the ant tunnels at first, but they worked diligently to rebuild their storage rooms and, fortunately for us, built them with one side open to the glass. I know now that the whole clubhouse was a potential death-trap, but at the time it was a truly exciting adventure.


Click on author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.


 

Irish Eyes

 

By Mattie Lennon

Writer's Week And Spring Seaweed


In the May issue I was optimistic about this year's Listowel Writers' Week. Well, it surpassed my expectations. This year the festival was presented as a collaboration of Writers’ Week, Kerry Writers’ Museum, Seanachai and St. John’s Theatre & Arts Centre. It was meant to be opened on May28th by Patrick O’ Donovan, Minister for Tourism, Culture, Arts, Gaeltacht, and Sport & Media. But the Minister couldn’t make it and Listowel’s favourite son, Billy Keane stepped into the breach and without the aid of notes, ropes or pulleys, kept the audience entranced with the wit and wisdom of the Keane gene pool. Chairman Ned O’ Sullivan spoke of, “. . . the great debt Listowel owes to our founding authors, Drs John B. Keane and Bryan MacMahon, and the founding committee and it vis our privilege to continue what they started and develop it as they would have wished.”


DaviWd Browne, Chairperson, Kerry writers’ Museum, said, “. . . it reflects Listowel’s popular image with a proud literary tradition and a commitment to supporting writers and artists at every stage of their journey.”


Programme curator, Maire Logue’s approach to curating the 2025 festival was, “Guided by a desire to reflect the diverse voices and experiences that made contemporary literature so vibrant and to reconnect with writers who down through the years have supported and received support from the festival.”


Cara Trant, Executive Director Seanachai -Kerry Writers’ Museum, said, “I am especially proud to see this festival bring new life to the ancient art of storytelling. The word Seanachai holds deep meaning in Irish culture-it refers to the traditional bearer of stories. The keeper of memory and the voice of the community. This festival continues that legacy, inviting us to share in the timeless power of words that entertain, challenge, inspire and connect us.”


Playwright, novelist and former Kerry footballer, Tony Guerin was a very worthy recipient of the 2025 John B.Keane Lifetime Achievement Award. His latest book Quilt will be coming out soon, watch this space.


The novel of the year award with a prize of €20,000 went to Niall Williams for Time of Child. On Friday 30th May Minister Patrick O’ Donovan arrived at Saint John's Theatre with a promise of a grant of €25,000 for the festival. Another of the outstanding events on May 30th was, “Poetry: Celebrating the Poetry of Paul Durkan-An Evening of Music and Poems to mark Paul’s eightieth birthday and the publication of Paul Durcan 80 at 80.” Unfortunately Paul didn’t live to see it, He died on May 17th


There is a tradition, among the good people of Ringsend, of gathering at a funeral procession to carry the coffin over the hump-backed bridge over the River Dodder just before the village. Needless to say at the funeral of one of our greatest poets the Ringsend people turned out in their droves to help the bereaved to, “carry Paul over the bridge."


Prolific Irish Times journalist Frank McNally treats his readers to a story from some years ago. The volunteers overdid their enthusiasm for the tradition. The stopped a hearse, with three limousines behind it, at the bottom of the bridge and immediately launched into the routine of organising each other to carry the coffin into Ringsend until the driver of the hearse intervened. “Lads, lads stop,” he said, “This funeral is going to F…ing Bray.”


What did Paul think of the afterlife? I think we can glean something from one of his poems.

Staring Out the Window Three Weeks After His Death

On the last day of his life as he lay comatose in the hospital bed
I saw that his soul was a hare which was poised In the long grass of his body, ears pricked
It sprang toward me and halted and I wondered if it
Could hear me breathing
Or if it could smell my own fear which was,
Could he but have known it, greater than his
For plainly he was a just and playful man
And just and playful men are as brave as they are rare.
Then his cancer-eroded body appeared to shudder
As if a gust of wind blew through the long grass
And the hare of his soul made a U-turn
And began bounding away from me
Until it disappeared from sight into a dark wood
And I thought - that is the end of that, I will not be seeing him again.
He died in front of me; no one else was in the room.
My eyes teemed with tears; I could not damp them down.
I stood up to walk around his bed
Only to catch sight again of the hare of his soul
Springing out of the wood into a beachy cove of sunlight
And I thought - yes, that's how it is going to be from now on:
The hare of his soul always there, when I least expect it;
Popping up out of nowhere, sitting still.

* * * * * *


Jim and Nora, a two-hander which was written by Nora Connolly and directed by Ronan Wilmot was staged in Saint John's Theatre featuring Julie Hale as Nora Barnacle and Rúadhri Conroy as James Joyce was a revelation from start to finish.


Speaking of veteran actor/director of stage and screen Ronan Wilmot, is performing the one-man show, Inisfallen Fare Thee Well, at Cafe du Journal, in Monkstown, County Dublin from Monday 21st July to Saturday 26th July at 7.30pm. Ronan Wilmot's treatment of this masterpiece which was written by Eddie Naughton is not to be missed.


I have just finished Spring Seaweed. This prose work written, in the Irish language, titled Feamainn Bhealtaine, in 1961 by one of our great Irish poets, Máirtin O' Direáin. It has been translated into impeccable English by Mícheál O' hAodha. He captures every nuance of O Direán's in this translation. O Direáin was born and reared on Inis Mor and Spring Seaweed through this series of essays, is a comprehensive record of life on an Irish Island. In common with Patrick Kavanagh, he didn’t necessarily love everything about his native heath . Yet, he could record all aspects of it in detail and without prejudice. These accounts were devoured by the people of Galway city, and much further afield. As Alan Titley put it in his Foreword, the reading public were …” in love with that traditional life, as long as they didn’t have to live it.”


Spring Seaweed is a timeless collection of essays from a master wordsmith and translated by another – one that will fascinate first-time readers and those returning to discover new depths in Ó Direáin's writing. I won't go so far as to quote Jorge Luis Borges, who said of one work, "The original is unfaithful to the translation," but I'm sure the late Máirtin O' Direáin would be very happy with Micheál O hAodha' translation. A great read

* * * * * *

The Friendship Cup


The Friendship Cup, by Winnie Clarke


When a Palestinian team arrives in Ireland, nobody realises how deeply these new friendships will change everyone's lives. Inspired by a real football exchange this moving novel follows Irish children as they welcome visitors into their homes and hearts. As they play matches and learn about each other's lives, the Irish children begin to understand what daily life is like in Palestine. But when fighting breaks out in October, it becomes hard to stay in touch. With scary news reports every day, the Irish children worry about their faraway friends.


How do you help when someone you care about might be in danger? What can children do when grown-up problems seem too big to solve? Those brave friends, as they work through family worries, learn to speak up. With help from a kind counsellor, they turn their concerns into action, showing that friendship can cross any border. A powerful story about connection, understanding and finding your voice in a complicated world.


The Friendship Cup is a children’s book but there is a message in it for us all. Author Winnie Clarke based this novel on the true story of this Palestinian boys' football team who travelled to Ireland in 2017. Firm friendships were formed between the boys and the families of their hosts. When they returned to their homeland the outbreak of violence made it difficult if not impossible to keep in touch. At the launch on 9th May Winnie Clarke talked about her inspiration for writing the book and how sport can be used as an instrument for peace. She was joined on the day by her husband Paddy Lundy who is no stranger to sport. He played for Dundalk FC in the 1983/84 making over 30 appearances for that Town. Proceeds for the sale of the book went to the A1 Helal Football Academy. Roe River Books happily matched any money raised on the day. The author never imagined she’d write a children’s book. She says “Ninety per cent of the public think, ‘Oh, someday when life gets less busy, there might be a book in me’, but I didn't really actually think that.” The situation in Palestine after October 7, 2023, changed all that. “It horrified me” she says..

* * * * * *


Details from ; info@roeriverbooks.ie


See you in August.


Click on author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.


 

Cooking with Rod's Family

 

By Melinda Cohenour


Several years ago my beloved husband Rod and I had the pleasure of living and working in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Although born in California, Rod was moved to Albuquerque while still a babe by his parents. Both maternal and paternal lines were long-term well respected residents. His Dad's naval career as a surgeon had drawn to a close and he had returned home to set up his private practice.

One delightful dinner choice was a visit to Scarpa's Italian Restaurant. Known throughout Albuquerque and surrounding areas for it's outstanding brick oven pizza, the chef also offered some really tasty pasta, seafood, and traditional Italian dishes. On this particular evening I was drawn to try a pasta dish described by either our waiter or the menu as being a "smoky" rendition of Cajun style pasta. I don't remember what the dish was called on that menu listing but when I decided to try to recreate the flavor, I just called it Ms New Orleans Pasta. I did a pretty good job of recreating the dish, if I do say so. Here's my recipe. It's complex but well worth the effort. Hope you enjoy!

Ms New Orleans Pasta

Prep Time: about 30 minutes
Total Time: about an hour
Makes: about 6 to 8 servings

Ingredients:

* 1 pound boneless, skinless chicken breast, season with Spice Blend listed below:

SPICE BLEND:
* 2 Tbsp smoky paprika
* 2 tsp garlic powder
* 1 tsp black pepper
* 1 tsp onion powder
* 1 tsp cayenne
* 1 tsp dried oregano
* 1 tsp thyme

Mix spices together in a small bowl, after rinsing each breast piece, sprinkle some of the spice blend and rub onto all surfaces before broiling. (Any Spice Blend remaining should be discarded.)

    * 1 lb loop Polska Kielbasa, cut off metal clip and knot at opposite ends of loop.
    * 1/4 cup water
    * 1 pound peeled and deveined medium shrimp

SPICY AL FREDO SAUCE:

    * 1 tablespoon olive oil
    * 1 stick (1/2 cup) sweet creamery butter
    * 1 1/2 cups heavy cream
    * 1 cup milk (more if needed)
    * 2 Tbsp minced garlic
    * 1/4 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
    * 1/2 teaspoon hot sauce, such as Tabasco
    * 1/2 cup coarsely grated fresh Parmesan cheese, plus more as needed OR
    * 1 cup dried Parmesan from jar
    * 1 lb fettuccine, fixed per box directions
    * Water as called for in pasta directions
    * 1/4 cup chopped green onions
    * 1 Tbsp dried parsley leaves
    * 2 tsp Sweet Basil, fried or fresh leaves
    * Remaining Spice Blend from above


Directions:

Cook the pasta in a large pot of boiling salted water according to package directions. Drain in a colander, reserving 1 cup of the cooking water.

Season the chicken with the Spice Blend and reserve remaining Spice Blend. Place chicken in single layer on broiler pan on middle shelf of oven. Broil on each side until very lightly browned. Test for doneness: pierce through thickest part of breast. Released juices should be clear, never red. Flesh should be firm and creamy white but not dry. NOTE: Chicken will cook a very slight bit more when blended with Polska, shrimp and Spicy Al Fredo Sauce (see below). Remove, cut in about 1 1/2 " cubes. Set aside.

While chicken is broiling, add Polska loop along with water in skillet. Cover and let water become absorbed by sausage. When swollen and water is evaporated, poke holes in Polska letting juices seep out. Lower heat slightly and let sausage brown in its own juice. If skillet begins to dry out, add some olive oil while browning. Remove Polska loop and cut in small slices. Set aside.

Heat the olive oil and butter in a large skillet (at least 12" skillet) over high heat. Add the Polska and cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Add broiled chicken cubes and cook, stirring occasionally, for about 1 minute. Add the shrimp and cook, stirring, for 1 minute longer.

          Season the shrimp with small amount of the Spice Blend and set aside.     

Add reserved pasta water and heavy cream. Cook stirring constantly for about 2-3 minutes. Add milk as you deem necessary. Stir in the green onions and garlic, continuing to cook another minute.

Stir in the Worcestershire, hot pepper sauce, and 1/2 cup of the Parmesan and simmer for 3 minutes.

Add the cooked fettuccine and toss until the pasta is heated through and thoroughly blended with the sauce, about 1 minute longer. Remove from the heat. Serve immediately with additional parmesan if desired. (NOTE: the spicy al fredo sauce will thicken as it stands.)

Serve with hot crusty bread, cold iced tea or lemonade, and, if desired, a simple salad of greens, tomatoes and cucumbers and your choice of salad dressing (Ranch, Green Goddess, Creamy Italian or Caesar's are good choices).

Bon appetit~!


Click on author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.


Sifoddling Along

 

By Marilyn Carnell

An excerpt of a Civil War Novel I am writing about the life of Bonnie Faye Doolittle who lived in southwest Missouri. This is a rough first draft about learning a whole new way of living.

In early June the war had dragged on for more than a year. Inconvenient things like shortages of food and other supplies got closer to home. Then it became personal.


Raiding Wisconsin troops torched the Doolittle’s big house in town, but to Bonnie Faye’s relief, the company was not the one Julius [her fiancé] had joined. She had no idea where he was these days. He had gone weeks without sending a letter.


Friends and neighbors who organized a bucket brigade to quench the flames miraculously saved the house, but there was extensive smoke damage and the kitchen was beyond hope. The house was no longer livable without extensive repairs.


Bonnie Faye’s Aunt Telme and her children gathered around her to discuss her options. "I think my best choice is to move to Grandpa and Grandma Booth’s cabin on Big Sugar,” Bonnie Faye said. “It looks like I need to learn to live on my own.”


Relieved, Aunt Telme said, “That would probably be best. Since we live nearby, I can spare Corrie Sue and Zack to help you get settled. I may need your help before long. It will be nice to have closer.”


Aunt Telme was expecting again. It was something of a mystery since Uncle Whis had left last July to join the Missouri State Guard. Bonnie Faye suspected he had not signed up at all and was hiding in the woods and caves near their home. Evidently, he had managed to spend some time at home.


The cabin had been empty for the last few years after her grandparents passed away, but it was well built and although only a little more than a mile from Pineville, was nestled in a wooded area and was almost invisible to anyone passing by on the road.


She stayed with the Danvers, who lived next door a few days while she salvaged essential supplies and sent a message to Little Bird to request her to come back and help with the multitude of tasks relocating entailed. Little Bird could hardly turn down her “baby” and stayed a few weeks to help Bonnie Faye settle in.


After the last wagon load had been transferred to the cabin on the creek, Bonnie Faye closed and locked the door of her childhood home. Although she hoped it would survive this terrible war, she had little hope that she would ever live in it again.


It was plain living, but close to the Clark family farm, about a mile downstream, and had a garden plot and a cleared corn patch. That meant if she burned off the weeds and plowed the plots with Charlotte, her mule, she had a chance of having crops to harvest before a killing frost. Planting was one of her priority as it was late to put in a crop for the year.


When Little Bird arrived, the first chores were to rid the cabin of its most recent occupants–dirt dobbers, and mice were the primary dwellers, but they found traces of other critters and a multitude of cobwebs and other detritus.


They planted a late garden and hoped for the best. Fortunately, the seeds saved every year in paper packets had been stored in the barn and survived the fire in town. The small orchard her grandparents had planted was a little worse for wear, but there were small fruits forming.


They were careful to keep Little Bird out of sight as much as possible when they were in town. She had dark skin and was terrified of being kidnapped and enslaved. It was easier for her to hide at the farm, but they were both always on alert in case a stranger was to show up.


The root cellar in town yielded a basket of seed potatoes they cut up and planted. Potatoes and onions would keep well if stored properly. With more optimism than was merited, they planted carrots, tomatoes, sweet and Irish potatoes, white sweet corn, squash and pumpkins. Though it might seem frivolous, she also planted a short row of popcorn. The most important crop was yellow dent field corn. It could be converted to whiskey if Uncle Whis would help her. She knew there was a nice little copper still up in the holler that branched off the valley behind the barn and she also knew he had plenty of experience.


Little Bird reminded her that food for the animals was also important. So they stocked up on animal feed.


She didn’t have a spinning wheel or loom, but if she needed homespun fabric, she hoped she could barter for it. Besides, she didn’t have the faintest idea of how to use either of them


All summer long, Bonnie Faye tended the garden and kept it watered and weeded to produce as much as possible. She wasn’t used to hard work, so she whined to Little Bird about the blisters and sore muscles acquired by hoeing. Little Bird just smiled and rather enjoyed seeing her former mistress toil for a change.


Both were leery of getting far from the cabin, so foraging for huckleberries and blackberries was limited. They had more luck with nuts–black walnuts, butternuts and chinquapins and butternuts were plentiful. It was as if nature was trying to help. Except for grapes. It seemed the minute they were ready to pick, they disappeared overnight. They weren’t called possum grapes for nothing.


She gathered apples and peaches from her small orchard and sliced some to dry on the porch roof. The rest she cooked down into apple butter and peach jam and stored them in the springhouse. When the first leaves turned in late August, Little Bird returned to Indian Territory.


Early fall passed uneventfully at the cabin in the woods after the visit of the bushwhackers. Bonnie Faye became numb to the often uncomfortably close violence and bloodshed. Hardly a day went by without her hearing of another atrocity or bloody encounter, but she wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on it. It was enough to focus on her survival and rely on Laddie to warn her if danger got too close.


The distance of the cabin from the main road was the biggest protection. Her cabin was simply overlooked. She was happy the lane from the main road was overgrown. When she needed supplies, she rode Rosie the mule following the trail that led over the hill to the Arnett general store and post office to avoid making a path to the main road.


Her days settled into a routine of sorts. It was essential to put by enough food to see her and her animals through a long winter and to protect what resources she had. She worked hard every day doing the necessary chores and fell into bed each night exhausted.


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Woo Woo

 

By Pauline Evanosky

Kindness

Kindness is certainly not a quality that is relegated to a psychic’s life. Kindness is something that is or should be evident in every area of life.


You can be kind without being overindulgent. Kindness, I believe, is something that starts with each person. And kindness toward oneself is most important. Don’t they say that you can never know love until you love yourself? Kindness is like that, too.


I think we often get wrapped up in the everyday rush of life and don't take the time to practice kindness. It’s not something that comes naturally, like people might think a mother’s love comes naturally. Or the love for a husband and wife.


You have to work at those things, and there’s no reason at all why you should not have to work at kindness either. Therefore, before you can be kind to others, you must first practice kindness toward yourself.


There were many times in my life when I would be angry at myself because I wasn’t measuring up in some way. One more than obvious thing was my size. The impression I got as a little girl was that I was overweight and thus not lovely. I was also greedy, and to prove my greediness, I found myself stealing food. My favorite job in the household was washing the dishes, where I got to eat all the food off other people’s plates and not throw it away. Nobody was watching.


In my childlike mind, nobody saw. Except, I do have a memory of my mother signing me up for an adult women’s exercise class when I was in the third or fourth grade. I can’t remember which year it was. Perhaps it was both. I can remember, though, sucking in my gut when they measured my waist every week. I now realize that it was a terrible burden to place on a small child. I suffered for it for years and even now visit the sin of gluttony upon occasion. I was also bulimic for twenty years.


I don’t do that anymore, and that behavior weighed most heavily on my conscience. Huh. I made a pun. So, yes, my weight issues have been with me for a long time. It took years to exercise kindness toward myself. So, I suppose you could call me an expert.


Another time when kindness toward myself assumed a critical position was when I quit smoking and drinking. The drinking part was easier for me, though even thirty years after having quit, there are still times when I want a drink. I just don’t do it.


However, six months later, quitting smoking was horrible. I recall reading somewhere that for every day I didn't smoke, I should do something kind for myself. I took that one to heart. One of the first things that comes back to you when you quit smoking is a sense of taste. I didn’t realize mine was gone until it reappeared. Every part of eating was fabulous. Spinach never tasted so good. It was during this time that I started drinking coffee with cream and sugar. Nowadays, I still indulge in chocolate creamer in my coffee, even though I remain overweight.


When you think about it, I’ve done some very difficult things in my life. I quit smoking twice. I quit drinking. I stopped being bulimic, and I lost 75 pounds three different times in my life. I need to lose it again. Actually, I need to lose 100 pounds this time. They won’t stay gone.


Now, as I am retired, the kindness I practice for myself takes the form of baking and making jam. I also make us pizza every once in a while. I spend most of my days writing, although I also allow myself to take classes in writing and participate in weekly online Zoom meetings with writers. None of us says much as we all have our writing to do, but it feels comforting to know there are nine other people from all parts of the globe in a virtual room with you, each working on their projects. To me, that is an essential kindness.


I believe that the importance of being kind to yourself enables you to know yourself better. If you know why your energy is flagging and you need a nap, it is a kindness to actually allow yourself to lie down for a couple of hours in the middle of the day.


So, until now, I have outlined the importance of being kind to yourself. What about being kind to others? I’m still working on that.


I have learned that what I think of as a kindness toward someone else might not actually be thought of as a kindness by them. Perhaps they feel you are nosy or pushy. I did, at one time, feel I should exhibit kindness toward an elderly neighbor. I was in a position to help. What happened was I was suddenly overwhelmed with all the requests she had on my time. I bit off more than I could chew there and then found myself in the horrible position of having to distance myself from her.


What had been intended as a kindness toward someone who obviously needed some help ended up with my not being able to call my time my own. I learned something valuable about offering help in that instance.


Kindness can be expressed through small kindnesses, like allowing the person behind you who only has a few items in their basket to take your place in line to pay for their groceries. Or something as simple as a smile. Kindness can be anonymous, too. You could donate food if you have an excess to a food bank.


Kindness involves being able to listen to another person. A simple enough thing, and yet, I think sometimes very hard to accomplish.


Through my writing, I believe I can offer kindness to others. First of all, as a psychic, I would like to introduce the idea that there is nothing to be afraid of with a psychic life. Secondly, to reassure people that I, as a psychic, am as spiritual a person as they are. Third, getting older can be an interesting and enjoyable experience. Fourth, there is humor in many things. Fifth, that we can have fun even while working hard.


Thank you for reading.
Pauline Evanosky


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Introspective

 

By Thomas F. O'Neill

Goodbye, May, and Hello, June

Time sure does fly, and we are its pilot.


The new month of June is named after Juno, the Roman Goddess of Marriage (equivalent to Greek mythology’s Hera and the Celtic region’s ultimate mother, the Goddess Danu). June is said to be a good month to get married (not that I am currently looking).


June is a time to rejuvenate oneself with joy and the Sun. It is associated with equally radiant symbols, including the rare and highly valuable semi-precious stone Alexandrite.


June is also a month of balance. We have the ‘Mother’ figures, Juno, Hera, and Danu, but we also have the ‘Father’, Zeus. This prominent patron of the month is the archetypal symbol of power, strength, clarity, and light—all of which, as we have seen, feature prominently throughout the symbols of this month.


May has reached its conclusion, so let us now reflect on June.


I assure you that June will bring you laughter, joy, and excitement. It will also be a time when energy integrates toward unity and compassion.


This special month also signifies the end of the first half of the year, when the earth shares its bounty .......

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Well, the month of June has passed us by,
and the month of July is now upon us


July symbolizes true ambition; if you have ambitious goals, this month will take you closer to what you truly desire, and that will accentuate your inner power. Good things will take time to manifest this month, but this is your chance to make July a greater source of inspiration. If you believe in your inner power, all your potential will manifest for all to see.


If you were born in July, this is even greater because your life is full of opportunities. Equally, you have no excuses not to become successful because you can inspire yourself to become the person you ought to be.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Always with love,
Thomas F O'Neill

    Email: introspective7@hotmail.com
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    Phone: (410) 925-9334
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This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


On Trek

 

By Judith Kroll

Create Your Own Reality

Those words are spoken a lot. Many times it refers to what we do on the other side in spirit.


How can we create our own reality in this life? There are many that try to create our lives for us.


Being in many Organizations creates our life if we think about it.


To create your own life, space, reality you have to decide for Yourself what you truly want.


Right now I am creating mine by writing, as I love to write.


You pick a car you like, you get married, kids, if you want all that, then you create. If you want flowers in your yard, a variety of them, then you create.


Choosing a job, something you love creates your desire, and if you tire of that job, you move to another you love, you create.


Pets, big house little house, clothes on and on. Also, who you are as a person you create. You become who you want to become. Loving and kind or the opposite. We all have choices.


Finding (YOU) is very important. Do we follow the crowd or follow our own goals. If we marry, we must let our partners be who they truly are as well. We all have choices, we all have our own likes and dislikes. We all have the ability to Create our own reality and find our Joy!!
Judith 2-24-22


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Not AI Assisted

 

By Bud Lemire

My poems aren't AI Assisted
They tried to help, but I resisted
I like to write poems alone
So I can call them my own

I write words, straight from my heart
Yes, I know the AI can be a work of art
It's okay for some things, to be that way
The words from my soul, inspire me every day

My words are the human way to go
I wanted to say, so you would know
My thoughts, aren't created by technology
I am a live person, and everything is me

One AI tried to sell me some stock
I didn't even want, a piece of the rock
She followed me around, one day in the chat
Scared me so much, I had to scat

One day in the future, you won't be able to tell
Whether it's an AI model, or a human as well
These words right here, are written by me
Not AI Assisted, for that'll never be

©Jun 14, 2025 Bud Lemire

                      Author Note:

For me, I prefer to use my own creativity for all I do.
I write my own, take my own pictures, and do my own
thing. Originally done by me.


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Masked Bandit

 

By John I. Blair

Here comes the cheeky thief,
Not sure he’s brave enough.

Hungry, masked,
He rushes up to grab,
Trusting speed and greed
To clear his path.

The feral cats don’t fear this brat,
Aware it’s all an act
And there’s food enough for everyone.

His manner’s almost cute,
Darting back and forth
While they wait and watch,
Wishing he would go ahead and eat,
Wishing that he would not soil the water bowl.

©2025 John I. Blair


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Didn't Write This to Make You Cry

 

By Walt Perryman

I didn’t write this to make you cry, but to live.
And to realize how much love you really give.

As I age more of my loved ones are passing away,
And it reminds me that it could be my turn any day.

It makes me realize how vulnerable any life can be,
With closed eyes, a friend’s death can help us see.

Sometimes reality is a hard thing for us to realize,
But we come into reality when a loved one dies.

I guess death makes you appreciate living today.
When you know that anytime it can all go away.

One of the hardest realities about a loved one’s death,
It is the part of you that dies when they take a last breath.

©JUN 7, 2025 Walt Perryman


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My Freckled Hand

 

By John I. Blair

My freckled hand
Resting there on the desk
Seems suddenly a minor miracle,
Able to flex with every thought,
Bend, turn, find
These computer keys
And type these words,
These words
That someone else can read
And share my mind.

©2024 John I. Blair


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Hey Baby, I Need An Apple Gift Card

 

By Bud Lemire

She loves to play with your heart
You can ask her to stop, but she'll just restart
She'll show you, something that'll turn you on
But it might not even be her, it's a scam and she's a con

Who is she really, I want to know
Why is she asking for my dough
“I'll take an Apple Gift Card, and I can stay online”
Why yes, why not, after all I'm on Cloud Nine

“Hey Baby, I need a new iPhone”
Then a little bit more is shown
What am I doing? Soon I'll be broke
I need to stop! This is some sort of joke

“Honey, I really need money for my Medication”
“And I really admire your love and dedication”
I can't give you any more money
“Why are you stopping now, Honey?”

This isn't right, why are you doing this to me?
“Baby, I really need the money, you see”
Listen, no more money, is going out to you
“You don't love me any more, I'm feeling blue”
She put on a show, acted out a crying fit
By this time, I wasn't falling for any of it

©May 24, 2025 Bud Lemire

                        Author Note:

Remember, there are all sorts of scammers out there.
They will try anything to get your money. They will
reel you in and keep you on the hook. You'll turn into
their money slave. Unless you realize what is happening
right away, and stop it. They may seem sweet, but they
are just out for your money. I've been reading a lot about
scammers, so please be careful on the internet.


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Old Bear

 

By John I. Blair

Sometimes I feel
Like a sour old bear
Salvaged from a roadside zoo
By well-intentioned rescuers
And sequestered
In a cozy sanctuary.

The hush soothes me;
I get sufficient nourishment
And enjoy my undisturbed siestas,
But sometimes miss the sunny highway,
The rush of passing semis,
The sweet scent of smiling children.

©2005 John I. Blair
Encore


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Today

 

By Walt Perryman

Every day you put behind you leaves one day less ahead.
Don’t live tomorrow or yesterday, but live today instead.

Every day we are going to have living problems galore,
So, thank God for every day until you have no more.

Now it’s time to go out and face the day,
Folks it is so important to enjoy it along the way.

©JUN 6, 2025 Walt Perryman


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Imperfectly Perfect

By Bruce Clifford

Tell me what’s not so perfect about you?
You are perfect in everything that matters.
Imperfectly perfect in every way.

Show me how distant the stars really are.
Mesmerize me within every word that you say.
Traveling to Nuuk, sipping on beers at a bar.
Nothing could change how amazing you truly are.

Tell me about life far across the sea.
I could never fault you for what was in recent history.
You’re imperfectly perfect in all you say and do.
We brush of the dust and fly to Saturn’s different moons.

Tell me what’s no so perfect about you?
Imperfectly perfect in every song and in every tune.
I get lost in the thought of not always knowing what to say.
Imperfectly perfect in every word and every way.

Tell me what’s not so perfect about you?
You are perfect in everything that matters.
Imperfectly perfect in every way.

©5/20/2025 Bruce Clifford


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This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Hidden Truths

 

By Bud Lemire

I thought I found true love, but there was so much she hid
She asked me for a gift card, and that's what I did
We connected strongly, spiritual love is what I thought
Thinking about it, maybe it was just her love I bought

She shared, pictures and poems with me
Yet there were, so many things I couldn't see
What was she hiding, I needed to know
Why was she putting on, such a sad show

She was looking for a real man, I was looking for a real woman too
Asking for money for anything, isn't something that real people do
All alone with her Granny, she was afraid of going offline
I was afraid in my world, I was losing my mind

When she tried many things, to get me to give
I held steady, my money is for the life that I live
I felt her energy strongly in the day, but mostly at night
From what I knew about her, she had a beautiful light

What was happening to me, was this a test
I gave my all, I really gave my very best
What I really want to know is, what was this all for
When I walked right into her life, and she slammed the door
Hidden truths are lies, with chocolate poured on top
It may taste pretty sweet, but where will it all stop

©May 20, 2025 Bud Lemire

                        Author Note:

Love can be such a mystery. Especially when it is
defined by two different people. We had just met
less than two months before now. I hardly knew
anything about her. She knew much more about
me. She is offline for now, but when she comes
back, how will it be? I need answers to why this
is happening, and what my role is in this. Am I
to teach, or to learn from this?


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This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


These Old Hands

 

By John I. Blair

There they are at the ends
Of my hairy arms,
More familiar than my nose
(Which I can’t see without a mirror).

Each vein, each spot,
Each scar, scab, groove
Has tales to tell
If I cared to share.

But it’s too soon;
New stories of my hands
Unfold each day; let’s wait
To catalog

Until the morning comes
When these old hands
No longer move.

©2016 John I. Blair
Encore


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Another Rambling Thought-June

 

By Walt Perryman

Many people have seen Jesus or so they say,
And I truly hope that I can see Him someday.

Wait just a minute, on second thought,
Maybe God was the old beggar on the sidewalk,
But I snubbed him and therefore we did not talk!

Maybe God was the lady that was destitute in Walmart.
She was crying while she was pushing an empty cart.

Maybe God is so awesome and dwells in all that I can see.
I can feel him in my heart and see what He’s done for me.

So, when you that say you’ve seen Jesus, I believe you.
Because, when I look with my heart, I can see him too.

©Jun 29, 2025 Walt Perryman


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You And Me

By Bruce Clifford

I’ve seen so many places.
I wish you were there with me.
All the lines in so many faces.
The only one I couldn’t see.
Only if there were a you and me.

I’ve seen so many traces.
Wondering what you could see.
All these trials and vacant spaces.
Will our hearts ever be free?
Only if there were a you and me.

I’ve seen so many places.
I wish you were there with me.
As life moves into other phases.
The way things were meant to be.
Only if there were a you and me.

You and me.

©5/7/2025 Bruce Clifford


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