Editor's Corner

 

By Mary E. Adair

“You can tell a lot about a person
by the way they handle three things:
a rainy day, lost luggage,
and tangled Christmas tree lights.”
— Maya Angelou

Hello to December 2025

November had a few weather tantrums here and there around the United States although all were not affected. Heavy rain in some states caused many kinds of delays but the snow during the last week was surprisingly heavy for the first of the winter season. Our own town had only welcomed precipitation of the unfrozen variety.

In a similar manner, very scant or contrarily prolific compositions arrived. One tends to be concerned for the health of authors when they aren't submitting as usual. My hope is always that there has been happy or serendipitous reasons for delays, and we have ended up with a nicely varied content for this issue.

My own poem for December is one that has become like a tradition to show at Christmas, "Tiny Miracle." The nostalgic poem "Love is God's Gift" composed by my mother on the night my father proposed to her, is a personal favorite. Two timely poems, "Harbor Tower Christmas - 2005" and "The Gift of Christmas" by Bud Lemire are included.

John I. Blair, who recently had serious surgery and is due for more this month graciously permitted my four choices of his previously published poetry. They are "The Holly As Tall As The House," "Speaking," "Confession," and "Golden Days."

Walt Perryman's four poems this month are "There’s Not a Day That’s Just Another Day!!," "Something to Think about As You Age!," "Watching TV or Not!!!," and "My First Rough Necking Job!" A special treat is having the Article show Walt's "Honey Dog Tales" number 7 plus all the pics of Honey shown during the series. (All can be found as Stories in his list of published work, below his bio, accessible by clicking his byline.)

"On Trek" by Judith Kroll also shows two of her poems. Marilyn Carnell is settling into her new living arrangement and looking toward new ideas in "Sifoddling Along." "Introspection" shows author Thomas F. O'Neill ready for the Yuletide season.

"Cooking with Rod's Family" features a Breakfast Casserole ideal for company Holiday visits. Melinda Cohenour and granddaughter Erin give all the directions and tips for success. Pauline Evanosky discusses a different way to view Progress, in her column "Woo Woo." Our Dublin, Ireland columnist Mattie Lennon reviews two new books he refers to as seasonal in his "Irish Eyes."

Melinda Cohenour's "Armchair Genealogy" displays a story such as can be included in family tree records these days with the expanded capabilities of websites like Ancestry. This her own such story.

Our co-founder and webmaster Michael Craner muses about preparing for Christmas time in his column "Mike's Place." This is a busy season for him and his family as they participate in  area activities. We appreciate him as a long time friend (like family) and all he handles keeping our International eZine going.

Next issue for January is already simmering with ideas. See you then!

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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.

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Mike's Place

 

By Michael L. Craner

Yeah I get it... Christmas in November, will this guy ever shut up? It's especially harder this year with prices being higher than ever...

But I don't, nor have I ever suggested spending a lot of money for Christmas. Obviously we have to sometimes for the little ones...

For me the best gifts are homemade, made from the heart, ornaments and decorations as well.

The real gift is spending time with loved ones. Talking, baking, cooking, and crafting those gifts.

This is something everyone can do. Even if you don't have a family, you can make one for the holidays.

Aside from the religious meanings and remembrances, this is a time to celebrate harvests, and good will towards others. Christmas is NOT just a day to dump hundreds or thousands of dollars in gifts to loved ones. It's a full season of doing good and kind things for those in need.

So yeah, it's still November.

Merry Christmas!

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Armchair Genealogy

 

By Melinda Cohenour

Following the theme of documenting my own stories as I near the zenith of life, I've chosen to relate this story which ties together so many threads of the fabric of my memories. Places, people, music - themes intertwined. I've long held a belief that one of God's 'mysterious ways' includes His way of introducing folks who will have an impact (great or small but there, nonetheless) on our life. In my theory, the first moment a person enters your consciousness - that first moment of awareness, maybe a lingering glance, perhaps something elusive that grabs your attention whatever form it takes - that initial awareness foretells a future interaction or even INTERWOVEN chains of events. The longer the glance or the greater the initial impact, the more complex will be your future shared HAPPENINGS. I will revisit this belief hopefully in a future column because there have been a few amazing such miracles in my long life. Such is the story of Bob Brunson and the Rubaiyat and our complex friendship through the years. Recently Bob and I shared internet stories about that well-loved place and time in our lives. Bob wrote back with what I believe to be the epic summation of that moment in time:

"The article captures the essence, (a bit hyperbolic) Nevertheless, to some degree we all knew we were watching music history being made. It was the proverbial lightning in a bottle, and sadly, won't be repeated. Luckily, we got to watch some of it happen."

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The Rubaiyat, Dallas, Texas.

(My personal Magic Carpet)

My dear friend Bob Brunson introduced me to the Rubaiyat in the very early 1970's or perhaps even 1969. Bob had been in a recently ended long-term romantic relationship with a lovely young lady and they had maintained a good friendship. She was at that time engaged to an old friend of mine from Monahans High School - Ray Pope. Ray's daddy was one of our football coaches. It was a serendipitous event when my sister Noralee and a girlfriend of mine joined me for burgers at Adair's, a very popular hole-in-the-wall hangout in Dallas, originally located on Cedar Springs. (Adair's history in link at end of column). We were laughing and joking with a table of guys near us who asked where in the world we got our deep Texas drawl. My response, "Out in a little piece of Heaven in the Sandhills named Monahans!" From somewhere in the huge crowd was heard, "Did I hear MONAHANS? WHERE ARE YOU MONAHANS!" It was Ray Pope. We shared our table with Ray, said our Hellos and exchanged phone numbers and that began a High School reunion of sorts as Ray and I shared our Monahans alumni pals' Dallas info. Soon Ray introduced me to his girlfriend and they decided I had to meet Bob Brunson. What a wonderful friend Bob became. A dear, funny, talented, caring, beloved friend for life.

Bob told me the best music venue in Dallas (and maybe in the world) was The Rubaiyat. He promptly took me to see a favorite of his, Mike Williams (Is There a Heaven for Balloons?)

The Story of the Rubaiyat may be read by clicking the link below this column.

There I saw Steve Martin, before he was a name, do his comic skits including the phone monologue and the arrow through the head bit. Who could possibly know decades later Steve and my phenomenally talented sister-in-law Patti Cohenour would become friends and even share a marquee. Patti was cast in the premiere production of the musical Bright Star which Steve Martin co-created with Edie Brickell. This collaboration capped a long-time friendship with Steve.

Patti was the first alternate to Lady Sarah Brightman when "Phantom of the Opera" burst upon Broadway to worldwide acclaim and her arias were valued over even Ms. Brightman's by many critics. Patti performed the lead when Phantom played in Canada as well as in London where the musical was viewed by the Queen of England. This was but one of Patti's starring roles on Broadway albeit, undoubtedly, the most famous.

Also at the Rubaiyat I became acquainted with Michael Martin Murphy (way before he had to add Martin as his middle name because professionally ASCAP already had an acting member named Michael Murphy), Ray Wylie Hubbard ... Three Faces West, both Dan McCrimmon and Steve Fromholz of Frummox (each of whom would later be separately named Poet Laureate by the State of Texas), B. W. Stevenson (my personal nickname for my "lil brother" was Chuckles, which he pretended to hate but secretly loved. We became close friends. He turned to me for advice when Steve McQueen happened to show up on a motorcycle at the little Austin club where he was playing and wanted to sign him to do the music for his next film, The Getaway. Sweet BW thought I knew everything, bless his heart. I deeply appreciated his friendship but when he called, I, of course, advised him to get a good lawyer and to protect his publication interests.)

(Another side story of interest here: I first met B. W. and his harmonica playing friend Michael Siegfried Raphael playing together informally at the Rubaiyat. They were former high school buddies. Michael Raphael (who always went by Mickey and we nicknamed "Mickey Mouth,") would later join Willie Nelson's band and make musical history. There's hardly a recording artist or group that hasn't shared their stage or recording studio with Mickey Raphael, rock, jazz, folk, country.... he's played for all musical genres! Along the way, Mickey Raphael would meet Ali MacGraw who was divorced from Steve McQueen. Mickey and Ali never married but shared many years happily together. (More about Mickey "Mouth" Raphael at the link below column.)

He also told me as we sat outside the apartments managed by Allen Damron that his late father had come to him the night before, sat on his chest and told him to wake up as he had to tell him something important.

Then Chuckles said, "Daddy says I'll never see 39. I'm gonna die at 38 of an infected heart."

He did - following open heart surgery a staph infection of his heart culminated in his death.

(Allen Damron became another lifelong friend. I cherish our last email exchanges during his last years in Terlingua before his death in 2005. I've included a link to his biographical information below.)

I just located an old post in Facebook that included a comment of mine memorializing some of the very memories I've mentioned in this column (shared in next paragraphs):

"Frummox", Jerry Jeff Walker, Michael Martin Murphy, B W Stevenson and Mickey "Mouth" Raphael (fresh from high school and a team at that time before Willie Nelson discovered the incredible harmonica talent of Mickey), Three Faces West, Russ Kirkpatrick, marvelous entertainment from the '60's and '70's appeared there. What wonderful memories.

A sweet gem that appeared below this of mine posted Aug 9, 2016, was a comment made by my dear, dear friend Angela Blair (elder sister and best friend, manager, strongest supporter and essential organizer and marketing pro of Steve Fromholz). Angela wrote: "Those were the days my friend!" to which I replied: "Feeling a bit nostalgic today, Sis. Oh! To relive those days, complete with all our beloved friends and family."

My long-term relationship with Steve Fromholz began with the first time I heard Frummox ... Steve introduced himself after the first set. We made the after hours circuit that evening, the first of many many years of memorable times that evolved from that first night together. Steve and Travis Holland and a few more band members crashed at my apartment once when rooms in Dallas simply could not be obtained due to some huge convention. The guys, as usual, engaged in an impromptu jam. They firmed up some lyrics of Everybody's Going On The Road and started a couple of new song ideas. (I'd be remiss if I failed to provide a link or so to Steve performing a few of his songs. See below)

Travis Holland was a very cherished friend of Steve's. Steve credited Travis with teaching him how to "really play" guitar. Travis was the master of deadpan, low-key humor (or was it just Travis being Travis?) Steve told of them going to a restaurant whose claim to fame was a menu full of egg dishes: Benedict, scrambled, omelettes galore, fried sunny side up or over easy or laced. Waitress asks Travis "And how do you like your eggs sir?"
Travis: "Jes fine, ma'am, jes fine.'

My favorites of all Steve's songs are "Song for Steven Sills" and his famed incredible Texas Trilogy. Follow the links to hear him perform these songs.
I still mourn his loss.

So many of these friends have passed beyond the veil; but my memories of so many, many shared moments will live on bringing light and love and music and laughter into my days.

Penned with love.

Links to introduce you to my friends and world during those early adult years whose memories enrich my life to this day.

The Rubaiyat:
 The Story of the Rubaiyat Club, the Birthplace of Texas Music - D Magazine

scattershooting: the RubaiyatThis second link mentions Russ Kirkpatrick who actually wrote a song about a shared memory of a prior life we believe we shared along with Bill Moss (fabulous black folk singer who actually saved my life once ... for another memory one day). Russ and I dated awhile...
scattershooting: the Rubaiyat

History: Adair's Saloon
 Adair's Saloon

Mickey Raphael Actually Played Iconic Harmonica Solo on Motley Crue’s “Smokin’ In The Boys Room” here:
 “Smokin’ In The Boys Room” - Saving Country Music

More about Mickey "Mouth" Raphael here:
Mickey Raphael - Wikipedia

                    B. W. "Buckwheat" Stevenson

  A Live Performance video:

 

His story:B. W. Stevenson - Wikipedia
B. W. Stevenson - Wikipedia

Stevenson, Louis Charles \[Buckwheat, B.W.]
Stevenson, Louis Charles [Buckwheat, B.W.]

Very nostalgic video:BW on stage when Steve Fromholz, Rusty Wier, and Mickey Mouth Raphael drop in for a rousing, crazy unrehearsed performance. Today only Mickey Raphael is still here. We have lost BW, Steve and Rusty ... Three of my crazy, sweet, talented, fun loving friends. Not the most polished but certainly one of my treasures videos.
BW on stage when Steve Fromholz, Rusty Wier, and Mickey Mouth Raphael drop in for a rousing, crazy unrehearsed performance.

And can't leave out this one. Five of BW's best songs
Five of BW's best songs

Allen Damron
 Damron, Allen Wayne

Steven Fromholz - Wikipedia
Steven Fromholz - Wikipedia

Instagram share by a fan who wrote:


Willie's mid-70s recording of his "I'd Have to be Crazy" bought Lamborghinis for Steve's grandkids, and made it OK -- albeit, sad -- that most of the rest of the world never caught on to how great he was. He has the Texas Trilogy already but I thought this would be another nice triple take on his genius. ((Usual small-print: All rights reserved by Steve, his publishers and his record companies. I am making no attempt to derive $$$ benefit from posting this, only trying to introduce others to what some of us already know, and maybe even make the poor guy a few more bucks for all the joy he's given us.)


Instagram share by a fan

Frummox(Steve Fromholz and Dan MacCrimmon) performing Man With the Big Hato. Steve when I first met him.
Frummox(Steve Fromholz and Dan MacCrimmon) performing Man With the Big Hato

Frummox: Here to There, 1969 feat.
Frummox: Here to There, 1969

Attachments Area:

Preview YouTube video B.W. Stevenson and Friends (Live) 1974 - Ritz Theatre, Corpus Christi, TXPreview YouTube video B.W. Stevenson and Friends (Live) 1974 - Ritz Theatre, Corpus Christi, TX

Preview YouTube video 5x B. W. Stevenson ( The Best Of Internacional Music )Preview YouTube video 5x B. W. Stevenson ( The Best Of Internacional Music )

Preview YouTube video Steve Fromholz -- Road, Bears, Alone trilogy.wmvPreview YouTube video Steve Fromholz -- Road, Bears, Alone trilogy.wmv

Preview YouTube video Frummox - Man With The Big Hat \[1969]

Preview YouTube video Frummox - Man With The Big Hat \[1969]

Preview YouTube video Frummox - Here to There (1969) - feat. Steven Fromholz and Dan McCrimmonPreview YouTube video Frummox - Here to There (1969) - feat. Steven Fromholz and Dan McCrimmon

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Irish Eyes

 

By Mattie Lennon

Two Worthwhile Seasonal Reads

Born and reared in Townsend Street Dublin in 1908, N.P. Kennedy witnessed first-hand the events leading to Irish freedom in the first decades of the last century. So did Sean O’Casey but he wrote plays about it. Did Kennedy write anything?

After his death in 1978 His daughter Ailis, who found the manuscript of The Tragic Isle, says, "This spans some of the recruitment of World War 1 veterans as auxiliaries to the RIC (the infamous Black and Tans), through the rebel resistance, the post- treaty Civil War and final declaration of peace. It is a story of civil and personal conflict, of love and despair plus courage and commitment. The book is a valuable legacy for our family, which we would like to share with you."

The author himself lived through and suffered because of the turbulence of those troubled times portrayed in the book. His parents were obliged to close their shop in Townsend Street because of it.

The main character, a British Army WWI veteran, Bernard Thompson, like many survivors of that terrible conflict, finds himself down and out on the streets of London, jobless, hungry and homeless. He is given an opportunity to “serve in Ireland”. The details of his posting were scant and untruthful. He found himself operating as an auxiliary to the Royal Irish Constabulary (RIC) during Ireland’s War of Independence and was disheartened and appalled by the actions of his fellow “recruits.” He is left for dead after his patrol is ambushed and he is rescued by the same rebel forces that he is expected to suppress. Bernard is brought to a rebel household, where he is brought to, and slowly regains his health. As he recovers, he acquires an understanding of the situation and can see things clearly from the rebels’ viewpoint and becomes sympathetic to their cause. From his first day in Ireland he was aware of how he was misled as to the role to which he had been enlisted.

Bernard Thompson is eventually trusted by the rebels, joins them, and becomes one of “the men who fought the Auxies and beat the Black and Tan”, and later during the Civil War he is told, “My God, Thompson! If only our own flesh and blood had stood by the country as you have done, we'd have won outright by now.”

The Tragic Isle is a historical novel and Bernard Thompson is a fictional character who, like many of the other people portrayed, fits the profile of people on both sides.

The events also are merely transplanted from real conflict with names of people and places given different names. The reprisals of Balbriggan in county Dublin are faithfully based on real atrocities.

Thanks to The Manuscript Publisher, Ailis Kennedy and her family we are able to get this well written and informative work of historical reading, and it’s available online.

* * * * * *

Jarrah Regan is a legend in comedy circles and around the world. He was the auditor of the Literary and Historical Society in UCD when he was a student there.

His stand-up comedy career started in 2003 and a year later he was a finalist for three major UK comedy newcomer awards: So You Think You’re Funny, BBC New Comedy Awards, and the Chortle Student Comedian of the Year. Then in 2006, he performed as part of the first ever Irish gala at the Just for Laughs festival in Montreal, Canada. Regan's shows have included 2007's Edinburgh Fringe show "Nobody Knows..." Jarlath Regan", 2018/19's "Organ Freeman", which chronicled his experience as a live-organ donor, and 2019/2020's "Notion's Eleven", which was recorded in Vicar Street for online release in late 2020.

Regan wrote and performed sketches on Scope, an Irish science television programme for teenagers and was a regular panellist during the 2008–2009 season of The Panel. In 2010, he co-presented The Rumour Room, a teen entertainment series part of TRTÉ on RTÉ Two television.

The Gobshite, The horsey set in the plains of Kildare, may not be all that impressed by his account of his native heath: "I always call the Curragh Ireland's desert, because it's so flat, green, vast, and isolated. A lot of my memories are of being on my bike and cycling into a gale force wind attempting to get to Newbridge to see my friends.” The latest string to his bow will make us all proud of him. I was on a committee once and my function was to deal with the media. I called myself "The Gobshite in charge of Bullshit." I was joking, or thought I was. But it seems I wasn’t. In Regan’s hardback recently published, "The Gobshite Guidebook," I won’t admit how many of the 28 pieces in the 183 pages in which I am described. From Celebrity Goshutes, to Gob Shiites in Relationships, to How Goshutes React in Emergencies, it’s all there. This is a funny book written by a very funny man but it contains some very sound serious advice. For instance how to Spot When a Gobshite Is Lying; Seven of the most commonly used Gobshite lies:

1. ‘It was like that when I got here.’

2. ‘I heard about a guy who had a similar problem.’

3. ‘There seemed to be a bit of confusion/nobody was clear on that.’

4. ’I tried but they wouldn’t let me. I swear.’

5. ‘I was just thinking the same thing.’

6. ‘Will you relax? I definitely checked before I left.’

Some of you have been reading my column for more than twenty years and no doubt many of you thought that I was a Gobshite. Well, thanks to Jarlath Regan I’m in a position to tell you that you were right.

If you have a friend who is a Gobshite give them "The Gobshite Guidebook for Christmas" and allow them to see themselves as others see them. And there are others who you are not sure if they fit the profile. It is an ideal present for them also. Details at;www.gillbooks.ie

HAPPY CHRISTMAS.

I'll see you next year!

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Woo Woo

 

By Pauline Evanosky

Where Progress Is a Tree

I like being in a place where it happens occasionally that I realize things. Specifically, I realize things in a burst. Not a slow coming to a conclusion sort of thing that might take me months to do. A sudden insight. This time, I realized that progress was not a straight shot. It wasn’t upward. It wasn’t sideways. There was nothing straight about it.

I realized progress for me looked like a tree. The beginning, of course, was a seed, a shoot, a sprout. As your resolve and attention focus, tiny roots move through the dirt. You have a teacher or a tutor (could even be YouTube) who instructs you in the way they perceive progress. That’s okay. You need some first steps.

At some point, you remove the training wheels, and you go off cycling on your own. This is where your progress starts acting like a tree. It moves. It is alive. And tiny branches begin to form. Yes, maybe it is only a branch at a time, but then you get to a point where your branches have branches and leaves are sprouting all over the tree.

This is progress.

You move at your own pace. I don’t know why I never realized this. And now that I know? I think I can relax a little bit. I don’t need to worry if I’m on the right track. I can be assured that I actually know where I’m going, even if the end dances around on the horizon like a mirage.

Another thing I have to school myself on is my expectation of where progress takes me.

As a writer, I envision that my books will eventually be published. This is where my magical mind expects Prince Publisher to drop out of the sky with my shoe in hand. What I have to remind myself is to believe in the magic of manifestation and to send out prayers to enlist the help of whoever it might turn out to be to help me through the minefield of publishing.

I’m not sure why I just called it a minefield. I can imagine at this point what earth torn and mounded on a battlefield looks like easier than I can imagine what publishing is going to be like.

Okay, I admit. It is fear that is standing in the way. Fear only delays progress. Does a tree fear? I doubt it. Even with flames licking around its trunk, I don’t think a tree fears. That’s how they figured out the baby sequoias in Yosemite grew. It was through the heat of forest fires. The forest rangers had not known that. They’d been trying for years to get new sequoias to grow. It wasn’t until they instituted a program of prescribed burns, just as the Native Americans had done for thousands of years, in the 1960s, that new trees began to grow and to protect and cultivate the land.

As a psychic, I can only imagine what a tree feels. It would take more than what I can do now to experience that, though I can tell you it is possible. The closest I can get is when my houseplants are thirsty. It isn’t a panicky or a negative feeling. They are thirsty. I understand.

Thanks for reading.
Pauline Evanosky

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Cooking with Rod's Family

 

By Melinda Cohenour

My granddaughter has been doing yeoman duties cooking for a hungry houseful! This is her idea for an all-in-one casserole for breakfast or brunch that serves 8 with a little bit of help from Nanny (that's me!)

Erin's Breakfast Casserole

Ingredients:

* 1 lb bacon

* 6-8 medium size potatoes

* 1 lb. ground sausage (low fat, sage preferred)

* 18 large eggs

* 1/2 cup milk

* 8 oz. grated cheddar cheese (not prepackaged shredded because of the waxy filler)

* Tablespoon or 2 of parsley leaves

* 2 cans jumbo buttermilk biscuits

Instructions:

1. Put on bacon

2. While it cooks wash and cut potatoes into about 1/2" slices. (No need to peel if washed thoroughly and any eyes removed.)

3. When you've got some bacon brownies in the grease in the skillet dip tops and bottoms of biscuits and put on baking sheet to add on top of your casserole later

4. When bacon is done remove it from the skillet and put potato rounds in to fry on first side.

5. Turn potatoes over to brown other side. Done when browned on both sides and a fork pierces easily

6. Cook sausage by scumbling as it fries. DRAIN OFF ALL GREASE. Put on paper towels when done to get most of remaining grease off.

7. Prepare eggs (always figure 2 per person plus 2 for the pan) by stirring thoroughly with a whisk in a bowl. Add a little milk (like only 1/2 cup) and whisk again.

8. Can season eggs with a little ground sage. A sprinkle of onion powder. A dusting of parsley and VERY LITTLE BLACK PEPPER ...

LAYER YOUR CASSEROLE DISH:

* Brush dish lightly with bacon grease

* POTATO ROUNDS

* SAUSAGE MIXTURE

* EGGS YOU HAVE WHISKED (NOT COOKED)

* BACON

* GRATED CHEESE

* BISCUITS.

BAKE IN 350° OVEN. WHEN BISCUITS ARE DONE IT SHOULD BE READY.

Excellent served with fresh cantaloupe or orange slices and banana. Provide fresh juice, hot coffee or hot chocolate.

Bon appetite ~!

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Introspective

 

By Thomas F. O'Neill

The yuletide season is once again upon us, with all the hustle and bustle of the mad shoppers. I, for one, didn't participate in the frenzy of Black Friday as millions did in America, and I never will.

I am one of those people who enjoy sharing and giving thanks to the special people in my life. That truly makes this time of year special for me.

I surely have plenty to be thankful for because throughout my life, people have gone out of their way to be kind to me, and I like to remind people that when you care for others, you are cared for, and when you love others, you are loved. This special season of giving should reveal our love for one another through kindness because loving kindness gives this special season its true meaning.

There was a time, though, when I felt the season of giving was simply a common courtesy in order to receive and provide our significant others with material gifts.

I now understand more clearly that this special season is for heartfelt acts of gratitude for having people in our lives. When keeping the true spirit of giving close to our heart, it enables us to give from the heart all year-round.

The yuletide season should be a time when our love comes to call because that love gives this time of year its true meaning.

I have found over the years, though, that it's not the material gifts that count in life but rather the unrecognized, undetected, and unremembered acts of loving kindness that are our greatest gifts and achievements in life.

If we truly want to see a world of loving and joyous people, we must be loving and joyous toward the people in our own lives. That potential is part of our humanity. When we reach out and touch others, we touch part of the humanity that is within us. When we enhance the life of another in need, we, in turn, enhance our own lives.

Objects gift-wrapped in shiny paper can be forgotten over time, but kindness whispered to those in need will echo endlessly throughout the community. Those small acts of kindness resonate with the giver and the receiver because they are gifts from the heart. Such priceless gifts can never be measured monetarily, though, because how can you put a price on love?

From my heart to yours, I would like to wish all of you a very merry and joyous holiday season.

Always with love,

Thomas F O'Neill

Email: introspective7@hotmail.com

WeChat - Thomas_F_ONeill

Phone: (410) 925-9334

Skype: thomas_f_oneill

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Thomas_F_ONeill

Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/thomas-f-o-neill-6226b018/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/thomas_f_oneill/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61577967478775/

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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.

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Sifoddling Along

 

By Marilyn Carnell

In Minnesota there are many sayings, but one of my favorites is that there are only two seasons, not four. They are: “Winter is coming – Winter is here.”

The “Winter is coming” seasons are glorious, but all too brief. Spring creeps in with greening grass and teeming flowers, Summer is filled with bright sun, puffy clouds and the bluest skies, Fall is a riot of fiery colors, but Winter seems to last forever with grey skies and nearly bare trees with only a few rag-tag bunches of leaves refusing to let go and settle back to the earth.

Perhaps that is why Christmas is so important – the bright lights usually go on Thanksgiving weekend when families get together and have time to decorate. Neighborhoods glow with color and figures of festive importance. Some areas are so spectacular that they attract strings of cars filled with lookers who enjoy seeing what items have been added this year.

I am reminded of an area in Kansas City where it is whispered that gangsters dwell. Every year that neighborhood is a fairy land of lights and animation. Many lawns look as well planned as department store windows. Their unstated message is “we are not all bad” it seems to me.

This year I am in a new home and Winter has arrived far ahead of its official beginning with the Winter Solstice. As I write, Thanksgiving is next week, so I am thinking of how I want to decorate my apartment to celebrate the holidays and brighten up my life because Winter is here.

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On Trek

 

By Judith Kroll

How to capture that sense stirring View?
Do I paint it with a brush?
Do I use my camera for a picture?
I could describe it with words that ebb and flow with love.

It is snuggled in my memory bank, settled in.
When I close my eyes and mentally visualize,
I feel, see, smell, hear the magnificent view.
All My senses have arisen for the moment of memory.

It compares to seeing a loved one’s face,
We are no longer able to “see” on the planet.

A person, an animal, place or thing.
All is forever etched into our heart, our soul, our whole being.
Many forever memories exist within.

Love,
Judith 4/20/23>

I turned the globe over in my hands and
said, “where shall I go to find joy.”
As I peeked at the countries,
it finally hit me.
Joy is within
If I am joyful,
there will always be joy for me,
and my joy will be contagious
like a child's laughter and/
or an animal's antics.

Joy is FREE
Joy is HEALING
JOY IS LOVE MADE
BEAUTIFUL
Joyful Judith.

©7/2018 Judith Kroll

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Honey Dogs Last Farewell 2010

 

Honey Dogs Last Farewell 2010

By Walt Perryman

Honey Dog Tales - Seven

By Honey Dog

To: All Canines on Earth.

Honey Dogs Last Farewell

Hello friends, A lot has happened since the last episode I wrote because I am writing this from Heaven. Yep, I got sick and had to come on up here. It is great up here.

First, I met a man by the name of St. Peter. He has a long beard just like some of the musicians in Luckenbach. He said I could wait here until my master dies and comes along.

Friends, they have real jerky up here, not that old “Taste like bacon imitation stuff I used to get”. Oh! I do miss him, but this is not a bad waiting place, there are a lot of dogs here waiting on their masters.

There are no dog fights, everyone just lives in harmony. The weather is perfect. There are no stickers or fleas, we run and play, then eat and sleep. Then, when a dog’s master comes through that Pearly Gate, there is a big reunion, they hug, and kiss then go off over a cloud to be together for eternity.

Oh! And I do not hurt anymore. It is great! I know my master misses me and I wish I could bark loud enough to tell him I am fine. But I think he really knows that. We Dogs do not live as long as some creatures, but we sure put our time in loving and pleasing our masters while we are there.

I miss Luckenbach, but this place is good, too. So, friends, love your masters all you can, and I will see you later up here. Arf! Arf!

©2021 Honey Dog
with Secretarial Assistant and Master Walt Perryman

All of Honey Dog's Messages can be found by clicking Walt's byline and look for the category STORY in the List of his published work, below his bio.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We Can Learn From Our Dogs.

We spend our life trying to love and be happy,
Dogs know how to do this as a little puppy.

A puppy loves you right from the very start,
Then it loves you for life with all its heart.

Dogs can show love by wagging their tails
. Often, we do not show our love and it fails.

Dogs may not live for as long as me and you,
But they give more love in less time too.

We can learn a lot from our dogs about living,
Like unconditional love and a lifetime of giving

. Dogs may be dumb, but their love is so true,
I guess we are too smart to love like they do.

Had you rather be dumb with a happy heart
Or be unhappy because you are too smart?

A hug, a smile, and the words. “I love you”,
Might not be such a dumb thing to do!!

©2021 Walt Perryman

Honey was the dog of the Luckenbach poet and she left memoirs for canines.
May ‘Honey Dog’ RIP. (2021)

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* * * * *

* * * * *

 

Tiny Miracle

 

By Mary E. Adair

Tiny fist near tiny eye,
The softest sound of breathing,
Tiny mouth moves in a sigh,
As puff of air is leaving.
Mother gazes thoughtfully,
As husband stands nearby,
Humble setting holds the three
With barely space to lie.
Tiny Babe will change the world,
Mother senses as she rests,
Husband stands in cloak tight-furled...
Someone comes, are they foe, or guests?
On bended knee, in robes well-worn,
Shepherds praise the precious Child.
They've been told that this Newborn
Is the King they've longed for quite awhile.
Others arrive in more costly garb,
With royal gifts for Royalty...
These earthly Kings have traveled far,
Star-guided, this Babe to see.
Mary pondered, when she saw wisemen kneel,
Just how much He will see in His life.
Reality must have seemed unreal
To the husband watching Child and wife.
Blessed moment in time, through time undimmed,
As angels sang, 'neath Bethlehem's sky,
Many came to the stable to worship Him,
None knowing or suspecting how He'd die.

Born Christ for all who would believe,
Born helpless, and gentle, and mild.
Tiny heart would soon enough grow to grieve
For those lost to the message of the Child.
For those who would not believe the birth
Of the King, to a virginal Mother;
For those who preferred things of the earth,
To preparing their life for another.
Another life that would not end in death...
Miraculous...so hard to accept, for some...
That the soul that can leave within a breath,
Can arrive in Heaven before the next one.
Passage guaranteed by belief in that birth,
And belief that He died to save us from sin,
Defeated Death, and arose to walk on the earth,
And makes heavenly promises now to all men.
Telling death is nothing but a gateway to life
In Heaven, if His Words are heeded,
A transition to Glory from sin and strife...
A believing heart is all that is needed.
Telling us how to go spread His Word
About His birth, His life, and victory over death.
Was this all in the thoughts which Mary heard,
Pondered in her heart, as she counted each breath,
And watched tiny fist touch tiny eye
Of the Child she held to her breast,
Heard tiny lips breathe that sigh...
Did she know she was truly blessed?

©1999 Mary E. Adair
(Encore)

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Golden Days

 

By John I. Blair

Every day is golden --
I yearn to hold each one.

But then I learn
Half the pleasure’s in the fact
It’s not been here before
And will not come again.

So I just let it flow
And pray for more.

©2019 John I. Blair, 10/17/2019
Encore
See pic below of an earlier day's sun bronzed Blair. 

 

 

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My First Rough Necking Job!

By Walt Perryman

I’m Walt, an 81-year-old retired oilfield hand!
I hope there is someone that will understand.

My memories are all true even if I am over the hump,
But I miss the sounds of an old duplex mud pump.

And the roar of the diesel’s on the mud pumps and rig.
And all of my memories of the kicks are still pretty big.

I remember how cold and windy a West Texas winter can be,
And working derricks without a wind breaker to protect me.

And digging ditches around the substructure was hard work,
And the driller hollering to dig faster because he was a jerk.

From a roughneck to a drilling consultant took me many years,
And through it all I had many rough times and shed a few tears.

I hope someone out there will understand what I’m trying to say,
I can’t remember yesterday but I can my first rough necking day.

©Nov 7, 2025 Walt Perryman

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Harbor Tower Christmas - 2005

 

By Bud Lemire

A Harbor Tower Christmas 2005

by Bud Lemire on Dec 17, 2005

Gather around the Christmas tree

This is a Merry Christmas from me

I want to wish you all a special holiday

But there's so much more I want to say

The true joy of Christmas, aren't the gifts we give

It's the love we share, each day that we live

Sharing a smile with a fellow resident

Can be more rewarding than any present

The time spent with a lonely soul

Shines brighter than you'll ever know

Brighter than the brightest star

Giving love will take you far

Everyone here is special, from the first to the eighteenth floor

All have come here, from a place they were before

They all carry scars, from another time

Filling up their memories, somewhere in their mind

Give them each a smile

It only takes a short while

Give a part of you

Let your spirit come through

Christmas at Harbor Tower

Is a special time each hour

As one, let us all unite

In love and spiritual light

Merry Christmas to all my friends here at the tower. May the love and light let your spirit shine through on this special holiday. ~ Bud ~

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Something to Think about As You Age!

 

By Walt Perryman

I am beginning to learn as my years pass by,
And trying to get closer to God, before I die.

I went to church regularly until I was about ten,
Then it was 60 years before I started going again.

I know that God has always been in my heart,
However, for sixty years we grew farther apart.

So, I believe my seed was planted many years ago,
It’s taken around 60 years for it to sprout and grow.

Yes, I know that I am on my life’s downhill slide,
With God, I’m going to enjoy the rest of my ride.

©11/10/2025 Walt Perryman

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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.

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Speaking

 

By John I. Blair

She’s speaking to me all the time,
She, her sister, and her cousin,
Using the only words they have.

She speaks not only with her mouth
But with her entire body,
Twisting it this way, that way,

Waving her tail around,
Punching her head
Into my willing side.

I don’t know what she’s saying,
Or at least I’m seldom sure, yet
I think I understand the basics:

Some directed toward
How I rub her ears, her neck,
Some a choice of snacks.

To be fair, I too am speaking
With my mouth
And with my body;

Caressing hands,
Curved back,
Crooning voice.

We’ve been doing this for years;
Our two species for millennia;
No major breakthrough yet.

But I think we manage
Well enough
For our purposes and needs.

©2019 John I. Blair, 7/6/2019
Encore

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Love Is God's Gift

 

By Lena Carroll

February 14, 1934
(after the proposal which
culminated in 62 years of marriage
to John (Jack) Edward Carroll
Wedding Photo below June 10, 1934)

Love - love - what can it be?
A sturdy bridge twix thee and me?
Or just a shaky stair
Trembling in every breath of air?
Or could it be that God so great
Has sent His love to those who meet
And vow to always be the other's friend
And try to all his sorrows mend?
For God is there in every union,
That's rooted in devout communion.
With vows to be true each to the other
And God's help to be a good father and mother
For in God we Trust -
For love that time cannot rust!
A marriage is made in Heaven they say,
Must yet be lived on this earth each day!
But with help from God up above,
And our hearts joined in true love,
Perhaps this life we both can live
And keep that center of love alive
Thru all our daily pressures
And build a memory full of treasures
Thank you, God - Our thanks go to You!
And may we always be true to You.

©February 14, 1934 Lena May Joslin

An Encore Presentation
Composed by Editor's Mother

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You Are Here

By Bruce Clifford

I’m not the man I used to be.
You stole my heart and captured me.
I never thought I could feel this way
. All the romantic things I want to say.
You mean everything to me.

I’m not like I was before.
Your love has opened a brand-new door.
I never thought I could feel so right.
The love I feel for you every day and every night.
You mean everything to me.

Everything that once was is gone.
Now I feel a reason to no longer fear.
All my life I’ve been missing you.
Now you arrived, you are here.

You mean everything to me.
In you I will always believe.

I’m not the person I once was.
Now you have filled my heart with so much love.
I never thought I could feel this way.
You took away the darkest of days.
You mean everything to me.

Everything that once was is gone.
Now I feel a reason to no longer fear.
All my life I’ve been missing you.
Now you arrived, you are here
You are here.
You mean everything to me.

I’m not the man I used to be.
I’ve seen it all on land and at sea.
I never thought I could feel this way.
Your smile captures me every day.
You mean everything to me.

©11/20/2025 Bruce Clifford

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Watching TV or Not!!!

 

By Walt Perryman

Here lately Satan has got a hold on me,
My sin was just watching too much TV.

Watching the news can change my life,
If you don’t believe me, just ask my wife.

If I lose the remote, it improves my day.
Because then I seem to find time to pray.

I am not trying to influence any of you,
You can watch too much, if you want to!

But I am not going to watch any TV today,
I’ll ask God to hide the remote when I pray.

©Nov 2, 2025 Walt Perryman

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The Holly As Tall As The House

 

By John I. Blair

Once (it seems in another life)
We bought this house with pride,
The first house we could call our own.

In front a line of struggling shrubs,
Decades in the ground but badly chosen.
Barely hid the narrow porch.

So I yanked them out, then
Dug and dug and dug (skirting
A concrete slab beneath the soil)

And planted new beginnings,
Four hollies plus some different sort,
Encouraged them to grow, and waited.

The second choice declined the chance,
But hollies loved this place,
Loved and gained, spread and sought the sun.

Now, more than thirty years along,
Merged into a single mass,
I have hollies tall as houses.

Some day (for houses can decay
While hollies thrive and live)
House-sized hollies
May be what remains.

©2022 John I. Blair, 2/1/2022
Encore

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The Gift of Christmas

 

By Bud Lemire

It's not always the gifts under the tree
That makes Christmas mean the most to me
It's the gathering of friends and family
And all the love that is shared, freely

It's the gift of fully feeling alive
The Journey taken, now when you arrive
The gift of love that you feel with Soul Mate
Heartfelt blessings of everything you appreciate

The Angel at the top of the tree, watching over you
All the things in life that you have been through
The beauty in the sky when the sun sets and rises
Through the years, all the pleasant little surprises

All the colored lights all over the Christmas Tree
Reminding me that each soul has their own special beauty
Each of us being unique, each of us shine
Like the lights on the tree, we are the lights of the divine

Each day beholds a gift for each
You learn, experience, and teach
As you open the gifts from under the tree
Think of the greatest gift, The Gift To Be

©Dec 13, 2015 Bud Lemire
Encore

                        Author Note:

At Christmas time I always think of the people
who guided me in friendship and helped mold
me to be who I am today. They touched me with
their love, and made me proud to be happy as I
live this life I am living. We are truly miracles
here on Earth. Souls with such a wonderful
personality. When we help each other as we
travel down the journey of life, it makes me
appreciate people even more.
Merry Christmas to one and all.

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There’s Not a Day That’s Just Another Day!!

 

By Walt Perryman

As we live our lives one day at a time,
And a good day can turn bad on a dime.

Each day has its own problems, I have found,
And if not addressed daily they can compound.

Our trust in God can subside and waste away.
Unless we refresh our relationship every day.

So, Folks, today, before you head out of the door,
Lower your head and thank the Lord once more.

©Nov 1, 2025 Walt Perryman

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Confession

 

By John I. Blair

I confess
Each time I drag
My tired and aching self
Out to fill the feeders,
Refresh the water basin,

I wonder just how long

I can continue doing this.

But then I think
Of moonlit nights
And singing mockingbirds,
Investigating wrens,
Bobbing flights
Of chickadees and finches,
Quiet rows of doves on wires,

And I forget the pain,
The years and tears.

All I feel is joy,
All I feel is thankfulness.

©2019 John I. Blair, 11/19/2019
Encore

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Everything To Me

By Bruce Clifford

You mean everything to me.
I love your eyes; they taught me how to see.
You’ve captured my heart and taught me how to believe.
Deep inside you mean everything to me.

I’ve never felt this way before.
Your smile has opened a new and wonderful door.
You’ve taken my breath away in ways I have never known.
Until you, my heart was lost and alone.

You mean everything to me.
I love your laugh and all the possibilities.
You taught me how to feel in subtle and magical ways.
I love you more than words can say.

You make me smile from an ocean apart.
How I wish you could wrap your arms around my heart.
You’ve captivated me from the very start.
The beauty in you is a work of art.

You are everything to me.
I love your heart; it taught me how to believe.
You’ve captured my soul and took my worst fears away.
I love you more every single day.

You mean everything to me.
I love your eyes; they taught me how to see.
You’ve captured my heart and taught me how to believe.
Deep inside you mean everything to me.

©11/3/2025 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.

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