My two-cents worth and then some. An online journal by LP Brown.

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New Year Rising

by on ·Blogging, General, Journaling/Writing, Lifestyle and Culture

Wham! And just like that, we have crossed the threshold of 2022. Bearded Father Time handed to Baby New Year much of the same baggage from ’21:  The pandemic. Gun violence. And the incivility of ill-mannered politicians, athletes, and other malcontents

Author Anne Lamott in her book Dusk, Night, Dawn, suggests, “We summon humor to amend ghastly behavior and dismal ongoing reality.”

What Anne is saying is, “Chill!” I like her attitude. But everything doesn’t work for everybody. Some people are born with the gift of gab, other folks have an innate sense of humor. On the other hand, I am usually unfunny and can rarely tell a joke without blowing the punchline.

By the way, since this is a new year, and I hope to welcome new readers, let me tell you newbies a little about myself and Potpourri101. Potpourri is my online journal. Unlike a private journal, there is a limit to how much personal information I disclose in my public journal. I know folks like to read juicy stuff and get a full course meal, but I’m only serving hors d’oeuvres on this site. Because even Simple Simon knows that the writings on a blog are immortal, they will outlive the author and be around for as long as the Internet exists.

I’ve been composing poems and short stories since I was a child. I am 12 years a blogger (not to be confused with 12 years a slave unless you count low-wage earning jobs I held while employed in corporate America). I am also a published author. I would love to be on the New York Times Best Seller list one day, but since I’ve got more years behind me than in front of me, I may not live long enough to write the great American novel. That’s the small stuff that I don’t sweat because the reality is that we are all terminal.

Still, who knows, some of the books that I have in progress may one day be published posthumously. That brings me to an interesting tidbit about authors. It is common knowledge that many famous authors were alcoholics. Truman Capote, Tennessee Williams, Ernest Hemingway, Edgar Allen Poe, Patricia Highsmith (author of The Talented Mr. Ripley), and Carson McCullers (The Heart is a Lonely Hunter), and that’s not even half of them. Since I don’t drink alcohol, perhaps teetotalism stalled my writing career. Nah! Caffeine is my addiction of choice despite the clever quip written by a possibly alcoholic anonymous author, “Step aside coffee. This is a job for alcohol.”

Many of my close friends will tell you that I am ambitious, opinionated, competitive, and transparent. What you see is what you get. Speaking of friends and associates, I believe it’s mostly true – you know, that saying about birds of a feather. But, of course, sometimes odd birds sneak into the flock the way the FBI infiltrated the Black Panther Party during the Sixties. Still, subversion aside, we tend to associate with people whose character and interests mimic our own.

People tend to think that I am an extrovert, to the contrary, I am very much an introvert, and I guard my privacy like the secret service protects the White House. I even prefer being around plants and domesticated animals to people. Strange bird, huh?

Unlike some baby boomers my age, I love computers and enjoy other contemporary devices like tablets, iPods, and iPhones. Speaking of cell phones, I prefer text to talk. Texting seems much more time-efficient than having a discussion comprising more filler phrases than meaningful conversation. I especially like the talk-to-text feature, except when I speak too fast and don’t enunciate clearly. Then, the message can be entirely different from what I intended to say.

Another thing that annoys me about texting is group text messages. That’s when a sender sends a text message simultaneously to multiple parties. Most of us have received one of them at some time or another. I am no fan of group texts because every time someone responds to the original message, the entire group receives the reply instead of just the sender. I find that so annoying, especially when I am busy writing or trying to sleep.

Group text messages remind me of when folks used to send chain letters. Remember those? Someone would send snail mail letters to several people with the instruction that each recipient make copies and send them to others. I never complied.

I am very competitive. I enjoy playing word games online, especially Puzzly Word, Words with Friends, and board games like Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit. I also enjoy stimulating conversations with open-minded people who discuss fact-based topics and don’t base their arguments solely on conjecture and prejudgment. I respect other people’s personal opinions but have no patience for foolishness.

I like to dabble in political and social activism, but I am not the die-hard type to sit at the lunch counter while agitators pour catsup on my heard. I am a peace-lover, and I appreciate the sacrifices made by those protesters during the civil rights era, but non-violence has its limit.

When I was a timid, early adolescent little girl, growing up in the projects, I was taught that you don’t start a fight, but you don’t let another kid chase you into the house either. If someone hits you, you hit them back. I knew that if words came to blows, I had better knock the grit out of whoever I was fighting (draw first blood Rocky would say) because it was likely that if I didn’t come off swinging hard, I’d get my skinny butt beat. Strangely, I can recall being in only four fistfights during my youth and with whom; they were three girls and one boy on different days.

We were all in the same age group and attended the same school, and I remember their names. Teresa, Sandra, Patricia, and Ricky. They all lived in the neighborhood, but they had a reputation for starting trouble, unlike me. At one time or another, I fought with each of them, only once and that ended our rivalry. In those days, kids mainly fought with their hands. Socking. Scratching. Kicking. Biting. Sadly, today the cowards settle the score with guns.

I am an advocate for the underprivileged and downtrodden. I have empathy and tolerance for the needy, not the greedy. Greedy, selfish people are my nemesis.

Well, enough about me. All things considered, 2022 is the most remarkable year ever, considering that as I write this, we are only 16 hours into the new year.

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Stuffing Memories

by on ·Holidays, Lifestyle and Culture, Nostalgia, Thanksgiving Day

I see Thanksgiving as a food-centered day where family and friends eagerly get together for a satisfying meal, a good time, and to engage in pleasant conversations. Even in families where the members are cordial but not close, you might make it through the day without creating ill will if you keep religion, politics, and social issues out of the conversation. I admit those happen to be some of my favorite topics, but I discuss them at the appropriate time and place. Nothing kills an appetite like a bad conversation.

There are some safe subjects to discuss during mealtime. For instance, you could talk about movies and TV, or music. I like to talk about books and writing. (Do I hear groans?) Or, you could have a roundtable  “what are you thankful for” session. That would likely work better in a small group of, say, six or seven people instead of a conference room size table with a dozen or more guests. But even that question has the potential to spark flames. I’m going to use fictitious names here to make a point. Any resemblance to people you might know is strictly coincidental.

Widowed Aunt Wilomena might say, “I’m thankful for getting the stimulus checks,” only to have alcoholic Uncle Nelson, who has already downed several gin and tonics counter with, “Well, I didn’t get mine. Those damned idiots in DC don’t know what they heck they are doing.”

Alleged devout Christian, Cousin Vivian, who tells anyone who will listen that she is saved, makes a religious effort to defuse a potentially volatile situation by quickly interjecting. “I am thankful for my generous family.” That raises a few eyebrows as nearly every adult at the table from who Vivian has borrowed money, over past years but never repaid, (that would be most of them), start shifting in their chairs, clearing their throat, and purposely holding their tongue.

Unfortunately, because political correctness now runs amuck in society, almost any subject is potentially explosive. So, proceed with caution. And if you, like I, have friends who, let’s say, are persons of non-color, hope that they will think – twice – before innocently setting off a potential firebomb.

Twenty-something-year-old Cousin Malcolm’s recently proclaimed fiancée, Becky, who most of those present are meeting for the first time, impulsively chimes in, “Well, I’m thankful for Black Lives Matter.”

Some folks who are slicing their meat, stop mid-stroke and start cutting their eyes, play with the food on their plate, or quickly begin stuffing their mouth as smiling Becky waits for a response that finally brings a subdued “Um-hum” or two.

Race matters should probably be number one on the list of touchy topics to avoid during Thanksgiving gatherings, especially in a mixed-race group. It’s best to save the cayenne pepper hot topics for another time and place. Surely, we all know the old saying about good intentions. Yes, that one – that implies that sometimes there are unintended consequences to good intentions.

On that note, I’ll leave things right there and, specific to the subject of this post, reflect on what I am thankful for – many things. But more than anything, I am grateful for the memories created by Thanksgiving’s past.

I deeply miss Thanksgiving dinners at my parents’ house with immediate family members when I was a young child and as an adult with our children and spouses. But those occasions when my family spent Thanksgiving down south at my grandma’s (Maw, we called her) farmhouse were the most unforgettable and enjoyable times of my life.

That long holiday weekend was one of the few occasions during the year when I got to see a number of my aunts, uncles, and cousins all together in one place. Of course, the only thing better than mingling with my extended family during those times was sitting down to enjoy the Thanksgiving Day meal. Thinking about it even now makes my mouth water and my triggered imagination take control.

I am standing in Maw’s kitchen watching my mom and aunties bustling around, helping Maw prepare a feast. The kitchen is lit with an appetizing aroma, including the smell of the turkey and ham that took turns roasting in the oven. A huge pot of collard greens harvested fresh from Maw’s garden is blowing off steam on the stovetop. Delicious, complimenting side dishes crowd the table. Corn shaved from the cob. Baked macaroni and cheese. Homemade cornbread, stuffing, and hush puppies. The last things to go into the oven are homemade rolls. Hardly anything came from a box or can including the fruit in the sweet potato and apple pies baked earlier in the day. I don’t know how all of those scrumptious dishes fit on the table, but the cooks made it work.

In my mind – once upon a time down south – Thanksgiving was a magical event that I will never forget. For those memories and beautiful experiences, I am thankful.

Wishing all of my readers a delicious, memorable, and Happy Thanksgiving (and those who don’t observe it – have a wonderful day anyway.)

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Warriors for Justice

by on ·Law and Order, Lifestyle and Culture, Opinion, Politics, The Way I See It

The following post was written by Guest Author, David White.

Think 1955 in Tallahatchie County, Mississippi. The murderers of Emmett Till are on trial, and everyone – everyone – black and white knows that the outcome of the case is a foregone conclusion. The prosecution team does the best they can. Till’s Uncle, poor Mose Wright, under immense life-threatening duress, identifies the culprits in front of the crowd in the courtroom, and the murderers still get off scot-free.

Fast forward to 2021, and put yourself in the House Managers’ position at the 2nd Impeachment Trial of Donald Trump. Imagine the demoralizing effect of knowing that you face a group of Senate jurors who are as intractable and oppositional as those in the Emmett Till case. The Managers did an excellent job. They certainly inspired me to want to do more to ensure that we preserve the ideals they so eloquently and fervently advocate.

Their opponent was the personification of autocratic nihilism, a man who would gleefully watch the destruction of the beautiful Capitol building, a structure erected with immeasurable toil, blood, and tears. A man who would encourage an insurrection because voters spoke and he could not find enough accomplices to help implement his devious plan to invalidate the election results and maintain power.

The word that perhaps best sums up what I witnessed from the former president’s defense would be “absurd.” Of course, when your client is the 45th president of the United States, you expect nothing other than absurdity.

Look at some of the imprudent and sometimes humourous outbursts from the trial (with a few personal interpolations).

“Mr. Chairman, the prosecution is being unfair, they’re bringing in evidence that implicates my client, and I feel that is prejudicial and so….uh, wrong”.

“Mr. Chairman, they’re using his words as reported by the media and as promulgated on social media platforms, and how can that be fair? After all, they’re only reports, and who would ever be prosecuted or found guilty on mere reports, even if they are his own words?”

“I declare ‘reports’ to be hearsay and inadmissible and totally unfair”.

“I say they should present their case without reports, without incendiary video, and simply go about fixing the pandemic and racial inequity.”

“Mr. Chairman, we reserve the right to imply that their presentation is fraudulent and hypocritical because we say it is.”

“And we reserve the right to present statements into evidence that are mere assertions and assert them as facts, because – the prosecution is partisan.”

“And we know they’re partisan because they identify as Democrats, except Liz Cheney, Mitt Romney, the numerous other Republican congressmen and women who declared the trial valid along with the over 100 legal scholars of all political persuasions who determined my client was guilty of inciting insurrection. So, this whole trial should be declared a sham, and let’s all go home in the name of unity.”

“Oh, and by the way, the videos they showed with my client appearing to egg on those pre-meditated incursionists didn’t tell the whole story. They forgot the part, somewhere after about the tenth time he said fight, that he dropped in the word peacefully in a totally non-sarcastic manner. As we know, my client does not have a sarcastic, insincere bone in his body.”

“Since they can doctor up videos let me show you some totally out-of-context videos, for several minutes, of numerous Democrats, many of them in this chamber at this time, using the word ‘fight,’ which of course I will present in a nonpartisan manner because we on this side don’t believe this should be a partisan matter.”

“And while I’m at it, let me show some gratuitous videos of violent street incidences involving a lot of people of diversity with the implication that these are Black Lives Matter and Antifa members; not Trumpers acting violently, though not put in any contextual framework because – somehow this is really a trial about Antifa and BLM, and we really shouldn’t be partisan.”

“So, in conclusion, Mr. Chairman what I’m saying is, you can’t find that my client, who called those well-known violent thugs, racists, anti-semites and kooky conspiracy theorists to the Capitol for a ‘wild’ day as Congress was certifying the election that he legitimately loss, but which we don’t have to admit, guilty of incitement, just because he sent them there to fight like ‘you know what’  or they would lose their country.”

“Oh, one more thing, can you call a recess so that I can consult with the jurors as to how to go about assuring my client’s acquittal?”

I brought up the Till case to push back on this notion that I’ve been hearing from pundits that I generally respect, like Ari Melber and Joy Reid, that the House Managers were derelict by not demanding witnesses to “look those jurors in the eye” and tell them about the pain and suffering they’ve endured. Presenting witnesses may have produced more tearjerking drama, but in my opinion, it would not have brought more conviction votes from naysaying Senators who had already – over three days – seen proof of criminal acts.

Just as an affidavit, handwritten by Emmett Till and certified by God, would have been rejected by the Mississippi court, no truth or proof that anyone else could have provided in that Impeachment Trial would have swayed any of the Trump loyalists.  Furthermore, the trial would have descended further into their nihilistic trap and turned into a comedy of errors.

Lawyers for the Defense:  “Mr. Chairman, if they call this witness, I demand that Kamala Harris be called…VP Harris, are you now or have you ever been a member or associate of Antifa or BLM?”

House Managers: “Objection.”

Lawyers for the Defense:  “You can’t object. This isn’t a real court of law, and the chairman is not a real judge. Mr. Chairman, they are being unfair in not allowing me to question my witness as I see fit.” (Moments later) “The defense now calls Rep. Maxine Waters to the stand.”

Back to critiquing the trial, I loved how Chaplain Barry Black designed his opening prayer to touch the conscience of anyone who was listening who had a conscience. He was precise about what the trial was supposed to be about (truth over falsehood, courage over cowardice). And I imagined his majestic voice and prayer emanating from above, delivering a message about good battling evil, and lies versus truth to souls that need saving.

House Managers Jamie Raskin, Joe Neguse, and Stacey Plaskett’s presentations were uplifting, and I was especially impressed by their impassioned, principled exhortations to righteousness. Raskin’s citings of Thomas Paine, Benjamin Franklin, and the Bible were also profoundly inspiring.

Although most Republicans clung to their false prophet, there were some courageous living testimonies on that side, too. Burr, Romney, Cassidy, Murkowski, Collins, Sasse, and Toomey sought and will find salvation in the truth.

Following the Emmett Till trial, Wright and the two other black men who testified against the killers had to relocate away from Mississippi. The fate of the courageous seven Senators in the 2nd Impeachment Trial, along with the previously insufferable Liz Cheney, may not cause them to be run out of town; still, it is not unreasonable to think that a megalomaniacal sociopath and his disciples will try to punish them in every way possible. They are to be commended for their courage.

The “fight” for justice continues, and righteous warriors carry on.

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Booking the Book Deal: First You Have to Write It

by on ·Journaling/Writing, Lifestyle and Culture, The Way I See It

“If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. There’s no way around these two things.” Words of wisdom from award-winning horror genre author Stephen King

The first book I wrote was for my mother. I took my time researching and writing it and gave mother some of the first draft’s initial chapters to read. Several months later, we learned that she was terminally ill. I rushed to complete the book, but death won the race. Mother died 11 months before Legacy was published.

Not long ago, I reread the book and discovered what I perceived as some editorial shortcomings. The downside of being a perfectionist is that you want everything you produce to be flawless. There are times when I contemplate updating the book, but then I imagine mother reiterating what she used to say often throughout her life, “Let sleeping dogs lie.”

I’ve been working on my second book for a while. But procrastination is my nemesis. I can create a blog post in a few hours, but writing a book is ten times more challenging, as anyone who has attempted it knows. As passionate as I am about writing, it is a time-consuming and tedious process, and I have to be in a creative frame of mind to tackle it.

I was a bookworm long before I learned Stephen Kings’ advice about reading to improve writing. However, unless you are fortunate, like some renowned authors, to have a secluded retreat where you go to ply your trade, your writing time could be hindered, as mine often is, by constant interruptions. And interruptions aside when it comes to writing books, time is not our friend.

For instance, I am currently reading The Dead Are Arising: The Life of Malcolm X. It is a fantastic five-star worthy publication. It clears up factual disputes and provides the reader with significantly more details about Malcolm X than the autobiography. The author, Les Payne, worked on The Dead Are Arising for 28 years. Sadly, in 2018, he died of a heart attack before he could finish the final draft. His daughter Tamara Payne, her dad’s research assistant, completed the book with their editor Robert Weil’s help. It was published last year.

Speaking of time, who hasn’t read The Catcher in the Rye? J.D. Salinger took ten years to finish it.

Writing her book was also a decade-long journey for Pulitzer Prize-winning author of Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell.

Alex Haley co-authored The Autobiography of Malcolm X and later wrote the acclaimed, 704-page Roots. Factoring in research time and intercontinental travel, it took Haley twelve years to write that book. And boy! It paid off in numerous ways.

Aware of the truth that time waits for no man (or woman), it is inspiring to know that some people don’t hit their literary stride until they are senior citizens.

J. R. R Tolkien took 16 years to finish The Lord of the Rings. He was 63 years old when the book was published.

Pulitzer Prize-winning author, Frank McCourt, was 66 when he wrote his bestselling memoir Angela’s Ashes.

And the oldest debut novelist on record award goes to Lorna Page. She was 93 years old when her first novel A Dangerous Weakness, was published.

The time it takes to write a book depends on many things, the book’s length and genre, the period spent doing research, and the author’s day-to-day writing routine.

Occasionally, one of my friends will ask my advice on how to publish their book. Here is my two-minute rudimentary pitch.

There are two methods of getting your book in print: self-publishing or traditional publishing.

Self-publish, and you maintain ownership of your book and can keep much of the profits. However, self-publishing necessitates that you do a lot of leg work after writing your book. That means everything from producing a professional product (editing, cover, format, etc.) to marketing it. If you have money to spare, you can pay professionals to help with those things.

Traditional publishing is more costly than self-publishing. It involves hiring a literary agent. The agent will help you put together query letters, a book proposal, a contract, a  marketing plan, book tours. He or she will be your overall pitch person. Literary agents charge a commission (about 15%) on any money that you earn. For every amount they get you in advances or royalties, speaking engagements, or other perks, they will take their cut. They will handle the heavy lifting. You may get an advance, but you’ll give up rights to your book, and everybody makes money off of it.

When I self-published my book, I had to learn the ropes through trial and error. I am still learning, but this time I am a little bit wiser.

Unless you have name recognition (say Terry McMillian or Walter Mosley), self-publishing is the way to go. The investment in self-publishing could be anywhere from a few hundred dollars to a few thousand. How much you want to spend on your book is your call. For Legacy, I hired a fantastic copy editor before sending my book to a premier (POD) print-on-demand service for self-publishing authors. Comparing the royalties earned from self-publishing to traditional publishing could be like equating a child’s piggy bank filled with pennies to a five-gallon jug filled with quarters and greenbacks. But everything is relative.

With determination, perseverance, and a little bit of luck, any well-written book could mean the difference between a mediocre publication and a Pulitzer Prize-winner. There will be time for learning the ropes of getting your book published, but first, you have to write it.

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Keeping the Merry in Christmas

by on ·Holidays, Lifestyle and Culture, Nostalgia

While radio and television programs are broadcasting Yuletide carols and reminding us to be jolly, COVID is sucking the merry out of Christmas. That sad reality is the reason why this usual glass-half-full optimist is fighting the pandemic blues. I am not alone. I know this because many of my friends tell me that they feel it, too. We compare our symptoms. Short tempers and long-lasting anxiety. Mood swings from hopeful to hopeless. And the WTF (where’s the food) all we can eat syndrome.

Since the pandemic began ten months ago, it has dragged on from season-to-season, and the set of new rules to live by has become old. We’ve all got the instructions memorized. Wear a mask. Practice social distancing. Avoid large gatherings. Socializing with family and friends at birthday parties, reunions, holiday get-togethers, even weddings, and funerals is a no-no. I imagine that some employees are not too happy that this year’s Christmas office parties are zooming. Who doesn’t feel like screaming, “WHAT THE ELF? ENOUGH ALREADY!”

As an (often mild-mannered) spiritual person, I wonder if the global pandemic is a Biblical prophecy and punishment is being levied on humankind for our sinfulness. I suppose that atheists and scientists would dispute that statement; it is an ever-lasting argument. So, I’m going back to talking about Christmas. Foremost, December 25 is a day held in reverence. It also happens to be my cousin Jo Jo’s birthday (a shout-out to you, Cuz), and for wide-eyed children everywhere, it is the day when Santa Claus makes their day.

Unlike Scrooge, I don’t need spirits to show me Christmases past, present, and future. I remember, and I envision.

In my mind’s eye, I am about seven-years-old. My mom and my siblings, and I are cheerfully jockeying around the live Christmas tree in the living room. Dad is seated on the sofa, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, clutching a Kool cigarette between the index and middle finger of his right hand. He is all into watching a John Wayne western on the old black and white TV set as I am into hanging my made-in-school decorations on the tree. Occasionally horizontal line interference forces dad to leave the sofa and walk over to the TV. He sticks his cigarette between his lips, takes a long drag, and then removes it, exhaling a puff of white smoke before tightening a small piece of aluminum foil that is wrapped around the tip of the rabbit ear antenna. The picture clears up and dad returns to the sofa. As he is sitting down, he glances toward the tree at our handiwork and nods approvingly. We continue hanging decorations. Simple ornaments created with Popsicle sticks, Elmer’s glue, pipe cleaners, colored beads, and a red and green chain garland made from construction paper share space on the spiny branches alongside store-bought string lights, shiny, fragile bulbs, and long strands of silver tensile. Some years, we add tiny candy canes – and then we wait. Christmas morning is only days away.

During the evenings leading up to the big day, mother sometimes lets us stay up past our 8 o’clock bedtime to watch televised seasonal specials about Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and Old St. Nick. On Christmas Eve, she doesn’t need to tell us to turn-in. We eagerly hurry to bed because we know that the next day will be magical when we awake. In the morning, the joy and laughter of enchanted children fill the air as we gush over the gifts that Santa left under the tree. Our family’s meager income prevented us, four kids, from getting many presents. And often Santa didn’t bring us precisely what we asked for, but we always got a few things each, and for that, we were thankful. Mother’s lessons of expressing gratitude for everything were not lost on me even to this day.

The sweet scent of fresh pine needles lingers in our apartment for days, and it seems to take forever before every stubborn spike that lodged in the rug or slipped into a crack in the aging wood floor bordering the carpet has is gone.

In the postwar era, many parents observed – and children believed in – the long-standing tradition of Santa Clause. Some of today’s contemporary parents feel that deceiving children about Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and other fictional characters hinder a  trusting relationship with their children. So, they don’t adhere to any of the rituals that created beautiful, lifelong memories for their grandparents and parents.

Christmas wasn’t the only day that held magic. I was a curious child. Whenever I would shed a tooth, I would place it under my pillow before going to sleep. The next morning I would wonder and sometimes ask mother how the tooth fairy could lift my pillow and replace my tooth with a shiny coin, usually a nickel or dime, without waking me. Mother played along, leading me to believe that she was as perplexed as I was. I treasure those memories, and I think that mother enjoyed the games as much as we children did.

I know that it is the parent’s prerogative when it comes to observing traditions with their children. Still, I’d bet four calling birds that some of the same parents who say that they don’t want to lie to their children about imaginary characters don’t hesitate to fib to them about other things when it serves their purpose. As I see it, our parents fooling us with myths about the Tooth Fairy, Santa, and the Easter Bunny may have been telling us lies, but they were good lies.

Sometimes, when I am stressed and longing for a temporary respite from everyday living’s harsh realities, reflecting on traditions involving make-believe activities that my family observed during my childhood makes me happy.

Christmas present is eight days away. I doubt if many folks would disagree with me when I say that the best stocking stuffer all of us could receive would be a miraculous, immediate, and complete disappearance of COVID. I’m not promoting fake news, I know it’s not a reality, but nevertheless, that’s my wish for this Christmas.

My visualization for Christmas future, 2021, and all years after that is for love, brotherhood, joy, and peace in the world. That, along with good health, is my wish for my readers and all of humankind.

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and may God bless you all!

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