I Hate Spiders...

by Kim Michael Copyright April 2015

Argiope aurantia is the technical name for them.  They are large spiders that live in gardens.  I personally don’t like spiders.  I’m not alone.  On the list of human phobias Wikipedia lists arachnophobia (fear of spiders) is prevalent in nearly 90% of all females and 18% of all males, of which I am one, which is what makes this story even more unlikely.     

         I have an herb garden in my backyard.  I have never been an avid gardener, but I like fresh herbs.  To my dismay one day I found a huge web stretched between the only rosemary bush I had planted and a dill plant that I had let grow to long. 

         In the center of the web was a huge black spider with yellow spots on its back.  I remember it being slightly smaller than half the size of my hand, but in retrospect it was probably smaller, but still large enough to be intimidating.

My first thought was to get a stick and destroy the web, but when I finally found something I could use, I found myself curiously interested in the spider, not an uncommon phenomenon, to be drawn to something that you fear. 

When I got closer to look at it, it scurried for cover.  I had already decided not to get rid of the web or kill the spider, but of course, the spider didn’t know that. 

My first thought was, if I was actually going to try to cohabitate with this creature, I wanted to make sure that it wasn’t poisonous.  I looked it up on the Internet and found out that the spider wasn’t dangerous like a Brown Recluse or a Black Widow, and that it was actually beneficial for my garden, killing the bugs that would ultimately hurt my plants.  I also discovered that it was female.  Probably the strangest of all was that spiders only have two basic emotions, fear and anger.  They don’t become tame regardless of what people who have pet Tarantulas may think.  At best they are only lethargic.

At any rate that is where my relationship (so to speak) with an Argiope Aurantia began.  Because she was in my rosemary bush, I called her Rosie.  In the days that followed when I worked in the garden I would occasionally talk to her, and as time progressed my tongue-in-cheek, one-sided conversations became more frequent. 

As weeks passed, I found myself actually bonding with the spider, not in the way that dogs or cats bond with humans, spiders do not have that capacity, but Rosie seemed to become less timid of me.  She got to a point where I could get very close to her and she would not run away. 

As I lost my fear of her, I began to see the beauty in her, her glistening black body, brilliant yellow spots.  I found her stunning.  For a brief period I even toyed with the idea of trying to touch her and I came close a couple of times, but in the end I realized that she was a creature of the wild and some things are not meant for human interaction. 

Then one day I noticed that she seemed to be growing larger.  At first I thought Rosie was thriving in her new home, but then I realized the truth.  Rosie was pregnant and about to lay her eggs. 

Over the next few days I made it a point to go out every day and look in on her, not that I know anything about pregnant spiders, but I was becoming protective of her.  Then one day I went out to see her… and she was gone.  The web looked conspicuously empty and so did my herb garden.  After another day had passed the sad realization started to dawn on me that I would probably never see Rosie again.  The truth was I missed her.  For several days more I looked for her, but she never reappeared.  That weekend as I weeded the herb box I found her body, no longer thick and beautiful, she lay curled up, shriveled and still.  Rosie was dead.

For a moment I sat back on my knees looking at her, eyes misting with emotion, a grown man feeling strangely sad for the loss of all things, a “spider”.  It was an odd feeling, but one I still remember.  Yet as I looked at her I felt my spirits lift.  I realized that Rosie had become what nature had intended her to become and that she achieved what she was meant to do.  How many of us can claim such a legacy?    

That day, I buried her remains at the base of the rosemary bush where her web had been and silently thanked her.  Rosie was gone, but the memory of Rosie, and what she had taught me, continues on.  And as I sat there I suddenly had to smile, in her place Rosie had left me a virtual swarm of “little” Rosies crawling up and down the dill and rosemary plants. 

Since those days there have been a number of Rosies in my herb patch, and I have always made room for them, and though none has ever been as beautiful as Rosie, each became unique and different in its own way and each became what nature had intended.  Rosie, a spider, had opened my eyes to possibilities that I had not considered before. 

I still don’t care for spiders, but I appreciate them, I understand them, and the fear I once had of them has changed to something else…perhaps wonder.    Rosie in her own way had an impact on my life and made an unlikely friend along the way. 

The “Gift” In Each of Us.  By Kim Michael  Copyright April 2015

We all have “gifts”: talents and abilities that are uniquely our own.  Some we know.  Some we don’t.  Some we don’t even realize are talents.

If there is one person in the world who should be an expert on “you”, you would think it would be you, but how many of us really don’t know ourselves?  The reason why is because self discovery can be uncomfortable.  Often we have to force ourselves out of our comfort zones to find out who we are, but it doesn’t have to be.

Sometimes just making little changes that takes out of the mindless routines that we all fall into can make a huge difference: removing the blank spots on the piano roll of life where we lived, but didn’t, that’s all it really takes.

Sometimes getting free of them is as simple as taking a different way to work: going right when you would normally have gone left; maybe even doing something you always wanted to do, but never tried.  Making little changes that remove us from the normal routines and forces to live in the moment instead of just passing through it, and in the end, we become different.

This is a story I heard years ago, told to me by a back stage guy at the Frontier in Las Vegas.  I don’t know how much of it is true, but it serves a point.

Phillip (not sure of his real name), was a traveling salesman around the turn of the century.  He traveled around the world and truth be known, as a salesman, he really wasn’t very good, but he had one unique talent, considered by almost everyone he knew, to be interesting, but useless.  Phillip could run on his knees.  In fact, he could run faster on his knees than most people could on their feet. 

At parties he would show off his unique talent by pulling the weight of several people along with him, and though everyone was impressed, none thought it was of any value… yet Phillip practiced.  He got even faster and stronger. 

But fate and destiny sometimes have a way of colliding. One day flying back to the United States from a trip overseas, disaster struck.  It was 1937, Lakehurst New Jersey, and as the aircraft came in for a landing, a fire broke out, but this was no ordinary aircraft and the fire was no ordinary fire.

Phillip was aboard the Hindenburg, and as it touched the mooring tower an explosion rocked the ship.  Fire swept through the giant aircraft in a matter of minutes, and people began jumping from the broken windows and portals just to escape.  When Phillip jumped he hit the ground so hard that both of his ankles were broken.

Two passengers landed on either side of him, knocked unconscious by the fall.  

Of the 97 people on board (36 passengers and 61 crewmen), there were 35 fatalities (13 passengers and 22 crewmen).  Phillip survived, as did the two people that landed next him, and the only reason they did, was because they were just lucky enough to fall next to a little man who could drag them to safety, because he had the worthless talent of being able to run on his knees.    

No talent is without value, even those that others may think are worthless, and they are given to us for a reason.

SLOPPY JOES: SANDWICH OF DREAMS (Parody from Field of Dreams starring Kevin Costner and James Earl Jones) Best Ever Sloppy Joe Recipe

Sandwich of Dreams: 

A Field of Dreams Parody and Best Sloppy Joe Recipe Ever-Rachel Ray

Written by Kim Michael March 2015

"People will come Ray.  They'll come for reasons they can't even fathom.

They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, you'll say. We have Sloppy Joe Sandwiches. 

And you will pass over the mustard, and the pickles, and bun, overrun with Sloppy Joe filling; and they will take it without even thinking about it: for it is hunger they have and food from the past they lack.

And they'll walk out in the yard.  Sit in tee-shirts and sweatshirts under a soft summer moon, and find they have reserved seats somewhere by an open fire where they sat as children, cooking smores; And they’ll eat their Sloppy Joe sandwiches and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces.

People will eat Sloppy Joes, Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been Sloppy Joe sandwiches. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers; erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But Sloppy Joes have marked the time.

This sandwich, this filling Ray: it's a part of our past.  It reminds of us of what was once good--and it could be again.

Oh... people will eat Sloppy Joes, Ray. People will most definitely eat. "

BEST EVER SLOPPY JOE RECIPE:  Courtesy Rachel Ray

Ingredients

• 2 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil, 2 turn of the pan
• 2 ½ pounds ground Turkey or Beef (if you use turkey be sure to cook out extra moisture before combining ingredients).
• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• 2 tablespoon steak seasoning blend, such as McCormick brand Montreal Seasoning
• 2 medium onion, chopped
• 2 small red bell pepper, chopped
• 2 tablespoon red wine vinegar
• 2 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
• 4 cups tomato sauce (32 oz)
• 4 tablespoons tomato paste
• 4 crusty rolls, split, toasted, and lightly buttered
• Garnish: sliced ripe tomatoes, pickles, Deviled Potato Salad, recipe follows

Directions

Heat a large skillet over medium high heat. Add oil and meat to the pan. Spread the meat around the pan and begin to break it up. Combine brown sugar and steak seasoning. Add sugar and spice mixture to the skillet and combine. When the meat has browned, add onion and red peppers to the skillet. Reduce heat to medium and cook onions, peppers, red wine vinegar and Worcestershire sauce with meat for 5 minutes. Add tomato sauce and paste to pan. Stir to combine. Reduce heat to simmer and cook Sloppy Joe mixture 5 minutes longer. Using a large spoon or ice cream scoop, pile sloppy meat onto toasted, buttered bun bottoms and cover with bun tops. Serve with your favorite sides or sliced tomatoes seasoned with salt and pepper, dill pickles and Deviled Potato Salad. Have plenty of napkins on hand!

NOTE:  I like to prepare the ingredients in a skillet then put it in a Crock pot on high for several hours.  When using the crockpot always leave the lid off the last hour stirring, the flavor is significantly better.

ENJOY

The Story of the Wizard's Coat Real?

I had a lot of responses on the OZ story, which I really like. Even the skeptics! Particularly the skeptics! 

Just so you know there have been a number of people who have supposedly "debunked" the story of the Wizard's Coat as a studio publicity stunt. Early on, I think even members of the Baum family said it wasn't true, but L. Frank Baum died in 1919 and the filming didn't happen until circa 1936, so it is doubtful that any of the actual family members were on the set when the name was discovered--primarily because most studios, even today, don't allow the writers (much less their families) on the set unless it is in their contract with the studio. 

I did read an interview with the tailor (who made the coat) and she confirmed that it did actually belong to L. Frank Baum. And sometime after the film was made the coat was actually returned to the Baum family, though I don't know when. 

So in the final analysis, is the story true? None of it? Some of it? All of it? Not sure we will ever know. I just thought it was a cool story, as most urban legends are. And in the end you will just have to make up your own mind. 

By the way there have been other OZ "debunkers" who have also said that there are no such things as flying monkeys and that witches are not all green... but I'm not buying it... Ha ha. Thank you for reading my stuff. 

km

A Wizard of Oz Story Too Amazing to be True...But it is. by Kim Michael copyright March 2015

The Wizard's Coat-

by Kim Michael
copyright March 2015

(Picture provided by: http://thefilmspectrum.com/?p=3634)

I have always believed that nothing in life is random; that there is no such thing as coincidence.  And though I don’t believe in fate, I do believe in destiny and once in a while...we are just lucky enough to see it.  

I think it’s important to understand that point because certain things happen in life that are so far out of the realm of being “random" or “happenstance" that I believe they exist as markers.  The universe telling us that everything in it, was and is, on purpose; and more importantly, you and I are not accidents, and our existence, was and is, on purpose.  

With that in mind I want to share an amazing story with you that I was finally able to verify this evening.  I first heard it on a Paul Harvey broadcast years ago.  It is a story about one of my favorite movies of all time...the Wizard of Oz.  

When MGM began planning the filming of the Wizard of Oz in 1938 (it was released in 1939) the production team under the direction of Victor Fleming was given a task.  MGM did not want a costume designer to make the Wizard’s coat, which it was decided needed to be a classic Edwardian jacket.  

The idea was that it could easily be found in one of the many costume houses in Hollywood, but after weeks of going through every costume shop in the city, the design team found that it might not be as easy as they thought.  

Undaunted they turned to New York.  If it could not be found in Hollywood certainly they would find a coat fit for a wizard in New York, but after going through every costume house on and off the island, again they came up empty handed.  

Determined not to give up they decided to go to Chicago and again, after going to very costume shop there, they began to think that they may never find the perfect coat, and in fact, it may not even exist.  

But as they walked back to catch the last train out of Chicago going back to Los Angeles, they happened on a “used” clothing store, what we call a “thrift" shop today.  Why they stopped there, no one knows, but they did.  And as soon as they walked there it was hanging on a rack at the back of the store.  A used Edwardian coat.  A perfect Edwardian coat.  A coat truly fit for a Wizard.  They bought it immediately and brought it back to Los Angeles to begin shooting.

To everyones amazement the coat fit Frank Morgan perfectly.  Frank Morgan was the actor who played Professor Marvel, the kings guard, and of course-- the Wizard of Oz himself.  And they did not have to make a single alteration.  The coat fit him as if it had been made for him.  

Now in the late 1930s filming in California and Hollywood were excellent places to make movies because the weather is mild and fairly consistent year around.  But it also made the sets and sound stages extremely hot when all the big lights were on, and it was only possible to film fifteen or twenty minutes at a time before they would have to shut everything down to let the set cool.  

Now add to that, Frank Morgan had a terrible problem with perspiration and at the end of fifteen or twenty minutes of filming would be totally soaked in sweat.  So much so that between takes he would turn his pockets inside out to get them to dry.

One day between takes, as Frank stood with his pockets turned inside out, one of the stage hands noticed that a name tag had been sewn into one of the pockets.  People gathered around as he turned it up to see the name of the original owner and when he did, the entire cast and crew went silent—almost spell bound.  

You see, there was a reason why the coat was the perfect wizard’s coat.  The name of the original owner, sewn into the pocket, was none other than the "real" Wizard of OZ himself…L. Frank Baum.  The man who wrote…The Wizard of Oz.   

Six Words of Courage--The Horatio Spafford Story

Six Words of Courage-

The Horatio Spafford Story

By Kim Michael  Copyright February 2015



If you have read much of my work you know that a lot of what I write has a spiritual quality to it.  I know many of the people who read my work are religious, and I also know that many are not.  And it really doesn’t matter. Nothing I write has a religious agenda to it.  I do however, believe, that to become greater than one’s self it is important to aspire to something greater than yourself, and there- in is how faith can play an important part in life.

Even so, the topics I write about aren’t really even about faith so much as they are about human strength, and courage, and most of all hope; of which “faith” is often a major part.    

A case in point; there is a touching story that I heard many years ago about one of the most beloved hymns ever written.  

It begins with a man, Horatio Gates Spafford; a senior partner in a prominent law firm in Chicago and real estate developer. He and his wife Anna Larson Spafford and their four daughters were well known in the social circles in Chicago in the mid 1800s.  Then in 1871 disaster struck.  The Great Chicago Fire destroyed much of the Spafford Family’s financial fortune and then the economy downturn of 1873 following the great fire essentially took the rest.  

With only a little money left the Spafford family decided to take a holiday in England to spend time with friends and recover from their losses, but disaster was yet to strike again.

At the last minute Horatio had to stay behind to finish legal issues caused by the fire, sending Anna his wife and his four daughters on a ship a head of him.  While crossing the Atlantic in the dead of night the SS Ville du Havre struck another ship and sank.  Two hundred twenty six people were lost.    

Horatio’s wife survived, and the telegram she sent to her husband was only two words.  

“Saved…alone.” 

All four of Horatio's daughters: eleven-year-old Tanetta, nine-year-old  Elizabeth "Bessie", five-year-old Margret Lee, and two-year-old Anna were lost.   

Shortly after Spafford boarded another ship that would take him to his  grieving wife in England.  Half way through the journey the Captain came to Horatio’s door.  “Sir we are at the place where the Havre went down, I thought you would like to know.”

Horatio Spafford donned his heavy coat and hat and walked out into a raging storm to stand on deck and look at the resting place where all four of his little girls were lost, and as he stood there, wind and rain beating down on him, he slipped a pen and a piece of paper from his pocket and wrote the gentle words—“It is Well with My Soul.”  

Eventually he would finish those words and Philip Bliss would write the music.  

Even now when I hear that hymn, I see Horatio Spafford standing on the deck of that ship in a raging storm, broken hearted, yet writing his six words of strength and hope.  And I am touched by how often in the midst of our greatest tragedies; something beautiful and meaningful can come.  And how something as intangible as faith-- can be the difference.

Angels in the Front Seat by Kim Michael -Copyright February 2015

Some weeks ago I was in Beverly, MA driving back to Manchester to catch the last flight out for the night.  I had been on four flights, drove to Beverly Massachusetts to meet with a friend and back to Manchester to head home to Nashville--all in a single day.  My flight was at 5:35p.  The meeting with my friend went to 3:15 and as I looked outside to the parking lot I could see the rain had not let up like I hoped it would.  Instead it was coming down even harder--in sheets--wind blowing--visibility only about 20%.

I drove back in a rented Hyundai SUV, a vehicle that I had never driven before and really didn't know how all of the features worked.  All I knew was I was going to miss my flight and I had not made arrangements to stay in New Hampshire for the night.   Sometimes in the heat of desperation we all do stupid things and I was so determined to make that flight--that at times, I was driving as much as 80 miles an hour.  

Even with the rain pounding and the wind blowing the rain sideways, I was amazed…I could see the road fine (which is a feat in itself because I am practically blind in the dark—can’t see a thing).  

Oddly people kept flashing their lights at me all the time I was driving and I kept thinking to myself "These people in Massachusetts sure don’t like to be passed".  When I got within five miles of the airport the rain began to let up and as I pulled into the garage, even with the lights in the garage, it was hard for me to see.  

Then I looked down at the dash and saw the true "miracle".  I had driven the entire way with my lights off-and yet in all that rain and wind and dark—I saw the road perfectly.  

I am convinced that angels are with us.  Sometimes as close as the seat next to us.  Guiding us, even when we don’t know they’re there.  And sometimes they help us to find our way home….even when we can’t see it for ourselves.