I thought very little of what had happened at the time it happened. In fact I do believe I had forgotten about it. I have always been a poor dancer. However, at eleven years old, I did not really know much about dancing, especially around 1932 when so many other things were taking place. I did know that some families had doubled up and lived together and that my friend Ruth was eating a piece of bread with lard and sugar sprinkled on top for dinner. The depression had brought about many changes on our block. The elderly German couple no longer played waltz records and danced in their backyard. Their children had moved in with them, and things were not the same. All that came and passed.

The big change that took place in my life was not the depression, but it was the passing away of my little sister, Connie. Connie was two and a half years old. She had beautiful blue-black straight hair, very large brown eyes, and a beautiful complexion. I saw her go into her first convulsion. At eleven I came down with a nervous breakdown. My parents followed the doctor's advice, but they also did everything they could to help me heal. Now as I look back, wonder how hard it must have been for them.

An annual fund raiser came up, and my parents decided to go and take me with them. The affair took place at the Aragon Ball Room. Now I had never heard of the Aragon Ball Room. My parents told me it was a beautiful big room with music and couples dancing. They thought something like this would help me. Perhaps just to see that there was another world beside the one I was use to.

The dressmaker sewed my wine-colored dress and my Mom put up my hair in curlers. There was not much she could do with my hair, as it was very fine and straight. But she tried. We went up this beautiful stairway, it was very wide. As we walked into this huge ball room, it seemed like another world. The ladies wore beautiful long dresses, some had long white gloves on, they all had high heeled shoes and they all smelled real sweet. I looked around. The ballroom was very large, and it was rather dark with lights on at special places. I looked up, and watched the ceiling move as the stars flickered that were placed up there to flicker. The stage was set at the end. The musicians were playing a beautiful waltz. And the couples swirled on the floor in time with the music. (I had several years of piano lessons, and I knew what three/four time was). There was a balcony all around the second floor. One could buy drinks, nothing else.

Then my Father said, "Would you like to dance?" I looked at him and said "Do you see any other girl dancing with her father?" My Dad paid no attention to that remark. He took me by the hand and went on to the dance floor. We danced to Wayne King's orchestra, the Waltz King, as he was known. What I did not know at that time, even though my father was using different steps, was my Dad was dancing the real Viennese waltz while everyone else was doing the box waltz! All this has come back to me after these many years.

But there is more. What I did not know at that time was that I would get to know Wayne King and his orchestra many years later. My father was in the dry cleaning business and at one of his stores many of the dance bands would bring their suits to be cleaned. (What we use to call one day service). I worked the counter for my father at one of the stores. Here I got to meet many dance band members, one of which was Wayne King's. I still have a little silver saddle he sent me from Texas as a token of thanks for taking such good care of them.

In the early 1950s Dolly Parton, among others, recorded the beautiful song "I Believe." The lyrics were poetic:

I believe for every drop of rain that falls, a flower grows
And I believe that somewhere in the darkest night a candle glows
I believe for everyone who goes astray
Someone will come to show the way
Yes I believe, oh I believe
I believe above the storm the smallest prayer will still be heard
I believe that someone in the great somewhere hears every word

Every time I hear a newborn baby cry
Or touch a leaf or see the sky
Then I know why I believe
I believe
Oh I believe

There is no way to know how many flowers grow, nor how many raindrops fall when it rains. The lyrics, therefore, are based not on belief, but on fantasy.

The exact relations existing between quantities or magnitudes and operations that permit quantities to be deduced from others known is called mathematics. Through the art of reasoning we know and can prove these relations, they are not a matter of belief. This logic applies to arithmetic, algebra, geometry, and calculus.

Through experimentation, science (from the Latin to know) has revealed facts of general science, chemistry, physics, and biology. These facts have been handed down by our elders, educators and scientists working in the field. Not as beliefs, but as verifiable facts.

We have learned a vast array of recorded historical events from elders and educators. These are not beliefs, but known, verifiable facts.

Our beliefs stem from our religious practices. All religions have a clergy to preserve and to preach their beliefs to a congregation of believers in religious halls. These beliefs are traced back several thousand years. God's existence cannot be proven directly, and must simply be believed.

Due to the vagaries of the English language, I believe "I believe" refers to anything I know: learned from whatever source.

A soft summer breeze was coming off the lake, and sitting on the deck were Rick and Jeanne. Rick had a bottle of beer in hand and Jeanne had a glass of wine. The evening was drawing to a close. The sun was beginning to set over the lake and the clouds were beginning to color. Their faces reflected red from the setting sun.

"Wait a minute. What did you say?" said Rick.

"I said that I believe that we, as individuals, are totally in charge of our own destiny. It's all a matter of dichotomous choice."

"Di-what-a-muss?" questioned Rick.

"Dichotomous choice. It's a division into two parts. There are only two choices either this or that. It is either yes or it is no, up or down, live or die, right or wrong, move forward or stay behind. It's simple. Pick one choice that's all you have to do. It's easy," stated Jeanne.

"For you maybe. Look at all the choices that we have today. There's certainly more than two. Telephones -- there's a million different kinds. TVs, too. You want a refrigerator? Here are the dozens of choices."

"That's where the trouble comes in." Jeanne said and continued. "We can no longer break down the complexities that the marketing spin puts on items. Do you want a telephone to call or do you want a camera? Do you want to watch a zillion channels or only a few? Simple choice. I want a telephone. I already have a camera. I don't watch television as I'd rather read.

And further more, it isn't only a piece of merchandise that can be an either-or situation. Look at the headlines of your newspaper. Is it a crime to kill or is it not? If an individual is caught red-handed with the proverbial smoking gun in hand, is arrested, and goes to court, then he or she is either guilty or not guilty of the crime. Every step along the way to the court room was a choice. That person didn't have to pick up the gun. That person didn't have to shoot the gun. That person created his or her own destiny through his or her own decision to act. We cloud the issue of right or wrong with finding excuses for it like blaming society. For instance, that person should be given a sentence appropriate to the crime and not given leniency because, and I'm using this as an example, as a 4-year-old he or she was made to color within the lines and that, my friend, is what set the life pattern of crime. That's nonsense. It was because the person decided to pick up the gun in the first place and secondly decided to use it. Individual choices made. That is what it is all about.

Every step along the way is a choice toward one's own destiny. And the choice, when it comes down to it, is simple -- it is either do this or do that."

Dick said, "Life is not a matter of choosing merely this or that. It's complex and your approach is, perhaps, naïve. Even so, the sunset is far too beautiful to miss and my choice is to accept that you may be right in what you say. Now, come over here, closer to me and we can enjoy the sunset together."

In our house, as I was growing up, my father and his friends would spend all night telling jokes but only after they had worn themselves out playing practical jokes on each other, nothing mean or malicious, nothing hurtful or dangerous, just using their creativity to the max which usually caused the person who was pranked, to be the one who laughed the hardest. I learned at an early age that laughter is indeed the best medicine and having a sense of humor can help you get through the rough patches on the journey of life. While this was something I believed, it was not a belief that my husband shared. His family was more reserved and they always did things correctly, by the book which left no room for mistakes that can cause laughter. Probably the most glaring difference in our approach to situations was apparent one night when we were living in Long Beach, California.

My husband called me early in the afternoon to say he didn't have to work that evening and to get a babysitter and we would go out and do anything that I wanted. Fortunately I was able to get a sitter on such short notice and I began to dress for our date night.

My destination was Jose's Casa for burritos, near Muscle Beach where the Charles Atlas types lifted weights, and north Tin Can Beach where the trailer tourists parked. But tourist season was drawing to a close and all the beaches were nearly deserted. And even though Jose served the best burritos in town the restaurant wasn't very crowded. Being regulars we were serenaded, making for a romantic start to our date.

After we had eaten, we took the ziggy road next to the restaurant, leading to a beach that was very secluded. Unless you were a local you wouldn't know it existed let alone how to get there. The moon was full and the surf was pounding, a sound that I loved.

Because I had gotten dressed up for our date, it was necessary for me to remove my nylons in order to walk barefoot on the beach, which was the second part of my perfect evening. In those days women wore garter belts so I unsnapped my nylons and placed them very carefully on the dashboard. I was just getting ready to open the door when a police car came down the road.

"Don't say anything. Just let me handle this," said my husband, my caveman, my protector.

The police officer walked up to the car and flashed his light into the interior. The beam of light came to rest on the nylons draped on the dashboard. It was a priceless moment as my husband turned to look at me, even in the dim light I could see the color drain from his face. Here he was in a car with the ONE people always mistook for the babysitter, the ONE who couldn't run into the store a buy a package of cigarettes for him, the under aged looking female with her nylons draped on his dashboard. "She's my wife!" he practically shouted.

The police officer didn't say a word. So my husband pulls pictures of our girls out of his wallet before he even gets his drivers license. He tells why were on the beach because I want to walk barefoot in the sand and about the burritos. But the officer says nothing, just keeps the light on the nylons. My husband told the story several times, each time more details were added, including the name of the babysitter, each explanation went further back into his day, fleshing out his activities until both the officer and I pretty much knew what he had done the entire day, except for potty breaks.

Finally he sighed and was silent. "Are you through now?" the officer asked.

My husband nodded yes. "Well, I just wanted to remind you that it is high tide tonight. Don’t stay out too long." With that he turned his flashlight off and walked back to his car.

I gulped down a giggle. "Don't laugh," my husband said through clenched teeth. I was doing fairly well at containing myself until the officer does a twirly deal with the flashlight like a cowboy does before putting his gun into a holster. Mean while his partner has somehow managed to do a wolf whistle with the siren.

I opened the door as the squad car left but couldn't stand up I was laughing so hard. I fell on to the sand. "It's NOT funny! I could have been arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a minor or worse statutory rape. How hard would you be laughing then?"

"Oh I think it would have all been over when I showed him my driver's license. Of course, he might not have believed ME because I don't have any pictures of the girls," tears streaming down my face.

"It's NOT funny!!" he said as he slammed the car door.

Over the years, my husband began to lighten up and he had jokes that he always told and learned some pranks that my father would have been proud of but to his dying day he would never concede that our experience on the beach the night was funny.

The other day it was put to me: "What do you believe?" Well, I was rightly taken aback and had to ruminate for hours before I formed a positive view of the matter. I wracked my brain in ways that I've never wracked my brain ever before. Indeed, there was a point where I thought I might just up and die of brain wrack. Hey, that just about rhymes with train wreck. Pretend that I didn't say that because I'm thinking I might use that in some poem I'm itching to write.

Anyway, I seem to have gotten off the track somewhat. That's amazing, you know, on account of that almost never happens to me. So just what do I believe? For starters (appropriately enough) I believe in Creation. Furthermore, I believe Creation believes in me. Otherwise, I'm guessing, I probably wouldn't be here. And I am here. I believe that, too.

As far as how Creation came about, I believe that, though there may have been a really Big Bang somewhere along the line and even though some Evolution most likely did take place and there may have been something like a Beginning happening at some point, it seems probable that for all time there has been something. It just doesn't seem conceivable that for millennia there was just nothing and all along suddenly came something. Things don't happen that way. It just doesn't make sense that one day there is no Egg and the next day there is. In that I don't believe. There had to be something egging the Egg on, so to speak, for there to be the Primordial Egg. It just stands to reason, and reason sits with me just fine.

And as for Evolution, I think it may explain a lot of things -- little things. But I do not believe that in any fathomable way it can account for how, say, an amoeba could become Albert Einstein -- or even George Bush -- no matter how many mutations came about over a quadrillions of years. It kind of calls to mind the conundrum: If an infinite number of monkeys bang away randomly at indestructible typewriters for an infinite amount of time, will they eventually type up the entire Encyclopedia (2010 edition) without error? It boggles the mind -- and the mindless. And anyway, there’s not enough paper.

I believe in Dogs. We have two of them. They are constantly doing things that make it extremely difficult not to believe in them, wherever I go, they are behind me. When I turn around, I invariably bump into or step on at least one of them. Then I hear a yelp that tells me I did something I oughtn't to have done. They are a sorry lot and I love them dearly. And I believe that for some reason, they love me. Yes, I definitely believe in Dogs.

In remembering I believe, for if we didn't remember things we couldn't forget them, and I'm forgetting things all the time. Sometimes I have a thought, and the next moment it is gone. Where did it go? It must be somewhere. I don't believe things just disappear. It wouldn't make sense somehow. I'm reminded of the tine from that old song: I forgot to remember to forget you. I've been making a concerted effort to forget that for as long as I can remember, but it just sticks with me. Life is so weird.

I am a believer in Wealth because I clearly see it in others. And I believe in Poverty because I so much -- so sadly -- see it in myself. As a child I used to play the part of the Prince of Paupery, and as a man I see how my innocent make-believe pretense of youth so richly becomes me.

I firmly believe in lying, for the truth is that without lies there could be no truth, and I believe in truth, too. I don't mean to be making a grand confession or anything, but I believe I lie a lot. Probably more than most and most definitely more than some. Sometimes I lie when it seems convenient, and too often I lie out of blatant necessity, sad to say. But at least I have the good sense to be sorry when I lie. I believe that sort of makes it okay.

I believe in Poetry, especially when it rhymes. Otherwise it's hard to tell. Then I wonder: Is this Poetry or just misshapen prose? Or something else entirely? The same goes for art. If something in a fancy frame doesn't represent something, then it represents nothing and is no use to me. I believe that.

Bullies and homework and school: I believe in these things because I have experienced them, and I believe in Experience. Experience is when you do things, and I have done lots of things in my life over the years. Even when you're not doing anything, it's kind of an Experience. I believe, not doing anything.

I believe in Redundancy just because Redundancy is a spectacular part of my life. May I reiterate: I believe in Redundancy. Why? Well, on account of it is sort of a spectacular part of my being. Need I repeat that? I believe not. Correct me if I'm wrong. I believe I frequently am wrong. Correct me if I'm wrong. I believe in Redundancy. Why? No one knows.

A little over a year ago toward the end of winter, 2009, I wrote a letter to the Anti-Cruelty Society about my cat, Daisy. She was a rather wild and pregnant stray when she came to live with me in March, 2005. She was about to give birth right there inside my front porch in the trap we had set for her. The Anti-Cruelty very graciously came and got her, took her kittens, and returned her to me within a few days. With the aid of my other cat, Billy, it took a good 3 months before she would come out from hiding under the bed! The letter I wrote them is as follows:

I would suppose that the Anti-Cruelty does not have any religious affiliations, or at least is non-denominational in its approach, and it really doesn't matter. But nevertheless, I thought you just might enjoy a cute story about one of my cats whose photograph ornament I sent you this past Christmas.

It was early January, and I had some cassette tapes sitting on the ledge of my piano -- about 5 stacked one on top of the other. Daisy must have decided that they had been there too long or else she was just inquisitive. As I write this, she is on the table, which she knows is not allowed, and is peering over my shoulder looking at what I'm typing.

She occasionally sits on the piano, which I don't scold her for. She likes when I play - she often comes by near me and looks at me and sometimes even "sings" -- eeeeee, oooooo, eeeeeee, oooooo, (or something like that) -- maybe she's just complaining! She likes classical music and one particular opera that I play over and over, and will often lay with her paws outstretched in the middle of the living room floor just listening.

When I got up one morning, I noticed that the ribbon had been pulled out of one of my cassette tapes about 12 to 15 inches. Daisy must have gently taken her claw to it. Anyway -- so I teased her a little bit and said we'd play it to see what song she had chosen. And do you know what.... It was "I Believe for every drop of rain that falls, a flower grows -- I Believe that somewhere in the darkest night, a candle glows..", sung in a very deep voice - the gospel singer, Stuart Hamblin. Quite a few years ago, I'd re-taped several 78 rpm records onto a cassette. It must have been about 1989 because my mom's voice is on there saying something to me about the two other cats we had, Aaron and Shane. There were several other songs on the same tape -- "Do, Do, Do what your heart says," "Melody of Love," "The Green Door," "Bagpipes," "Island Magic," "Happy Talk" from South Pacific, as well as some other gospel songs; "It is no Secret what God can do", with Stuart Hamblin again, "The Holy Bible," "God’s Gift to You, the Holy Bible will see you through," and the "Ten Commandments."

It's a tape I hadn't played for several years but it was mixed in with some of the others. I thought the whole thing was really kind of cute. You never know what these cats will do next. What I think is even cuter about it, is Daisy's "choosing" that particular tape, because I'm certain that she had some rather harrowing experiences as an outdoor stray before she came to live with me.

As for me, I believe in "raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens, warm woolen mittens, chicken with noodles, and brown paper packages tied up with string." I believe in a divine, Supreme Being. I believe God is omnipresent, existing everywhere and all around us working thru the power of the Holy Spirit. I believe that our soul belongs to God from the moment we are born. I believe we need something greater than ourselves. I believe there is tremendous healing power in the cross of Jesus Christ. I believe in the power of faith and of love.

My mother told me that right after I was born, as she was holding me in her arms, she gave me back to God, praying that he would always protect me and keep me safe from harm. I remember one day when I was walking down State Street, oh so many years ago, feeling - not hopeless, mind you - but somewhat rather forlorn, like God had forsaken me. Suddenly an enormously powerful and overwhelming feeling came over me. I felt surely God was reaching down to me from heaven to comfort and embrace me.

There's a rather melodic gospel song I really like to play on my piano sometimes and it goes: "I believe in miracles, I've seen a soul set free, Miraculous the change in one redeemed through Calvary; I've seen the lily push its way up through the stubborn sod -- I believe in miracles For I believe in God!"

I believe that only God can tell the day and the hour not only when one will come into this world, but also the time for us to leave it. I try to live my life in accordance with that belief. It is not always easy to do in a world so troubled. With all the earthquakes, tidal waves, and mountain eruptions going on it makes me believe that God is so angry with the world that the last call will be his.

The eastern world at the moment is covered with a thick cloud of black smoke that has the world at a stand still. NO flights going east can fly, thousand of dollars are been lost, and people are stranded at the mercy of this cloud. Earthquakes are happening all over the world almost every day.

When the Virgin Mary appeared to the children at Fatima, she told them that a great scourge would come out of the East if we did not pray. Her words are coming true in this century with wars ranging in Iraq and Afghanistan and the entire East. Our troops are been killed by the thousands, by people who have no regard for life. They strap explosives to their bodies, walk into hotels and buildings and market places, blowing people and themselves up. They spew hatred at the West and it seems to me that the Virgin's words are indeed coming true. I am not a great one for praying, but these thoughts came to me while thinking of this month's paper and what would I write about.

In the silence of the night, while lying awake after watching the late news and seeing that large black cloud moving across the eastern world, the story almost wrote itself. Oh! And before I nodded off to sleep, I did say a sincere prayer that God would forgive the people of the world.