John William Tuohy lives in Washington DC

A Matter of Time: A short story by John William Tuohy

A Matter of Time
A short story by
John William Tuohy

 Turning his swivel chair completely to the left, he moved his hands from the counter and said to her, “Hello! My name is Gabriel. I prefer to be called Gabe. I’m eighty-six years young. I was born in Brooklyn, New York, but I’ve lived here my entire life except for a brief, and, may I add, a mutually unhappy interlude in the Army. I sold sump pumps my entire life. I don’t see well but I still drive. It makes even the shortest ride interesting for me and everyone else on the road at the same time. I’m in here a lot, because in my house, dinner is ready when the smoke alarm goes off and besides, eating here comes close to not eating alone. I sit in this same spot every time I’m here and I have seen you in here before and considering how much we have in common, I thought we should talk.”
She had tilted her head in amusement and the slightest of smiles grew across her face.
“And what do we have in common?” she asked.
“Well,” he said slowly, “for starters, we’re both older than dirt.”
She rolled her head back in a silent laugh. “True,” she said, “true.”
Although she had never seen this man before, she liked his approach. There was something that allowed him to say things like that and not offend. He had a kind of childlike happiness about him.
She could hear a young woman and an older man sitting a few feet away in a booth, engrossed in a conversation about literature.
She extended her fragile hand and said, “I’m Greta. What was your name again?”
He paused for dramatic effect and said, “What’s my name? Wait , I know this one. Gabe. Gabe Juventas.”
“Gabe,” she said graciously, “I’m Greta. Greta Geras.”
“Greta,” he said with a smile and a nod, “that’s a pretty name. Greta. That’s a good name. I guess you’re not supposed to say womanly things are pretty anymore.”
“Tell me I’m pretty,” she said, “all day long if you like. It’s nice to meet you.”
He stretched out his hand to her but she was three seats away, so he stood from his chair and sat next to her.
“Eighty-six-year-old bones are not for stretching,” he said. “May I sit here?”
“Please do,” she said with a wave that was near majestic.
He sat with a long sigh and said, “If I acted my age, I’d be dead.” And then turning full around to face her he asked happily, “So, what shall we talk about?”
“Well,” she said slowly, “it is a momentous day for me.”  “It’s your birthday?” he asked.
“No,” she replied with a smile. “I have decided to sell my home of fifty years.”
“Fifty years,” he said. “Wow, you are old, aren’t you?”
She chuckled and added, “The home where my child was raised, the home where so much else in my life has happened.”
She paused and gave him a side glance as though she had an answer. She didn’t but he thought her eyes were beautiful. They showed her soul and her kindness. He considered saying something, anything, but thought it better to say nothing because he sensed that she wanted to be heard.
“It’s such a big house,” she continued as she guided her gaze back to her teacup. “Especially when you’re all alone. I know I should have left years ago, but I couldn’t. So much of me is there.”
Her attention returned to him and the diner and she seemed surprised. For lack of anything else to do, she perused a menu.
“I guess I should have a salad,” she said more for her benefit then his. “It’s healthier.”
“Healthy Smelty,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Enjoy life. My Ida would say—”
“Is Ida your wife?”  “She was. She is. Forty-five years married,” he replied. “She’s passed on now. It’s been seven years.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“Nope,” he said loudly. “Not that I’m opposed to it, but it’s tough to meet people when you’re my age, you know? I mean, don’t get me wrong, these young gals are all over me, I beat ’em off with a stick.  Now, my back goes out more than I do.”
“Children?” she asked.
“No, but thank you,” he said. “I’m too old.”
“Do you have children?” she asked and then realized he was joking.
“No,” he answered with a vague sadness. “Never did. It was just the two of us. And you?”
“A daughter,” she answered.
“It must be nice,” he said, “you know, to have someone.”
“We don’t speak,” she said suddenly arching her back straight up in the chair. The words surprised her. They seemed to flow out of her on their own.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am.”
“I’m sorry to burden you,” she said, embarrassed that she had brought up the subject.
Sensing she needed to unload that burden, he said, “Let’s talk about it.”
“Well, I don’t know,” she said cautiously.
“Don’t know what?” he shrugged. “Look, you need to get this off your chest, pardon my—what do you say—choice of words, and frankly, I’m bored. I’ll listen to anything, so go ahead. I insist.”
She took a deep breath, released it, and said, “I’ve reached out to her, of course.” She continued, “I’m her mother and I didn’t have to reach out to her, but I did.”
“She didn’t respond?”  “She said she needed time,” she answered, and he could see the jaw grow tense.
“I gave her forty-five years of my time. How much more time does she need? Because for me, time is becoming a precious commodity. If her father was here, oh boy, would he straighten her out in a quick hurry, I’ll tell you that. I’d like her to feel what I feel. Then she would know. Oh boy, then she would know…”
She realized she had gripped her tea mug so hard the blood had left her long thin fingers. She realized he was staring at her, and without turning to him, she said, “I’m sorry. You’re in an awkward position.”
“Mothers and daughters,” he said with a shrug. “It’s a complex relationship.”
They fell silent for a few seconds, but it was a good silence, a comfortable silence amidst the noise of the diner.
“Anger is an emotion. Not the best one, but it’s an emotion,” he said.  “On its flip side is calm and peace. Let her be angry. Sometimes all that people need is a little room to vent. Time heals all things.”
She sighed heavily, “Maybe it was me. I don’t know. I’ve blundered so many things in my life.”
Gabe said, “If I had my life to live over again, I would have more actual troubles and fewer imaginary ones. I believe the biggest mistake you can make in this life is always fearing you will make a mistake. To do that is a—uh—well, it’s a mistake. If you want to test your memory, try to recall what you were worrying about one year ago today. I stopped worrying years ago. When I go to bed at night, I leave my troubles with God. He’s gonna be up all night anyway.”
“You’re right. Maybe I should go to Mass,” she said. “Talk to God about it. Are you a religious man, Gabriel?”
“Call me Gabe,” he said. “I guess I’m religious, but I don’t attend. Going to service doesn't make you spiritual any more than going to a garage makes you a car.”
“I’m thinking about taking up golf. I think’s it’s a good way to get me out of the house “she said. “Do you exercise?”
“No,” he said. “I figure that if God wanted me to touch my toes, he would have put them on my knees. Do you work in the area?”
“Oh heavens, no,” she said looking around the room. “I don’t work anymore. The last job I had was as a temp. The man asked me if I knew how to copy a computer disk and I said, ‘Of course I know how to copy a computer disk. Where is the Xerox machine?’ That’s when they let me go. So I don’t work anymore.”
“Coffee?” the waitress asked.
“No dear, it makes me gassy,” Greta said.
The waitress turned to Gabe and lifted the coffee pot.
“Me? Naw,” he said with a wave. “After two cups, I have to move the bed into the bathroom.”
Filled with a lifetime of more information than she wanted to know about Greta and Gabe, the waitress returned to her station.
“If you want to get rid of young people fast,” Gabe said looking over at the departing waitress, “talk about bodily functions. They flee in seconds.”
They smiled at each other.
“You are easy to talk to,” Greta told him.
“Thank you, Greta,” he said with a slight bow. “It’s hard to meet new people. I was married to the girl I dated in high school. Fifty-two years we were together. I’m proud of that.”
“Do you miss her?” Greta asked. “Often? Do you miss her often?”
He tilted his head to the side and pondered the question. “I don’t know if this answers the question,” he said slowly, “but I miss the moments. Being alone, I’ve had time to think, and what I think is that the important moments in life aren’t one thing. They are a lot of moments rolled together. You need perspective. You need to become old to understand that, to truly understand it. I often fear that my moments—the good moments are over.”
He turned and looked at their reflections in the mirror and saw Greta and himself as they were fifty years before. He spoke to the young man in the mirror and said, “I used to think, when I was younger, that one day I would wake up and I would be in old age. But there is no old age, or middle age or even youth, there’s just—you.”
Fearing that he had gone on too long, he turned to Greta and smiled and said, “Still, I’m proud that in dog years, I should be dead. But you do grow old.”
“I know what you mean,” she said. “My idea of a big night out is sitting on the patio.”
“I’m so old,” he said, “the candles on my birthday cake cost more than the cake.”
He put his elbow on the counter and resting his head in his hand he said, “So, Greta, I have bared my soul to you, now it’s your turn. Talk to me.”
“I understand what you mean about the moments, the good moments. It’s my fear as well, that they’re all gone. I think often that if I had a person in my life, you know, a special person— Now this may sound horrible to you and you’ll think I’m just a gosh-awful person, but I’m not looking for a great romance. I had that, with my husband, one of the finest men who ever lived. I would just like some companionship. And I know that’s just awful, but—just not to be alone at a restaurant. Someone to watch TV with. I had the true love of my life. Now I need to have another sort of true love. A person who understands me as I am now. When I was very young, I believed that true love meant holding hands; now I think it consists of holding hearts.”
He was smiling at her and said softly, “Well said.”
She looked into the mirror and saw her husband lying in the hospital and she said,
“I had a good man. He was such a good man. A tough, gentle man. The last time I saw my Bill, he was dying of cancer. Those goddamned cigarettes. Those goddamned cigarettes. He had tubes running into every part of his little body and he was so gaunt and colorless. I kissed him on his forehead and then a while later he died. He just died. Well, for the longest time, that was all I had to remember him by, my husband, my love, that dear, strong, gentle man, in that hospital bed with all those tubes.”
Gabe fought to hold back his tears, but he couldn’t, and said, “You asked me if I missed her often. It is an odd thing that when you see people in your life looking ridiculous or in pain that you realize how much you love them. Now, with some distance behind me, I don’t think that’s important any more. That day and the horrible picture it left me of my bride. It’s not important. I don’t think the way we say goodbye is important. The time we spend together on this earth, and how we spent that time, sharing the difficulties and the joys of this life, that’s important.”
They sat in silence for a minute and Greta said, “You were saying about age, that you’re as old as you feel. I really haven’t changed, I mean fundamentally changed, in seventy years. Your body changes, but you don't change. You’re still you. We’re always the same age, inside. I think we grow old by deserting our ideals.”
“I agree,” Gabe said firmly, “and that’s why I will always be an anarchist.”
She raised her teacup and saluted him. “Power to the people!” she said.
He raised his coffee cup and said, “Ah, screw the people. Think of yourself.”
“Gabe,” she asked, “do you like Scrabble, the parlor game?”
“Do I like Scrabble?” he said loudly. “My middle name is Scrabble.”
And so they talked and the rain fell and the great, important moments of life went on.
                                              Lucie van Dam van Isselt - Daisies in a silver cup


A poem by
John William Tuohy

It’s all in our heads, it’s all in the family
 This thing between us.
Me and you
This wall. This invisible thing
That everyone sees it, except us.

You and me.
For you, you’re the victim
For me, I’m the victim
For you I’m the bad guy
We’re someone we’ll think about forever

We’re a fine suit that doesn’t fit
Because we won’t let it
We won’t admit it
But everyone knows it.
Everyone except us.

We won’t call it a shame
  We won’t talk about it.
We’ll only feel it.
Our loneliness, our sorrow, our loss
We can dream of what a fine thing we would have been
You and Me
Me and You

Gene Davis  Phantom Tatooed  (1965)


In 1962, six year old John Tuohy, his two brothers and two sisters entered Connecticut’s foster care system and were promptly split apart. Over the next ten years, John would live in more than ten foster homes, group homes and state schools, from his native Waterbury to Ansonia, New Haven, West Haven, Deep River and Hartford. In the end, a decade later, the state returned him to the same home and the same parents they had taken him from. As tragic as is funny compelling story will make you cry and laugh as you journey with this child to overcome the obstacles of the foster care system and find his dreams.


John William Tuohy is a writer who lives in Washington DC. He holds an MFA in writing from Lindenwood University. He is the author of numerous non-fiction on the history of organized crime including the ground break biography of bootlegger Roger Tuohy "When Capone's Mob Murdered Touhy" and "Guns and Glamour: A History of Organized Crime in Chicago."
His non-fiction crime short stories have appeared in The New Criminologist, American Mafia and other publications. John won the City of Chicago's Celtic Playfest for his work The Hannigan's of Beverly, and his short story fiction work, Karma Finds Franny Glass, appeared in AdmitTwo Magazine in October of 2008.
His play, Cyberdate.Com, was chosen for a public performance at the Actors Chapel in Manhattan in February of 2007 as part of the groups Reading Series for New York project. In June of 2008, the play won the Virginia Theater of The First Amendment Award for best new play.

Contact John:

Ordenado ohr-deh-nah'-doh. Organized, tidy
1. Me gusta que mi escritorio en el trabajo esté ordenado y sin mucho encima.
I like for my desk at work to be tidy and without a lot of clutter.

2. El puesto de asistente ejecutivo requiere una persona muy ordenada.

The executive assistant position requires a very organized person.


Nyx is the Greek goddess of the night. A shadowy figure, Nyx stood at or near the beginning of creation, and mothered other personified deities such as Hypnos (Sleep) and Thanatos (Death), with Erebus. Her appearances are sparse in surviving mythology, but reveal her as a figure of such exceptional power and beauty, that she is feared by Zeus himself. She is found in the shadows of the world and only ever seen in glimpses.
In Hesiod's Theogony, Nyx is born of Chaos. With Erebus (Darkness), Nyx gives birth to Aether (Brightness) and Hemera (Day). Later, on her own, Nyx gives birth to Moros (Doom, Destiny), Ker (Fate, Destruction, Death), Thanatos (Death), Hypnos (Sleep), the Oneiroi (Dreams), Momus (Blame), Oizys (Woe, Pain, Distress), the Hesperides (Evening, Sunset), the Moirai (Fates), the Keres, Nemesis (Indignation, Retribution, heavenly punishment for excessive hybris), Apate (Deceit), Philotes (Friendship, Love), Geras (Old Age), and Eris (Strife).
In his description of Tartarus, Hesiod locates there the home of Nyx, and the homes of her children Hypnos and Thanatos. Hemera (Day), who is Nyx's daughter, left Tartarus just as Nyx entered it; continuing cyclicly, when Hemera returned, Nyx left. This mirrors the portrayal of Ratri (night) in the Rigveda, where she works in close cooperation but also tension with her sister Ushas (dawn).
At Iliad 14.249–61, Hypnos, the minor deity of sleep, reminds Hera of an old favor after she asks him to put Zeus to sleep. He had once before put Zeus to sleep at the bidding of Hera, allowing her to cause Heracles (who was returning by sea from Laomedon's Troy) great misfortune. Zeus was furious and would have smitten Hypnos into the sea if he had not fled to Nyx, his mother, in fear. Homer goes on to say that Zeus, fearing to anger Nyx, held his fury at bay and in this way Hypnos escaped the wrath of Zeus by appealing to his powerful mother. He disturbed Zeus only a few times after that always fearing Zeus and running back to his mother, Nyx, who would have confronted Zeus with a maternal fury.
Nyx took on an even more important role in several fragmentary poems attributed to Orpheus. In them, Nyx, rather than Chaos, is the first principle from which all creation emerges. Nyx occupies a cave or adyton, in which she gives oracles. Cronus – who is chained within, asleep and drunk on honey – dreams and prophesies. Outside the cave, Adrasteia clashes cymbals and beats upon her tympanon, moving the entire universe in an ecstatic dance to the rhythm of Nyx's chanting. Phanes – the strange, monstrous, hermaphrodite Orphic demiurge – was the child or father of Nyx. Nyx is also the first principle in the opening chorus of Aristophanes' The Birds, which may be Orphic in inspiration. Here she is also the mother of Eros.
The theme of Nyx's cave or mansion, beyond the ocean (as in Hesiod) or somewhere at the edge of the cosmos (as in later Orphism) may be echoed in the philosophical poem of Parmenides. The classical scholar Walter Burkert has speculated that the house of the goddess to which the philosopher is transported is the palace of Nyx; this hypothesis, however, must remain tentative.
In 1997, the International Astronomical Union approved the name Nyx for a mons (mountain/peak) feature on the planet Venus. Nyx Mons is located at latitude 30° North and longitude 48.5° East on the Venusian surface. Its diameter is 875 km.
On June 21, 2006, the International Astronomical Union renamed one of Pluto's recently discovered moons (S/2005 P 2) to Nix, in honor of Nyx. The name was spelled with an "i" instead of a "y", to avoid conflict with the asteroid 3908 Nyx
Love Is Here To Stay - The Early Works by Bo Anders Persson 1965-1967

The Research We’ve Ignored about Happiness at Work

André Spicer•Carl Cederström

Happiness at work
Recently, we found ourselves in motivational seminars at our respective places of employment. Both events preached the gospel of happiness. In one, a speaker explained that happiness could make you healthier, kinder, more productive, and even more likely to get promoted.
The other seminar involved mandatory dancing of the wilder kind. It was supposed to fill our bodies with joy. It also prompted one of us to sneak out and take refuge in the nearest bathroom.
Ever since a group of scientists switched the lights on and off at the Hawthorne factory in the mid-1920s, scholars and executives alike have been obsessed with increasing their employees’ productivity. In particular, happiness as a way to boost productivity seems to have gained increased traction in corporate circles as of late. Firms spend money on happiness coaches, team-building exercises, gameplays, funsultants, and Chief Happiness Officers (yes, you’ll find one of those at Google). These activities and titles may appear jovial, or even bizarre, but companies are taking them extremely seriously. Should they?
When you look closely at the research — which we did after the dancing incident — it’s actually not clear that encouraging happiness at work is always a good idea. Sure, there is evidence to suggest that happy employees are less likely to leave, more likely to satisfy customers, are safer, and more likely to engage in citizenship behavior. However, we also discovered alternate findings, which indicates that some of the taken-for-granted wisdoms about what happiness can achieve in the workplace are mere myths.
To start, we don’t really know what happiness is, or how to measure it. Measuring happiness is about as easy as taking the temperature of the soul or determining the exact color of love. As Darrin M. McMahon shows in his illuminating studyHappiness: A History, ever since the 6th Century B.C., when Croseus is said to have quipped “No one who lives is happy,” we have seen this slippery concept being a proxy for all sorts of other concepts, from pleasure and joy to plenitude and contentment. Being happy in the moment, Samuel Johnson said, could be achieved only when drunk. For Jean-Jacques Rousseau, happiness was to lie in a boat, drifting aimlessly, feeling like a God (not exactly the picture of productivity). There are other definitions of happiness, too, but they are neither less nor more plausible but those of Rousseau or Johnson.
And just because we have more advanced technology today doesn’t mean we’re any closer to pinning down a definition, as Will Davies reminds us in his new book The Happiness Industry. He concludes that even as we have developed more advanced techniques for measuring emotions and predicting behaviors, we have also adopted increasingly simplified notions of what it means to be human, let alone what it means to pursue happiness. A brain scan that lights up may seem like it’s telling us something concrete about an elusive emotion, for example, when it actually isn’t.
Happiness doesn’t necessarily lead to increased productivity. A stream of research shows some contradictory results about the relationship between happiness — which is often defined as “job satisfaction” — and productivity. One study on British supermarkets even suggests there might be a negative correlation between job satisfaction and corporate productivity: The more miserable the employees were, the better the profits. Sure, other studies have pointed in the opposite direction, saying that there is a link between feeling content with work and being productive. But even these studies, when considered as a whole, demonstrates a relatively weak correlation.
Happiness can be exhausting. The pursuit of happiness may not be wholly effective, but it doesn’t really hurt, right? Wrong. Ever since the 18thcentury, people have been pointing out that the demand to be happy brings with it a heavy burden, a responsibility that can never be perfectly fulfilled. Focusing on happiness can actually make us feel less happy.
A psychological experiment recently demonstrated this. The researchers asked their subjects to watch a film that would usually make them happy — a figure skater winning a medal. But before watching the film, half of the group was asked to read out a statement about the importance of happiness in life. The other half did not. The researchers were surprised to find that those who had read the statement about the importance of happiness actually were less happy after watching the film. Essentially, when happiness becomes a duty, it can make people feel worse if they fail to accomplish it.
This is particularly problematic at the present era, where happiness is preached as a moral obligation. As the French philosopher Pascal Brucknerput it: “Unhappiness is not only unhappiness; it is, worse yet, a failure to be happy.”
It won’t necessarily get you through the work day. If you have worked in a front-line customer service job, like a call center or fast food restaurant, you know that being upbeat is not an option. It’s compulsory. And as tiring as this may be, it makes some sense when you’re in front of customers.
But today, many non-customer facing employees are also asked to be upbeat. This could have some unforeseen consequences. One study foundthat people who were in a good mood were worse at picking out acts of deception than those who were in a bad mood. Another piece of researchfound that people who were angry during a negotiation achieve better outcomes than people who are happy. This suggests that being happy all the time may not be good for all aspects of our work, or jobs that rely heavily on certain abilities. In fact, for some things, happiness can actually make us perform worse.
Happiness could damage your relationship with your boss. If we believe that work is where we will find happiness, we might, in some cases, start to mistake our boss for a surrogate spouse or parent. In her study of a media company, Susanne Ekmann found that those who expected work to make them happy would often become emotionally needy. They wanted their managers to provide them with a steady stream of recognition and emotional reassurance. And when not receiving the expected emotional response (which was often), these employees felt neglected and started overreacting. Even minor setbacks were interpreted as clear evidence of rejection by their bosses. So in many ways, expecting a boss to bring happiness makes us emotionally vulnerable.
It could also hurt your relationship with friends and family. In her bookCold Intimacies Eva Illouz noticed a strange side effect of people trying to live more emotionally at work: They started to treat their private lives like work tasks. The people she spoke with saw their personal lives as things needed to be carefully administered using a range of tools and techniques they had learned from corporate life. As a result, their home lives became increasingly cold and calculating. It was no wonder, then, that many of the people she spoke with preferred to spend time at work rather than at home.
It could make losing your job that much more devastating. If we expect the workplace to provide happiness and meaning in our life, we become dangerously dependent on it. When studying professionals, Richard Sennett noticed that people who saw their employer as an important source of personal meaning were those who became most devastated if they were fired. When these people lost their jobs, they were not just loosing an income – they were loosing the promise of happiness. This suggests that, when we see our work as a great source of happiness, we make ourselves emotionally vulnerable during periods of change. In an era of constant corporate restructuring, this can be dangerous.
Happiness could make you selfish. Being happy makes you a better person, right? Not so, according to an interesting piece of research. Participants were given lottery tickets, and then given a choice about how many tickets they wanted to give to others and how many they wished to keep for themselves. Those who were in a good mood ended up keeping more tickets for themselves. This suggests that, at least in some settings, being happy does not necessarily mean we will be generous. In fact, the opposite could be true.
It could also make you lonely. In one experiment, psychologists asked a number of people to keep a detailed diary for two weeks. What they found at the end of the study was that those who greatly valued happiness also felt lonelier. It seems that focusing too much on the pursuit of happiness can make us feel more disconnected from other people.
So why, contrary to all of this evidence, do we continue to hold on to the belief that happiness can improve a workplace? The answer, according to one study, comes down to aesthetics and ideology. Happiness is a convenient idea that looks good on paper (the aesthetic part). But it’s also an idea that helps us shy away from more serious issues at work, such as conflicts and workplace politics (the ideological part).
When we assume that happy workers are better workers, we can sweep more uncomfortable questions under the carpet, especially since happiness is often seen as a choice. It becomes a convenient way of dealing with negative attitudes, party poopers, miserable bastards, and other unwanted characters in corporate life. Invoking happiness, in all its ambiguity, is an excellent way of getting away with controversial decisions, such as letting people go. As Barbara Ehrenreich points out in her book Bright-Sided, positive messages about happiness have proved particularly popular in times of crisis and mass layoffs.
Given all these potential problems, we think there is a strong case for rethinking our expectation that work should always make us happy. It can be exhausting, make us overreact, drain our personal life of meaning, increase our vulnerability, make us more gullible, selfish and lonely. Most striking is that consciously pursuing happiness can actually drain the sense of joy we usually get from the really good things we experience.
In reality, work — like all other aspects of life — is likely to make us feel a wide range of emotions. If your job feels depressing and meaningless, it might be because it is depressing and meaningless. Pretending otherwise can just make it worse. Happiness, of course, is a great thing to experience, but nothing that can be willed into existence. And maybe the less we seek to actively pursue happiness through our jobs, the more likely we will be to actually experience a sense of joy in them — a joy which is spontaneous and pleasurable, and not constructed and oppressive. But most importantly, we will be better equipped to cope with work in a sober manner. To see it for what it is. And not as we — whether executives, employees, or dancing motivational seminar leaders — pretend that it is.
André Spicer is a professor of Organizational Behavior at Cass Business School in London and the co-author of The Wellness Syndrome.

Carl Cederström is an Associate Professor of Organization Theory at Stockholm University and the co-author of The Wellness Syndrome.

GOOD WORDS TO HAVE........................

Meticulous  \muh-TIK-yuh-lus\ : marked by extreme or excessive care in the consideration or treatment of details. It may surprise you to learn that meticulous is derived from the Latin word for "fearful"—meticulosus—and ultimately comes from the Latin noun metus, meaning "fear." Although meticulous currently has no "fearful" meanings, it was originally used as a synonym of frightened and timid. This sense had fallen into disuse by 1700, and in the 19th century meticulousacquired a new sense of "overly and timidly careful" (probably influenced by the French word méticuleux). This in turn led to the current meaning of "painstakingly careful," with no connotations of fear at all. The newest use was controversial among some usage commentators at first, but it has since become by far the most common meaning and is no longer considered an error.

HERE'S A POEM FOR YOU.........................

“Valley Song”
Carl Sandburg

The sunset swept
To the valley’s west, you remember.
The frost was on.
A star burnt blue.
We were warm, you remember,
And counted the rings on a moon.
The sunset swept
To the valley’s west
And was gone in a big dark door of stars.”

                             In order to catch the ball, one must become the ball. -Dog Tzu

“True change is within; leave the outside as it is.” Dalai Lama


HERE IS SOME GREAT ART FOR YOU TO LOOK AT.......................

Marc Chagall, Green Lovers, 1915

Lucie van Dam van Isselt - Daisies in a silver cup


Architecture for the blog of it

Art for the Blog of It

Art for the Pop of it

Photography for the blog of it

Music for the Blog of it

Sculpture this and Sculpture that

The art of War (Propaganda art through the ages)

Album Art (Photographic arts)

Pulp Fiction Trash (The art of Pulp Fiction covers)

Admit it, you want to Read this Book (The art of Pulp Fiction covers)

The Godfather Trilogy BlogSpot

On the Waterfront: The Making of a great American Film

Absolutely blogalicious

The Wee Book of Irish Recipes (Book support site)

Good chowda (New England foods)

Old New England Recipes (Book support site)

And I Love Clams (New England foods)

In Praise of the Rhode Island Wiener (New England foods)

Wicked Cool New England Recipes (New England foods)

Old New England Recipes (New England foods)

Foster Care new and Updates

Aging out of the system

Murder, Death and Abuse in the Foster Care system

Angel and Saints in the Foster Care System

The Foster Children’s Blogs

Foster Care Legislation

The Foster Children’s Bill of Right

Foster Kids own Story

The Adventures of Foster Kid.

Me vs. Diabetes (Diabetes education site)

The Quotable Helen Keller

Teddy Roosevelt's Letters to his children (Book support site)

The Quotable Machiavelli (Book support site)

Whatever you do, don't laugh

The Quotable Grouch Marx

A Big Blog of Irish Literature

The Wee Blog of Irish Jokes (Book support blog)

The Wee Blog of Irish Recipes

The Irish American Gangster

The Irish in their Own Words

When Washington Was Irish

The Wee Book of Irish Recipes (Book support site)

Following Fitzgerald


The Blogable Robert Frost

Charles Dickens

The Beat Poets of the Forever Generation

Holden Caulfield Blog Spot

The Quotable Oscar Wilde

The Quotable Thoreau

Old New England Recipes

Wicked Cool New England Recipes


The New England Mafia

And I Love Clams

In Praise of the Rhode Island Wiener

Watch Hill

York Beach

The Connecticut History Blog

The Connecticut Irish

Good chowda

God, How I hated the 70s

Child of the Sixties Forever

The Kennedy’s in the 60’s

Music of the Sixties Forever

Elvis and Nixon at the White House (Book support site)

Beatles Fan Forever

Year One, 1955

Robert Kennedy in His Own Words

The 1980s were fun

The 1990s. The last decade.

The Russian Mafia

The American Jewish Gangster

The Mob in Hollywood

We Only Kill Each Other

Early Gangsters of New York City

Al Capone: Biography of a self-made Man

The Life and World of Al Capone

The Salerno Report

Guns and Glamour

The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre

Mob Testimony

Recipes we would Die For

The Prohibition in Pictures

The Mob in Pictures

The Mob in Vegas

The Irish American Gangster

Roger Touhy Gangster

Chicago’s Mob Bosses

Chicago Gang Land: It Happened Here

Whacked: One Hundred years of Murder in Gangland

The Mob Across America

Mob Cops, Lawyers and Front Men

Shooting the Mob: Dutch Schultz

Bugsy& His Flamingo: The Testimony of Virginia Hill

After Valachi. Hearings before the US Senate on Organized Crime

Mob Buster: Report of Special Agent Virgil Peterson to the Kefauver Committee (Book support site)

The US Government’s Timeline of Organized Crime (Book support site)

The Kefauver Organized Crime Hearings (Book support site)

Joe Valachi's testimony on the Mafia (Book support site)

Mobsters in the News

Shooting the Mob: Dead Mobsters (Book support site)

The Stolen Years Full Text (Roger Touhy)

Mobsters in Black and White

Mafia Gangsters, Wiseguys and Goodfellas

Whacked: One Hundred Years of Murder and Mayhem in the Chicago Mob (Book support site)

Gangland Gaslight: The Killing of Rosy Rosenthal (Book support site)

The Best of the Mob Files Series (Book support site)

It’s All Greek Mythology to me

Psychologically Relevant

The Rarifieid Tribe

Perfect Behavior

The Upscale Traveler

The Mish Mosh Blog

DC Behind the Monuments

Washington Oddities

When Washington Was Irish

Litchfield Literary Books. A really small company run by writers.


The Day Nixon Met Elvis
Paperback 46 pages

Theodore Roosevelt: Letters to his Children. 1903-1918
Paperback 194 pages

The Works of Horace
Paperback 174 pages

The Quotable Greeks
Paperback 234 pages

The Quotable Epictetus
Paperback 142 pages

Quo Vadis: A narrative of the time of Nero
Paperback 420 pages

The Porchless Pumpkin: A Halloween Story for Children
A Halloween play for young children. By consent of the author, this play may be performed, at no charge, by educational institutions, neighborhood organizations and other not-for-profit-organizations.
A fun story with a moral
“I believe that Denny O'Day is an American treasure and this little book proves it. Jack is a pumpkin who happens to be very small, by pumpkins standards and as a result he goes unbought in the pumpkin patch on Halloween eve, but at the last moment he is given his chance to prove that just because you're small doesn't mean you can't be brave. Here is the point that I found so wonderful, the book stresses that while size doesn't matter when it comes to courage...ITS OKAY TO BE SCARED....as well. I think children need to hear that, that's its okay to be unsure because life is a ongoing lesson isn't it?”
Paperback: 42 pages

It's Not All Right to be a Foster Kid....no matter what they tell you: Tweet the books contents
Paperback 94 pages

From the Author
I spent my childhood, from age seven through seventeen, in foster care.  Over the course of those ten years, many decent, well-meaning, and concerned people told me, "It's okay to be foster kid."
In saying that, those very good people meant to encourage me, and I appreciated their kindness then, and all these many decades later, I still appreciate their good intentions. But as I was tossed around the foster care system, it began to dawn on me that they were wrong.  It was not all right to be a foster kid.
During my time in the system, I was bounced every eighteen months from three foster homes to an orphanage to a boy's school and to a group home before I left on my own accord at age seventeen.
In the course of my stay in foster care, I was severely beaten in two homes by my "care givers" and separated from my four siblings who were also in care, sometimes only blocks away from where I was living.
I left the system rather than to wait to age out, although the effects of leaving the system without any family, means, or safety net of any kind, were the same as if I had aged out. I lived in poverty for the first part of my life, dropped out of high school, and had continuous problems with the law.
 Today, almost nothing about foster care has changed.  Exactly what happened to me is happening to some other child, somewhere in America, right now.  The system, corrupt, bloated, and inefficient, goes on, unchanging and secretive.
Something has gone wrong in a system that was originally a compassionate social policy built to improve lives but is now a definitive cause in ruining lives.  Due to gross negligence, mismanagement, apathy, and greed, mostly what the foster care system builds are dangerous consequences. Truly, foster care has become our epic national disgrace and a nightmare for those of us who have lived through it.
Yet there is a suspicion among some Americans that foster care costs too much, undermines the work ethic, and is at odds with a satisfying life.  Others see foster care as a part of the welfare system, as legal plunder of the public treasuries.
 None of that is true; in fact, all that sort of thinking does is to blame the victims.  There is not a single child in the system who wants to be there or asked to be there.  Foster kids are in foster care because they had nowhere else to go.  It's that simple.  And believe me, if those kids could get out of the system and be reunited with their parents and lead normal, healthy lives, they would. And if foster care is a sort of legal plunder of the public treasuries, it's not the kids in the system who are doing the plundering.
 We need to end this needless suffering.  We need to end it because it is morally and ethically wrong and because the generations to come will not judge us on the might of our armed forces or our technological advancements or on our fabulous wealth.
 Rather, they will judge us, I am certain, on our compassion for those who are friendless, on our decency to those who have nothing and on our efforts, successful or not, to make our nation and our world a better place.  And if we cannot accomplish those things in the short time allotted to us, then let them say of us "at least they tried."
You can change the tragedy of foster care and here's how to do it.  We have created this book so that almost all of it can be tweeted out by you to the world.  You have the power to improve the lives of those in our society who are least able to defend themselves.  All you need is the will to do it.
 If the American people, as good, decent and generous as they are, knew what was going on in foster care, in their name and with their money, they would stop it.  But, generally speaking, although the public has a vague notion that foster care is a mess, they don't have the complete picture. They are not aware of the human, economic and social cost that the mismanagement of the foster care system puts on our nation.
By tweeting the facts laid out in this work, you can help to change all of that.  You can make a difference.  You can change things for the better.
We can always change the future for a foster kid; to make it better ...you have the power to do that. Speak up (or tweet out) because it's your country.  Don't depend on the "The other guy" to speak up for these kids, because you are the other guy.
We cannot build a future for foster children, but we can build foster children for the future and the time to start that change is today.

No time to say Goodbye: Memoirs of a life in foster 
Paperbook 440 Books

On the Waterfront: The Making of a Great American Film
Paperback: 416 pages


Scotish Ghost Stories
Paperback 186 pages

The Book of funny odd and interesting things people say
Paperback: 278 pages

The Wee Book of Irish Jokes

Perfect Behavior: A guide for Ladies and Gentlemen in all Social Crises


You Don’t Need a Weatherman. Underground 1969
Paperback 122 pages

Baby Boomers Guide to the Beatles Songs of the Sixties

Baby Boomers Guide to Songs of the 1960s

The Connecticut Irish
Paper back 140 pages

 The Wee Book of Irish Jokes

The Wee Book of Irish Recipes 

 The Wee Book of the American-Irish Gangsters

 The Wee book of Irish Blessings... 

The Wee Book of the American Irish in Their Own Words

Everything you need to know about St. Patrick
Paperback 26 pages

A Reading Book in Ancient Irish History
Paperback 147pages

The Book of Things Irish

Poets and Dreamer; Stories translated from the Irish
Paperback 158 pages

The History of the Great Irish Famine: Abridged and Illustrated
Paperback 356 pages


The New England Mafia

Wicked Good New England Recipes

The Connecticut Irish
Paper back 140 pages

The Twenty-Fifth Regiment Connecticut Volunteers
Paperback 64 pages

The Life of James Mars
Paperback 54 pages

Stories of Colonial Connecticut
Paperback 116 pages

What they Say in Old New England
Paperback 194 pages


Chicago Organized Crime

The Mob Files: It Happened Here: Places of Note in Chicago gangland 1900-2000

An Illustrated Chronological History of the Chicago Mob. Time Line 1837-2000

Mob Buster: Report of Special Agent Virgil Peterson to the Kefauver Committee

The Mob Files. Guns and Glamour: The Chicago Mob. A History. 1900-2000

Shooting the Mob: Organized crime in photos. Crime Boss Tony Accardo

Shooting the Mob: Organized Crime in Photos: The Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre.

The Life and World of Al Capone in Photos

AL CAPONE: The Biography of a Self-Made Man.: Revised from the 0riginal 1930 edition.Over 200 new photographs
Paperback: 340 pages

Whacked. One Hundred Years Murder and Mayhem in the Chicago Outfit
Paperback: 172 pages

Las Vegas Organized Crime
The Mob in Vegas

Bugsy & His Flamingo: The Testimony of Virginia Hill

Testimony by Mobsters Lewis McWillie, Joseph Campisi and Irwin Weiner (The Mob Files Series)

Rattling the Cup on Chicago Crime.
Paperback 264 pages

The Life and Times of Terrible Tommy O’Connor.
Paperback 94 pages

The Mob, Sam Giancana and the overthrow of the Black Policy Racket in Chicago
Paperback 200 pages

When Capone’s Mob Murdered Roger Touhy. In Photos
Paperback 234 pages

Organized Crime in Hollywood
The Mob in Hollywood

The Bioff Scandal
Paperback 54 pages

Organized Crime in New York
Joe Pistone’s war on the mafia

Mob Testimony: Joe Pistone, Michael Scars DiLeonardo, Angelo Lonardo and others

The New York Mafia: The Origins of the New York Mob

The New York Mob: The Bosses

Organized Crime 25 Years after Valachi. Hearings before the US Senate

Shooting the mob: Dutch Schultz

Gangland Gaslight: The Killing of Rosy Rosenthal. (Illustrated)

Early Street Gangs and Gangsters of New York City
Paperback 382 pages

The Russian Mafia in America

The Threat of Russian Organzied Crime
Paperback 192 pages

Organized Crime/General
Best of Mob Stories

Best of Mob Stories Part 2


Mob Recipes to Die For. Meals and Mobsters in Photos

More Mob Recipes to Die For. Meals and Mobs

The New England Mafia

Shooting the mob. Organized crime in photos. Dead Mobsters, Gangsters and Hoods.

The Salerno Report: The Mafia and the Murder of President John F. Kennedy

The Mob Files: Mob Wars. "We only kill each other"

The Mob across America

The US Government’s Time Line of Organzied Crime 1920-1987

Early Street Gangs and Gangsters of New York City: 1800-1919. Illustrated

The Mob Files: Mob Cops, Lawyers and Informants and Fronts

Gangster Quotes: Mobsters in their own words. Illustrated
Paperback: 128 pages

The Book of American-Jewish Gangsters: A Pictorial History.
Paperback: 436 pages

The Mob and the Kennedy Assassination
Paperback 414 pages


The Last Outlaw: The story of Cole Younger, by Himself
Paperback 152 pages

Chicago: A photographic essay.
 Paperback: 200 pages

Boomers on a train: A ten minute play
Paperback 22 pages

Four Short Plays
By John William Tuohy

Four More Short Plays
By John William Tuohy

High and Goodbye: Everybody gets the Timothy Leary they deserve. A full length play
By John William Tuohy

Cyberdate. An Everyday Love Story about Everyday People
By John William Tuohy

The Dutchman's Soliloquy: A one Act Play based on the factual last words of Gangster Dutch Schultz.
By John William Tuohy

Fishbowling on The Last Words of Dutch Schultz: Or William S. Burroughs intersects with Dutch Schultz
Print Length: 57 pages

American Shakespeare: August Wilson in his own words. A One Act Play
By John William Tuohy

She Stoops to Conquer

The Seven Deadly Sins of Gilligan’s Island: A ten minute play
Print Length: 14 pages

OUT OF CONTROL: An Informal History of the Fairfax County Police

McLean Virginia. A short informal history


The Quotable Emerson: Life lessons from the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson: Over 300 quotes

The Quotable John F. Kennedy

The Quotable Oscar Wilde

The Quotable Machiavelli

The Quotable Confucius: Life Lesson from the Chinese Master

The Quotable Henry David Thoreau

The Quotable Robert F. Kennedy

The Quotable Writer: Writers on the Writers Life

The words of Walt Whitman: An American Poet
Paperback: 162 pages

Gangster Quotes: Mobsters in their own words. Illustrated
Paperback: 128 pages

The Quotable Popes
Paperback 66 pages

The Quotable Kahlil Gibran with Artwork from Kahlil Gibran
Paperback 52 pages
Kahlil Gibran, an artist, poet, and writer was born on January 6, 1883 n the north of modern-day Lebanon and in what was then part of Ottoman Empire. He had no formal schooling in Lebanon. In 1895, the family immigrated to the United States when Kahlil was a young man and settled in South Boston. Gibran enrolled in an art school and was soon a member of the avant-garde community and became especially close to Boston artist, photographer, and publisher Fred Holland Day who encouraged and supported Gibran’s creative projects. An accomplished artist in drawing and watercolor, Kahlil attended art school in Paris from 1908 to 1910, pursuing a symbolist and romantic style. He held his first art exhibition of his drawings in 1904 in Boston, at Day's studio. It was at this exhibition, that Gibran met Mary Elizabeth Haskell, who ten years his senior. The two formed an important friendship and love affair that lasted the rest of Gibran’s short life. Haskell influenced every aspect of Gibran’s personal life and career. She became his editor when he began to write and ushered his first book into publication in 1918, The Madman, a slim volume of aphorisms and parables written in biblical cadence somewhere between poetry and prose. Gibran died in New York City on April 10, 1931, at the age of 48 from cirrhosis of the liver and tuberculosis.

The Quotable Dorothy Parker
Paperback 86 pages

The Quotable Machiavelli
Paperback 36 pages

The Quotable Greeks
Paperback 230 pages

The Quotabe Oscar Wilde
Paperback 24 pages

The Quotable Helen Keller
Paperback 66 pages

The Art of War: Sun Tzu
Paperback 60 pages

The Quotable Shakespeare
Paperback 54 pages

The Quotable Gorucho Marx
Paperback 46 pages