Free isn't always Free...... or the tale of 406 W. Washington

We moved in the day my first son was born. June 23, 1979. Well, technically I didn't move anything. I was at the hospital. We were supposed to move in a month before he was born but the due date was wrong. He weighed in at almost 8 pounds, so the due date had to be wrong.

My Mother had gifted me one of my Grandmother's apartment buildings. For FREE!! She even fixed a lot of things up first. She took a grassy lot and had it turned to gravel for a parking lot, all new aluminum siding, all new storms and screens,  a fence with gates all around the yard, new carpet in the hallway, some new bath and showers and a new boiler to heat the building to the tune of about $10,000.

I had just gotten married a few months before and now I have a place to raise my son.

Free isn't always free. I paid about $40,000 in property taxes in the 28 years. Most of that time I was at risk of losing it for non-payment of property taxes. Always had to keep up on that. The Consumers bill ran about $200 a month (on average for heat) for a total of $67,200. $28,000 for water and $10,000 for garbage service. That was just for the regular bills. That doesn't include maintenance and improvements. I was always buying stoves, refrigerators  water heater, paint, plumbing, etc. 

Even though she made a ton of improvements on the property, there was always something that needed fixing. Carpet needed replacement, plumbing broke, the roof leaked, the basement flooded, walls always needed to be painted, plaster cracked, the plumbing always clogged up, etc. There was always something.

On the other end of the issues I had to learn to rent to folks, collect rent, enforce the lease, etc. Tenants were always breaking things like appliances, windows, door locks, etc. They fought with each other. They fought with me. They had domestic violence issues. A few went to jail. More than a few went to jail. One went to prison.

It was quite a ride for 28 years. I am not sure that I ever met the perfect tenant. They all had issues, as did I. I was a victim of domestic violence, so they all tolerated our crap too.  The stories that unfolded between 1979 and 2008 could fill a book. I ran into all kinds of folks. Some that I would rather not ever see again.

I had 3 sons in a pretty quick period of time. I raised them there. We planted trees, hung laundry on the line, they played in the sandbox, rode bikes down the hill, planted a garden and walked the dogs. It was home. I had painted each wall about 5 times before it was over.

Ten years into it, I filed for divorce. In court, the judge asked me and my husband how much improvement he had done on the building in 10 years. We both answered the same. He had laid a stick down floor in one bathroom and dropped a ceiling in another. That was it. I had done the rest. The judge gave me the building.

The City of Jackson has the right to inspect rental properties every 2 years (or something along those lines). They were behind on getting around so they had not come ever. Right after I filed for divorce they sent me a notice that there would be an inspection. I had to feed three growing boys so I tried to fight it but that didn't work. The inspector came and wrote me up for about 15 pages of violations. All of them had to be fixed by a licensed contractor. There was a lot. I proceeded to knock them off one at a time and would have to go to City Hall to explain what I had gotten done and ask for more time for the rest of the list. Each time it would take a few hours to wait your turn to see the board to ask for more time. This went on for a few years. Maybe three. Every extra dollar I had went into trying to fix up one more thing on the list. It finally got to me. I went up to the inspectors office to ask for some kind of hold. I could not do this constantly anymore while trying to raise three children alone. It was weighing on me heavy. I started crying, from the frustration and he said, "Let me see if I can help." He called a church that had a group of retired volunteers that came to my house and knocked off the rest of the list for no charge. How sweet was that? We were done!!

They came back every two years and did it again. Eventually I got an inspection with no violations. They usually charge for the inspection and on that one it said, because you did so good there is no charge.

Well, I was plodding along still trying to keep the FREE house up and running. I had paid the heat, garbage and water bill for 28 years. Tenants started to  take advantage of me and let all their friends use my washer and dryer (while I worked for 12 hours a day), they moved in numerous friends that had no place to go, some of my stuff was taken and the economy was starting to take a dump. It was getting very difficult for me to keep my head above water. I had moved to the smallest studio apartment that had no working kitchen (it had been gutted) and no real bathroom to speak of. I ate out for 6 years and took a shower in the apartment below me. It was getting bad. I just could really no longer keep this up. I tried.

Anxiety set in and found myself in bed and could not get up and did not know why. The pressure had taken it's toll and I had full blown sciatica pain and uncontrollable anxiety. I could not go to work. I could not stand up. I laid in bed and tried to figure out how to deal with this one. One day I thought, if I own this house free and clear I could go to the bank and get a loan on it. Then fix myself and go back to work. That is what I did but no bank wanted to talk to me. I talked to friends and ended up with an "unconventional loan" that required no proof of income. Things were looking up. This might just work.

I did not like the original terms of that loan so I answered an ad for another one. The ad asked the question..."Are you not happy with your current mortgage?" That is when I ran into the smooth talking predatory lender. I had no idea there was such a thing. I don't think anyone else did either. That is where the real mess started.

I kept getting paperwork in the mail that the unconventional loan had changed hands. I did not understand it at the time but what are you gonna do. They were playing musical chairs with the loans. It was right before the mortgage crash.  

Late 2007 I had a tenant that had been there for 10 years and always paid me on time, go to jail. It was not easy but I bailed him out, got him a job and helped him so he could help me. I thought I was going to make it but the bank had a different plan.

I was getting behind. In everything. I could not keep up. I was in too deep. Being a proud independent woman, I maintained the thought, "I got this!!"

Well, I didn't.

The servicing company and I had many conversations. Most of them heated. Someone about once a month pulled in the driveway and took a photo of my house. I was a month or so behind and had to figure out something. In the mail I got some of those checks from your credit card company. I still had good credit. I filled one out for the two months payment and mailed it. It did not get recorded on the payments. I was wondering what happened when the next bill came and it was those two months and another one added to it. I called to see what happened to the check. The answer was that they don't accept payments from a  credit card. So, I asked what I was supposed to do now. They said send the full amount to us. So, I mailed a check with the full amount. It got returned a few weeks later attached to a letter that said, "We no longer accept your personal checks because you are in default." I was in default because they refused to cash the credit card check.

Meanwhile, I am working my ass off sewing, Trying to rent an apartment. The economy is crashing fast. The tenants that I had could not pay because they had lost their job. I am now on anti anxiety drugs.

When my personal check got sent back I had another conversation with the servicing company and asked what I can do, really. I was not trying to lose my home. She informed me that I would have to send a cashiers check via registered mail by a certain date for  the total amount of $3000 something. I worked hard. I was determined to do this. Every time I got a significant amount of cash I went and got a cashiers check and laid it on my desk until I got the total amount. I mailed it off on the right day and waited for the past due balance to be documented that it was paid. A couple weeks went by and I still saw no evidence that it was taken off. I called to see what was up.

A woman on the other end of the line asked how she could help me and let me know it was being recorded for training purposes. I asked her to look up and make sure that the payment was recorded. A few minutes went by and she came back on and said that she found no record of a payment by me. A year of frustration had built up in me and my response to her was, "What the FUCK are you talking about? I sent that in two weeks ago." She got kinda snippy and asked me if I just used foul language with her. I said, "Yes I fucking did." She then stated that tonight when I lay my head down to sleep I should have a little talk with Jesus about my attitude. THAT fucking pissed me right the fuck off. There was now smoke coming out of my ears. I think my comment to her was that she is the one that better be having a talk with Jesus tonight for participating in stealing my home.

A week or so later a letter came in the mail. It was a brief letter. Attached to the top edge of it was the 4 cashiers checks that I had sent them. The letter said......"We requested one cashiers check, not 4."

It was cold that Spring night. I went down in the basement to kick start the boiler that always acted up. It would not start. I looked under it where the burners were to see if it had the pilot light on and saw a pile of wet insulation plopped on the burners. I think it was done and would cost me thousands to replace.

I gave up after 28 years and started packing. I had six months to get out.

 I learned a lot from my Mother. Some of it by her teaching me, some must have been genetic  and some just by observation. A large part of who I am, came directly from her. There were times, when I was a teen that I just thought she was a pain in my ass but mostly I looked up to her.

She was an independent cuss and very outspoken and opinionated. Are you seeing the similarities already? She ran her own business. Always made it on her own, with no help from the Government. She was a constant volunteer for the betterment of her community. She was a Girl Scout Leader and a Cub Scout Den Mother. We lived behind the scout office and she even volunteered to store the semi load of Girl Scout cookies for the whole county every year. It filled the whole first floor for a week or so.

She was raised in Jackson on the quiet little corner of First and W. Washington. My Grandmother owned two apartment buildings there that had about 15 units each. The City of Jackson took them down in the 60's to put the road around downtown. There is a mailbox there now. She graduated JHS in 1948 and was sent to Stephens College in Missouri to learn to cook and sew so she could find herself a good man. Well, she did. My Father is from St. Louis. He was going to a college near hers. They got married and had two children and then moved to Jackson the year I was born.

She cooked and sewed and had 4 children. Everything seemed alright until she signed up to go to college in Ypsi. She wanted a teaching degree. She went while we were in school. She became a sub and worked Hunt School while I attended there. I can't give you the reason for the divorce but rumor is he did not want her to work. He wanted a housewife. She wanted to do stuff outside of the home. The divorced about 1969.

She always had a sewing machine out and actually used the Bishop method of sewing. Must have been something they learned in college. I grew up reading the Bishop Method book that she had and wanted to do everything in it. Our existence was old school and she cooked three meals a day. I learned to cook from her also. Mostly I baked things from scratch. Cookies, cakes, brownies, bread, pies and anything else I could make a mess of.

She believed in giving us a sense of accomplishment and independence too. We all had bikes and no boundaries  I learned the street names in Jackson by riding everywhere. She let me paint my room any color I wanted any time I wanted. I could sew anything and use all her stuff. She made some of our clothing.

I started acting up a little in high school. Drinking, smoking Pot, skipping school a little, talking back. Normal stuff. She hardly ever disciplined me harshly. She usually let me stew in my own guilt and that fixed that.

She opened an art gallery on Michigan Ave in the Eastern end of the Ionia. Hand in Hand Gallery. I worked there in the 70's. Her and my Step-Father opened a screen printing shop on South St. and I worked there for them also. Hand in Hand Graphics.

At about 50 years young she got diagnosed with breast cancer. She wanted to take her yearly trek to Syracuse, NY to a fire truck convention of some sort, so she put off treatment. She told us when she got back and proceeded to have chemo done. Lost her hair, etc. Later it came back and it was time for the trip again. She put it off again. Didn't even tell her husband. When they got back she told him and later us and had a radical mastectomy soon after that. I don't recall all the details. It was over 28 years ago and I had three young sons. They were 1, 3 and 5 when she passed away. She was only 53. It was a very sad time and very hard to deal with. She hand wrote her own will and in the will she gave my Step-Father my Grandmother's estate. It included about 9 apartment buildings. My Grandmother was still alive.

 Right when she got diagnosed, the first time, she handed me a safe deposit box key and just said, "You will know what to do when the time comes."  I didn't expect her to go anytime soon and I was really busy with my children so I put it in a box of papers that ended up in a storage closet. A little bitty key. They day after she passed my Step-Father asked me to come see him and he wanted possession of the key. I asked him what he was going to do with whatever it was. We both did not know what was in there. He said he wanted to bring the contents to his file cabinet. I said I would meet him in the morning at the bank. I went home and thought about it and something didn't seem right. She was barely gone and he wanted the key NOW. Her words kept ringing in my head. "You will know what to do." Well, she knew I was a cuss. She trained me. She also knew I was the most honest and not self serving. I was torn about it. I did what I thought I had to do to protect whatever she knew was in there that she wanted me to deal with and not her husband. God, what a task I took on. I did not know this would be this hard. I went down first thing in the morning to the bank. I signed in and went to the box.

I opened it and sat at a table to see what the big deal was. All I remember that was in the box was some Consumers Power stock papers. My Step-Father's family started the company. Might have been something of his. I did not know but I did not think that is why she gave me the key. There was no cash, coins, jewelry or other valuables. I assumed the stock was valuable but it wasn't mine. The only other thing was my Grandmother's will. I was young and wondered what the heck I was supposed to do with that. I took the will, locked the box back up and went straight to the court building and filed it in probate court. I went out to my Step-Father's home and let him know what I did and he got pissed. Really pissed. I had to leave pretty quick. Later in the day my brother came to my house in a huff and demanded the key. I relinquished it. I no longer needed it. I never felt like I did the wrong thing. She gave me her key to her box and told me that I would know what to do. I think I did what she intended.

Grandma's will, that I filed in Probate Court, clearly said that if her only daughter predeceased her that the Grandchildren would inherit the estate. We all got our own apartment building and a quarter of two others after she passed.

I only did what she taught me to do, what she sort of asked me to do and no one is happy with me. Nobody!!

I was going to only explain the good stuff in respect for her life and the legacy she gave me. I loved my Mom. I miss my Mom. She meant a lot to me. I volunteer...just like her. I sew...just like her. I fight every day for survival...just like her. Sometimes I just wish she would have pre-thought what giving me that key would do to the rest of the relationships. It really messed them up.

My only peace is, that my Grandmother would have wanted it that way. My Mom did, I guess. My siblings should not be real pissed because they all got a quarter of the estate. If my Step-Father is upset then he is just wrong. It wasn't his. He barley talked to my Grandmother. He hasn't talked to me since the day after my Mom passed.

I am thankful for all that she did teach me. I do have fond memories. The one thing I am bummed about is that she was put to ashes and I don't have them, so I really don't have somewhere to go talk to her. You know, like go the grave sight and sit and talk to her. There was no funeral, by her request. I was given none of her belongings. No photos, no letters, not even her sewing books. My Sister got all that.

I am not sure how to end this because even though 28 years have passed, I feel open ended. There was never any closure. Just an abrupt end to anything that had to do with family. So I guess I will just.........

Nostradamus Triangle

 I have sat within the Nostradamus Triangle and I feel qualified to vouch for the reality of the magical powers of it. There was a time when I would have doubted it but I am convinced now of the power of the triangle.

It all started when I rented an apt. to a nice guy named Scott. He was harmless but he had a tad of schizophrenia. I never ran into anyone quite like him. He is very talented in many ways. He claimed to be a gourmet cook and proved it to me by cooking me many meals. He trashed out the kitchen but that was OK. He knows all landscaping plant life, mulch and grass by their Latin names. He would walk into my shop when I had a fashion, color or style issue and solve it with ease. The drawback to all this talent was that he self medicated with Vodka. Lots of Vodka.

Well, it was about to be his birthday in a month or so. He started warning me then that he would not be leaving his apt. that day. Ever!! I would tease him and ask, "What if you Mom or Sister calls to wish you happy birthday?" (He had no phone so they called me to talk to him) His answer was, "You don't get it, I will not be talking to anyone or leaving my apt." He warned me for weeks. His birthday was on the 13th and this year it would fall on Friday. He had lived through a few of them on Friday and he knew the consequences and did not want to involve others in the mayhem. He was protecting me from what may come.

The day before his birthday I was still teasing him that he was silly to worry about Friday the 13th stuff. I worked hard that day and near 10 pm I went out into the back yard to have a glass of wine and relax. When I walked out into the yard, there sat Scott already relaxing into his first Martini. He had lit his Tiki torches and placed them in a triangle around the gathering of chairs. I just sat down to enjoy the evening and he asked me how I liked the Nostradamus Triangle. He always liked to seem like he knew something the rest of us didn't get. I asked him what the heck he was talking about. He said he knew it was almost Midnight on the eve of his birthday and he wanted to be protected if he was going to leave his room.

 I did not believe the Friday the 13th crap or the need for protection but I went along because the dancing flames were relaxing. It was such a nice night. Next thing we knew 3 police officers came toward us with long guns out and in position to shoot. That was something I had never experienced before. Ever!!! They were looking for our closest next door neighbor that had threatened to kill her ex-husband that day. She wasn't home. One of her teen sons had committed suicide a while back and she had his ashes in a guitar case for the remains. Her other son at the instructions of the ex came over earlier that day and took the ashes. It was the deceased Son's birthday and it appears everyone wanted to be close to him. She came home and found the case gone and threatened to kill the ex. They were looking for her.

After that incident and some discussion about what the heck just happened....everyone tried to calm down and pour another drink. Scott in the meantime was mentioning the virtues of sitting on the inside of the Nostradamus Triangle and how we were protected from any harm in there. We were somewhat skeptical but listened.

Just when the conversation gets back to normal (as normal as it can with a mental patient) we hear rustling of the grass in the small wooded area behind my house. It was coming towards us. The guy ended up standing right outside the triangle and looked us in the eye with the most freaked out look I ever saw. Something was gravely wrong. After he stopped for a second he moved on. We were so disturbed by the look on his face but had no clue what would make a person look like that. About 5 minutes later 4-5 police officers approach us with guns and flashlights. They were coming through the woods also. What the heck? They came up just outside the triangle and asked us, "Which way did he go?" He went that a way ------>. By the way may we ask what he did? We were informed that at the end of the street next to us he went in to try and buy drugs and the deal went bad and he got shot. Oh great!! Wonderful!! We all looked at each other and thought maybe we should go in now. It was not really safe out there. Scott convinced us that we were perfectly safe in the triangle. Anything could go on around us but we would not be harmed. We were starting to believe him. Two different incidents that I have never experienced before and all within an hour or two. I was also starting to believe the Friday the 13th stuff.

Well he assured us that all was well within the triangle so we stayed and poured another drink. Ahhhhhhhhh

Then all of a sudden a huge SUV police vehicle with lights and strobes flashing pulls in the driveway. Lit up the place pretty good. The officer gets out with his dog. I guess they were tracking the bloody guy. They found blood in my driveway. They all went to the South of there and left the SUV running. Because we were slightly drunk by now and found all this very humorous we stayed out there in the triangle to see the action. Stupid, I know. We should have gone in long ago. 

Half hour later all the officers come walking back with the dog and open the SUV door to load the dog. Scott gets up and walks towards them. Mind you he had been drinking straight up Vodka all night. He also has now left the triangle. Oh shit what is he thinking? He goes up to the very official officers and thanked them for the awesome light and strobe show.

It was time for me to go in now. I have had about all I could handle.

I was about 8 the first time that I experienced the "Bear Hunt". It was always so magical for me. It felt so great in my heart, that it was my Dad that was up there leading the room full of scouts in the group participation part of the Pack Meeting. 

If you have never done the Bear Hunt I am not sure I can fully explain but the leader starts off telling a story about going on a bear hunt. He takes the audience through the tall grass, the river, the forest, etc. They all participate by swishing through the tall grass, splashing as they cross the river, climb a tree, etc. Then they eventually find a bear and in unison they need to go back through all the stuff they just went through to get out of there, real fast. Trying to get away from the bear. My Dad is 6'7" and very impressive on the stage while leading the scouts and their parents on a Bear Hunt. He was very good at it. Everyone in the room played along. I might have not been focused all during the Pack Meeting but he had my attention at this time. 

It had been years since I had the joy of experiencing this. I had 3 sons and they joined Scouts. I became one of the adults that helped plan the pack meetings. At one point I asked the others on the board if we could do a bear hunt. I wanted one of the Dads to do it so I could sit in the audience and watch. I wanted so bad to feel that feeling again. I guess I thought it would bring back memories. 

It was kind of a let down for me. It wasn't the same. It wasn't magical. It wasn't my Dad.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ytc0U2WAz4s

Remind me to tell you about the night we sat in the Nostradamus Triangle...

That's my Dad!!

My father is quite a man. He has many great qualities and a few I don't care for. He was originally from St. Louis, Mo. My Mother attended college near there and they met around 1950. They married and had two children there. When my Grandfather (in Jackson) passed away in 1955 my Grandmother offered to purchase a home in Jackson, if they would move here. If not for that sweet deal I would have most likely grown up in St. Louis area. 

From all I knew he was a great Dad. He is a handsome man and very tall. Some said he looked like Anthony Quinn. He provided for the family as a plumber. He entertained with slide shows of family photos in the living room. He was a well respected Boy Scout leader for Troop 310 at Bloomfield Elementary School. He could fix stuff. He kept the home in good repair. We were a typical happy family in the 1950'-60's. I don't remember him drinking at all. Never drugs!! I never heard a harsh word in the home. Just a hard working  straight up kind of man that drove a station wagon with the wood on the side. A family man. A civic minded man. 

Everything was just perfect.....until one day. The day I can still see clearly in my memory. We pulled up to the Burger Chef on Brown St. for our once a month or so treat to fast food. It was a new thing then. I remember the parking space we occupied. It was about 1969 and I still remember the parking space. He ran in to get the burgers and fries and as soon as he got out of the station wagon, my Mom turned around to the 4 children in the back seat and said, "I just wanted you to know we are getting a divorce."  

Mind you I never recalled a fight or a harsh word. WHAT?? A divorce. That is it? He just packed his personal belongings and moved to a little apartment. We barely got to visit it. I don't remember it at all. 

Within a year he invited us all to his wedding at the Greek Church. It was really strange for me. That is MY Dad. It didn't matter. He was moving on. We got invited to his home with his new family about twice a year. All I remember is the Christmas visits. We had to get all dressed up for company and they didn't seem to. I had 3 new Step-Sisters and a new Step-Mom. A few years later I had a new half brother too. It was awkward, for me anyway. I just tried to do the best that I could do. I tried to keep communication but it just kept getting less and less. Soon it was down to nothing. I figured out one day that he had never dialed my phone number. I was always the one that called him. It didn't seem right. 

I met a guy and decided to get married in 1979. I wanted my Father to know that I was getting married but because of very little communication and the fact that I was working for my Mom and Step-Father, I asked my Step-Father to walk me down the isle. I did not want to see my Father in the front row bothered by that choice, so I sent him an invitation with no time or date on it. Just an announcement. At the time I thought it was OK. Looking back it might have been passive aggressive. I was so young and hurt and naive that I really thought I had made the best choice for the situation that I was dealing with. It hurt him and I know it now. 

Time went on and the distance got further. I had a son and took him to go see him. He seemed interested, somewhat. When I got home from the visit I found a $50 bill in the baby carrier. 

Soon there was no communication. Nothing. Not a word. 

I was teaching Sunday School at the church that I attended and they  had a meeting for Summer Camp. They said it would be held at Camp McGregor for the whole week. That is the camp that I knew he ran. I almost backed out but I decided to be strong and go. All week I was in a small cabin with some Elementary school age kids teaching them love and forgiveness. Meanwhile, Mr. Jamieson would walk the grounds and pass the cabin and never say hi. The last day of camp we met in the big mess hall. The whole group was singing songs. Happy songs. Church songs. My seat was by the kitchen. Near the end of the gathering he walked in the building and went into the kitchen. I held my hand out. He held mine. He asked me what I wanted. I said to him that I knew he was a good person and so was I and I don't understand the distance. I was asking him if we could go talk about it. You know, try and be a Father and Daughter. His answer was, "You will have to go up to the house and talk to my wife and ask her if it is OK. If she says yes, then I will." I had to leave. Right now!! I grabbed my 3 sons and put them in the car and drove down the driveway. I left my smashed heart on the parking lot. I was so hurt. A lifetime of hurts. I cried and drove all the way home. Go talk to your wife?? I did not understand that at all. Turns out (I was informed) that his wife had told him that her kids were his "family" now and his children were not. He spent over 30 years with little or no communication with us. 

I do feel that this has affected my relationships. 

She passed away a few years ago and soon after that a package came in the mail for me from him. I had no idea what that would be. I opened it and everything was wrapped in newspaper. I reached in and took an item in my hand and unwrapped it carefully and could not believe my eyes. He had sent me the ceramic Christmas decorations that his Mom had handmade. The ones that every holiday I had taken down from the attic storage right after Thanksgiving and placed them with love on the top of the TV in the room where the children hung out. There was a ceramic tree with the little lights on it, Santa and 8 winged choir kids singing Christmas songs. I remember rearranging it daily to put them in different spots. He had taken it with him when he moved out. I had not seen them since. 

They now have a prominent spot in my home every Christmas. 

He is 84 and we talk once in a while. I send him the calendar that I make every year and he sends me a Christmas card that says....Love Dad

My inspiration....

I have wanted to write for years now but I always struggled with what the message would be. I didn't want it to be just me ranting about events in my life. I wanted what I wrote to have a purpose. Something to learn from it and maybe if you read what happened to me, you might not have to go through it yourself.

I opened a book by my bedside by Dalai Lama for inspiration. I told myself that the first page I opened to would be the message for me to base the stories on. The first one I opened to is.....

If you are a teacher, try not to merely transmit knowledge, but try at the same time to awaken your students' minds to basic human qualities such as kindness, compassion, forgiveness and understanding. Do not communicate these as though they were the reserve of ethics or religion. Show them that these qualities are indispensable for the happiness and survival of everyone. 

Then I thought to myself wow, that was really good what if I try another......

One family influences another, and then another, then ten, a hundred, and a thousand, and thus the whole of society will be better off. 

I bet I would like most of what Dalai Lama has to say, so to keep it simple I decided to use three of the quotes to base the writing of my life stories on.....

It is important to examine our suffering, to find out where it has come from and if possible to cause it to dissolve. Usually, we do not think we have any share of responsibility in bringing about our own problems. Invariably, they are blamed on someone or something else. But I doubt that this is always the case. We are a bit like students who have failed an exam and who refuse to admit that if they had worked harder they would have been able to pass it. We get angry at so-and -so or proclaim that circumstances conspired against us. But don't things become even worse when this mental suffering is added to the initial difficulty?

Out of 365 different quotes by Mr. Lama, these three were chosen at random. The first three I came to as I opened the book. I think you will see them as very appropriate for the writings.