SUBJECT: Don’t Ask Me to Save the World. I Can’t Handle the Pressure.

TO: Sender of E-mail
FROM: Keeper of the Universe (that’s me, apparently)

Sweet poetry and guurl power mantras, even squirrels nursing pit bulls. These messages and photos arrive by e-mail on a regular basis.

Love Watermelon Hat, But . . .
Don’t get me wrong. I love receiving them and laugh or go all gooshy upon reading each one. So please continue sending the e-mail, Mom.

What I cringe at and can’t handle is the directive that I forward them on to my friends -- or enemies who need a swift kick in their dark souls.

Instructions to forward, say, a prayer to the dolphins or maybe a kid wearing a watermelon hat also inform me of the effect my action will have.

Sometimes the simple act of forwarding an e-mail will have a positive effect on my karma. Other times, pushing send can mean the difference between world peace and immediate annihilation.

This is me, here, folks. I’m a little unreliable. You should know better than to place such responsibility on my weak and sloping shoulders.

Here’s How It All Goes Down
And it gets worse. I’m told the more friends I forward the miracle of the two-legged dog to, the greater the outcome.

For example:
1 forward = A nice day for my dog Hunter.
2 forwards = Food and water for my dog and my neighbor’s cat--that keeps crapping in my azalea bush, by the way.
3 forwards = A shelter pet will find a loving home within the hour.

And so on, until we reach the magic number 10.

10 forwards = The evil, mocking hyena on those Prey & Predator PBS specials won’t catch the sweet, wobbly-legged newborn antelope.

I really do want to help out the world. I don’t have anything against animals, children, clean water, a soaring stock market, an end to hunger, or finding a way to stop Mel Gibson from opening his mouth.

I’ve Got a Personal Problem and a Solution
My problem is two-fold:
1. I run out of time. I generally read the e-mail long after the time limit has passed and believe the Tibetan monks will have to carry on their struggle to repair that amazing 1,000-year-old rock monastery without me.
2. I don’t have 10 friends. I’m not very popular. What can I say?

Solution Involves You, Dear Reader
Please forward this blog to 10 of your friends, and ask them to be my friend. If you do, you’ll lose 10 pounds, re- grow hair, become fluent in Italian, and prevent the melting of the polar ice caps.

It’s all up to you.

Sometimes a Dead Mouse Falls from the Ceiling: A Morality Tale

We mapped out three places to vacation, first stop being Washington’s Olympic Peninsula.

We secured lodging and decided on one must-do hike.

Other than that, we weren’t quite sure what we’d find along the way. We’re not exactly the great explorers of the 15th century, but we’re not ready for the AARP bus tour either.

Our first night found us in Port Angeles, WA, driving a rented SUV and hungry for seafood.

Spoiler Alert: If you’re ever in this port town and want delicious calamari, DO NOT EAT at Smuggler’s Landing.

A two-story warehouse restaurant on the waterfront looked local, good and cheap. Inside, the place was dark, dead quiet and empty – like maybe all of the customers were tied up in a back room. Dining tables and a blaring ESPN called us upstairs.

On tip-toes, we half-expected to find a crazed waiter waving a gun. Instead, a thump from directly behind, made me whirl and clutch my chest. There on the floor was a twitching, writhing mouse – fallen from the ceiling tiles.

A nerve-damaged rodent isn’t exactly a ringing restaurant endorsement – especially two feet from the kitchen.

I couldn’t help but wonder if all the customers had suffered the same fate –poisoned and tossed to the floor.

A waiter beckoned, but providence directed us away from certain food-borne illness and across the street to another place we’d rejected as too much of a Denny’s look alike.

Turns out, the Port Angeles Crab Shack was perfect: beautiful views, good food, local wine, and not a rat in sight.

Moral: Just try things and if they don’t work out, try something else. But for god’s sake, don’t just lie there and twitch.