‘We need a little Christmas.’ Why I’m working hard right this minute to make Christmas 2011 the best ever.

Posted on September 26, 2011 by Howard Martell

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September 26, 2011 | Author: Jeffrey Lant | Posted in Dr. Jeffrey Lant’s Article Archive

By Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author’s program note. Every year, it seems, the opening date for Christmas marketing creeps forward, adding days, not just hours, to the already lengthy selling season. This year my cadre of Christmas watchers reported seasonal catalog and store sightings as early as Labor Day, September 8 . But you can count on this: as people worldwide read this article, they will surely report even earlier sightings. This happens every year… and as it does one of the interminable debates of our times reignites: when is this much too much Christmas?
Ask this query in a crowded room and, hey presto, there will be pandemonium, mayhem, and strident calls for the public lynching of the people who so tamper with and wantonly extend the most important and revered holiday of the year. Christmas creep is here… and you have an opinion on this matter; I’m sure of that. Everybody does.
Christmas is the promised land — for merchants everywhere. That’s the problem.
Christmas purists, and their number is legion, never tire of beating up the merchants who are, they aver, at the bottom of Christmas creep. From this moment of the year forward, a large percentage of Americans will get up on any soap box to hand and excoriate, insult, belittle and besmirch people who earlier in the year they knew and attested to be good, hard-working, service-providing, tax-paying citizens. But where Christmas creep is the issue, truth and justice are early casualties.
People will creep… it’s as American as apple pie.
Know any folks from California? Or Oklahoma? I do. They are some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. They are also the descendants of creepers.
Take California for instance. There a grand gentleman named John Augustus Sutter was peacefully minding his own business when James W. Marshall on January 24, 1848 discovered gold on Sutter’s land, at Sutter’s Mill, near Sacramento. The nation didn’t say, “Good for you, Mr. Sutter.” No way. Instead they took to creeping on to old man Sutter’s land, a little bit here, a little bit there… until the creepers had everything and Mr. Sutter had nothing but lawsuits and a footnote in history. A little bit of gold in them thar hills and a whole lot of creeping got us the State of California, and that’s a fact.
Or consider the folks in Oklahoma. They’re not called Sooners for nothing. In 1889, the federal government organized the great land rush, whereby folks who wanted land could get it free by racing for it against other land-hungry folks. Problem is, a good many of the wanters couldn’t be bothered to wait… and so they crept out early and grabbed the good stuff. Yup, they were creepers and some of the best families of the state started that way, and that, too, is a fact. Creeping pays, and only a Grinch would disagree.
But Grinches proliferate the closer Christmas comes and its insistent, unrelenting messages.
Although there have been plenty of Grinches in our history, lives, and culture, the actual character debued in the 1957 children’s book by Dr. Seuss, who was by all accounts a Grinch himself. It was titled “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” and was adopted into a popular television special in 1966. In an instant people with anti-holiday spirit and growly disposition were indelibly tagged as partisans of that scowling hermit with green fur, red eyes, and boots who lives in an isolated cave near Whoville.
Now exuberant Christmas lovers had just what they needed to characterize and lambast the nay sayers, “Don’t be a Grinch,” causing the justly labeled Grinches to writhe and squirm. Just as they deserve. We all know it’s fun — and de rigueur — to pick on each and every Grinch we know.
It’s a question of dates.
After the fall in 1815 of Napoleon and his gimcrack empire, a peace conference was convened in Vienna to divvy up the spoils. Participants included Russia, England, Prussia, Austria and — drum roll — the France now ruled again by its Bourbon dynasty and represented by the Prince de Talleyrand. One day Tsar Alexander I of Russia, who always made such a bad impression as he rattled on about God and morality, was being particularly insufferable on the matter of how to divide the Kingdom of Saxony, which had, in his imperial view, stayed loyal to Napoleon a little too long. Its king, he insisted, should be losing half his country, or more.
Talleyrand, polished, aristocratic to his manicured fingertips, the ultimate cynic and realist, scanned his colleagues, each of whom (but the English) had made deals with Bonaparte, and renigged on them, snapped out that toxic phrase, “That, sire, is a question of dates.”
And so it is with our Scrooges, our Grinches.
The person who wants no Christmas festivities at all, just strict, gloomy adherence to what they suppose has been ordained and sanctified…. are Scrooges to the people who want the Christmas season to exist for a day or two, but not more. These, in turn, get dubbed as Grinches by those who want more… and there are always those who do. And so it goes…
… merchants trying (especially nowadays) to make up for one punk month after another, delving deeper into the calendar….
… thereby fueling yelps of outrage and righteousness from folks who raise the cry of too much self-seeking commercialism too early…
… thereby forcing those who might even agree in theory, to push the adamant seasonal marketing forward and forward again, as an act of mercantile preservation and profit.
Each says, “Enough is enough”; each points fingers and mouths frantic imprecations; each postures, preens, pouts, and always acts and speaks as if truth lived in their house and only their house. So there!
Whoa! The baby at the center of Christmas has indeed been thrown out with the bath water, and this will never do. Thus some thoughts of reconciliation, offered humbly and with trepidation.
Christmas has had a significant commercial aspect since the three wise men of the Orient, who came so far and at such inconvenience, approached the manger and offered their expensive presents. Did they just happen to find such offerings — gold, frankincense, and myrrh — in their saddlebags? Doubtful. More likely, they had gone shopping at one of the great bazaars along the way; such bazaars, blazing with the riches of the rich lands of the East, were the malls of their times… even unto parking their camels, always malodorous and mean spirited. In such a place, even the most fastidious desires of the most demanding could be met, including those who shopped for the King of Kings, for whom they employed their most discriminating tastes and ample means, never rushed. Thus, commercialism and Christmas go hand in hand… as they always have.
These suggestions will help you cope with and better enjoy this best of all holidays:
1) Let every man set his own acceptable level for just the amount of Christmas he desires. A laissez faire attitude is not just useful, but mandatory. Stop worrying about whether the man next door is asking too much or too little from the holiday and instead concentrate on making yours the best ever.
2) Leave the merchants alone. They have had a bad year; even if we think they are going over board, let them get on with it without our jeremiads, lamentations and snide remarks. Where would we be at Christmas, after all, without them?
3) Remember Henry Ford II’s celebrated line, “Never complain, never explain”. Since the very inception of Christmas the Thought Police have attempted to coerce uniformity. Mr. Ford was right… you owe it to no one and nobody to adhere; simply believe in your own way and style. As the song says, “Have yourself a merry little Christmas…”
4) Select a few of your favorite Christmas carols and seasonal preferences and load them into your audio player. You’ll be a lot happier when you enter some establishment with music you detest, no matter how venerable, if you can hear the tunes you particularly like.
And one more thing, whether the Christmas you celebrate is long or short, the single day itself, or the 12 days with five gold rings and lords a-leaping, or something else altogether, remember this: the gift you should most give and be most fortunate to receive is love… it is the only true and essential element. All else pales beside it.
* * * * *
About The Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Republished with author’s permission by Howard Martell http://HomeProfitCoach.com . Check out Massive Traffic Ultimatum -> http://www.HomeProfitCoach.com/?rd=sk9BRJWy

‘We need a little Christmas.’ Why I’m working hard right this minute to make Christmas 2011 the best ever.

Posted on September 25, 2011

By Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. I was young then, blessed with that overflowing feeling of high animal spirits and joy to the world. It was 1967, I was in New York City for the first time, about to sail to Europe on the SS Aurelia  … The future seemed boundless, was boundless, and I had only good wishes and to spare for everyone, everywhere.

The only snare was that I couldn’t get tickets for “Mame” (music and lyrics by Jerry Herman); the hit musical based on one of my mother’s favorite books, “Auntie Mame” by Patrick Dennis (1955). Bummer. But not down hearted I somehow managed to get a program and discovered when Angela Lansbury, the star, the toast of Broadway, was likely to leave the Winter Garden Theatre. .. and just where I could stand for the best chance of getting her autograph.
I well recall the moment she came out the stage door, she was smaller than she appeared on stage… and I remember how the collar of her coat brushed against my cheek… and her scent as she bent down to autograph the program, a little crushed in my hand. It was lush, seductive, delicious…  And I was happy…

I have that program still, in good condition, too, a reminder when the song I’ve chosen for today’s theme music — “We need a little Christmas” — was just a peppy, high-stepping, belt-it-out number, not an absolute need for all of us. Start, however, by going to any search engine… get the tune… then let ‘er rip… it’s going to get your blood going, your feet tapping, and maybe even bring a tear to your eye, you sentimental softie you…

“For I’ve grown a little leaner, Grown a  little colder, Grown a little sadder, Grown a little older!”
These words pretty much sum up events since that magic moment at the door of the Winter Garden Theatre — and I don’t merely mean for you and me, either. I mean for America and for our deeply troubled world. And that is why I am already at work to ensure this Christmas in this year of general dismay and gloom is the best ever. We need it — for the good of home, hearth, soul, and, yes, the economy.  I began this week.

It is September 25, 2011 as I write, and my dear and valued helpers, Aime Joseph and his soothing wife Mercedes, have commenced Operation Christmas. We started with a herculean task meant to occur twice each year but often “forgotten” — polishing the silver. It is arduous, it is wearying, it is dull… and it is a necessary deed in creating the “wow factor” that is such an essential part of Christmas for me and mine.
The question is, why have we started so early… just what are we doing it for?

Over the last few years I have noticed the inception and development of an invidious trend in me and many others: scaling back, pruning, diminishing the high festival of Christmas. This is a very bad thing… and this year I decided to take constructive action before I bear an even closer approximation to Ebenezer Scrooge. This called for drastic action… and my better self answered the call.
Unmarried, no (known) children.  Katie Segal made a fortune on “Married with Children”(1987) in which she played the ultimate suburban vulgarian wife, Peg. She thought the holiday was for maxing out her credit cards and causing pain to her hapless bills-paying husband. It was funny… because, of course, we weren’t like Peg, no way. But we are… and not, I hasten to add, because we enjoy the consumer aspect of the event.
I have always thought the sanctimonious folks who decry the blatant commercialism of Christmas and seek to revert to prior usages, pure and holy, misread the original text and allowed themselves to be hoodwinked by Puritans. Now, lest you think I am anti-Puritan, be aware I am of Puritan heritage myself. And it pains me to admit, the Puritans got Christmas all wrong and missed its message.
The culprit in the matter was Oliver Cromwell, a man who, saying enough is enough, helped King Charles I to eternity in 1649 through the simple expedient (as Charles told his horrified children) by separating His Majesty’s head from His Majesty’s body. The Lord Protector, more powerful than most kings, then lead an effort to root out all vestiges of the traditional high-living English Christmas. And so for 10 years (until his successor son Richard got kicked out in 1659) Cromwell and company worked to make everyone just as miserable and gloomy at Christmas as possible. That was the right and proper thing to do.

For instance, zealous Puritans, rigid, unbending, inflexible, muffed the matter of the Three Wise Men, princes of the Orient. Each, if you’ll recall,  brought the Christ child very expensive gifts. These included gold (imagine if they’d held it), frankincense and myhrr. Unless these royalties just happened to have some extra gifts in their treasure trove (possible, but unlikely) each had to make a trip to the bazaar (which is what people called malls in those days) to scrutinize what was available and mull over their options.
This is exactly what the non-kingly people do nowadays at Christmas, parking their cars (easier to handle than malodorous camels which spit), returning over and over to get just the right gift, the gift that will say loudly and clearly, “I care.” So, where’s the problem? Christmas, in short, has had a pronounced commercial aspect from the first moment. People  should get over it and get on with the real business of the event: love!
Whether you consider the matter from the vantage point of God to man — “For God so loved the world that he gave  his only begotten son” (John 3:16) —
… or from the vantage point of human relations, the fact is that Christmas is the prime event of every year based on, all about, and dedicated to love. And we humans after this storm-tossed year should embrace the event and enjoy it for what it is: a chance to love one another, be kind to each other, embrace our diversity, and give the embedded rancors of our deeply fissured planet a rest… even if we know, as we do, they’ll be back in the new year. Even a little solace helps. We need it, we must have it, and we deserve it.
And because I have been, shall we say, neglectful both about giving and taking love, I have a huge love deficit to make up for… and so Christmas 2011 must be done right in every nuance and detail…  and this takes time, care, and thoughtfulness.
Cleaning the silver is just the beginning.
And then like the score says, “Candles in the window/Carols at the spinet.”
And gifts for all… and not merely anything grabbed at the eleventh hour Christmas Eve either… for the gift must be as special as the beloved who gets it…
All this takes time… meticulous attention to detail… and, most of all, love…
And it is this love, in short supply in years past, suppressed, which is the most important thing of all… This year will be different, for this year that love  will flow without stint…  as a resolute declaration to everyone, everywhere that this is a place where humanity is made welcome and where we know the true meaning of Christmas… and mean to have it! Share it! And renew it…
Knowing this, can you wonder why I am starting so early here? The wonder is that you have not commenced early, for your need is pressing, too.
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Republished with author’s permission by Howard Martell http://HomeProfitCoach.com . Check out Massive Traffic Ultimatum ->  http://www.HomeProfitCoach.com/?rd=sk9BRJWy

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’til death do us part. The story of lovely Lauren Astley and Nathaniel Fujita, the boy who loved — and killed — her.

By Dr. Jeffrey Lant
They were such a cute couple. Everybody said so and everybody was right.
Lauren, mistress of a smile a mile wide, petite, always stylishly dressed (a must for the future fashion designer she wanted to be)… Nathaniel towering far over his girl… a big boy but graceful, track star, football star, a “catch” the other girls whispered… Lauren was lucky. But Nathaniel always knew, and never hesitated to say, just how lucky he was, too. Lauren was a special girl… a girl you wanted be loved by and grow old together. Boys could dream, too… and think of forever.
In the cauldron of high school romances, hotter than hot today, cast off and forgotten for a new love tomorrow, Lauren and Nathaniel were an established couple, a “done deal.” Girls, worried sick that they’d never find the boy of their dreams and fretful, envied Lauren. What was her special sorcery that kept Nathaniel happy, faithful and contented? Lauren would smile when asked… but the secret was hers… and his.
Lauren listened to him. She came from a family where listening was valued. Her father was an elected member of the Wayland, Massachusetts School Committee. Malcolm Astley had a way of looking at you and listening, really listening to what you had to say. Even if he didn’t agree with what you were saying, you felt like you’d been respectfully heard… and that made you feel good. Lauren had that gift, too, and used it liberally as, over time, Nathaniel opened up about the things boys have always sought out women for… understanding, complete, unqualified acceptance, a calm place in a world of uncertainties and imponderables.
Lauren knew Nathaniel’s demons, and, in the special alchemy of her sex, she understood when to be his girl, his sounding board, his mother. So do the women we love insinuate themselves into our hearts and lives until living without any part of them becomes impossible, unthinkable. Nathaniel needed Lauren in just this way… and so sleeping and waking, Nathaniel Fujita was Lauren’s boy…
And so it went as these two lovers lived their busy high school years together. Marriage, of course, was mentioned, how could it not be? But the word that challenged the status quo and changed everything was college. Ardently desired, a word that meant freedom… from parents, from the thrall of the known, shucking off the securities of family and friends… to embrace the glorious, unknown future. College was a magic word, the key to an exciting new life you where you could be something better, different, exciting.
Lauren, more than Nathaniel, lit up when college was mentioned. She needed to be careful now; for Nathaniel college meant separation from Lauren; separation meant the possibility of growing apart, meeting someone new and more ardently desired. It meant the end of what they had. College for Nathaniel meant gambling with the affections of the woman he loved, wanted and adored. Her loss was now possible… and that was unimaginable. His family and friends told him how lucky he was… but he feared the worst.
What the parents said.
Although we do not know, we can guess both sets of parents weighed in with sage advice and insights. Both Lauren and Nathaniel would have been informed, perhaps by both sets of parents, that they were about to embark on one of the greatest adventures of life. Both needed to be free to learn, to grow, to experience. This could be seen as undercutting their unequalled relationship but if their love were real and true, testing it would strengthen it.
Lauren took this traditional parents’ message to heart; she was anxious for what she knew would be thrilling to begin.
Nathaniel was less sure, more wary; it seemed to him all the parents were trying to hoodwink and deceive him, with the result that he became chary, wary, suspicious. To keep what he wanted so much he’d need to be watchful indeed. And now he knew lonely nights, moving from one unnerving thought to another. For now when he saw Lauren’s smile, more often than not she was thinking of college… with everything that meant… with Nathaniel too often the afterthought he dreaded and could not accept.
Change was what Nathaniel feared, but he still had Lauren. On that basis, he’d do what was necessary to keep her.
Then, after the Prom which they attended together just the other day, Lauren delivered her terrible news… that the Prom was the swansong of their relationship, not another celebrated event in the calendar of their love.
Thus she delivered unto Nathaniel Fujida the worst intelligence of all, no doubt as tenderly and delicately as possible. But it was, nonetheless, the single thing he feared most of all. It had now happened, and it was just as bad as he had imagined.
Sick to his stomach, overwhelmed, cast off, lost, his world now unhinged Nathaniel Fujita looked for comfort… and saw only loneliness, rejection, unimaginable pain he could not escape and which confounded and appalled. Oh, God, why me! But God did not answer…
Thus began the descent of young Nathaniel Fujida, swift of foot, strong of body, handsome of face, now desolate at the end of the love he was sure would endure forever, but had not.
On Sunday, July 3, a day before the citizens of Wayland would celebrate their country’s Independence Day, Nathaniel asked, insistently demanded to see his beloved. Lauren probably didn’t want to go; there would be a scene, of course, hot words, painful for both. But Lauren felt she owed this boy, once all in all to her, and loved, the courtesy of listening to him and soothing, if she could.
She drove to his house at 7:45 p.m., spoke to him for just 2 to 3 minutes; never getting out of the car. Did something she said now seal Lauren’s fate.or had Nathaniel already determined on what he must do? We do not and may never know.
But we know what he did, the better to ensure the girl he wanted and devoutly loved should never love another or be loved. He would do that which would keep her to himself, forever.
Lauren, caught unawares, perhaps without a clue how far gone in his special madness Nathaniel had already sunk, had no chance at all of preserving her young life once he had determined to end it. The struggle was brief, unequal, sickening, soon over.
Nathaniel’s strong hands and the weapon he used slashed her neck with a life wound, gaping, significant, horrendous. From here the brief life of beautiful, winning Lauren Astley flowed out, to be soon mixed in the limitless sea, where Nathaniel, his dark purpose accomplished, cast the body. There was a bungee cord tied around her neck, as if he thought he could recall her at will.
The police, of course, had no trouble finding him; he went straight home with the ghastly accoutrements and evidences of his unimaginable night’s work. He had made little effort to clean up… and none at all to flee. He had done what was needful… and was ready for whatever should come.
Lauren, petite, wide-smiled, elegant Lauren, would now love him and him only. And that was what he wanted, the only thing he’d ever wanted.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc. at www.worldprofit.com, providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Republished with author's permission by Howard Martell http://HomeProfitCoach.com Check out Facebook Trainer ->  http://www.HomeProfitCoach.com/?rd=ti1bPG2c

Why you should join me today and profit!!! Howard Martell’s first visit with the CEO of Worldprofit

Posted on July 2, 2011 by Howard Martell

Why you should join me today and profit!!! Howard Martell’s first visit with the CEO of Worldprofit

• Posted by howard martell homeprofitcoach on July 1, 2011 at 7:54pm
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Why you should join me today and profit!!! Howard Martell’s first visit with the CEO of Worldprofit Dr. Jeffrey Lant at his Cambridge Mass Home.

Posted on December 31, 2010 by Howard Martell

Why you should join me today and profit!!! Howard Martell’s first visit with the CEO of Worldprofit Dr. Jeffrey Lant at his Cambridge Mass Home.

BY
Howard Martell President of Homeprofitcoach.com
My day started off great.  I woke up early and motivated to finally meet the CEO of my online home business which has helped me grow so much in knowledge of marketing using automation , history, and finally learning the art of writing good article content.
The drive was quite pleasant, for only being only 2 hours away from  the hotel where me and my wife were staying in Connecticut, while visiting family. As we entered the Cambridge area, wow was it beautiful and quite hard to navigate through all the one way streets and round abouts. I finally asked a local Cambridge man wearing a Boston Red Sox cap, “Can you tell me where Follen Street is located”?  He said “Its the last brick building on the right hand-side after the stairs”. I told him Happy New Year.
I walked towards the red, brick building and finally saw the correct number and was quite happy and looking forward to finally meeting Dr. Lant. As I rang his suite number, the door opened. I traveled towards the right hand side and took the elevator up 5 levels. When I turned the corner to enter, the first thing I saw was this vibrant and famous red room which he shows to the world online. The color and the contrast I saw when walking into his home would take any historians breath away.  He greeted me and shook my hand with a sincere look and smile and told me and my wife please come in.  Dr. Lant, as you know is a noted Historian and has at his home a life-like museum which has taken him over 20 years to procure. All of his collection worth millions.  Our tour started in the blue room, which is where he keeps his office. We were being very careful not to lean against or brush into any of his collection. This room was so vibrant, it felt like we were walking at a Hollywood Red carpet event.  The chandelier is the highlight of the room.  It was completely made of sparking diamonds.  When you first come into the room you see his computer monitor and next to it all his papers from which his masterful articles come to life for the whole world to see. This is where he sits and works his magic from 4:30 in the morning till 4:00 pm everyday. He has these beautiful columns made of rare marble and topped with gold. Finally the emperors chair, as we call it, is not a fancy chair but a sturdy black wooden chair with a pillow for his back.
Proceeding to the next area he has pictures of all the head of states autographed and in protected frames.  The paintings, from the 16-18 century, come to life as you stare at them.  There were these emperors chairs that were well restored and the stitching was something you will never see in your lifetime. As we continue on, he told us history of each piece of his collection down to these beautifully detailed clocks of pure silver and gold.  He has a special hand-picked team help him restore each and every piece of his living museum.
After the tour, Dr. Lant and I were helping get some lunch ready for all of us.  It consisted of Tempered Shrimp, and some yummy looking pigs in a blanket. I was offered some Sherry with cream and it went down your throat smooth and warmed your entire belly.
Dr. Lant wanted us to take pictures of his collection while he was broadcasting live to the world, helping our thousands of members and growing globally with closing of sales. So I started in the red room and started snapping shot after shot of all of his collections. As I was waiting for my que to come into the blue room, I was taking pictures of Dr. Lant broadcasting to the world. I spoke with my wife and explained to her what he was doing and we were saying to each other “he surely does have a passion for reaching out to people and in a direct but sincere manner”.  His words are cutting edge like a sword, but reach up and grab your attention with every sentence coming out of his mouth. The live web-cast was 20 minutes long. As we listened to each sentence coming out of his mouth, we could truly tell he loves helping others to become not only better marketers, but better well cultured people.
Dr. Lant called to me and said you will be sitting in my chair in 15 minutes. As the time approaches, I was nervous but excited to share with the world what I had seen so far.  His chair was comfortable and well positioned for the world to see the first ever Monitor who came to visit the good Dr. Lant and his collections.
As I spoke into the mike it was just like me broadcasting from my home but without all the vibrant colors and sitting in the CEO’s Emperor’s chair as we call it.  My voice was sharing what I could remember since arriving into Dr. Lant’s world.   The time flew by as I shared my experience with the world on what 2011 will be like for all the World Profit Dealers globally. So hold on to your seats everyone and get ready to have your world rocked with automation is what I said, and thanked Dr. Lant, George Kosch, and finally Sandy Hunter for helping me  and others make a nice residual income which keeps on growing following a proven system.
Dr Lant, then took over and shared what he thought about all of what I said and thanks me for coming up live to the world to share my experience. We all decided after a long day that it was time to conclude our day with a nice dinner at a local hotel, less than  1 block away from his home. Dr. Lant spoke to us while  we carefully navigated the snow and ice of the red brick walkway and was  explaining each detail of all the historic events within the
Cambridge area in detail. We all entered the restaurant and Dr.Lant was greeted by all the staff members with respect and admiration as we were seated.   The conversation ranged from history, religion and finally asked Dr. Lant about where he thought World-profit’s were going in 2011 and he said just wait and see what George has in store for you and all the members.  I was thinking to myself while seated, this seemed surreal that I was here with the CEO of the company that I work with online.  This is unprecedented in the history of Internet Marketing. I just smiled and thought feel so blessed to be in the presence of a pioneer online.
As we sat down and talked, I could tell he was enjoying the dinner and the company as we were following along with all he was saying. For all the nay-sayers who don’t like Dr. Lant and call  him a scam artist,  he is quite frankly  an honest business man.   My first impression of the him is that he is sincere and wants to help anyone who wants to invest time and effort into any of his or her businesses online.  So stop the negative press, you’re only helping him write more articles and get more exposure for the company.
In closing, as I had a private goodbye with Dr. Lant, I shared  my thoughts and told him my wife enjoyed the experience but fully didn’t understand why I do what I do and why this was so important to me. He said, most of the wives who have husbands who work online, feel at times that the business is taking away from their family time.  When in reality, it is helping create more time for your family. As I was about to leave, Dr. Lant gave me a nice fatherly hug and told me to drive safe and was looking forward to my next visit to Cambridge. He told me you’re well on your way to becoming a millionaire.  Keep up the work you do as Senior Monitor and you are positioned for success online now. Walking away, I was so blown away and felt so empowered that the CEO thought that much about me. This article shows each and everyone of you who is struggling online that dreams can come true and that through having the right system and education the world is your oyster.
Thank you,
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Howard Martell is the President of HOMEPROFITCOACH.COM and has worked online for well over 12 yrs part time while holding down a full time career of  over 18 and half years active duty US Navy. For the past year, with World Profit online, he has helped people create residual income using automation.
FOR MORE INFORMATION FEEL FREE TO COMMENT ON HIS BLOG or call him at 757-962-2482 serious inquires only!!!
Visit my site for the following free goodies: Since 1994, Sandi and co-founders Dr. Jeffrey Lant and George Kosch have built Worldprofit into the company known as the
Home Business Experts.  Republished with author’s permission by Howard Martell MCEWC http://HomeProfitCoach.com

I chose life… and so should you. 347,000,000 adults now diagnosed with diabetes. How one man’s story can help you at once!

Posted on June 29, 2011 by Howard Martell

By Dr. Jeffrey Lant
The number of adults with diabetes worldwide has more than doubled in three decades, to an estimated 347 million a new study says. The study, led by Goodarz Danaei of the Harvard School of Public Health and Majid Ezzati of Imperial College, London, analyzed diabetes data from 1980 to 2008. Their analysis found that 153 million people had diabetes in 1980; this number had swelled to 347 million in 2008.
Much of that increase is due to aging populations — since diabetes typically hits in middle age — and population growth, but part of it has also been fueled by rising obesity rates.
With numbers climbing almost everywhere, experts said the disease is no longer limited to rich countries and is now a global problem. Countries in which the numbers rose fastest include Cape Verde, Samoa, Saudi Arabia, Papua New Guinea, and the United States.
More alarming news.
These figures do not reflect the generations of overweight children and young adults who have yet to reach middle age. This will create a massive burden on already severely challenged health systems.
The most alarming news of all… Each of these people could take charge of their disease, but too often don’t, thereby triggering even graver health problems.
“A disease of the mouth.”
I like to say, tongue firmly in cheek, that diabetes is a disease of the mouth: open mouth, insert enough of the wrong things, get disease and all its myriad of complications. I should know; I’m one of the world’s aging diabetics. Now 64, I was diagnosed about 50.
The day my blunt, most direct physician delivered the news he asked me one question: “Do you want to live longer or shorter?” I chose longer; he then laid on me exactly what I needed to do to achieve the objective of more time and that of the highest quality. While hardly an ideal patient, I was more than willing to make the necessary changes in diet and lifestyle. Not only willing but committed and determined to do so. Once over 205 chunky pounds, my 5? 10 1/2? frame is now a lean 157 pounds… with all other numbers appropriate; something to write home about, especially since I can wear the same trousers I wore in graduate school 40 years ago! Can you?
What I have learned along the way.
I want to say, right from the get-go, that I am NOT playing physician here; you need to consult yours at regular intervals as I do. Still, diabetes seems to me a disease tailor-made for personal management. There are things, lots of things, you can do to improve your situation. Here’s what works for me:
1) Take ownership of your disease and decide whether you want to gamble with your life by doing little or nothing.
The great thing about diabetes is that its improvement or deterioration is very much in your hands. If you take charge in a positive, pro-active manner you are going to improve. if you persist in fighting your diagnosis and what you can do, right at home, too, you won’t. In other words, you can be adult about it… or select adolescent petulance.
2) Don’t try to change everything overnight; do start making changes at once. Remember, diabetes and what you do to manage it is a marathon, not a sprint. This is a disease without (just yet) a cure; it’s a disease that’s with you sleeping and waking. You cannot, therefore, do something today and then ignore it. With diabetes you’re fighting a war, not a battle. Treat it accordingly.
3) Clean out your cupboards… clean out your refrigerator.
If you don’t have readily at hand the destructive things… the high sugar drinks, the cakes and bakery goods… all the things that work against your success and create long-term problems, so much the better.
If you don’t have readily at hand the bad things and have to make a special effort to go out and get them, you will, perforce, ingest less.
4) Don’t think in terms of diets and deprivations. Think in terms of the additional life and time you’re getting.
We live in a culture that screams “I want this and I want this NOW!” We are all influenced by the “I’m worth it and I’m going to have it” mentality. Thus you need practical ways to overcome these insidious influences.
To start with, never call what you’re doing a “diet”. Diets are about depriving yourself; think instead of buying your life back from the pawn shop. When you eat bad things you’re cutting time off your life; when you make the necessary changes, you buy yourself back.
5) Count to 10.
Before you drink that sugary concoction or take another bite of your favorite confection, count to 10. This gives your brain time to remind you that you probably can live without the indiscretion you are about to make. The sequence goes like this: want. stop. count to 10.
Now, if you do this and still eat the offending morsel, even two, don’t collapse with guilt and recrimination. Just resolve to do better next time… because you can be sure there WILL be a next time, and many such.
6) Eat all day.
Still eating big, set meals that leave you breathless and bloated? These constitute an assault on the body. Stop it now!
Instead eat frequently throughout the day, small portions that satisfy and which your previously overworked body can handle.
Start eating fresh fruit… nuts… small snacks of maximum protein and nutrition, minimum sugars, calories, carbohydrates. Make the portions small but make their ingestion frequent. Your body knows its work. Don’t overfeed… graze instead. All day long.
7) Make breakfast your most important meal.
You’ve got a lot to accomplish today. You’re going to need a lot of energy and stamina. Thus, you must make breakfast your most important meal. Don’t even dream of stinting here. Breakfast constitutes the launching pad for a successful day. Treat it accordingly. By comparison never, ever eat your biggest meal at the end of the day or evening. Your body can’t handle it and shouldn’t have to try.
Before bed, give yourself a snack, fruit (raisons are always a treat), popcorn. You get the idea. Go to bed satisfied, sleep satisfied, wake up in productive good humor.
You’ll start seeing — and feeling — results at once.
The great thing about managing your diabetes is that if you follow these sensible suggestions, you’ll start seeing results at once. For one thing (and very gratifying it is) your weight will start to drop… reverting to your body’s natural weight. And as you see and feel that occurring, you’ll be spurred to keep on truckin’, towards the Promised Land.
As you go, as you achieve results, reward yourself. You deserve it, not least because you are doing what every one of the 347 million afflicted should be doing… but aren’t. Now that you are on your way to success, print this article and share it with a friend. It’s one of the privileges of your improved situation and state of mind. Use it… and help someone you know and love. Someday they’ll throw their arms around you and tell you you saved their life. And it’ll be true…
 * * * * *
About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. He is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author’s permission by Howard Martell http://HomeProfitCoach.com. Check out Traffic Blog Empire -> http://www.HomeProfitCoach.com/?rd=nh4VYABW

I am America

By Michael Beirens
To get you in the right mindset google I am American on any search engine.
I am America
As a nation, known as America, I'm not very old really.  I was born July 4, 1776.  I am a nation of great diversity, in people and in landscape.  From the beautiful islands of the Pacific to the majestic majesty of the mountains and lands of Alaska.  From the Pacific coast lands to the Rocky Mountains to the plains of the great Midwest, to the beauty of New England and the Atlantic coast, to the quiet beauty of the South and to the beauty and broad expanse of the great South West.
I am a free America, I am made up of people of all walks of life. They came to me from many countries of the world in search of freedom and equality.  I was founded on an experiment in government.  "Government of the people, by the people and for the people."  No government body or any law should be able to take from my land and my people this God given right of freedom.
The Constitution states that all men are equal and endowed by God with certain inalienable rights,  “One of which is freedom.”
John Quincy Adams said  “Posterity you may never know how much it cost my Generation to preserve your freedom, I hope you make good use of it.”
The Bill of Rights addresses laws and matters that effect, "Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness."  The Right of Free Speech; The Right to Bear Arms; The Freedom of the Press;  Freedom of Conscience and Worship;  The Right of Peaceful Assembly;  The Right to Petition Government; The Right of Due Process of Law; and The Right to Gain and Hold Property.  Further moral laws set the bounds by which all my people may live in my land.  These laws are not there to restrict people, but to guide them, and to help them develop their God given attributes.  I require all that live within my shores to obey the law.
If you the people of my land allow government to be your caretakers, you will move towards government being your master not your servant.  Never in the history of America, have you my people been lulled into such a sense of false security.  The cry from government is, "All is Well."  This is not so!  At this time in my history, no greater responsibility rests upon each and every citizen of this great republic, regardless of color, race or creed, than to awake from their sleep and if called, fight to protect the freedoms vouchsafed by the Constitution of the United States of America.
We are the only nation under God that organized government on the basis of universal liberty.  When God inspired the Founding Fathers to write the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, freedom meant all.  It means much now and it must continue, to be a beacon of light and guidance, not only for ourselves, but for all nations of the world.  It is the most important element in the conception of what America should be.  The elements of freedom are instilled into the mind's and heart's of all humankind.  Freedom is boundless and stretches throughout all human experiences; it courses through your veins.  It cross all human barriers and knows no color, race or creed.
The principles of Liberty, Justice and Equality are what makes this nation great.  If you the people of my nation do not march onward, and awake from your slumber, then the God given gift of freedom will be lost.  Taking this God given gift for granted is the most dangerous moral peril and failing to maintain a sense of vigilance that is yours, is suicide.  You must awake and be counted.
Many of my sons and daughters in the past fought for this freedom that has been passed down to you.  You may have to fight again.  Were the sacrifices of the Founding Fathers  in establishing this great nation for naught?  I hope not.  Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. spoke of this great gift of freedom in his "I have a Dream," speech:
"When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day, when all God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestant and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, “Free at last! Free at last!  Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”'
The many battles that have been fought over the years within the bounds of these shores, were fought to give you my people, freedom!  Many have forgotten that this freedom was bought with the blood of past generations of my sons and daughters.  They were not afraid to die for freedom!  Why is it that you, my present generation, seem afraid to live for it.
The great words spoken by such great men as "Adams,  Dr .King; Jefferson, Jackson and Lincoln are for naught, if you do not use the power that has been given to you at such great cost. What is this great power, that you hold within your hands?   It is the greatest gift that freedom can bestow upon any people.  This power, is the greatest of voices, and if used correctly will make politicians tremble.  This power is the people's voice.  It is the power of the vote!   Remember that only you, the people of my nation have the power to move government onto the correct path.  When you do this through the power of the vote, then, you will remind all, that you the people are the true master of the Government and of this great land.  For you who do not vote,  a word of warning.  “Evil will triumph, when good people do nothing.”
Thomas Jefferson said. “ My God!  How little do my countrymen know what precious blessing they are in possession of, and which no other people on the earth enjoy.”
Patrick Henry said.  “The battle, Sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active and the brave.”
Andrew Jackson said.  “No free government can stand without virtue in the people, and a lofty spirit of patriotism.  I thank God that my life has been spent in this land of Liberty.”
Abraham Lincoln said it best:
"We the people are the rightful masters of both the Congress and the courts, not to overthrow the Constitution, but to overthrow the men who pervert this great document."
"To sin by silence when they should protest, makes cowards of men."
If we are to survive as a nation, there must be a stirring and an awakening in my Land.  You, the people, cannot and must not relapse into the negative condition of the undisturbed status quo.  Freedom must continue as a beacon of light for the whole world.  It must be a positive invigorating force that spurs humankind onto wider fields of endeavor.
May God grant to you, my people and to my future generations, strength of purpose and the wisdom not only to seek for freedom and justice.  But to hold fast to these inalienable rights granted to every citizen of my great republic by God and the Founding Fathers.
About the Author: Michael Beirens
I am  from England originally but I am very Patriotic and love America and wrote this to wake up  the America's  and  give the power to the people! They have the power to change there future.
Republished with author’s permission by Howard Martell  Certified E commerce Consultant http://HomeProfitCoach.com Check out Fast Fan Pages ->  http://www.HomeProfitCoach.com/?rd=ij7eb90h

‘I’m gonna be like you, dad. You know I’m gonna be like you.’ U.S. Father’s Day, June, 2011.

Posted on June 19, 2011 by Howard Martell

By Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author’s note. To get into the mood of this special Father’s Day article, go to any search engine and find “Cat’s in the Cradle” sung by Harry Chapin in 1974. Its refrain is haunting, and every boy-turned-father understands the bite in the words, often painfully so…
“A child arrived just the other day”, February 16, 1947.
It was my birth day but, as I couldn’t possibly have known, it was the end of their honeymoon and that special tea-for-two idyll that comes only once. My parents married February 16,1946; I teased them for years about the importance of that last digit.
Like all babies, I expected, demanded and maneuvered to be the center of their lives. It’s what babies do.
But I can imagine now what was going on in the weeks prior to that mad-dash to the hospital that transformed my beautiful young mother from a wife with a constituency of one… into a multi-tasking mother.
I was the first born child, first child, first son, first grandson on both sides; every one of these designations pushed omniscient women forward and my father back. The process, you see, in those post-War years was not made for fathers, no matter how caring. And, upon arrival, I monopolized my mother. I’ve told you, it’s what babies do… and even then I was masterful at my craft.
There must have been times, though no one to this day has ever said so, when he missed the bright, laughing eyed girl he’d married. She was the essence of the “fun on a date” ‘forties girl who had the gift of joy with lots to spare.
She gave me a clue years later, telling me she didn’t like children, didn’t mean to have any, and thought they looked like frogs. (Queen Victoria thought so, too). But, she quickly added and always emphasized that all that changed when the nurse handed me over for my first visit, textbook perfect infantile innocence.
I’d “come into the world in the usual way”. And I was determined to keep the full and undivided attention of the woman who didn’t yet know how her own instincts would conduce to my constant benefit; literally born yesterday I didn’t need Dr. Spock to tell me that.
Into this new, unstudied situation my father had to move and move delicately for now words like “shhhhhh, he’s sleeping” meant sacrifice, limitations, and even unwonted loneliness. It was a sea-change from the happy “you-for-me-and-me-for-you” days of such recent memory.
“He learned to walk while I was away.”
Like most children I don’t know what I actually remember or what I have, from pictures and family stories, been taught to remember. But there is hardly a memory either way that is not more her than him. He worked hard, long hours, lucky to have a job in the recession that promptly came with our unqualified war victory. She was the center of my universe. And, like Chapin, my first steps were probably taken when he was being a “good provider”. But there is a story that sums up the situation.
One hot, humid Illinois summer day (are there any other?) when I was about three, my mother and I screamed for ice cream. But there was not a dollar to be had… except for a dollar bill my father had circulated amongst his Navy buddies, to be autographed by each. Such a token was not to be surrendered lightly, but it was surrendered nonetheless, for the delicacy of an instant and later, poignant regrets. He must have loved us very much to do such a thing… it says volumes about the man.
“My son turned ten just the other day. He said, “Thanks for the ball, dad, come on let’s play.”
In the suburbs of Chicago in the early Eisenhower years, you needed to be good at handling the balls of several sports… or so bright that you could afford to ignore sports because you were destined for greater things. My brother filled the first category; I filled the second. I knew my brother was easier to handle; he fit in, particularly the year he made the state Little League team, and we all trooped down to Freeport to watch him, resplendent in a uniform that said “Moose”; this was lifetime certification that he was a boy’s boy…
I was different, always with my nose in a book, the one who when asked at age 10 or so what he wanted to be when he grew up, without dropping a beat, said “Harvard graduate; millionaire; writer of many books.” II wasn’t what prairie parents were accustomed to hearing… What’s more, it all came true in due course…
Another celebrated incident took place about this time. My parents and I went to some local swimming hole for a day of the kind of innocent amusements I couldn’t wait to escape from. At the end of the day, it was, I think, my mother who said the inevitable line about their guests, “Cute couple. Great relationship.” That sort of thing. What did I think? Without missing a beat I said I thought they had problems… and seer-like, foretold splitsvillle. Of course, I was told I was wrong, but just weeks later they separated. My stock soared… and my father pressed me less to fire a gun, build superb back yard igloos, throw a ball, you get the picture. He had to wonder about this creature sui generis.. and what his role as father might mean or entail.
I was not an easy child, although I say it myself, an interesting one. He must have seen I was moving beyond his sphere into uncharted waters. I could hardly wait until it happened and my joy at crossing another day off the calendar, the sooner to commence my Great Journey, must have been palpable, even affronting. I did not want what his life epitomized and I was too green, unknowing how to say this without insult… and uncaring about the effect.
There was, in those years, more coexistence than empathy., not least because he tried hard to get me to understand and adopt verities he saw as fundamental and essential… about which I had quite different ideas. I severely embarrassed him the day I refused to answer the pastor’s call for Communion, being unable to subscribe to the tenets. (I have never taken Communion sincen.)
There was, too, his desire that I should understand the farmer’s life practised by all my cousins and should, as part, learn how to harvest oats and drive a tractor. The first scratched; the second bored. Neither oats nor tractor have played any role in my development.
“Well, he came from college just the other day…”
My launching pad to the vision I had long been shaping for my life came with a college acceptance letter. ….. and thereafter, too long, communications were as rushed and superficial as Harry Chapin sings.
“I’ve long since retired and my son’s moved away…”
And so it might have stayed, both of us stubborn, obstinate, headstrong — proud men, unyielding. But, you see, the love that caused a prized war memento to be sacrificed had always been present, waiting for auspicious times. He told me the other day, cast down now and again by the tremors and afflictions of the way we age now, that he was ready to go whenever the good Lord wants him. And neither he nor I fear that… for we have, at last, found each other and gladly so.
“And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me, He’d grown up just like me. My boy was just like me.”
* * * * *
About The Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Republished with author’s permission by Howard Martell http://HomeProfitCoach.com. Check out Killer Content -> http://www.HomeProfitCoach.com/?rd=hh3oNjiJ

Of Sundays. What we have lost along the way.

Posted on June 26, 2011 by Howard Martell

By Dr. Jeffrey Lant
It is Sunday in Cambridge in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. The forecast is for inclement weather, buckets of rain, wide puddles to jump across, or, if you are of the distracted variety (I’m afraid I often qualify) to splash through unawares. Even with the intermittent rain, Cambridge will be on this day what Cambridge always is: a place of intellectual power, internecine academic battles often on topics of the least significance (hence their abrasiveness); a place, too, where everyone and his brother has either just written a book, is in the middle of writing a book, or is contemplating writing a book that will transform the world as we know it.
It is beautiful… it is exciting… it is lofty and drenched with youth… but there will be absolutely nothing of the traditional American Sunday here… or most anywhere else in America for that matter. That stalwart of our society is dead…. and today I lament its passing and what we have lost thereby. The great American Sunday, sacred to God, family and jackets and ties at an abundant repast, was one of them.
American values, Midwestern setting.
I grew up in Illinois, the most American of states, ultimate home of Abraham Lincoln, the epitome of American values. All states in the Glorious Republic are American, of course; Illinois is the great beating heart of this body politic.
I didn’t know, what child does, that I was, in the ‘forties and ‘fifties living through an inter-related series of cultural transformations which would, after being boiled and scorched in the cauldron of the ‘sixties, strip my family and all the other solidly middle class prairie families of too many of the verities they loved and cherished, believing them to be essential for a life of republican simplicities, moral certainties, and the resounding democratic principles on which the nation was formed. Our Sundays reflected these essential elements and sustained them.
I’d now like to share with you the contours of that Sunday, for it was good, decent, hallowed by tradition yet as fresh as the quips that flew around the highly polished dining table smelling of beeswax and elbow grease, the ample midday fare always abundant, never ostentatious.
Sunday began, for my mother at least, Saturday afternoon. It was then she did the work she hoped and was indeed confident would pass the critical scrutiny she knew her maternal peers would exact on her, her degree of proficiency in the crucial business of mothering, what manner of house keeper, wife, and mother she was, whatever observations made to circulate around the town as fast as, if not faster, than a Western Union telegram.
Fathers could afford to opt out of the crucial Saturday evening tasks for the morrow; children knew they would be called, and often more than once, to “try this on… you can’t wear that… polish those shoes at once and put them in a bag in the car ” to keep them pristine for the absolutely certain community review and commentary. My mother’s standing amidst other mothers and in the town generally depended on what she did and how she did it. And no one, but no one, was more adept at making every fine distinction and conclusion than the matrons of the town. Sure of themselves… their opinions were resounding, incontrovertible, and could never be challenged, waived, or overruled.
My mother, born and bred in Illinois, the stock of immigrants and pioneers, knew all this, none better. That’s why she was busily at work, including doing things even the most lynx-eyed matron could not see… examining linings… ensuring the car was clean inside (outside being my father’s province)…. examining, re-examining, now dubious, now, Mamie Eisenhower-like, concluding with a white glove review and then to her arrangements and personal presentation. No detail, not a single one, was ever overlooked; each according to the standards of her peers, just so.
“God shed his grace on thee.”
I am a WASP, a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant, my lineage boasting Scots, Germans, and waves of Englishmen. These days it is rather fashionable amidst the ill-informed and worse advised cognoscenti to pooh-pooh and even deride these nation-founding people as limited, prejudiced, arrogant, self-aggrandizing, and worse. If such things were said, even softly, about America’s other ethnic varieties, there would be mass outrage against such bigotry and discrimination. But such things are said of us with impunity, on the same principle as a “cat may look at a king.” My ethnic fellow-travelers sail on disregarding such remarks and distortions. I wish it to be understood that they are as unacceptable as any words of prejudice and bigotry.
The churches of my prairie town were of the usual variety; each had its own constituency and place in the social hierarchy. The Roman Catholics built schools and basilicas on extravagant Roman models. They were, so my grandmother would whisper, full of immigrants from Eastern Europe (the lesser half) and deluded by the incense and fripperies of Pius XII, a Protestant bug-a-bear. Just saying his name could produce a noticeable frisson.
The Protestant churches were headed, such was the residual pull of the nation we had freed ourselves from, by the Episcopal Church. Then a tie between what was still called the Congregational Church and the Methodist Church. Lesser, suspect denominations like Baptists were never discussed at all; a disapproving silence was sufficient. As for religions which sent zealots door-to-door, that was all they ever saw – the door.
My grandparents sternly approved of religion and its virtues, but rarely went to church themselves. In fact, off hand, I cannot remember seeing my grandfather at any other religious ceremony but the marriages of his 4 children and blessed relations. My parents, however, were different; for both, religion was important and as a result theological discussions, publications, arguments, visiting missionaries were commonplace. It was thought only seemly that I should, year after year, win a prize for memorizing the most Bible verses; something which has stood me in good stead to this day, when a Biblical quotation is apt.
My parents were sometimes parishioners in the Methodist Church, sometimes in the Congregational. My first memory of the latter is a stack of folding chairs suitable for the frequent church socials, all stamped “Congo.” I supposed, being geographically inclined, that meant Belgian Congo, an exotic destination of my imagination. In due course I came to be disappointed, learning it was merely an abbreviation for the church itself. Still, since many of my thousand best friends went to the “Congo,” I liked going there the best. It was simply another school, filled with familiar faces.
Arrival at church, “Congo” most of all, was an event. My parents and I pretty much knew everyone because we were related, friends, school mates, neighborhood buddies. This was the importance of Sunday, for here God, family, country all came together, scenic, vital, reassuring, important. It was the heart of the heart of America. We needed more of this in our challenged land. Instead, we have far less.
* * * * *
About The Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc.,  providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author’s permission by Howard Martell http://HomeProfitCoach.com. Check out Traffic Blog Empire ->  http://www.HomeProfitCoach.com/?rd=nh4VYABW

‘I’m gonna be like you, dad. You know I’m gonna be like you.’ U.S. Father’s Day, June, 2011.

Posted on June 19, 2011 by Howard Martell

By Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author’s note. To get into the mood of this special Father’s Day article, go to any search engine and find “Cat’s in the Cradle” sung by Harry Chapin in 1974. Its refrain is haunting, and every boy-turned-father understands the bite in the words, often painfully so…
“A child arrived just the other day”, February 16, 1947.
It was my birth day but, as I couldn’t possibly have known, it was the end of their honeymoon and that special tea-for-two idyll that comes only once. My parents married February 16,1946; I teased them for years about the importance of that last digit.
Like all babies, I expected, demanded and maneuvered to be the center of their lives. It’s what babies do.
But I can imagine now what was going on in the weeks prior to that mad-dash to the hospital that transformed my beautiful young mother from a wife with a constituency of one… into a multi-tasking mother.
I was the first born child, first child, first son, first grandson on both sides; every one of these designations pushed omniscient women forward and my father back. The process, you see, in those post-War years was not made for fathers, no matter how caring. And, upon arrival, I monopolized my mother. I’ve told you, it’s what babies do… and even then I was masterful at my craft.
There must have been times, though no one to this day has ever said so, when he missed the bright, laughing eyed girl he’d married. She was the essence of the “fun on a date” ‘forties girl who had the gift of joy with lots to spare.
She gave me a clue years later, telling me she didn’t like children, didn’t mean to have any, and thought they looked like frogs. (Queen Victoria thought so, too). But, she quickly added and always emphasized that all that changed when the nurse handed me over for my first visit, textbook perfect infantile innocence.
I’d “come into the world in the usual way”. And I was determined to keep the full and undivided attention of the woman who didn’t yet know how her own instincts would conduce to my constant benefit; literally born yesterday I didn’t need Dr. Spock to tell me that.
Into this new, unstudied situation my father had to move and move delicately for now words like “shhhhhh, he’s sleeping” meant sacrifice, limitations, and even unwonted loneliness. It was a sea-change from the happy “you-for-me-and-me-for-you” days of such recent memory.
“He learned to walk while I was away.”
Like most children I don’t know what I actually remember or what I have, from pictures and family stories, been taught to remember. But there is hardly a memory either way that is not more her than him. He worked hard, long hours, lucky to have a job in the recession that promptly came with our unqualified war victory. She was the center of my universe. And, like Chapin, my first steps were probably taken when he was being a “good provider”. But there is a story that sums up the situation.
One hot, humid Illinois summer day (are there any other?) when I was about three, my mother and I screamed for ice cream. But there was not a dollar to be had… except for a dollar bill my father had circulated amongst his Navy buddies, to be autographed by each. Such a token was not to be surrendered lightly, but it was surrendered nonetheless, for the delicacy of an instant and later, poignant regrets. He must have loved us very much to do such a thing… it says volumes about the man.
“My son turned ten just the other day. He said, “Thanks for the ball, dad, come on let’s play.”
In the suburbs of Chicago in the early Eisenhower years, you needed to be good at handling the balls of several sports… or so bright that you could afford to ignore sports because you were destined for greater things. My brother filled the first category; I filled the second. I knew my brother was easier to handle; he fit in, particularly the year he made the state Little League team, and we all trooped down to Freeport to watch him, resplendent in a uniform that said “Moose”; this was lifetime certification that he was a boy’s boy…
I was different, always with my nose in a book, the one who when asked at age 10 or so what he wanted to be when he grew up, without dropping a beat, said “Harvard graduate; millionaire; writer of many books.” II wasn’t what prairie parents were accustomed to hearing… What’s more, it all came true in due course…
Another celebrated incident took place about this time. My parents and I went to some local swimming hole for a day of the kind of innocent amusements I couldn’t wait to escape from. At the end of the day, it was, I think, my mother who said the inevitable line about their guests, “Cute couple. Great relationship.” That sort of thing. What did I think? Without missing a beat I said I thought they had problems… and seer-like, foretold splitsvillle. Of course, I was told I was wrong, but just weeks later they separated. My stock soared… and my father pressed me less to fire a gun, build superb back yard igloos, throw a ball, you get the picture. He had to wonder about this creature sui generis.. and what his role as father might mean or entail.
I was not an easy child, although I say it myself, an interesting one. He must have seen I was moving beyond his sphere into uncharted waters. I could hardly wait until it happened and my joy at crossing another day off the calendar, the sooner to commence my Great Journey, must have been palpable, even affronting. I did not want what his life epitomized and I was too green, unknowing how to say this without insult… and uncaring about the effect.
There was, in those years, more coexistence than empathy., not least because he tried hard to get me to understand and adopt verities he saw as fundamental and essential… about which I had quite different ideas. I severely embarrassed him the day I refused to answer the pastor’s call for Communion, being unable to subscribe to the tenets. (I have never taken Communion sincen.)
There was, too, his desire that I should understand the farmer’s life practised by all my cousins and should, as part, learn how to harvest oats and drive a tractor. The first scratched; the second bored. Neither oats nor tractor have played any role in my development.
“Well, he came from college just the other day…”
My launching pad to the vision I had long been shaping for my life came with a college acceptance letter. ….. and thereafter, too long, communications were as rushed and superficial as Harry Chapin sings.
“I’ve long since retired and my son’s moved away…”
And so it might have stayed, both of us stubborn, obstinate, headstrong — proud men, unyielding. But, you see, the love that caused a prized war memento to be sacrificed had always been present, waiting for auspicious times. He told me the other day, cast down now and again by the tremors and afflictions of the way we age now, that he was ready to go whenever the good Lord wants him. And neither he nor I fear that… for we have, at last, found each other and gladly so.
“And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me, He’d grown up just like me. My boy was just like me.”
* * * * *
About The Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Republished with author’s permission by Howard Martell http://HomeProfitCoach.com. Check out Killer Content -> http://www.HomeProfitCoach.com/?rd=hh3oNjiJ

Thoughts about Sunday and our threatened leisure time.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Today is Sunday, May 29, 2011. I shall celebrate it like millions of people worldwide by going to work, leaving me at the end of the day with only a tiny sliver of the leisure time my grandparents had every Sunday for their long lives. This continuing labor is not necessarily entirely beneficial… although many good things do in fact come from the Sunday tasks performed by its workers worldwide.
Today, therefore, I examine Sunday, its uses and, some suggested better uses. The objective, which I set for myself as clearly as for you, is to examine a problem that grows larger for more people every year: cannibalizing Sunday for the time that should be used for your necessary refreshment and revitalization; sadly each year less of it is. In our frenetic times, we no longer, like Ponce de Leon (1474-1521), search for eternal youth. But we, who are prone to think Don Ponce a bit of a fool, are engaged in our version of his odyssey. We know we need more time, and we are engaged in the never-ending pursuit of ways to get it.
We are victims of work creep and leisure drain, two insidious, inter-related conditions that threaten to turn us into drones who use improving their economic condition as their reason for changing Sunday from free time to work time. “We have to,” they insist.
When I hear this, I think of how monkeys are captured, by a very clever and inexpensive method. The hunter uses no guns or bullets; he wants his monkeys in good condition. Instead, he uses a narrow-lipped jar packed with cookies and other primate delights. This jar is placed in an area frequented by the curious creatures; when they see piles of the sweet things they love best they thrust a paw down the jar… and are trapped.
Now here’s the ironic thing: to regain their freedom, all the monkeys must do is open their paw and let the delicious but dangerous goodie fall to the bottom of the jar. Their clenched paw and the goodie inside have made them prisoners; merely opening their paw will free them. But the monkeys will not unclench their paws, for that would cost them the dainties. And so they are well and truly captured by their own avarice and their desire for more.
And so we, too, are well and truly trapped and captured by the work we must do every day, work we call completely urgent and necessary so as to preserve our life style. But at what cost? We are as trapped and baffled as the monkeys, and like them we might have chosen a less perilous way; one above all else preserving our own freedom.
How the concept of Sunday has evolved over the last 200 years.
Since the sweeping success of both the British and American evangelical movements at the end of the 18th century, three distinctly different Sundays have existed.
First was the evangelical Sunday, strictly reserved for God’s Sabbath with absolutely no work of any kind permitted. England’s Lord’s Day Observance Society (founded 1831) epitomized the thinking that lead to strict Sabbatarianism. God had rested on the seventh day; you would therefore rest, and humbly so, whether you wanted to or not.
As the widely believed verities of the evangelicals began to wane at the end of the nineteenth century (later in America) Sunday changed, too. Progressive humanists argued that strict Sabbartarianism discriminated against the poor and laboring classes who had just Sunday and Sunday only to enjoy all the educational and other amenities. Criticism now centered on the people who advocated a strict and unyielding Sabbath, spent extolling God’s virtues, to the neglect of everything else.This new view saw Sunday as desirable and deserved leisure time, not merely the occasion for weary strictness and total biblical focus.
This trend produced what came to be known as the “Continental Sunday”, where leisure, all kinds of leisure, was wanted and indulged, the general sentiment being that the common folks worked hard for this day and deserved its delights and amenities. And delights and amenities they got as the golden days of the Continental Sunday with its laissez fair ways and relaxed conditions freed the nation from stringent rules and restrictions, mostly emanating from churches of an evangelical persuasion.
So matters might have stayed if matters of this kind are ever unchanging. But the leisured, recreational, family-centered delights of Continental Sundays were changed and challenged by such cultural factors as the desire to make more money to acquire the things money can buy. In periods of economic difficulty this factor changed again; in such periods people had to take Sunday and turn it into additional income, never mind the leisure that was thereby sacrificed — and was so desirable and needed.
Now the nibbling process is at work on the grand, happy, burden-lifting Continental Sunday, an institution so needed by the hard-working folk on Planet Earth you might be excused for thinking this new, third phase had to be an improvement on what we already had.
But is it?
It is a sign of the times that otherwise sensible earthlings swap leisure and necessary recreation for money, money, and more money… and mountains of things we (for I include myself) do not need… but must acquire notwithstanding.
This is a deal made with the devil…. and you are one of the prime signatories… as I am.
It is time, here and now, to launch our bid for freedom… our July 4, Cinco de Mayo, Bastille Day… for we are as oppressed, burdened and weary of abuse as they for all that we have done this to ourselves.
We, like our revolutionary brethren of yore, must strike now, not a moment later, whilst we still have the good sense and strong arm to bring back, to all who desire and need it, our beloved Continental Sunday and the necessary leisure and relief we must have to live a life of balance and equilibrium, not killing stress in all its destructiveness.
All this is no small thing, nothing to be considered casually, without your full attention and concern. We humans are so finely crafted that we need leisure to reach our full potential and maintain our health and splendid spirits which are now and will always be the foundation of our success.
So, now, take the pledge.
Pledge! To fight work creep and leisure drain. Pledge!
Pledge! To think whether the work and its emoluments are more important than the revitalizing leisure you give up. Pledge!
Pledge! To resolve to use leisure as a means of strengthening your life, increasing its span and its quality. Pledge!
Pledge! To keep sacrosanct your special time apart from work, your carefree zone. It is essential for life’s highest quality. Pledge!
Now sign and date this manifesto of common sense and resolute purpose. Your life in all its aspects will improve as soon as you do… the very moment you do!
About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also the author  of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author’s permission by Howard Martell <a href=”http://HomeProfitCoach.com“>http://HomeProfitCoach.com</a>. Check out Fast Fan Pages ->  http://www.HomeProfitCoach.com/?rd=ij7eb90h

And she asked me 'Was I a good mother... ?' Mothers Day, Sunday May 8, 2011.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Today is Mother's Day in the United States. It occurred just the other day in England... and will occur around the globe at various times all year long as millions of people make a point of honoring mother and making this day special for her. Those of us whose mother has passed on will take time this day for remembrance... turning this into a day of bittersweet joy and sorrow.  There will be tears... but there will be smiles, too, as we recall every aspect of Mom with all the memories we cherish so. Yes, there most assuredly will be smiles, too... for Mom, even if gone, still has the power to lighten our lives and soothe us, just as she did so often once upon a time...
Anna Jarvis and the creation of Mother's Day, 1914.
There have, of  course, been mothers' days as long as there have been mothers. Kind-hearted fathers and grateful children undoubtedly saw to that... but one woman wanted more for mothers than a casual, occasional compliment. Her name was Anna Jarvis and she is the reason you are dropping by your mom's today, your arms full of spring flowers and a myriad of affectionate tokens.
Anna Jarvis was born May 1, 1864 in Webster, Taylor County, West Virginia. She was the ninth of eleven children born to Ann Marie and Granville Jarvis. From childhood Anna idolized her mother, and she often heard her say that she hoped someone one day would establish a memorial for all mothers, living and dead.
Anna always recalled one particular incident that drove home her mother's unceasing message. This incident occurred during a class prayer given by Mrs. Jarvis in Anna's receptive presence. Mrs. Jarvis' lesson was on "Mothers of the Bible". She closed the lesson with the prayer "I hope that someone, sometime will found a memorial mothers day commemorating her for the matchless service she renders to humanity in every field of life. She is entitled to it."
Anna was just 12 years old... and not only did she never forget; she dedicated her life to achieving her mother's desire. We can now see the contours of this story. Mrs. Jarvis, kept perpetually pregnant, laboring under a mountain of never- ending work, with a husband who never understood all she did and how much he relied upon her... and a daughter completely receptive to her mother's urgent plea for recognition, assistance, and above all else -- love. Mrs. Ann Marie Jarvis poured it all into her daughter's dutiful ears... and whatever her resentments, disappointments and moments of chagrin... here at least she was abundantly rewarded. Her darling Anna saw to that...
After her mother's death on May 9, 1905, Anna, now living with siblings Claude and Lillie, began her life's work, to create a day that would fulfill her mother's fervid desire. Fueled by love and the image of her overworked,  under loved (but never by Anna) mother... Anna put  her active pen to paper, determined  to achieve her goal of establishing a nationwide observance of Mother's Day. Nothing was going to stop her, and so from love came the focused, unceasing activity that moves mountains. She bombarded hundreds of legislators, executives, and businessmen on both state and national levels.
Everyone was polite, muttering general words of support... but, despite her efforts and her skills as a notable and motivating speaker, Anna Jarvis was making no progress. Then one of the greatest marketers in history, John Wanamaker, merchant prince, entrepreneur, philanthropist heard Anna and saw at once that her idea was good for Wanmaker's, good for business, good for America, and good for mothers everywhere. It was a win-win situation all round...
With the inventive genius, power, influence and energy of John Wanamaker (1838-1922) behind her, Anna Jarvis and her idea moved onwards and upwards at incredible speed. On May 10, 1908 15,000 folks eager to Honor Thy Mother showed up at Wanamaker's Store Auditorium in Philadelphia to hear Anna Jarvis speak. 10,000 of them had to be turned away for lack of room... It was a magnificent event... thereafter success followed success, Wanamaker saw to that; he was a dynamo of a man, success his birthright.
By 1909, 45 states, Puerto Rico, Hawaii, Canada  and Mexico observed Mother's Day.  People by the millions wore the white and red carnations the movement had adopted as a visible means of showing that the wearer loved Mother and supported the cause. President Wilson proclaimed the first national Mother's Day in 1914.  Everyone was happy now; a great goal had been achieved... everyone, that is, but Anna Jarvis.
Every time a florist sold a bouquet... every time a husband hard-pressed for time and with worries of his own bought a card... every time anyone made a buck off her Mother's Day, Anna Jarvis winced. And so as the number of participants grew into the millions, Jarvis who should have been the happiest of all became the most miserable. This isn't at all what she had in mind for mothers... or the memory of her mother.
So began the sad decline of Anna Jarvis, the woman who now proceeded to burn every bridge and sunder her intimate connection to Mother's Day until with the death of her sister, she was entirely alone... having nothing but memories and the assurance of her mother's love. And so she went on, bitter, alone, forgotten, neglected until at last she died, November 24, 1948, her mother's zealous defender until the end...
... but too much so. I like to think that Anna's mother would have been glad for the card (even if store-bought), for the flowers (even if not picked from your own garden), and the candy you didn't have time or talent to make... because each is a token of a love which cannot be celebrated too often... the love of mother. And so if your mother is alive today, do something, anything, indicating you care.
And as you are lavishing these gifts on your one and only mother, give a thought to Anna Jarvis and her troubled spirit. She is the reason you have the happy task of turning this otherwise ordinary day into the reassurance your mother requires that yes, resoundingly yes, she was and yet is a good mother, the best of all whatever her faults or limitations.  All she really needs is to hear you say so....
About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author's permission by Howard Martell <a href="http://HomeProfitCoach.com">http://HomeProfitCoach.com</a>. Check out Easy Quick Profits ->  http://www.HomeProfitCoach.com/?rd=fx8jUl6w