​Years ago, when my partner and I first start donating to Kiva.org, the microlending site, we didn’t understand how it really worked. We believed in the little diagram that you see on the upper. Because of that image, we thought we’d find a borrower on their website, read her story -- about 80% of the borrowers are women -- and donate to her directly once we hit the pay button. Since each borrower had a specific goal amount tied to a time limitation on the website, we always tried to donate to those people who were only days or hours away from running out of time. We didn’t want anyone to miss out.
 
The Kiva group knew the diagram wasn’t strictly accurate and that the time limitation wasn’t hard and fast, but they didn’t mind if the actual lending details were a little fuzzy. They understood that a good story tied to a sense of urgency helped people open their pocketbooks.
 
We didn’t question any of this for quite some time. Now that we have a better understanding of how it all goes down, we no longer focus on the time countdown when we look for someone to help. This week, we donated to Corazon from the Philippines. She needs a loan of $100 in order to get a sanitary toilet. A sanitary toilet doesn’t seem like a lot to ask but, as I type this, there are several other people on the website seeking the very same type of loan. According to Kiva, “This loan is special because it helps protect families who are most vulnerable to waterborne diseases.”
 
So, how do things really work with this type of microloan? If the internet is telling us the truth (the little scamp has been known to fib on occasion), our latest donation didn’t go to Corazon, not directly. She’d already received her needed funds from Kiva’s field partner, Negros Women for Tomorrow Foundation (NWTF), an organization created “to help women achieve self-sufficiency, particularly in the province of Negros Occidental’s low-income communities.” NWTF has already vetted Corazon, completed the paperwork, and given her the money. The money we’re donating goes to Kiva, who gives it to NWTF. This is better for Corazon, who doesn’t have to worry if a last-minute computer hiccup will kill her deal.
 
In time, she’ll likely pay back the money she owes. Not everyone pays back their loan, but 96% of the borrowers will. Corazon will repay NWTF, NWTF will repay Kiva, Kiva will return our donation, and we’ll lend it out again. Our donation withers in time because we also donate a few bucks to keep Kiva going. They say it cost them $3.75 to process a loan, so we cover that and throw in a little more. Every now and then, we add a few dollars to the donation kitty so that we can stay in the game.
 
Since we believe this is how the system work, why do we bother reading the individual stories and picking someone to receive our donation? Because the Kiva group is right. Reading each story makes the cause seem more real, more urgent, and it gives us a better sense of satisfaction when we participate. We donate to other causes, almost all of them locally, but that’s for our immediate neighbors. For the neighbors that are several thousand miles away, a good tale is a strong motivation.
 
This coming Thursday is the USA’s Thanksgiving. Since we can’t be with family, we’ll be with friends that day. I’m thankful for so many things, including having a sanitary toilet. If you celebrate the holiday, I hope it’s a good one for you.
 
I don’t extend those same good wishes toward The Walt Disney Company. Despite having another banner year, they continue to cheat the little guys. #DisneyMustPay. No Disney+ for us, no Disneyland for us, no Disney World for us, no Disney toys for the babies I love. If Mickey Mouse comes to the house, I’ll slam the door in his face.
 
You, I like. Mickey and company? They’re dicks.

“The writing life” is a frequent topic in one of the writer’s groups I attend, but I contend that there’s no such thing. There’s writing and there’s life and, even for someone who spends too much time on Word, they aren’t the same thing.
 
It would be a mistake to be so consumed by writing that someone forgot to enjoy the blessings of her or his life. And one of life’s greatest blessings is BABIES.
 
When it comes to seeing my babies – maybe not mine by birth, but mine, nonetheless -- distance and the pandemic and life events kept getting in the way of a visit until I couldn’t stand it any longer. Wednesday, I called the babies’ actual mother, saying that Glynn and I needed to see them. Soon. Golden Throat agreed with me. (No, that’s not her real name. It’s what the Good Witch calls her.) Plans were made, I returned to working on chapter fifteen of the latest, and then the phone rang.
 
It was Golden Throat again. Asking if Glynn and I could maybe arrive one day early to attend her surprise wedding. Distance and the pandemic and life events kept getting in the way of the grand wedding she and her soulmate, the Great White North, had hoped to hold, and they were tired of waiting to be a legal couple. Since we were coming to see them, they wanted to go to the courthouse on Friday and have two people who loved them very much witness the union of two people who were in love. In a year or so, with luck, they could still have a glorious reception to celebrate their togetherness and invite all of the people who didn’t get to enjoy the actual event.
 
This is a couple who belongs together, so, of course, we agreed. They were excited, we were excited, the babies were excited… but there was so much to do and so little time to do it. They had to get their marriage license. We had to find a proper wedding gift. What to do, what to do? Chapter fifteen was put on hold.
 
With less than two days to find the wedding gift, we decided to not worry about until the upcoming glorious reception. Instead, we bought a bottle of Costco’s finest champagne and picked up the grandest two-layer chocolate cake that Albertson’s had on hand. It was a marvelous pairing.
  
I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a courthouse wedding, but it’s a different kind of betrothal. With our group, we went with masks and dress clothes for the men, masks and pretty dresses for the women. We arrived at 4:00 pm, knowing that the courthouse doors lock at 5:00 pm. We were the only people on the third floor before, slowly, more couples began to arrive. Most of the women wore masks and pretty dresses. Most of their partners… well, they were in more casual attire. Masks, blue jeans all around, and the occasional t-shirt.
 
For their wedding. There are times I shake my head.
 
When the clerk finally came out to greet the couples-to-be, there were six weddings to be performed. The elderly judge, dressed in a long, black robe (and thankfully not in jeans and a t-shirt), had a warm and welcoming manner. He encouraged Golden Throat and the Great White North to take their time, give their own vows, and “kiss one another” as he pronounced them married.
 
It was a lovely ceremony, and Glynn and I were proud to be there to witness it. Then we enjoyed a full weekend filled with babies.
 
Life is good.
 
Gilligan’s Island factoid: During season two, episode 31 (Mr. and Mrs. ??), Thurston and Lovey Howell discover that they’re not legally married. If you’re wondering how the show played out, Gilligan Fandom.com has the full scoop.
 
The takeaway from the Howells’ monumental misunderstanding? "It takes an occasional thorn to remind us that marriage is truly a bed of roses."
​

Oh, the things I learn in this job. Yesterday, I learned the full name of “Gilligan” of Gilligan’s Island. This has haunted me for years and I expect it’s been on your mind, too. Gilligan’s proper name isn’t mentioned on any of the television show’s 98 episodes or during one of the three movie sequels that followed. It only exists in Sherwood Schwartz’s original treatment for the program.
 
And, now, we can put the mystery to rest.
 
You probably knew, but I didn’t, that Gilligan’s bucket hat has been all the rage, fashion-wise, for the last three years. How long before the Gilligan Shirt becomes a thing? If you didn’t realize it, the words that are underlined are clickable links. The first brings you to wear-next.com, where they talk about bucket hats as a fashion trend, and the second ferries you over to Amazon.com, where the seller pretends that their “Island Castaway Costume Shirt” isn’t the Gilligan Shirt. I receive no form of anything from anybody if you happen to click the links. I only provide them because they amuse me.
 
Not that you asked, but if my partner ever saunters into the house wearing a sexy grin, an Island Castaway Costume Shirt, and a bucket hat? He gets locked out of the bedroom.
 
In my final October blog of this year, I promised to share why all future posts would include some mention of the classic sitcom, Gilligan’s Island. Then, distracted by a family emergency, I failed to keep that promise the very next week. If you were paying close attention, you probably noticed that I failed to mention any classic sitcoms, much less write anything about the Skipper and his gang. Let me correct this oversight.
 
When I returned to regularly posting blogs here, I saw an uptick in website visitors. Not bunches – no one except me and thee read blogs these days – but some. Then, having written a post about Condom Girl, the weekly traffic to the site suddenly doubled. There are only so many blogs any one person can write about Condom Girl, however, so I didn’t return to the subject. It was a one-and-done and, during the weeks that followed, my number of website visitors returned to normal. They did, anyway, until I wrote about Lawrence Block and featured a prominent photo of his naughty novel, I Sell Love. Again, the very next week, my website traffic numbers doubled.
 
I had to see the results twice before I realized that sex sells. It shouldn’t have been a revelation. I did think, if I had provocative bits to include every time I posted, I could build an impressive audience for my two websites. I don’t have the energy for this. It feels too much like work.
 
You might be wondering what this has to do with the island castaways. It turns out, it isn’t only sex that draws a crowd. The first week in October, I used my website to discuss Gilligan’s Island and the “gotcha” ad lines that I had mistaken as news items. These are those “news” items, along with their subheadings:
 
You Might Be an Old Fart if You Still Do This We are sorry to tell you that these things were never cool.
 
Always Place a Crayon in Your Wallet When Traveling I was all set for my trip. That’s when my friend told me to place a crayon in my wallet when traveling.  
 
Man Denies Female Soldier Her Seat in the Plane Once she sat down, things got even worse.
 
Once this went up, I had a record number of people dropping by the website. Even more than visited the sexy blog posts! At which point, I wrote that I’d be namedropping Gilligan every time I posted.
 
I didn’t keep that promise for even one week, and I decided that’s all right. If the website became really popular, I’d feel obligated to continue blogging past Post #52 (this is #39) and I’m not certain I care to do that.
 
But, this one final time, let me return to the island and used the last portion of “The Ballad of Gilligan’s Island” (lyrics by Sherwood Schwartz, music by George Wyle) to name all of the sitcom’s favorite characters:

With Gilligan: Full name, Willy Gilligan.
The Skipper, too: Full name, Jonas Grumby.
The millionaire: Full name, Thurston Howell III.
And his wife: Full name, Eunice "Lovey" Howell (née Wentworth).
The movie star: Full name, Ginger Grant.
The professor: Full name, Roy Hinkley, Jr.
And Mary Ann: Full name, Mary Ann Summers.
 
Here on Gilligan’s Isle!
​
 

I’ve had a hard week and, I’m telling you, one blog isn’t nearly enough to share all of the details. A few of the particulars: A beloved family member suddenly and unexpectedly was sent to the hospital, we scrambled to find last-minute plane tickets, an available hotel room, any kind of rental car as quickly as we could. Then we did the airport dance – airports used to be fun; not any longer – and it all came together at the end, but I was on tenterhooks, expecting the smallest loose thread to cause everything to fall apart. We were told to expect the worse, but the worse thankfully didn’t happen (such joy from EVERYONE) but, because the worse hadn’t happened, we were no longer allowed to visit our BFM. Not for days, we were told, possibly for weeks. The hospital had COVID-19 restrictions were in place, and those restrictions were not unwarranted. The hospital has at least one entire floor of COVID-19-stricken patients.
 
(In the paragraph above, I first wrote, “I was on tenderhooks”, only for Microsoft Word to flag the word as incorrect. Mignon Fogarty, the Grammar Girl, has advised us all that correct word in my situation is “tenterhooks.” It’s one of those long-ago words that makes little sense today. It references the metal hooks that, once upon a time, were used to hold cloth as it dried. While drying, the cloth stretched and grew taut. The people in the 18th century decided that when someone felt stretched or appeared taut, they were kind of like the cloth left on tenterhooks. You need to remember, it was hundreds of years ago. Lacking all electronic escape in those days, people eagerly gathered around the tenter to watch their cloth dry. Good times.)
 
We returned to the airport yesterday morning, ready to return home, only to discover that our American Airlines flight was delayed. Then it was delayed again. Then delayed once again. One we were allowed onboard, I didn’t hear anyone complain about our additional leisure time in the airport terminal. We knew we were lucky that we were able to fly out at all that day. According to Business Insider, well over 1500 AA flights were canceled on the 31st.
 
When my partner and I finally made it home, it was dusk. I was so weary that, as night fell, I didn’t have the energy to watch a horror movie on Halloween night for the first time since… forever. I did eat some Halloween candy because I was, after all, still breathing, but that was the highlight of my evening.
 
So, no Slaxx for me, the movie about possessed evil designer jeans, no Freaky, the movie about a serial killer swapping bodies with a well-intentioned teenager, either. And no regrets about this lost opportunity. I may save the flicks for next year. Or I may watch them on Thanksgiving or Christmas.
 
Who says we shouldn’t watch horror movies on Thanksgiving? Who says we shouldn’t eat Halloween candy at Christmas? I’ll have to get more Halloween candy, though. After all, last night’s bag barely survived the night.
 
There’s no chance it survives the week.