We all search for meaning in our lives. One way or another, we must find a story to tell ourselves. I asked the members of The Write Room Blog to share their understanding of that search. Their responses inform and challenge; they are well worth reading. (Kenneth Weene)
LOVE GIVES LIFE PURPOSE by Salvatore Buttaci
We were blessed.
We didn’t have many luxuries. My father worked two jobs, but my mother was always there teaching us how to be God-loving and respectful to everyone. They taught us by example to pray, laugh, love, and accept life as a passageway to a better world. They trusted God completely and never questioned His Will.
Did we notice the lack of things in our lives? No way! Did temper tantrums follow the opening of presents on Christmas morning when, instead of toys, we were gifted with pajamas, a pair of rosary beads –– something inexpensive but heart-given? I don’t think so.
In 1949 when I was eight, I hinted to my father how much I wanted a Red Ryder BB rifle. If my memory serves me correctly, it was Saturday and we were in Woolworth’s Five and Dime Store in Brooklyn where Papa was buying some odds and ends. When we walked past the counter piled high with those rifles, I went back there and stared as if by magic I could claim one for my own.
“Could Santa bring me one for Christmas, Pa?”
His face took on that sad look of his when fate had his hands tied and what he wanted to do was what he could only dream of doing.
“Santa’s poor this year,” he said, then hustled me away.
Papa worked nights at a local Italian bakery. While we were in school, he slept, so we hardly saw him. Christmas morning finally came and there against the wall behind the little decorated tree was a tall box. My Red Ryder! I thought. Santa brought one after all. But when I tore open the wrappings, pulled free the contents, disappointment clouded my face. It was a hand-made rifle, whittled into shape, painted like the real thing. Mama told me later how Papa had patiently worked day after day whittling that piece of wood into a rifle, sacrificing much needed sleep to please me.
Oh, yes, God has blessed me more than words can express.
My parents’ final gift may seem meager to others, but to me it was a most welcomed grace: the last words, “I love you,” whispered to me from their hospital deathbeds, first, my father, and then years later, my mother.
I know I will be thinking of those gifts for as long as I live and will repeat the words to my Sharon and to all those who made and continue to make my life a wondrous thing.
When God the Father created the world and us in it, when He sent His Son who willingly died that excruciated death to atone for our sins, when He sends the Holy Spirit to sanctify us with grace, He shows His Love for us. My purpose in life? To emulate that love in whatever small measure I can by loving God and myself, then expanding that love to others, many of whom are burdened with loveless lives and the inability to believe in the reality of God. I feel strongly that I must show them the joy that comes from walking with God and accepting His gifts of Boundless Love.
Every road needs a reason to walk, every life a purposeful destination. Like my God-loving parents, I pray one day to dance in the circle of His Light forever.
Salvatore Buttaci’s work has appeared widely in publications that include New York Times, U. S. A. Today, The Writer, Writer’s Digest, Cats Magazine, The National Enquirer, Christian Science Monitor, A Word with You Press, and Cavalcade of Stars.
His collection of flash fiction 200 Shorts is available at http://www.amazon.com/200-Shorts-Salvatore-Buttaci-ebook/dp/B004YWKI8O/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1399042844&sr=1-2&keywords=200+shorts
His book A Family of Sicilians is available at http://lulu.com/ButtaciPublishing2008
Sal lives in West Virginia with Sharon, the love of his life.
Discovering Your Purpose by J. F. Elferdink
“There is no greater gift you can give or receive than to honor your calling. It’s why you were born and how you become most truly alive.”— Oprah Winfrey
Some people seem to know their calling very young—those who have been given a special talent. An example from my reading is Asher Lev in the book “I Am Asher Lev” by Chaim Potok. Asher Lev was compelled to draw and paint from the time he was a child, even though the price he paid was excessive: his art depicted things forbidden by his Jewish community and he was ostracized. Yet he drew.
It hasn’t been that simple to recognize my own calling. My grades pointed toward some form of communications and my writing assignments for school and work were typically praised. While a single mom and college student I also kept a journal. That form of writing, with no restrictions, stopped abruptly when I remarried. My new husband insisted I destroy the words that implicated a life before him. When I wouldn’t, he did. It seemed a part of me was lost in those ashes. But a strange thing happened during that experience—I had a sensation of a voice in my head telling me to let it go because I would write something much better.
A few years later I found a fresh reason to write. It would lead to authoring my first novel, written to resolve the death of a man I loved and to be a channel for a new passion: social justice. The book took five years to complete. My expectation for a bestseller turned out to be unfounded. Even so, I started on a sequel because there was more I wanted to say. But it’s a struggle. Most days any number of tasks are elevated to greater importance than uncoiling a story from my mind to my computer’s monitor. That faceless critic won’t let me go. He keeps up the tirade: What will people think if you write that? Do you want to open yourself to more rejection?
That internal voice leads to questioning my purpose and suspecting my “mystical moment.” That leads to chaining my creative drive and ignoring the next chapter in my sequel. I’ve been trying that for more than a year while forcing myself to dismiss the nagging sensation that there’s something left undone.
Answers often come to me out of others’ writing. This week I finished another book by Potok, “The Gift of Asher Lev.” In this one, Asher has found success through his talent, but Paris critics suggest his paintings are no longer fresh, instead mired in technique. The criticism stops him; his canvases remain white. He does continue drawing although it’s not the embodiment of his talent. Then one day while staring at those drawings, he begins to decipher “a matrix underlying his new work.” New possibilities! He cleans his brushes and takes out the jars of paints.
Application for my life (and maybe yours): Do I let my internal critic win or do I accept my destiny and become “most truly alive?”
Joyce Elferdink has finally come close to achieving her goal implanted long ago after reading Gift from the Sea: to live a balanced life, where each day includes time for herself, for relationships, for nature, and for meaningful work. She has never forgotten what Ann Morrow Lindbergh wrote about individuals “often trying, like me, to evolve another rhythm with more creative pauses in it, more adjustment to their individual needs, and new and more alive relationships to themselves as well as others.”
THE DANGER OF BEING POSITIVE by R.J. Ellory
The internet is full to the gunwales with ‘be positive’ aphorisms, usually posted by individuals who choose to employ pseudonyms such as ‘Amethyst Starfire’ and ‘Harmony Rainbow’. I am British, and therefore innately cynical at the best of times, but when faced with such banal and useless messages as ‘Follow your heart to wherever it may take you’ and ‘The only person you should try to be better than is the person you were yesterday’ I am often driven to the limits of my own fragile sanity. Be a better person than you were yesterday? Right. Good enough. So I am a serial killer. Yesterday I got two kills. Today I’ll go for three, and then I’ll get take-out and a nice bottle of Chianti. Follow my heart to wherever it takes me. I have a friend. Her ‘heart’ tells her to pursue psychotic obsessive-compulsive control freak men who wind up doing nothing but barely repairable damage to her ‘heart’ and the rest of her life.
There is a real danger in fatalism. There is a real danger in believing in destiny. There is a very real danger in ‘positive thinking’, if only from the viewpoint that thinking is not doing, and doing is the only thing that really results in something being done.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not saying that you shouldn’t be positive. I am a very firm believer in the need to be positive, to acknowledge one’s own capability and competence, but only being positive is not going to make the grade. One needs to actually do as well. I am also a very firm believer in the reality of negative people, the very real effect of negative comments and statements designed to undermine and make less of one’s efforts. Negative people are merely hoping to see you fail because it will help rationalize and justify their own failures.
Very recently my wife and I looked at all the people we worked with, spent time with and those we considered friends. Very quickly it became quite clear that there were a few who took and took and took and gave nothing in return. We loaned them money, we helped them solve their life problems, we bailed them out of trouble, we had them over for dinner, threw parties on their birthdays, and yet in return there was never a single invite, never a gift, never a ‘Hey, I can help you with that’. So we decided to just let them go. We didn’t say or do anything to them. We certainly didn’t level any criticism or reprimand. We didn’t try to fix things or correct anything. We just stopped communicating. Did they reach for us? Did they make any effort to find out why we had stopped communicating to them? Not at all. Months have gone by now, and not a word. So I understand negative people and the effect they can have. I also understand that people can be sponges for your attention and help, and yet nothing ever comes back in return.
However, I digress. This article is supposed to be about purpose and direction. These words have come about as a result of a request for advice and direction to the website visitors regarding how to better identify and highlight what is important in their own lives. During the past few months I have spent more time reviewing my life and my own purposes and priorities than perhaps at any other. I am approaching fifty, and even though I may not live to a hundred it kind of feels like a half-way point. Life – for me – is about action. It is about being who you are, doing what you want and having what you desire. It is also, just as importantly, about doing what you can to assist others in the realization of their own goals and purposes. As has been said many times before in many different ways, a man who wishes to be happy and yet does not spend the vast majority of his time trying to make others happy is a fool. But there has to be a balance. If someone does not know who they really are (i.e. they do not really understand their own priorities and goals, nor their own strengths and weaknesses) then they cannot undertake the right actions to achieve what they want. Life is a job, very simply. If you do not understand what the purpose of your job is, and you have no real clue as to how to best use the tools you have been given, then there is not much hope of accomplishing the end result of that job.
One cannot sit on the sofa in front of the television and ‘think positive’ to a better life. I don’t believe that can be done, and yet that seems a realistic and acceptable life-plan to the vast majority of people I speak to.
So, where am I going with this? I am going to give you some aphorisms that have worked for me, and that continue to work for me on a daily basis. Some of them I might have invented, some of them were written by others whose names I do not even know, and some of them have been credited to their respective author. They all say the same thing in different ways, and they all push in the direction of identifying your own goals and pursuing them. How, you might ask, do I identify my goals? I think that’s the easiest part in all of this. Where do your passions lie? What motivates you? What gets you enthusiastic? Those are the areas where you need to look, despite others who might say how unrealistic, difficult or competitive those areas of interest might be.
So, here we go:
Some people dreamed of success…while others woke up and worked hard at it.
What you chose to focus your mind on is critical.
Persistence is the key, the backbone, the spirit of accomplishment and achievement.
A person who aims at nothing is sure to hit it.
Persistence is the hard work you do after you get tired of doing the hard work you already did.
A man can only do what he can do. But if he does that each day he can sleep at night and do it again the next day.
Once you learn to quit, it becomes a habit.
Many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up. The world said “Give up.” Hope whispered, “Try it again…just one more time.”
With ordinary talents and extraordinary perseverance, all things are attainable.
The saints we revere and respect in all fields are the sinners who kept on going.
Do not spend a moment worrying about whether someone thinks you are the worst human being of all or the brightest star in the universe. Your integrity to yourself is more important than anyone else’s viewpoint. You know if you are working as hard as you can to create a great future for yourself and the people you care for.
It doesn’t matter if you try and try and try again, and fail. It does matter if you try and fail, and fail to try again.
History has demonstrated that the most notable winners usually encountered heartbreaking obstacles before they triumphed. They refused to become discouraged by their defeats.
Character consists of what you do on the third and fourth tries.
Courage is being afraid but going on anyhow.
Decide carefully, exactly what you want in life, then work like mad to make sure you get it!
Defeat never comes to anyone until they admit it.
Stay away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but great people…great people are the ones who make you feel that you too can be truly great.
No one can always be right.
Expect trouble as an inevitable part of life. When it comes, hold your head high, look it squarely in the eye and say, “You cannot defeat me.”
Forget all the reasons why something may not work. You only need to find one good reason why it will.
Nadia Comaneci, the Romanian teenage gymnast, winner of three Olympic Gold Medals by the age of fourteen, was asked how she made it look so effortless.
She hesitated for just a moment, and then she smiled, and said, “It’s the hard work that makes it easy.”
Pablo Picasso, more than eighty years old, was asked why he still worked fourteen and sixteen hours a day. His reply, very simply: ‘When inspiration finds me, I want her to find me hard at work’.
Be proud to work. Be proud to be exhausted with the things you have accomplished today. Dream of what you want. Work hard. Persist. Persevere. Make it happen. Do not end your life with the words ‘What if?’ Those are the words with which to begin your life.
Courage does not always roar the loudest or fight the hardest. Courage is often nothing more than the quiet voice at the end of a long day that says, ‘Tomorrow…tomorrow I will try again’.
Commit yourself to success. Somewhere. Somehow. In some field. As Goethe, the great philosopher said, “Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. Concerning all acts of initiative and creation, there is one elementary truth, ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now.”
As Benjamin Disraeli said, ‘Success is entirely dependent upon constancy of purpose’, and I believe in this without doubt or hesitation. Whatever purpose you have now, keep it alive, keep working at it, keep directing your energies and attention towards it, and it will be realized.
As a result of what I have learned I have been able to travel the world and meet some truly extraordinary people. The most important ones have often been the most humble and the most interested in others. The most successful ones have been those who cared most about their fellow man. The happiest ones have been those who were literate, hard-working, persistent and courageous in their endeavours.
So, in closing…turn off the television, stop reading the newspapers (because their entire purpose is to make you think that the world in which we live is rough and dangerous and crazy and out-of-control, and it isn’t much like that at all), stop doubting your own ability to achieve what you know you can achieve, and realize that achieving it is only going to happen if you do the work. Stop complaining, stop finding reasons why it can’t be done, stop worrying about what others might think, and do the work. Just shut up and do the work.
Having surmounted many obstacles in his own life, R.J. Ellory has gone on to be both a successful writer of crime novels and a musician.
Check out R.J.’s books at http://www.amazon.com/R.J.-Ellory/e/B002IVGFJO
The Doughnut and Not the Hole by John B. Rosenman
My father used to talk to me about what counted in life. Sometimes he quoted a poem you may be familiar with:
“As you ramble through Life, Brother,
Whatever be your goal.
Keep your eye upon the doughnut,
And not upon the hole.”
Even when I was a kid, I understood the moral. One should pursue real and meaningful goals in life and avoid empty attractions that can be a tragic waste of time. One should pursue worthwhile values and avoid the gaudy, seductive, and worldly pleasures of Vanity Fair.
However, can we always tell what the doughnut is, and what the hole? We might think it is easy, but Vanity Fair is just as real and dangerous now as it was when John Bunyan wrote The Pilgrim’s Progress. Even more real and dangerous, in fact. The media constantly bombard us with vain confections we come to crave. Money, glamor, and sex, oh my. Some of us pilgrims easily lose our way and find ourselves lost forever.
What exactly is the doughnut? If I forget about the Kardashians and put down my scandal-racked tabloid, I would start my list by saying the doughnut consists of the following ingredients:
- Valuing your family and treasuring its members.
- Valuing your country and treasuring its traditions.
- Being kind and helpful to people whenever you can.
Number 3 sounds a lot like the Golden Rule to me. Contributing to worthwhile charities comes in here. I believe Truman Copote said there were only two moral rules. Mind your own business and don’t hurt anybody. I think a lot of the misery and confusion in our lives is caused by our failure to remember these two things.
I have to admit I’m not the best at following these principles. For example, I have fought with my wife when I knew I was wrong. But hey, I think I have a good idea of what goes into the doughnut. Here’s another ingredient based on my personal experience:
- Forget about past grievances and don’t hold grudges because of the way people have treated you. Let it go, let it go, let it go. Set aside your injured pride. For some of us, it’s harder to do than for others. If you can’t forgive, see if you can forget a little by focusing on the present and all the possibilities it offers.
I can’t cover this subject as fully as I’d like here, so I’ll close by mentioning one more tasty, filling and fulfilling ingredient in the doughnut. To some of you, it may be the most important one.
- Consider developing a relationship with God or a supreme being who is larger and more wonderful than everything else. Some folks may object to this. But please, don’t simply decide there is no ultimate intelligence in the universe and never consider the matter again. As for believers, I recommend that reexamining and questioning our beliefs now and then can be a very good thing. Miguel de Unamuno said “Faith which does not doubt is dead faith.”
As for Socrates, he believed that “not life, but a good life, is to be chiefly valued.” Money, possessions, popularity and praise don’t automatically equal the good life, and worldly success doesn’t mean one is a virtuous and deserving person. It’s what one stands for and what one does with such wealth that matters.
Otherwise it’s the hole in that doughnut rather than the doughnut itself.
John B. Rosenman, a retired English professor from Norfolk State University, has published over 300 stories and 20 books. His work includes science fiction and dark erotic fiction. “The Blue of Her Hair, the Gold of Her Eyes won the 2011 annual readers’ poll from “Preditors and Editors.” In 2013, Musa Publishing awarded his time travel story “Killers” their Top Pick. He is the former Chairman of the Board of the Horror Writers Association and the previous editor of Horror Magazine.
Some Small Stranger by Micki Peluso
“Grandma,” a word sounding as old as Methuselah was about to become my title. My response to this new position escalated to the point of panic. Initially, I didn’t react well to the word, mother, either.
I remembered my own grandmother, with her soft white hair wound up in a bun; hair that when let down, easily reached her waist. I can still see her laboring over delicate paper-thin strudel dough in a warm kitchen filled with the aroma of chicken soup and fresh baked bread. I thought of my children’s grandmother, who had wiry salt and pepper hair, mostly salt, velvety skin, and eyes that seemed ageless. She was lovely, wore no make-up, and exuded a gentleness that gave the word, “Grandma,” a good name.
The title, “Grandma’” seemed to place me in a different age bracket–and I wasn’t ready. I could still squeeze into my designer jeans, if I lay flat on the bed to pull up the zipper. My hair, mostly my own, was still blonde, and I hadn’t yet given my bikini to the Salvation Army. I would probably have to soon– the neighbors were starting to complain. I did Jane Fonda religiously, which meant once a week, and wasn’t planning on taking Geritol for a few more years.
Soon after my daughter informed me of her pregnancy, placing the weighty mantle of “Grandma” around my neck, my life began to change. My shoulders drooped as I walked down the street, hinting that osteoporosis was right around the corner. Wrinkles, cropped up from nowhere, etching the itinerary of my life. Silver strands peeked out from among the gold, thinning gold at that. Fading eyesight precipitated the need for “Granny” glasses, and all my best parts appeared to have dropped six inches. My husband, suffering his own identity crisis, joked about trading me in for two twenty-year olds.
“Go ahead,” I told him. “I may as well be widowed as the way I am now.” My youth was gone, chased away by a menacing word that hovered like an albatross over my troubled psyche.
I sulked most of the nine months preceding the arrival of the one responsible for my fate. I was proud of my daughter, excited by the prospect of a new baby, her baby, joining the family, but I couldn’t adjust to my novel role. I laid claim to many titles in my lifetime, from Miss to Mrs. to Mommy, a brief encounter with Ms., plus a few titles that didn’t need capitalization. There was something about the word, Grandma, which stuck in my throat. My friends smirked and made the usual jokes, perilously endangering our friendship. They could afford to be cute. None of them were about to be grandparents. I would be the first.
It wasn’t fair. I had raised my children, gave my all in the name of motherhood, and faced the daily grind of bottles, diapers and finicky eaters. I lost sleep during middle of the night marathons with teething toddlers, and suffered through puberty and adolescence with only a hint of martyrdom. Now when the “best was yet to come,” some small stranger, still to be born, was transforming me into an old woman; a grandma.
My daughter’s delivery came, as most do, in the middle of the night. It was a long, hard labor, beset with life-threatening problems for both herself and the baby; problems which made my own insignificant. My pleas, that night, to a higher authority, did not concern my apprehension of grand motherhood. I begged for the safety of my child and her baby. Nothing else mattered.
After an agonizing wait in a room full of people mutely sharing similar concerns, the doctor burst through the delivery room doors. Ten agonizing hours had elapsed since we entered that room. It seemed a lifetime. The doctor spotted us and rushed over. My heart was in my throat as I rose to meet him.
“Your daughter’s fine” he said, smiling. “Congratulations, Grandma! It’s a boy!”
He had to say “Grandma”. My husband breathed a sigh of relief and began passing out cigars. I sat silent, relieved for my daughter, uncertain of the reality before me.
I finally walked over to the glass windows of the nursery, where “Grandpa,” beaming proudly, had preceded me. I looked down upon a tiny, screaming infant, who, with flailing arms and red, wrinkled face, was a miniature of my daughter. He stopped crying, and gazed up at me with unfocused eyes, appraising me as I did him, his mouth turning up in a crooked grin. I loved him at once. Suddenly the word “Grandma,” the most beautiful word in the world, seemed to fit like a pair of broken-in running shoes.
Micki Peluso is a Journalist, and humorist, writing for several newspapers, plus publishing short fiction and non-fiction in various magazines and e-zines, winning many contests and awards. Her short works appear in a half dozen book collections, including the Reader’s Favorite International Award for two short stories, in “The Speed of Dark” published by Clayton Bye. Her first book, . . . And the Whippoorwill Sang, a funny, bittersweet story of love, loss and survival won the Nesta Silver Award for writing that “Builds Character.” “Don’t Pluck the Duck” soon to be released is a collection of her published slice of life, short fiction and non-fiction. http://www.amazon.com/Micki-Peluso/e/B002BLZ7JK
Make a Conscious Choice by C. Clayton Bye
Many years ago, while on an evening stroll in Toronto, I came upon a young couple who were being harassed by three thugs. It didn’t take long for me to realize that the young man was in the kind of situation that tends to turn out badly. In fact, I figured one of two things was going to happen: he was going to receive a beating, or he was going to lose face with his girl.
Everything about the fellow’s demeanour indicated he’d reached a similar conclusion. Take your pick of emotions. There was fear, frustration, anger, even humiliation: each appeared and disappeared on this victim’s face like the shifting scenes in a suspense film.
One of the aggressors laughed, and I found myself thinking about what most people would do when encountering a situation such as this. The answer which appeared in my head was to mind my own business. No surprises there, right? However, I profess to be a Contrarian. According to my personal definition, this is a person who always considers doing the opposite of what most people do—as a way to identify opportunities to be extraordinary.
I walked up, inserted myself between the two lovers and quietly told the young man I was there to help. The response was wonderful to behold. He drew himself up to full height, his face relaxed and hope shone in his eyes. Then, obtaining a silent nod of agreement from me, and giving the girl’s hand a quick squeeze, he stepped forward to face the bullies.
Keeping my mouth shut, I let my new friend take control of the situation, allowed him the chance to look good in front of his lady. He handled himself well, and the thugs, visibly uncomfortable with the new odds, were soon gone.
A similar event was recently reported by local media. Unfortunately, the results were tragic. A young man attempted to help some people in trouble and was knifed to death. No one else was hurt, but a bright future was cancelled in an instant.
Individuals reading my column might ask, “Doesn’t the preceding story prove it pays to mind your own business?” My answer would be, “No!” I believe the young man who lost his life did the right thing. I’m sorry he died, but I’m also certain he acted as he did because he understood that the safe alternative, the choice of inaction, of tolerating a wrong or an evil, would have made him part of the problem.
The habit of taking responsibility for yourself, of consistently making the right choice, rather than the safe or easy choice, is the most difficult way of life I know. And we, as a society, need more of it! How many times has that tiny, seventy-something lady walked past your doorstep in frigid weather, bags full of groceries scraping the ground, without someone coming to her aid? What about the foul-mouthed teenagers at the mall? Why is their behaviour tolerated? Closer to home, who monitors your own decision making? What checks and balances do you have in place for those times when your behavioural choices are less than perfect?
Doing nothing to change what’s wrong in and about your life is a choice. It’s a form of behaviour. And in spite of what you might have heard to the contrary, when you say and do hurtful things, you are a hurtful person. This modern notion that we aren’t defined by our actions is, in my opinion, complete nonsense. We’re nothing if we aren’t our behaviour.
You and I don’t have to be perfect. We just need to be consistent in what we choose to do. The best analogy I can offer comes from baseball. A player with a .300 batting average is a treasure, yet he gets on base just three in every ten trips to the plate. He understands that if you keep swinging the best way you know how, you’ll get through the outs and achieve some hits. We can do the same.
When you see a person bending under the weight of their load, make a conscious choice to help. The next time you’re tempted to say or do something in anger, bite your tongue. Better yet, find something nice to say and do. Make the responsible choice. Then make another. And another. And another.
Sure, you’ll take some strikes. But your batting average will improve over time. That’s what practice is all about. Actions create results; we are what we say and do.
Clayton Bye is a writer, editor and publisher. The author of 9 books and a varied collection of short stories, poems, articles and hundreds of reviews, he has also published 3 award winning anthologies. Shope at his estore: http://www.amazon.com/Clayton-Bye/e/B002BWULO0