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What Loving Billy The Elephant Over The Years Has Meant

Loving Billy…

“They, who have suffered so much at the hands of humans, never lose the ability to forgive, even though, being elephants, they will never be able to forget.”

― Daphne Sheldrick, An African Love Story: Love, Life and Elephants

I was a docent at the L.A. Zoo some thirty years ago, where I was honored to learn and teach about all the species we studied there. But though I loved the amazing gatherings of bright humans who were passionately dedicated to all wild beings, I wanted more. I needed to be up close with the animals themselves. In those days, that was truly possible. (Today, you practically need a PhD to shovel poop! Not kidding.)

I decided to sign up as a part-time animal keeper and it became one of the highlights of my life — working just about all the strings, from snakes to anteaters to apes to “hoof stock,” etc. But the greatest moment of all was when I was asked to help in the elephant barn. It seemed that two babies had been added to the troop and the keepers could use double assistants. I was over the moon.

And so began my time meeting and greeting some of the most astounding beings on the planet. Matriarch Gita, as well as Ruby and others — but it was baby Becky and Billy who took my breath away. Still “toddlers,” the two were not more than four years old. Describing them as cute doesn’t do them justice. OMG, those faces! I can see them now to this day.

Billy the Elephant

But Billy could have been one of my little boys — full of mischief and silliness and the antics of a joyful little being so full of himself and life. I was often warned to not get between a wall and a goofy baby elephant who just wanted to play with and push me into what could have been a squish if I wasn’t careful! I adored him!

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Home

I’m focused right now on the theme of something that resonates deep within my soul: “HOME.”

“There is no place like home.”
~ L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

That word might be a trigger for you as well as it is for me. HOME means so much to so many for so many reasons-joyful and not so much.

But you had to be living under a rock if you hadn’t been made aware, nor worse, been impacted by the raging fires, floods, mudslides, volcanoes, explosions, earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes, wars, etc. that have drop-kicked millions around the globe from their homebased lives onto foundationless ash and rubble. Beloved memories, cherished pictures and letters and family treasures lost in the smoke and ethers. Plus, far too many lives lost-trapped and buried in the unimaginable maelstrom. Gone in a blink.

We can zero-in on the horror of it all, but we’d need new vocabularies to describe the infinite limitless horror. Yet, that’s not what I want to talk about today.

I want to talk about the thing that got me off the floor and faced a new day when my own home was ripped out from under me. My beloved home in the Hollywood Hills, California, some 30+ years ago when my reality was destroyed– after divorce and raising our beautiful sons and living the kind of heavenly life that only began when those two boys were born. I was reborn with them.

So, when all the material wonderful stuff I adored so much was taken away-crushed by the crash and burn of a 25+ year marriage and unthinkable bankruptcy pulling my beautiful home out from under me, I thought I would die.

Indeed, I wanted to die.

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Tree of Hope – Press Release

Author and motivational speaker, Cara Wilson-Granat, shares uplifting lessons gleaned from 20-year correspondence with Anne Frank’s father.

Palmetto Publishing
Phone: 888-457-9395
Info [at] PalmettoPublishing [dot] com
www.PalmettoPublishing.com

For Immediate Release

Tree of Hope: Anne Frank’s Father Shares His Wisdom With an American Teen and the World by Cara Wilson-Granat
ISBN: 978-1-63837-124-3
Publication Date: Available now on Amazon

As a young girl, Cara Wilson-Granat heard the remarkable story of Anne Frank, and its message of love really resonated with her and made a lasting impression. So much so, she began writing to Anne’s father Otto whose resilience and outlook she deeply admired. “Otto Frank never wanted Anne remembered as a victim but rather as a living spirit through her words,” Wilson-Granat said. Over the course of their decades long correspondence, Wilson-Granat found solace in the midst of the chaos of her teenage years growing up in American during the turbulent 1960’s and ‘70’s. What began with a letter gradually grew into an extraordinary friendship. “Otto validated my desire to be heard and respected at a time in my life when I needed it the most,” Wilson-Granat said. “He became my mentor, as he did to so many other youth around the world.” In her new memoir, Tree of Hope, Wilson-Granat offers a rare and intimate perspective on Otto Frank and the indelible mark he left on her and humanity.

Tree of Hope reveals Wilson-Granat’s personal collection of letters and photographs while chronicling important events in American history with authenticity and compassion. Wilson-Granat reflects on how the letter exchanges helped shape her future. The book is a moving tribute to Otto Frank and relates how he influenced, mentored, guided, empowered, and sparked hope in countless young people of all races, religions and cultures. “Otto Frank taught the importance of tolerance and true spirituality, focusing on the power of love, not revenge,” Wilson-Granat said. “It’s easy to understand why Anne was the kind of person she was having had Otto for a father.” For Wilson-Granat, the pièce de résistance was meeting Otto Frank in Switzerland three years before his death.

Tree of Hope is available for purchase online at Amazon.com.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cara Wilson-Granat is an author, storyteller, motivational speaker, and TEDx speaker. Her books and talks embrace a universal theme of hope over adversity. She is the author of “Tree of Hope–Anne Frank’s Father Shares His Wisdom With an American Teen and the World” and “Strength from Nature—Simple Lessons of Life Taught By the Most Unlikely Masters: The Nature Teachers” and co-wrote, with Mary Kate Scandone, “Nick of Time—The Nick Scandone Story: A Champion Paralympian Turns a Death Sentence Into Gold”. She is often asked to be a consultant for, as well as a participant, in documentaries on Otto Frank.

An avid animal and nature lover, she lives in Colorado with her husband, Peter.

Nick of Time – a Champion Paralympian

 Nick ScandoneAs we now celebrate the Paralympics, I want to highlight one of the most remarkable Paralympians and heroes you will love as much as I do.

Nick Scandone is a legend among those who knew and idolized him. I was honored to co-write his incredible story after Mary Kate Scandone requested my help. Mary Kate is the widow of Nick, a fierce and popular yachtsman who started out heading the high seas sailing to the Olympics. But Fate had other plans. In a story told in page-turning-rapidity, that vibrant young athlete was struck with a death sentence. ALS. But did that stop him? Determined to win that coveted Gold Medal he shifted from Olympian to Paralympian. And in that fight for his shining goal the entire world rallied around him.

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Interview: Short Life Lessons

I was interviewed by World Class Performer website about my new book, Tree of Hope: Anne Frank’s Father Shares His Wisdom with an American Teen and the World. I hope you enjoy reading it.

Source: WorldClassPerformer.com

World Class Performer

Where did you grow up and what was your childhood like? Did you have any particular experiences/stories that shaped your adult life?

I grew up in the San Fernando Valley, California. I was very much loved and supported by my parents. However, the childhood I always considered truly happy was the one I had with my beautiful sons. When they were born, so was I.
I am grateful for the fact that my childhood home was one of acceptance and love for all beings; we cherished animals. We lived on a rambling ranch and I had many pets that were rescued and cared for. Our holidays were often filled with people of all races and religions gathered around our table. I never knew prejudice.

So, a particularly wrenching memory I had was in the mid-Fifties when I was traveling cross-country with my parents and little sister and we stopped at a gas station where I saw a water fountain with a sign above it titled, “Colored.” Besides myself, with excitement thinking that the water would actually be colorful I ran to turn on the spigot whereupon the gas station attendant stopped me telling me I couldn’t drink from that fountain. It was for colored people alone. I had absolutely no idea what he meant. Colored people? People with designs and colors on them? No. People who weren’t white. Shocked by the reality for the first time in my life at age ten that people were separated by the color of their skin, I remember sobbing to my parents, and wrote a poem at that time, “Always drink from the same fountain. Always climb the same mountain. Negro, Japanese, Hindu, White should all be friends and never fight…”

I still believe this with all my heart.

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The Mail

“If it takes the entire army and navy to deliver a postal card in Chicago, that card will be delivered.”
~ Grover Cleveland

I’m feeling nostalgic today. Oh for so many things but in particular? The postal service. One of those forever foundations of our lives that we could always depend on. Up until this very moment, no matter what, we always knew that, yes in rain, sleet or snow, our mail would magically arrive—slipped into the door slot, or the front yard mailbox, or wherever our address happened to be. The postal person (who oftentimes became part of our families and remembered always during the holidays with little gifts from us!) could be seen walking in every kind of weather carrying a huge backpack of letters and packages to be delivered throughout the neighborhoods. It was predictable. Comforting. Undeniable. It didn’t matter how small the postcard, or passionate the love letter, or mysterious the fat package, or longed-for correspondence, and yes, even the dreaded bills—they would each be hand-delivered almost always on time. Whether you mailed something yourself or eagerly awaited its arrival, this was all part of the come-and-go easy flow of America that used to be.

US Mail carrier

Like the sun in the morning and the moon at night, the mail simply just was. You never even thought that one day it wasn’t to be—that it would be stopped, removed, used as a political ploy to block a national election from happening.

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An interview with Jesse Wilson (“The Mask Guy”)

“The smile beneath the mask—or how to communicate emotion while most of our faces are covered up.”

I’m doing all I can to accept the new normal of mask-wearing 2020. Don’t get me wrong. I believe in all the life-saving reasons. I really do. Thing is, along with trying to breathe while dealing with a chronic sinus thing and a lifelong claustrophobia condition about mask-wearing I face stuff that I hate to face on my face.

Masks

But the non-smiling thing. It’s alienating. Even punishing. I love smiling at people and love the smile back. I miss it all. And forget about those goofy masks with painted smiles across them that only give me nightmares. Like trying to cozy up to Chucky. No, I just miss the genuine, warm-hearted smiles.

I mean, I come from a very smiley, huggy family (don’t get me started missing the hugs!) And now? Yes, we’re meant to focus on the twinkly eyes. The warmth of conversation—six feet away. The hand wave. All substitutes for that good, old-fashioned, grin from ear-to-ear.

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My Musings on why Black Lives Must Matter

Colored only

“The reason people think it’s important to be white is that they think it’s important not to be black.”
~ James Baldwin

It was in the mid-Fifties when I took a cross-country trip with my family and stopped at a gas station somewhere in the South. I was around ten years old and, parched from the long drive, I eagerly headed for what I thought was a magical drinking fountain. The sign on it said, “Colored” and I couldn’t wait to discover a rainbow spray of water jetting out of it. What a concept. Colorful water! But no. I was stopped by the owner who directed me to the other drinking fountain. For “whites only.” I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. I wasn’t raised in a racist family and this was my first introduction to any kind of “us” and “them” discrimination in the name of skin color. I was devastated.

I’d never known what bigotry/racism was all about, though many years later I would learn the horrors and my rose-colored glasses would be dashed to pieces when I discovered the raw reality of slavery—innocent black people being wrenched from their families and African homeland to be kept as sub-humans on American soil working for white “slave owners”; massacres of black soldiers by white soldiers in the Civil War, lynchings throughout history (and today!), on and on and on. Oh, the aching songs, gospel ballads and blues, poetry, books, etc. that arose out of those bloody ashes–

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How Soup and so Much More Made Me What I am Today!

“Sometimes I need
only to stand
wherever I am
to be blessed.”
~ Mary Oliver

Happy International Women’s Day!

I love this Mary Oliver quote, (well, I love just about ALL Mary Oliver quotes) but this is a reminder that wherever I am there I am in a place of feeling blessed. Just to be alive.

I know you like I have some key highlights in your lives that celebrate this day—either for you personally, or remembering other women that you’re honoring.

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Auld Lang Syne Reimagined

Take a Cup of Kindness for Auld Lang Syne…

“Seek goodness everywhere, and when it is found, bring it out of its hiding place and let it be free and unashamed…”
~William Saroyan

I wish so many wishes not only for myself but for each of you and our world and this life I love so much. I know I can’t save anything and anybody even though everything in me wants to more than ever. Baby steps. One little act of kindness like a pebble thrown into a pond. Ripples of good go a long way.

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