I will have less of a presence on The Torrid Tribe Community. We have very little activity here. This is a sign to me that members have found other social media resources that they are spending more time in. I am happy to see less censorship on social media in general. I started The Torrid Tribe 4 years ago when we were in a state of censorship and lockdowns. It was a difficult time and this was a haven and sanctuary for so many.

I will be lightly posting things here to give you all content to see. This community will always be open to everyone and will resurrect to its full capacity if subscribers show they want it fully operational again with full time administration.

Thank you for being a part of this community. Sending each of you hugs.

K-
Creator of The Torrid Tribe

Passion is the vibe that I want to bring to this community. I want to enjoy your passion for whatever it is you are into. Let's share what we learn - and learn what each other shares. Foodies unite. I love to cook and share recipes. I will regularly post pictures and recipes are available upon request. I would enjoy discussing your past, present and future journeys. Nature is God and Mother Earth's exquisite gift to us. Share a picture and we will enjoy the beauty through your eyes. Let's get deep and consensual with great subjective matter. This is a non judgemental safe place to let everything hang out.

Thank you for your membership contribution subscription. It sponsors our frequent zooms.

For those members that are enjoying this Community, Please consider subscribing. Your commitment will help this Community thrive.

Thank you and hugs.

Torri

Johnny Carson’s producers were screaming in his earpiece to keep the show moving. He ignored them. He stepped off the stage, took a dying woman’s hand, and created a moment so human that NBC was forced to re-edit the entire episode.

It was March 17, 1983, inside Studio 6B in Burbank. The Tonight Show was rolling smoothly. St. Patrick’s Day energy filled the room. Johnny had just finished a playful monologue about green beer, and the band was setting up as he prepared to welcome his first guest, Sally Field.

Then the room shifted.

Barbara Martinez sat in the fourth row wearing a green dress that hung loosely on her fragile frame. She was forty-two, but aggressive ovarian cancer had aged her decades. Beside her sat her husband, Miguel, holding her hand tightly. On her other side was their seventeen-year-old daughter, Elena, doing everything she could not to cry.

Barbara had been told six months earlier that she had three weeks to live. She fought far beyond that. Two days before the show, her oncologist was blunt. Maybe forty-eight hours. Go home.

Barbara didn’t ...