Thinking back over the last 2 years or so, I was recently reminiscing about how I first became acquainted with blogs and how I decided to start one of my own.
Since this is a retrospective, here is my first blog post:
JUNE 22,2005
"It seems every "great name I thought up and tried to get on "Blogger" was already taken so I just picked up a copy of the magazine"Southern Living" and turned a few pages and came up with "DriftWood Inspiration" so there is no particular significance to the name.
"Mainly this blog will be about my thoughts on living to age 75 and still staying active, alert and interested in many things. I came to the computer and the internet at age 68 and have taken to this "new" medium like a duck takes to water. I even relearned to type after a 50 year hiatus. It seems typing is stored in the brain and you never forget. At first it was hunt and peck but then I forced myself to try to remember where my fingers went on the keyboard and then started to type without looking at the keys. The many hours I spent in chat helped my typing tremendously but after a few years I tired of chat and moved on to games, Black Jack, Texas Hold'em Poker, Scrabble, and then Blogs."
----------------------------------------------------
The first time I heard the word blog of course I had no clue that it really meant web log, shortened to blog. I first read about blogs in the "New York Times" and I really cannot recall which was the first blog I visited but I do know that Ronni Bennett's "Time Goes By" was one of the first blogs that I visited regularly. I usually start my day with Ronni and I always get food for thought from her excellent posts.
Many days I mosey on over to "Daily Kos" a progressive political blog with much user participation. I do not always agree with DK but it makes me think and provides a good way to become informed about liberal politics and is useful and easy to comment on the many diaries posted there. If one is so inclined, after registering, you may post your own thoughts there in diary form. The format on DK is good and it is an interesting, easy to use site
I also try to stop by many of the blog links that Ronni has listed on her site, including "Golden Lucy's Spiral Notebook", "Octogenarian", "Build This House"
"Pure Land Mountain" and many others which are too numerous to list them all. Many times I just hit the highlights of the blogs on my favorites list and sometimes stop to comment.
Blogging underscores the fact that it's "A Big Wide Wonderful World" out there with Robert Brady in Japan, Claude in Paris, Savtadotty in Tel Aviv, Israel, Colleen in Canada and blog friends all across the US.
When I sit down at the computer to write or read blogs I feel as If I have entered a sacred space of silence that is uniquely mine. Concerns and worries melt away as I write on my blog or savor the thoughts of other bloggers or read interesting site throughout the Internet.
Ronni Bennett wrote this in her blog post on "Third Age.com"
"One of the fears everyone has about getting older is that our mental sharpness will decline. The "Eide Neurolearning Blog" reports that blogging has proved to be an excellent antidote:
Blogs can promote critical and analytical thinking
Blogging can be a powerful promoter of creative, intuitive, and associational thinking
Blogging is a powerful medium for increasing access and exposure to quality information."
Ronni summed it up this way:
"Blogging combines the best of solitary reflection and social interaction
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Sunday, June 25, 2006
A Short Story
(by Chancy)
OCTOREL ERASMUS
"After his baby sister, Tryphena, passed and after the funeral service at the New Hope Missionary Baptist Church, Octorel Erasmus sat very still in the faded old rocking chair on his rickety front porch. As the hot July sun faded into dusk he remained quiet and listened as the sounds of the country evening began. The crickets and the hooty owls. Then his two skinny ole hound dogs, Ben and Shad, stopped their scratching and licking, sighed and crept under the porch and slept.
The cool of the night darkness began to surround him and Octorel strained to remember the words of the old hymn they sang yesterday, July 26,1999 at his baby sisters service at the New Hope Missionary Baptist Church. Ah yes It went like this:
" When the roll is called up yonder, when the roll is called up yonder, when the roll is called up yonder I'll be there."
But no one up yonder was calling his name. Maybe he was not on the roll anymore. Or maybe the printing of his name had faded or worn off the Lord's Book of Heaven. Something had happened for sure as Octorel had not planned to live so long. Octorel Erasmus had outlived all his kinfolk and friends. Sometimes he thought he had outlived God, or maybe the good Lord hisself had done forgot about him
.
Octorel softly stroked the silky arms of the old wooden rocker .Over the years the chair arms had been worn marble smooth by all the scraggy,rough hands that had enjoyed it's comforting touch while rocking on the old porch. The raspy sound of back and forth-creak-back and forth-squeak soothed him as he reached back in memory to a sweltering July day almost 89 years ago.
He remembered his Pa running out to the fields where he and his seven brothers were hoeing weeds in the peanut patch. Pa took off his straw hat, wiped his damp face on his sleeve and said quietly.
"Boys. Y'all got yo'selves a baby sister. Ma's all right. Now let's praise the Lord and git back to work."
Octorel remembered closing his eyes and thinking,
" A girl. Well, I'm mighty proud for her. She won't have to break her back working the fields with us. She can help Ma cook and clean and wash and put up vegetables and sew and quilt and make jam. She'll grow into a pretty little thing and Ma can braid her hair and us boys can save up for some bright colored barrettes for her. She'll have her hair in shiny black plaits with pretty blue and red bows on the ends. Yes sir. She is a lucky Gal Baby with eight big brothers to look out for her."
Pa passed around the smooth yellow gourd dipper chugged full with cool well water from the tin bucket and they all refreshed themselves. Octorel could taste the salt as the sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes and brushing his lips so the sweet well water was a welcome treat. Then they all knelt on the rich warm ground for a moment of thanksgiving.
Octorel wondered what Ma and Pa would name her. They had named him Octorel because Ma had heard somewhere that the name meant eight and he was the eighth son. Pa said how lucky can one man be to have eight sons to help him work the farm.
They named her Tryphena after the twins in the Bible, Tryphena and Tryphona, but the boys always called her "Try" The years passed and Try grew into a sweet little girl and not a baby anymore About this time, one by one, the brothers began to think of leaving the farm.
Joseph, the oldest, took off first. Pa, and especially Ma begged him to stay and help them with the crops but one day he just up and took off and caught the bus for Detroit where he began to work in an automobile factory. The same one where cousin James worked.
Joseph wired money home every week for awhile but then stopped after he met a woman who made him feel like a real man. "Doll" he called her, but her Christian name was Crystal. Pa said he thought crystal was the outside glass on a watch.
Joseph and Crystal came home once after they got hitched. It was Christmas and Ma had baked her delicious white fruitcake. She cooked a fat hen with dumplings, made cornbread dressing and cleaned up the old house, aired the quilts and swept the dirt front yard with her homemade straw broom. She and Try even washed the old windows til they sparkled Everything smelled mighty sweet and fresh. That is, until Joseph and Doll arrived.
The first crack out of the box, Doll sat down, crossed her skinny legs, fishnet stockings and all, and started twiddling her pointy toed high heeled black patent shoes. Then she started smoking one Lucky Strike after another. Pheweey. She sure did stink up the place. At supper she had the gall to put out her cigarette in her half finished plate of Ma's good home cooking. Our eyes bugged out at that. I sure wanted to give Crystal down in the country for doing that but I kept quiet and Ma didn't say a word either.
"Doll" sure wasn't missed by any of us after she and Joseph up and left plenty early after just one night. Ma said that Crystal was just too high faluting and sure did not fit in and that Joseph had his work cut out for him trying to please a gal who smelled like cigarettes, strong perfume, and liquor. And holy moses did you see how she smacked that chewing gum. She even left a wad stuck under the seat of Ma's kitchen chair. We felt bad for Joseph but Pa said he made his own bed so he could just lay in it. And Ma, who never bad- mouthed anyone, said that a whistling woman, and a crowing hen never comes to a very good end.
A few years passed and brother Amos got a hankering to leave the farm. Then Abner and James went off together and joined the United States Marine Corps. The rest of the brothers all got married within a few months of each other and got their own places up the road a piece..
Try never married or left home. After Ma died and Pa was sickly she nursed him like a blessed angel until he passed. She cooked and cleaned and sewed and canned. almost as if she took over for Ma or thought she was supposed to.
Years went by and Rufus and Jesse got kilt in a car wreck. They both had been drinking moonshine. Mose passed with consumption and Luke with a a stroke, Soon they were all gone to their reward except me and Tryphena. So that left only the two of us around these stomping grounds.
I just never got around to marrying . I had plenty of chances.Once I was fixing to get hitched, but something or other come up and it just didn't happen. I got a job in town at the Piggly Wiggly tending to the produce counter, and Tryphina worked at the day nursery. She was always good with little ones. We gave up trying to have a farm crop except for vegetables and chickens.
Now they is all gone; except me. And here I sit. Saying goodbye to Try at the service yesterday was the hardest thing I ever done..I was all tore up. Tears run down my face like rain as I sat in the ole church while the preacher said words over her casket.
My mind wandered as I remembered how much we depended on each other. We used to sit out here on this old porch together to catch the late afternoon and evening breezes. We never talked much and when we did it was about old times passed and who had gone on before us.
Now, as I sit here on this broke down front porch, I wonder is I dreaming or is I already passed and don't know it. All of a sudden my head begins to ache . I see a bright light over yonder at the edge of the field and it sure hurts my eyes here in this darkness. The light is turning and turning like a wheel. Round and round. Full of bright rays of yellow and whirls of red. I remember the words in the song about
" Ezekiel saw a wheel, way up in the middle of the air; the big wheel ran by faith and the little wheel ran by the grace of God, a wheel in a wheel, away in the middle of the air."
The wind begins to blow stronger and a dark shadow seem to start across the field .The shadow looks like it's coming closer and closer ..Or is it just leaves and trash tumbling across the yard. Leaves and sticks; dry and crumbling and crackling to bits in the wind .A storm must be coming up. My eyes are failing me like everything else. You sure can't trust a body when it gets to be 101 years old. .
.One by one the fragments float up and settle on the porch at Octorel's feet. He trys to bend over and pick up a leaf and a scrap of old, faded paper but he feels too trembly and dizzy. Octorel decides that what he needs to feel better is some of Tryphena's homemade vegetable soup that she canned for him not long before she took sick . Octorel thought
" I need to eat it all up before my time is up. Don't want it to go to waste"
Octorel slowly gets up and stumbles inside. He enjoys the last taste of the hot soup, shuffles to his bed, pulls up the tattered old quilt that Ma had made and lays hisself down to rest.
On the porch,the old rocker keeps on rocking. The crumpled scrap of paper carried by the wind settles on the seat of the rocker. The rest of the dry leaves land silently on the porch floor.
If you had been there and leaned over you could have seen the scrap of paper which read:
'"My old hound dog lies a sleepin', he don't know I'm gonna leave.Else he'd wake up by the fireplace and he'd sit there & howl & grieve.But my huntin' days are over, ain't gonna hunt the coon no more.Gabriel done brought in my chariot when the wind blew down the door."**
OCTOREL ERASMUS
BORN MAY 16 1898
DIED JULY 27, 1999
A GOOD AND FAITHFUL SERVANT IN THE FIELDS OF THE LORD."
**
("This Old House"Words & Music by: Stuart Hamblen)
>
OCTOREL ERASMUS
"After his baby sister, Tryphena, passed and after the funeral service at the New Hope Missionary Baptist Church, Octorel Erasmus sat very still in the faded old rocking chair on his rickety front porch. As the hot July sun faded into dusk he remained quiet and listened as the sounds of the country evening began. The crickets and the hooty owls. Then his two skinny ole hound dogs, Ben and Shad, stopped their scratching and licking, sighed and crept under the porch and slept.
The cool of the night darkness began to surround him and Octorel strained to remember the words of the old hymn they sang yesterday, July 26,1999 at his baby sisters service at the New Hope Missionary Baptist Church. Ah yes It went like this:
" When the roll is called up yonder, when the roll is called up yonder, when the roll is called up yonder I'll be there."
But no one up yonder was calling his name. Maybe he was not on the roll anymore. Or maybe the printing of his name had faded or worn off the Lord's Book of Heaven. Something had happened for sure as Octorel had not planned to live so long. Octorel Erasmus had outlived all his kinfolk and friends. Sometimes he thought he had outlived God, or maybe the good Lord hisself had done forgot about him
.
Octorel softly stroked the silky arms of the old wooden rocker .Over the years the chair arms had been worn marble smooth by all the scraggy,rough hands that had enjoyed it's comforting touch while rocking on the old porch. The raspy sound of back and forth-creak-back and forth-squeak soothed him as he reached back in memory to a sweltering July day almost 89 years ago.
He remembered his Pa running out to the fields where he and his seven brothers were hoeing weeds in the peanut patch. Pa took off his straw hat, wiped his damp face on his sleeve and said quietly.
"Boys. Y'all got yo'selves a baby sister. Ma's all right. Now let's praise the Lord and git back to work."
Octorel remembered closing his eyes and thinking,
" A girl. Well, I'm mighty proud for her. She won't have to break her back working the fields with us. She can help Ma cook and clean and wash and put up vegetables and sew and quilt and make jam. She'll grow into a pretty little thing and Ma can braid her hair and us boys can save up for some bright colored barrettes for her. She'll have her hair in shiny black plaits with pretty blue and red bows on the ends. Yes sir. She is a lucky Gal Baby with eight big brothers to look out for her."
Pa passed around the smooth yellow gourd dipper chugged full with cool well water from the tin bucket and they all refreshed themselves. Octorel could taste the salt as the sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes and brushing his lips so the sweet well water was a welcome treat. Then they all knelt on the rich warm ground for a moment of thanksgiving.
Octorel wondered what Ma and Pa would name her. They had named him Octorel because Ma had heard somewhere that the name meant eight and he was the eighth son. Pa said how lucky can one man be to have eight sons to help him work the farm.
They named her Tryphena after the twins in the Bible, Tryphena and Tryphona, but the boys always called her "Try" The years passed and Try grew into a sweet little girl and not a baby anymore About this time, one by one, the brothers began to think of leaving the farm.
Joseph, the oldest, took off first. Pa, and especially Ma begged him to stay and help them with the crops but one day he just up and took off and caught the bus for Detroit where he began to work in an automobile factory. The same one where cousin James worked.
Joseph wired money home every week for awhile but then stopped after he met a woman who made him feel like a real man. "Doll" he called her, but her Christian name was Crystal. Pa said he thought crystal was the outside glass on a watch.
Joseph and Crystal came home once after they got hitched. It was Christmas and Ma had baked her delicious white fruitcake. She cooked a fat hen with dumplings, made cornbread dressing and cleaned up the old house, aired the quilts and swept the dirt front yard with her homemade straw broom. She and Try even washed the old windows til they sparkled Everything smelled mighty sweet and fresh. That is, until Joseph and Doll arrived.
The first crack out of the box, Doll sat down, crossed her skinny legs, fishnet stockings and all, and started twiddling her pointy toed high heeled black patent shoes. Then she started smoking one Lucky Strike after another. Pheweey. She sure did stink up the place. At supper she had the gall to put out her cigarette in her half finished plate of Ma's good home cooking. Our eyes bugged out at that. I sure wanted to give Crystal down in the country for doing that but I kept quiet and Ma didn't say a word either.
"Doll" sure wasn't missed by any of us after she and Joseph up and left plenty early after just one night. Ma said that Crystal was just too high faluting and sure did not fit in and that Joseph had his work cut out for him trying to please a gal who smelled like cigarettes, strong perfume, and liquor. And holy moses did you see how she smacked that chewing gum. She even left a wad stuck under the seat of Ma's kitchen chair. We felt bad for Joseph but Pa said he made his own bed so he could just lay in it. And Ma, who never bad- mouthed anyone, said that a whistling woman, and a crowing hen never comes to a very good end.
A few years passed and brother Amos got a hankering to leave the farm. Then Abner and James went off together and joined the United States Marine Corps. The rest of the brothers all got married within a few months of each other and got their own places up the road a piece..
Try never married or left home. After Ma died and Pa was sickly she nursed him like a blessed angel until he passed. She cooked and cleaned and sewed and canned. almost as if she took over for Ma or thought she was supposed to.
Years went by and Rufus and Jesse got kilt in a car wreck. They both had been drinking moonshine. Mose passed with consumption and Luke with a a stroke, Soon they were all gone to their reward except me and Tryphena. So that left only the two of us around these stomping grounds.
I just never got around to marrying . I had plenty of chances.Once I was fixing to get hitched, but something or other come up and it just didn't happen. I got a job in town at the Piggly Wiggly tending to the produce counter, and Tryphina worked at the day nursery. She was always good with little ones. We gave up trying to have a farm crop except for vegetables and chickens.
Now they is all gone; except me. And here I sit. Saying goodbye to Try at the service yesterday was the hardest thing I ever done..I was all tore up. Tears run down my face like rain as I sat in the ole church while the preacher said words over her casket.
My mind wandered as I remembered how much we depended on each other. We used to sit out here on this old porch together to catch the late afternoon and evening breezes. We never talked much and when we did it was about old times passed and who had gone on before us.
Now, as I sit here on this broke down front porch, I wonder is I dreaming or is I already passed and don't know it. All of a sudden my head begins to ache . I see a bright light over yonder at the edge of the field and it sure hurts my eyes here in this darkness. The light is turning and turning like a wheel. Round and round. Full of bright rays of yellow and whirls of red. I remember the words in the song about
" Ezekiel saw a wheel, way up in the middle of the air; the big wheel ran by faith and the little wheel ran by the grace of God, a wheel in a wheel, away in the middle of the air."
The wind begins to blow stronger and a dark shadow seem to start across the field .The shadow looks like it's coming closer and closer ..Or is it just leaves and trash tumbling across the yard. Leaves and sticks; dry and crumbling and crackling to bits in the wind .A storm must be coming up. My eyes are failing me like everything else. You sure can't trust a body when it gets to be 101 years old. .
.One by one the fragments float up and settle on the porch at Octorel's feet. He trys to bend over and pick up a leaf and a scrap of old, faded paper but he feels too trembly and dizzy. Octorel decides that what he needs to feel better is some of Tryphena's homemade vegetable soup that she canned for him not long before she took sick . Octorel thought
" I need to eat it all up before my time is up. Don't want it to go to waste"
Octorel slowly gets up and stumbles inside. He enjoys the last taste of the hot soup, shuffles to his bed, pulls up the tattered old quilt that Ma had made and lays hisself down to rest.
On the porch,the old rocker keeps on rocking. The crumpled scrap of paper carried by the wind settles on the seat of the rocker. The rest of the dry leaves land silently on the porch floor.
If you had been there and leaned over you could have seen the scrap of paper which read:
'"My old hound dog lies a sleepin', he don't know I'm gonna leave.Else he'd wake up by the fireplace and he'd sit there & howl & grieve.But my huntin' days are over, ain't gonna hunt the coon no more.Gabriel done brought in my chariot when the wind blew down the door."**
OCTOREL ERASMUS
BORN MAY 16 1898
DIED JULY 27, 1999
A GOOD AND FAITHFUL SERVANT IN THE FIELDS OF THE LORD."
**
("This Old House"Words & Music by: Stuart Hamblen)
>
Resignation
"RESIGNATION
I am hereby officially tendering my resignation as an adult. I have decided I would like to accept the responsibilities of an 8 year-old again.
I want to go to McDonald's and think that it's a four star restaurant.
I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make a sidewalk with rocks.
I want to think M&Ms are better than money because you can eat them.
I want to lie under a big oak tree and run a lemonade stand with my friends on a hot summer's day.
I want to return to a time when life was simple; When all you knew were colors, multiplication tables, and nursery
rhymes, but that didn't bother you, because you didn't know what you didn't know and you didn't care.
All you knew was to be happy because you were blissfully unaware of all the things that should make you worried or upset.
I want to think the world is fair. That everyone is honest and good.
I want to believe that anything is possible. I want to be oblivious to the complexities of life and be overly excited by the little things again.
I want to live simple again. I don't want my day to consist of computer crashes, mountains of paperwork, depressing news, how to survive more days in the month than there is money in the bank, doctor bills, gossip, illness, and loss of loved ones.
I want to believe in the power of smiles, hugs, a kind word, truth, justice, peace, dreams, the imagination,
mankind, and making angels in the snow.
So . . . here's my checkbook and my car-keys, my credit card bills and my 401K statements. I am officially resigning from adulthood.
And if you want to discuss this further, you'll have to catch me first, cause........
Tag, you're it!"
I am hereby officially tendering my resignation as an adult. I have decided I would like to accept the responsibilities of an 8 year-old again.
I want to go to McDonald's and think that it's a four star restaurant.
I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make a sidewalk with rocks.
I want to think M&Ms are better than money because you can eat them.
I want to lie under a big oak tree and run a lemonade stand with my friends on a hot summer's day.
I want to return to a time when life was simple; When all you knew were colors, multiplication tables, and nursery
rhymes, but that didn't bother you, because you didn't know what you didn't know and you didn't care.
All you knew was to be happy because you were blissfully unaware of all the things that should make you worried or upset.
I want to think the world is fair. That everyone is honest and good.
I want to believe that anything is possible. I want to be oblivious to the complexities of life and be overly excited by the little things again.
I want to live simple again. I don't want my day to consist of computer crashes, mountains of paperwork, depressing news, how to survive more days in the month than there is money in the bank, doctor bills, gossip, illness, and loss of loved ones.
I want to believe in the power of smiles, hugs, a kind word, truth, justice, peace, dreams, the imagination,
mankind, and making angels in the snow.
So . . . here's my checkbook and my car-keys, my credit card bills and my 401K statements. I am officially resigning from adulthood.
And if you want to discuss this further, you'll have to catch me first, cause........
Tag, you're it!"
Friday, June 23, 2006
Happiest Day of the Year ?
Ronni Bennett over at "Time Goes By" has a post that wonders whether we are happier now than we were in years past. I have thought about this question and I really do not have a definitive answer but I have felt especially happy today and I wondered why. Then I read this article on Yahoo news:
------------------------------------------------------------------
So how was your Friday?
------------------------------------------------------------------
Happiest day of the year is June 23, Cardiff scholar finds Fri Jun 23, 8:52 AM ET
Feeling more happy than usual this particular Friday? You should be, according to a scholar in seasonal disorders at a British university.
Cliff Arnall has analysed such factors as outdoor activities, nature, social interaction, childhood memories, temperature and holidays -- data gathered over a period of 15 years in interviews with 3,000 people around the world.
His conclusion: June 23 is the happiest day of the year.
"People across borders experience happiness when they meet with friends and family and establish close social relationships," the University of Cardiff academic told AFP. "We need some close emotional ties."
He used what he considers a "simple equation" to reach his conclusion -- O + (N x S) + Cpm/T + He.
O stands for outdoor activities, N for nature, S for social interaction, Cpm for childhood summers and positive memories, T for temperature and He for holidays and looking forward to time off.
Arnall has already figured out the saddest day of the year. It was January 23 -- a Monday. "Surprise, surprise", he quipped.
So how was your Friday?
Sunday, June 18, 2006
WHEN YOU THOUGHT I WASN"T LOOKING
I like this:
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
A message every adult should read, because children are watching you and doing as you do, not as you say.
WHEN YOU THOUGHT I WASN'T LOOKING
author unknown
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you hang my first painting on the refrigerator, and I immediately wanted to paint another one.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you feed a stray cat, and I learned that it was good to be kind to animals
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you make my favorite cake for me and I learned that the little things can be the special things in life.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I heard you say a prayer, and I knew there is a God I could always talk to and I learned to trust in God.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you make a meal and take it to a friend who was sick, and I learned that we all have to help take care of each other.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you give of your time and money to help people who had nothing and I learned that those who have something should give to those who don't.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you take care of our house and everyone in it and I learned we have to take care of what we are given.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw how you handled your responsibilities, even when you didn't feel good and I learned that I would have to be responsible when I grow up.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw tears come from your eyes and I learned that sometimes things hurt, but it's all right to cry.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw that you cared and I wanted to be everything that I could be.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I learned most of life's lessons that I need to know to be a good and productive person when I grow up.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I looked at you and wanted to say
"Thanks for all the things I saw when you thought I wasn't looking."
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
A message every adult should read, because children are watching you and doing as you do, not as you say.
WHEN YOU THOUGHT I WASN'T LOOKING
author unknown
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you hang my first painting on the refrigerator, and I immediately wanted to paint another one.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you feed a stray cat, and I learned that it was good to be kind to animals
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you make my favorite cake for me and I learned that the little things can be the special things in life.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I heard you say a prayer, and I knew there is a God I could always talk to and I learned to trust in God.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you make a meal and take it to a friend who was sick, and I learned that we all have to help take care of each other.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you give of your time and money to help people who had nothing and I learned that those who have something should give to those who don't.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you take care of our house and everyone in it and I learned we have to take care of what we are given.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw how you handled your responsibilities, even when you didn't feel good and I learned that I would have to be responsible when I grow up.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw tears come from your eyes and I learned that sometimes things hurt, but it's all right to cry.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw that you cared and I wanted to be everything that I could be.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I learned most of life's lessons that I need to know to be a good and productive person when I grow up.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I looked at you and wanted to say
"Thanks for all the things I saw when you thought I wasn't looking."
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Insights on Aging
These insights on aging are worth reading...and sharing. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did...
"George Carlin's Views on Aging"
Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we're kids? If you're less than 10 years old, you're so excited about aging that you think in fractions.
"How old are you?" "I'm four and a half!" You're never thirty-six and a half.
You're four and a half, going on five! That's the key.
You get into your teens, now they can't hold you back. You jump to the next number, or even a few ahead.
"How old are you?" "I'm gonna be 16!"
You could be 13, but hey, you're gonna be 16!
And then the greatest day of your life .... you become 21.
Even the words sound like a ceremony . . . YOU BECOME 21. YESSSS!!!
But then you turn 30. Oooohh, what happened there? Makes you sound
like bad milk! He TURNED; we had to throw him out. There's no fun now, you're Just a sour-dumpling. What's wrong? What's changed?
You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you're PUSHING 40.
Whoa! Put on the brakes, it's all slipping away. Before you know it, you
REACH 50 and your dreams are gone.
But wait!!! You MAKE it to 60. You didn't think you would!
So you BECOME 21, TURN 30, PUSH 40, REACH 50 and MAKE it to 60.
You've built up so much speed that you HIT 70! After that it's a day-by-day thing; you HIT Wednesday!
You get into your 80s and every day is a complete cycle; you HIT lunch; you TURN 4:30; you REACH bedtime.
And it doesn't end there. Into the 90s, you start going backwards; "I Was JUST 92."
Then a strange thing happens. If you make it over 100, you become a little kid again. "I'm 100 and a half!"
May you all make it to a healthy 100 and a half!!
"George Carlin's Views on Aging"
Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we're kids? If you're less than 10 years old, you're so excited about aging that you think in fractions.
"How old are you?" "I'm four and a half!" You're never thirty-six and a half.
You're four and a half, going on five! That's the key.
You get into your teens, now they can't hold you back. You jump to the next number, or even a few ahead.
"How old are you?" "I'm gonna be 16!"
You could be 13, but hey, you're gonna be 16!
And then the greatest day of your life .... you become 21.
Even the words sound like a ceremony . . . YOU BECOME 21. YESSSS!!!
But then you turn 30. Oooohh, what happened there? Makes you sound
like bad milk! He TURNED; we had to throw him out. There's no fun now, you're Just a sour-dumpling. What's wrong? What's changed?
You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you're PUSHING 40.
Whoa! Put on the brakes, it's all slipping away. Before you know it, you
REACH 50 and your dreams are gone.
But wait!!! You MAKE it to 60. You didn't think you would!
So you BECOME 21, TURN 30, PUSH 40, REACH 50 and MAKE it to 60.
You've built up so much speed that you HIT 70! After that it's a day-by-day thing; you HIT Wednesday!
You get into your 80s and every day is a complete cycle; you HIT lunch; you TURN 4:30; you REACH bedtime.
And it doesn't end there. Into the 90s, you start going backwards; "I Was JUST 92."
Then a strange thing happens. If you make it over 100, you become a little kid again. "I'm 100 and a half!"
May you all make it to a healthy 100 and a half!!
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
For Ronni's new home in Maine
AN IRISH BLESSING
Author Unknown
Blessing for the house
Touch the lintel and touch the wall,
Nothing but blessing here befall.
Bless the candle that stands by itself,
Bless the books on the mantelshelf,
Bless the hearth and the light it sheds,
Bless the pillow for tired heads.
Those who tarry here, let them know
A threefold blessing before they go:
Sleep for weariness, peace for sorrow,
Faith in yesterday and tomorrow.
Those who go from here, let them bear
The blessing of hope wherever they fare.
Lintel and window, sill and wall,
Nothing but good, this place befall.
Author Unknown
Blessing for the house
Touch the lintel and touch the wall,
Nothing but blessing here befall.
Bless the candle that stands by itself,
Bless the books on the mantelshelf,
Bless the hearth and the light it sheds,
Bless the pillow for tired heads.
Those who tarry here, let them know
A threefold blessing before they go:
Sleep for weariness, peace for sorrow,
Faith in yesterday and tomorrow.
Those who go from here, let them bear
The blessing of hope wherever they fare.
Lintel and window, sill and wall,
Nothing but good, this place befall.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
How to stay young
HOW TO STAY YOUNG
"Throw out nonessential numbers. This includes age, weight and height.
Let the doctors worry about them. That is why you pay them.
Keep only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down.
Keep learning. Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening,
whatever. Never let the brain idle. "An idle mind is the devil's workshop." And the devil's name is Alzheimer's.
Enjoy the simple things.
Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath.
The tears happen. Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person, who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you are alive
.
Surround yourself with what you love, whether it's family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, hobbies, whatever.
Your home is your refuge.
Cherish your health: If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable, improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help.
Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, even to the next county; to a foreign country but NOT to where the guilt is.
Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.
AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. "
"Throw out nonessential numbers. This includes age, weight and height.
Let the doctors worry about them. That is why you pay them.
Keep only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down.
Keep learning. Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening,
whatever. Never let the brain idle. "An idle mind is the devil's workshop." And the devil's name is Alzheimer's.
Enjoy the simple things.
Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath.
The tears happen. Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person, who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you are alive
.
Surround yourself with what you love, whether it's family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, hobbies, whatever.
Your home is your refuge.
Cherish your health: If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable, improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help.
Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, even to the next county; to a foreign country but NOT to where the guilt is.
Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.
AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. "
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Story Prompt From Maria's site and Wild Mind
I tried this story prompt with these parameters:
Main Character: female
Archetype: mother
Narrative: first person
Place: a sandy beach
Mood: reflective
Begin with: I wasn't born smart, nor was I….
Watching the tide slowly recede revealing sandy bits of broken shells and driftwood, I hear the cry of sea gulls as they circle in the bright blue sky. The sound of the surf lulls me to sleep as my thoughts drift back to childhood .
I was born smart, but I was not born lucky. The depression was in full swing when I arrived in 1929; a nine pound baby girl, who was the last of ten children born to a father who was already 55 years old and a mother, age 36, who was his third wife.
His first wife died with cancer after 17 years of marriage. The second wife, a young woman, died in childbirth about a year after she married my father.She left a baby boy whom my own mother, the third wife, raised as her own with love and tenderness.
.
My father had already produced 9 children , two of whom died as young adults before I was born.One of the nine was my whole brother who is 8 years older than I.
When I came along a family addition was a routine occurrence for my father. . Perhaps that is why I never felt I knew him and why he never paid any real attention to me.
He was old, tired and simply drained by life and too much sadness. He died when I was nine years old of a cerebral hemorrhage.. Sudden and deadly in the middle of the night it hit him full force. He went to the hospital and never returned.
Now as I sit in a lounge chair on the sandy beach, watching my grandchildren digging and making sand castles I feel at peace with my life and what I have become; as I approach my 77 th year, I realize my Father did the best he could. . .
Main Character: female
Archetype: mother
Narrative: first person
Place: a sandy beach
Mood: reflective
Begin with: I wasn't born smart, nor was I….
Watching the tide slowly recede revealing sandy bits of broken shells and driftwood, I hear the cry of sea gulls as they circle in the bright blue sky. The sound of the surf lulls me to sleep as my thoughts drift back to childhood .
I was born smart, but I was not born lucky. The depression was in full swing when I arrived in 1929; a nine pound baby girl, who was the last of ten children born to a father who was already 55 years old and a mother, age 36, who was his third wife.
His first wife died with cancer after 17 years of marriage. The second wife, a young woman, died in childbirth about a year after she married my father.She left a baby boy whom my own mother, the third wife, raised as her own with love and tenderness.
.
My father had already produced 9 children , two of whom died as young adults before I was born.One of the nine was my whole brother who is 8 years older than I.
When I came along a family addition was a routine occurrence for my father. . Perhaps that is why I never felt I knew him and why he never paid any real attention to me.
He was old, tired and simply drained by life and too much sadness. He died when I was nine years old of a cerebral hemorrhage.. Sudden and deadly in the middle of the night it hit him full force. He went to the hospital and never returned.
Now as I sit in a lounge chair on the sandy beach, watching my grandchildren digging and making sand castles I feel at peace with my life and what I have become; as I approach my 77 th year, I realize my Father did the best he could. . .
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