Thursday, February 28, 2008
At this point in my frustration I always pull a Scarlet O'Hara "As God is my witness I shall never dig another potato in my life" no that's not it, oh now I remember, ' Oh fiddlesticks I'll think about that another day...
Monday, February 25, 2008
A few years after I was born, my Dad met a stranger who was new to our small Texas town. From the beginning, Dad was fascinated with this enchanting newcomer and soon invited him to live with our family. The stranger was quickly accepted and was around from then on.
As I grew up, I never questioned his place in my family. In my young mind, he had a special niche. My parents were complementary instructors: Mom taught me good from evil, and Dad taught me to obey. But the stranger...he was our storyteller. He would keep us spellbound for hours on end with adventures, mysteries and comedies. If I wanted to know anything about politics, history or science, he always knew the answers about the past, understood the present and even seemed able to predict the future! He took my family to the first major league ball game. He made me laugh, and he made me cry.
The stranger never stopped talking, but Dad didn't seem to mind. Sometimes, Mom would get up quietly while the rest of us were shushing each other to listen to what he had to say, and she would go to the kitchen for peace and quiet. (I wonder now if she ever prayed for the stranger to leave.
Dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions, but the stranger never felt obligated to honor them. Profanity, for example, was not allowed in our home... Not from us, our friends or any visitors. Our longtime visitor, however, got away with four-letter words that burned my ears and made my dad squirm and my mother blush. My Dad didn't permit the liberal use of alcohol. But the stranger encouraged us to try it on a regular basis. He made cigarettes look cool, cigars manly and pipes distinguished. He talked freely (much too freely!) about sex. His comments were sometimes blatant, sometimes suggestive, and generally embarrassing. I now know that my early concepts about relationships were influenced strongly by the stranger. Time after time, he opposed the values of my parents, yet he was seldom rebuked... And NEVER asked to leave.
More than fifty years have passed since the stranger moved in with our family. He has blended right in and is not nearly as fascinating as he was at first. Still, if you could walk into my parents' den today, you would still find him sitting over in his corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and watch him draw his pictures.
His name?.... . . .We just call him "TV."(Note: This should be required reading for every household in America!) He has a wife now....We call her "Computer."
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Sometimes symptoms of a stroke are difficult to identify. Unfortunately, the lack of awareness spells disaster. The stroke victim may suffer severe brain damage when people nearby fail to recognize the symptoms of a stroke .
Now doctors say a bystander can recognize a stroke by asking three simple questions:
S * Ask the individual to SMILE.
If he or she has trouble with ANY ONE of these tasks, call 999/911 immediately and describe the symptoms to the dispatcher.
New Sign of a Stroke -------- Stick out Your Tongue
NOTE: Another 'sign' of a stroke is this: Ask the person to 'stick' out his tongue.. If the tongue is 'crooked', if it goes to one side or the other, that is also an indication of a stroke.
Repeat after me -
- SMILE, TALK AND RAISE BOTH ARMS
- SMILE, TALK AND RAISE BOTH ARMS
- SMILE , TALK, AND RAISE BOTH ARMS.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
A PUPPY has been born in Japan with a large, clear, love-heart-shaped pattern in his coat. The Chihuahua was born in May as one of a litter to a breeder. Shop owner Emiko Sakurada said it was the first time a puppy with the marks had been born out of a thousand she had bred. She had no plans to sell the puppy, which has been named 'Heart-kun'. The long-coated male Chihuahua puppy was born in Odate, northern Japan
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Yesterday morning my son was in a car accident. The driver - a 17 year boy rear ended a truck and completely totaled his car. The truck was barely scratched. The air bags never deployed. My son was riding in the back seat and he is okay. About 7:30, the time of morning I cherish because everyone has made their exit and I can finally sit down to breakfast and peace and quite. We got a phone call from our 2nd son who said, " I think Andrew was in a car accident".
Now that's a fun phone call. It made my heart skip a beat. I called immediately. He said he was fine but his heart was beating fast. 15 year olds are always Cool. I drove down and there he was standing on the sidewalk near the wrecked car. A police car with all it's lights flashing was parked almost in the middle of the street. Glass and broken car parts were everywhere and of course all the passing cars slowed to stare. I got the boys - driver had to stay and drove them to school. Both passengers never saw the other car. My son looked down to get something from his bag pack and the other boy was doing his homework.
To off set the damage done to the morning and since we were already late I bought them breakfast at Carl's. The boys got to school only 10 minutes late.
What I learned
1. Life can change in a minute. My son gets-up at the last minute and runs out the door. I never even said good-bye that morning.
2. Life goes on. No matter what happens.
3. Experience is the best teacher. My son learned a big lesson about safe driving.
The end result is I now have to figure out how to drive one boy 12 miles west and at the same time drive two other boys 12 miles east twice a day for the rest of the year. As I was allowing myself to sink into this problem I ran across inspiration -
A statue of Cesar Chavez stands at the top of the stairs ( 94 steps) to my old college written beneath in bronze letters is ,"Si se puede"
Which means, " It can be done"
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Today I discoved a book, Enriques Journey, the story of how a Honduran boy of 17 traveled 2000 miles riding the tops of frieght trains to be reunited with his mother who left him when he was 5 years old to go to America. She left him with tears in his eyes and a heartache that never went away. For 12 years he suffered until he could bear the pain no longer and then he set off to find her. With $57 dollars, the clothes on his back and her phone number written on a piece of paper and on the inside of his pants he walked away from his girl friend and his small town in southern Honduras to travel to America.
Mothers leave their children to find a better life for them. A life that will enable them to buy food and clothes and "things". They believe that they will be back in a year or two but usually it is much longer, sometimes they never return. The author was introduced to the subject through her own maid and her stories. The maids son traveled from Guatelmala to find her and when asked why he said, ' I'd trade it all for my mother. I never had someone to spoil me. To say; Do this, don't do that, have you eaten? You can never get the love of a mother from someone else."
I think my heart and love for my children will never be the same.
Ironically, I remembered that we sponsor a child in Honduras. His name is Samar. At Christmas we got a card from him that said, Thank you precious donor, because of you we ate apples today."
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Aw the brutal truth, so clean and sharp that I was completely unprepared to retort. She was right. I order Time magazine and usually read one article (people or music) and then I let it sit on the coffee table for about 10 days at which point I either get tired of seeing the cover or I get a new one so I throw it away. If I'm not going to bother to read Time magazine with all its professional writers and well researched articles then who is going to read my little freebie newsletter?
It took me a week to think this one through. And then it struck me -
I read. I read lots of stuff. I'm always reading. I read email, I read newspapers, I read books and I read blogs, lots of blogs. Blogs about everything, knitting, quilting, kidding, cooking, cleaning, painting - I read about what other people are doing with their lives and I like it.
Maybe the reason why I don't read Time magazine from cover to cover ( although I frequently look at all the pictures) is because I'm not interested in anything it has to say. Not to say that I'm not interested in world affairs and all that stuff but really you can only take so much and then, then you gotta go read a blog, a nice juicy, sweet blog about stuff. Blogs about people and their stuff or children.
With that thought in mind I ask all you wonderful bloggers, Do you read?" or more specifically Do you read the stuff that people leave on you doorstep?