If you could plan the way of life.
There'd be no tears, no loss,
But then how should we ever learn
The meaning of the Cross?
Now learn to bear our burdens
With courage and good cheer?
No need to do a kindly deed
If all were perfect here.
If everyone had everything,
What need of sacrifice?
Would things have any value
If they did not have a price?
Of troubles never came our way,
How peaceful life would be,
But then perhaps we'd never learn
To face reality.
If nothing ever interfered
With life's calm easy flow,
How should we learn to brave the storm?
How would the Spirit grow?
If all were well, what need to serve,
To love and sympathize?
The things that make us humble
Are the things that make us wise.
Found In My Grandmother's Things
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Remember
Remember that what you possess in this world will be found at the day of your death
and belong to someone else; What you are will be yours forever.
-----------------------------------------------
For the sake of the name I bear,
For the one who has made me in his care;
For the ones that I love in the way,
For the feet that are going astray.
I will be true.
and belong to someone else; What you are will be yours forever.
-----------------------------------------------
For the sake of the name I bear,
For the one who has made me in his care;
For the ones that I love in the way,
For the feet that are going astray.
I will be true.
Unfolding The Rose
It is only a tiny rosebud,
A flower of God's design;
But I cannot unfold the petals
With these clumsy hands of mine.
The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I.
God opens this flower so sweetly,
When in my hands they fade and die.
If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
This flower of God's design,
Then how can I think I have wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?
So, I'll trust in Him for His leading
Each moment of every day.
I will look to Him for His guidance
Each step of the pilgrim way.
The pathway that lies before me,
Only my heavenly Father knows.
I'll trust Him to unfold the moments,
Just as He unfolds the rose.
~ Bryan T. Burgess ~
A flower of God's design;
But I cannot unfold the petals
With these clumsy hands of mine.
The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I.
God opens this flower so sweetly,
When in my hands they fade and die.
If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
This flower of God's design,
Then how can I think I have wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?
So, I'll trust in Him for His leading
Each moment of every day.
I will look to Him for His guidance
Each step of the pilgrim way.
The pathway that lies before me,
Only my heavenly Father knows.
I'll trust Him to unfold the moments,
Just as He unfolds the rose.
~ Bryan T. Burgess ~
Friday, January 13, 2012
Brian Boyle's Story
Brian Boyle remembers waking up and seeing the nun beside his bed. She was praying with her eyes closed, clutching a set of rosary beads. She was asking God not to take him away. He wondered if he'd already died and was in heaven. Then he saw her lips move again and the clock above her head on the wall, so he figured he was still alive.
He remembers waking up, unable to speak or move, watching his doctors huddled with his parents in the corner of the hospital room. They didn't know it, but he could hear them. He heard the words "vegetable" and "hospital for life." What future, he thought? What kind of life is that? Then he'd be gone again.
Brian Boyle was in a coma for two months following his car accident.
He remembers the day he really woke up, two months after the coma began. He opened his eyes and saw tubes everywhere -- down his throat, in his chest, in his arms, on his neck. He couldn't move any part of his body, couldn't blink his eyelids. He couldn't ask why he was paralyzed or where his parents were. He only knew that he was in a hospital and that he was scared. So he focused on one thought: "Whatever happened must've been serious. How can I get out of this -- now?"
They say he died eight times, though it could have been 10. His parents say it depends on how you define death. Was it the time his tracheotomy filled with fluid and he turned blue, unable to breathe for several minutes before anyone noticed? Was it during the months he lay in a medically induced coma, his body convulsing whenever his parents spoke? Or was it later when, as a 5-foot-11, 230-pound athlete turned 130-pound skeleton, he sat in his wheelchair, staring at his immovable legs, willing death to come?
At times, his tale of survival sounds more improbable than possible. And for almost two years, that's how he felt.
Until the dream of an Ironman triathlon brought 23-year-old Brian Boyle back to life.
Brian grew up the only child of Joanne and Garth Boyle. Garth had six siblings and Joanne had four, so they planned for a big family. But when Garth was diagnosed with testicular cancer after Brian was born, they were told that their son would be their only child.
Always an athlete, Brian started competitive swimming in elementary school, which he later abandoned for basketball and track and field. As a high school freshman, Brian returned to swimming, even though the coaches grouped him with the 11- and 12-year-olds because they said that matched his skill. "I was so frustrated by that, so I practiced all the time," Brian says. A year later, he was a Maryland state champion in the 50 free, 100 butterfly and two relay teams. By his senior year, he was a nationally ranked discus thrower and had received a scholarship to St. Mary's College, a Division III school 20 minutes from his home in La Plata.
In the weeks following his high school graduation, Brian practiced at a local pool every night. He was in peak physical condition and he wasn't a partier -- never smoked, drank or did drugs. At 15, he'd gotten a tattoo of a lightning bolt because he'd read it was a symbol of victory in Greek mythology and felt it embodied his philosophy of never giving up. He'd grown his hair long, "surfer-style," because he liked the look of his shaggy blond locks and thought the girls might, too.
On the Fourth of July, 2004, he joined his parents at his father's company picnic.
It's the last evening he remembers.
The country roads surrounding La Plata are winding, two-lane highways without sidewalks or streetlights. Brian was driving his 1994 Chevy Camaro at 6:40 p.m. on July 5th when he approached a stop sign at a four-way intersection. After stopping, he pressed the gas pedal to cross the intersection when, to his left, a dump truck sped toward him. Brian doesn't remember the impact but lawyers and investigators later estimated that the dump truck was going at least 60 mph, 30 mph over the speed limit. The driver had been in court two weeks prior for a speeding ticket, one of several on his record.
As the truck crashed into the Camaro, Brian was thrown across the car. The impact knocked his heart across his chest, broke his ribs and crushed his lungs. His legs crumpled beneath the steering wheel while his upper body was pinned to the passenger's side door. His seat belt broke his left clavicle and his pelvis was completely shattered. Every major organ in his body was damaged. Burn marks covered his skin.
Using the Jaws of Life, EMT technicians had less than 15 minutes to extract Brian from the car before he'd die from blood loss. As the medical helicopter arrived to airlift Brian to Prince George's Hospital Center in Cheverly, EMTs radioed him in as an Alpha Stat patient, the tag given to patients who are expected dead upon arrival. "That 10-minute ride to PG County was literally the ride of my life," Brian says.
Joanne, a government contractor for the Navy, arrived home that evening with a message to call Prince George's immediately. The receptionist wouldn't tell her what had happened, but urged her to get there as soon as possible "about her son." Joanne called Garth, who was working at a construction site near St. Mary's. When she told him where their son was, he fell to his knees, screaming.
At the hospital, Brian was in the shock trauma unit. He'd lost over 60 percent of his blood and a team of doctors put him into a medically induced coma, worried he would die from the pain and trauma of the ordeal. "He was extremely critical, had already coded several times and was bleeding massively," says Dr. James Catevenis, the director of critical care and medicine at PG Hospital. "We didn't think his prognosis was very good."
After cutting open Brian's chest twice in 24 hours, they simply left it open for further procedures. They didn't re-set his broken bones because the main organs were the first priority.
His parents stayed for 48 hours without food or rest. Late into the night, the head nurse came into the waiting room. "She wasn't trying to get personal with us, just asking questions," Garth says. "But at the end, she asked us, 'Is Brian your only child?' When [Joanne] said yes, I looked over and the nurse was tearing up. That's when I knew we were in trouble."
Brian's chest was cut open twice in 24 hours and he had multiple cardiac arrests.
For the next two months, Joanne and Garth followed the same routine: wake up, drive an hour to the hospital for morning visiting hours, wait in the lobby until afternoon visiting hours, wait again for evening visiting hours, and then drive home. If they watched TV, there was one option: "Jolly Old England," a British comedy, because it was a show that Brian disliked. They couldn't cook dinner because it reminded them of the foods their son loved, so they didn't eat much. Instead, they waited for the phone to ring. "In the evening, they'd call a final time to give us the latest report," Garth says. If the call was bad news, Garth would go outside and mow the lawn, walking back and forth down the rows until the sun came up.
Joanne maintained a Web site with daily updates on Brian's progress. On the ride home from the hospital each night, they talked about what to post. Though they discussed every detail, they always avoided the one question they were afraid to ask each other: "Do you think Brian is going to die?"
Garth talked to his comatose son every day and massaged his feet. They hounded doctors for updates, signed forms for more surgeries, and waited. On some days, doctors predicted Brian would be out in a few months. On other days, they asked if the Boyles had allowed family and friends to say their goodbyes.
"That was a stormy two-month course, but his parents never lost faith no matter how bad the news was," Dr. Catevenis says. "It was amazing to watch how they could come every day and still be positive, still feel that he was going to make it."
After two months, Brian woke up to find himself paralyzed, strapped to a rotating bed to keep infection from setting in. IVs pumped his body with nutrients, but he continued to lose weight. He couldn't communicate to tell doctors that while his body was mangled, his mind was still intact.
And he still battled death. "There were many times when he had multiple cardiac arrests and we were doing chest compressions and giving him meds to try to restart his heart," Dr. Catevenis says. "When that happens, that's considered death."
Doctors and nurses kept telling him he'd broken a few bones and would be out soon. "But I stopped believing, because it turned into a few weeks and I wasn't leaving the hospital," Boyle says. "I was an athlete paralyzed in a hospital bed full of tubes. I couldn't imagine a worse situation."
A few weeks after waking up, he decided he'd had enough. "I started praying to God to end the suffering," Brian says. "I guess it was selfish, but I didn't want to live like that anymore." He wouldn't look at his parents that afternoon and his eyes glazed over. "Please," Garth pleaded with his son, sensing something was wrong. "Please don't give up." Begging turned to anger, with father yelling at son. "Your mother and I will not survive if you don't do this," Garth shouted. "You have to keep trying."
"That's when I realized, I'm their life," Brian says. So he decided he'd try to smile, and focused all his energy on moving the muscles around his mouth. As soon as he tried, his body went into convulsions. Nurses and doctors rushed in to stabilize him. When he tried again, the same thing happened. Neurologists ordered a CAT scan, worried that brain damage was causing the seizures. When the tests came back clear, Brian kept trying until his father returned that evening. He focused on his father's face -- and managed a contorted version of his smile.
His next goal was to speak. With the help of a voice box, one morning, after his parents had left, a sound finally came out. And another. Dr. Catevenis called his parents into the room. Brian smiled and told his mom he loved her. The nurses and doctors broke down in tears.
Four and a half months, 14 serious operations, 36 blood transfusions, 13 plasma treatments and a massive amount of medication later, Brian was granted permission to leave the hospital for Kernan, an orthopedic rehabilitation center in Baltimore. He spent six days in Kernan, surrounded by depressed, sick patients, which made him more depressed. He saw his reflection in a mirror for the first time, and was horrified. He tried to walk with one therapist standing on one side and one on the other while Brian held two poles, terrified of falling since he had no muscle or fat to cushion him.
After a week, he went home. "It was like having a toddler all over again and re-learning everything," Joanne says. His parents moved his bedroom downstairs and slept on either side of him, listening to make sure he was breathing. "I thought once we got him home, we'd have the old Brian back," Garth says. "I didn't realize how weak he really was."
Watching his son struggle one afternoon, Garth stepped out on the porch and sat down, fighting to breathe. As Garth yelled for Joanne to call 911, Brian crawled out of his bed toward the sliding glass door to the porch. When the medics arrived, they rushed to Brian, assuming he was hurt. "No, it's my husband this time," Joanne told them. At the hospital, Garth was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder and prescribed antidepressants.
A physical therapist came to the Boyles' house three times a week. "My body was so weak, and I literally had no muscles," Brian says. "When I tried to take a step, it felt like a thousand pins pushing into my entire body. The pain was excruciating -- worse than the accident itself."
But one day, he received an e-mail from Gary Hall Jr., the Olympic swimmer Brian had idolized since childhood. Hall had heard about Brian's ordeal through a friend. "Ride on over all obstacles and win the race," Hall wrote. "I look forward to meeting you one day --- maybe we'll go for a swim."
"That's what really motivated me to try swimming again," Brian says. So he set a new goal: to get back into the pool the new year, 2006. Sam Fleming, a friend and former swim-team rival, agreed to help. Once his doctors gave the OK, Brian and Sam returned to the same pool he'd worked out in before the accident. It was a week before Christmas -- his Christmas present from his doctors, Brian says.
Brian says the rehab was more painful than the injuries from the accident.
"When I jumped in, I sank to the bottom because I'd forgotten how to stay afloat," Brian says. He struggled to the surface before starting a slow dog paddle. "I wasn't even trying to stroke the water, I just wanted to make it one lap," he says. It took almost seven minutes, but he swam the length of the pool. "He seemed so excited to be back in the pool," Fleming says. "At one point, doctors had told him he wouldn't even be able to walk, and yet here he is swimming."
By the spring of '06, Brian had begun riding a stationary bike and swimming regularly. He planned on beginning his freshman year at St. Mary's in the fall. He also revisited the three goals he'd held since middle school: be a state champion swimmer, swim on a collegiate team, and compete in the Ironman World Championships, something that had interested him since first seeing it on TV at 5 years old.
Though his lungs weren't strong enough to compete in every meet, Brian joined his St. Mary's teammates that fall and swam in several competitions. He sat out the spring 2007 season and became involved in bodybuilding. Studying for exams, he was reading the Ironman site. On a whim, he wrote to officials, describing his ordeal and his dream of competing in an Ironman triathlon, perhaps "five or 10 years down the road."
Peter Henning, the producer of NBC's Ironman telecast, called Brian later that week. "How would you like to compete in the Ironman World Championships as a media slot this year?" Henning asked. This was June -- the race was in October. Brian had never ridden a bike or run more than a few miles. Still, "How could I pass up that opportunity?" Brian says. So he promised he'd take the first step and ask his doctors for approval.
Once his doctors granted him medical clearance, Brian had four days until the Steelhead 70.3 half-Ironman in Michigan on Aug. 4th, which Ironman officials insisted he complete to prove he could handle the world championships in Kona, Hawaii. Brian didn't own a bike, so he called Cannondale and asked if he could borrow one. Cannondale mailed him a $2,000 racing bike, which Brian had assembled two days before the race. With no time to test the bike, he flew to Michigan.
As the race began, his parents went to a nearby beach, too nervous to watch. "I was more nervous that Brian would die out there than when he was in the hospital," Joanne says. Because he'd never ridden a racing bike, Brian didn't realize that his feet clipped into the pedals or how to hold the handlebars or shift gears. For 56 miles, he rode in one gear, never letting go of the handles. He had a Gatorade bottle strapped in but was too afraid to let go to take a drink. By the end of the bike leg, "I was seeing stars," Brian says. He didn't know how to stop the bike, so he crashed at the finish as cameras rolled and spectators watched. Severely dehydrated and on wobbly legs, Brian took off on the 13.1-mile run. Seven and a half hours later, he'd completed the half-Ironman, proof that he was eligible for Kona. "That was harder than anything I've ever done," Brian says. "Sometimes I look back and still can't believe I finished with no training."
He spent the next two and a half months prepping for Hawaii. He found a coach and spent eight to 10 hours a day running, biking and swimming. In early October, the family left for Hawaii.
As the early morning sun rose over the Hawaiian coastline, Brian reflected on his journey to reach the Ironman. The reflection also served as his race motivation. "I kept thinking of how far I'd come to get here," Brian says. By the start of the marathon, dark had set in, but Brian kept going. As he approached the finish line, he saw both of his parents in "Team Boyle" T-shirts. He held his arms out to both sides, grinning as the crowd cheered. "Twenty-one-year-old Brian Boyle is an Ironman!" the announcer roared, as Brian and his parents broke down in tears. Fourteen hours, 42 minutes and 25 seconds after starting, Brian had finished.
Now, almost a year later, Brian's goals have shifted. He's focusing on half-Ironmans and hopes to break five hours for the first time this weekend in Clearwater, Fla., at the World Half-Ironman Championships. On Mondays and Wednesdays, Brian attends classes (he's set to graduate in December of 2009, studying graphic design) and on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and weekends, he trains. He rides his bike in the parking lot of a local school but runs his training legs on the highway. He's cut his half-marathon time in half, and has set a new goal of qualifying for Kona on his own, without a media slot. He's slimmed down to 180 pounds, his ideal competition weight, and is as healthy as he's ever been.
Still, there are reminders. "Every time I'm in the car, I think about the accident," Joanne says. The back of the Boyles' pantry door is covered in ICU name-tag stickers, which they placed there every evening after the hospital visits. "I wake up, even now, and I'll feel like I'm paralyzed or in a coma," Brian says. "But then I move and I know I'm living again, and I'm so thankful." In April 2005, he got a second tattoo of the Greek lettering for "alpha" to remember his status heading to Prince George's. He chose Greek in honor of Dr. Catevenis, whom Brian says is one of the main reasons he's alive today.
Their family pet, Daisy the bulldog, was also a post-accident addition. "We needed something to keep our spirits up, and that was Daisy," Boyle says. On most evenings, the family sits together on the back porch after dinner, reflecting on their life now and Brian's goals for the next year. Doctors have told him that given the extreme trauma to his organs, he probably won't live past the age of 50. But for Brian, that's just another odd he's ready to defy.
"Growing up, he was always 'One more time, Dad, one more throw,' when we played ball in the yard," Garth says. "He wouldn't stop until I made him stop. He's still like that. Everything's 'one more time.' When I got the call that day, that's what I was thinking. They told me Brian was critical, he'd been in an accident, and I started screaming 'No, no,' falling on my knees. I was devastated. But I then started thinking, "One more time, Brian. Please. Just one more time."
By Anna Katherine Clemmons
Anna Katherine Clemmons is a reporter for ESPN The Magazine and a regular contributor
Source: Internet
He remembers waking up, unable to speak or move, watching his doctors huddled with his parents in the corner of the hospital room. They didn't know it, but he could hear them. He heard the words "vegetable" and "hospital for life." What future, he thought? What kind of life is that? Then he'd be gone again.
Brian Boyle was in a coma for two months following his car accident.
He remembers the day he really woke up, two months after the coma began. He opened his eyes and saw tubes everywhere -- down his throat, in his chest, in his arms, on his neck. He couldn't move any part of his body, couldn't blink his eyelids. He couldn't ask why he was paralyzed or where his parents were. He only knew that he was in a hospital and that he was scared. So he focused on one thought: "Whatever happened must've been serious. How can I get out of this -- now?"
They say he died eight times, though it could have been 10. His parents say it depends on how you define death. Was it the time his tracheotomy filled with fluid and he turned blue, unable to breathe for several minutes before anyone noticed? Was it during the months he lay in a medically induced coma, his body convulsing whenever his parents spoke? Or was it later when, as a 5-foot-11, 230-pound athlete turned 130-pound skeleton, he sat in his wheelchair, staring at his immovable legs, willing death to come?
At times, his tale of survival sounds more improbable than possible. And for almost two years, that's how he felt.
Until the dream of an Ironman triathlon brought 23-year-old Brian Boyle back to life.
Brian grew up the only child of Joanne and Garth Boyle. Garth had six siblings and Joanne had four, so they planned for a big family. But when Garth was diagnosed with testicular cancer after Brian was born, they were told that their son would be their only child.
Always an athlete, Brian started competitive swimming in elementary school, which he later abandoned for basketball and track and field. As a high school freshman, Brian returned to swimming, even though the coaches grouped him with the 11- and 12-year-olds because they said that matched his skill. "I was so frustrated by that, so I practiced all the time," Brian says. A year later, he was a Maryland state champion in the 50 free, 100 butterfly and two relay teams. By his senior year, he was a nationally ranked discus thrower and had received a scholarship to St. Mary's College, a Division III school 20 minutes from his home in La Plata.
In the weeks following his high school graduation, Brian practiced at a local pool every night. He was in peak physical condition and he wasn't a partier -- never smoked, drank or did drugs. At 15, he'd gotten a tattoo of a lightning bolt because he'd read it was a symbol of victory in Greek mythology and felt it embodied his philosophy of never giving up. He'd grown his hair long, "surfer-style," because he liked the look of his shaggy blond locks and thought the girls might, too.
On the Fourth of July, 2004, he joined his parents at his father's company picnic.
It's the last evening he remembers.
The country roads surrounding La Plata are winding, two-lane highways without sidewalks or streetlights. Brian was driving his 1994 Chevy Camaro at 6:40 p.m. on July 5th when he approached a stop sign at a four-way intersection. After stopping, he pressed the gas pedal to cross the intersection when, to his left, a dump truck sped toward him. Brian doesn't remember the impact but lawyers and investigators later estimated that the dump truck was going at least 60 mph, 30 mph over the speed limit. The driver had been in court two weeks prior for a speeding ticket, one of several on his record.
As the truck crashed into the Camaro, Brian was thrown across the car. The impact knocked his heart across his chest, broke his ribs and crushed his lungs. His legs crumpled beneath the steering wheel while his upper body was pinned to the passenger's side door. His seat belt broke his left clavicle and his pelvis was completely shattered. Every major organ in his body was damaged. Burn marks covered his skin.
Using the Jaws of Life, EMT technicians had less than 15 minutes to extract Brian from the car before he'd die from blood loss. As the medical helicopter arrived to airlift Brian to Prince George's Hospital Center in Cheverly, EMTs radioed him in as an Alpha Stat patient, the tag given to patients who are expected dead upon arrival. "That 10-minute ride to PG County was literally the ride of my life," Brian says.
Joanne, a government contractor for the Navy, arrived home that evening with a message to call Prince George's immediately. The receptionist wouldn't tell her what had happened, but urged her to get there as soon as possible "about her son." Joanne called Garth, who was working at a construction site near St. Mary's. When she told him where their son was, he fell to his knees, screaming.
At the hospital, Brian was in the shock trauma unit. He'd lost over 60 percent of his blood and a team of doctors put him into a medically induced coma, worried he would die from the pain and trauma of the ordeal. "He was extremely critical, had already coded several times and was bleeding massively," says Dr. James Catevenis, the director of critical care and medicine at PG Hospital. "We didn't think his prognosis was very good."
After cutting open Brian's chest twice in 24 hours, they simply left it open for further procedures. They didn't re-set his broken bones because the main organs were the first priority.
His parents stayed for 48 hours without food or rest. Late into the night, the head nurse came into the waiting room. "She wasn't trying to get personal with us, just asking questions," Garth says. "But at the end, she asked us, 'Is Brian your only child?' When [Joanne] said yes, I looked over and the nurse was tearing up. That's when I knew we were in trouble."
Brian's chest was cut open twice in 24 hours and he had multiple cardiac arrests.
For the next two months, Joanne and Garth followed the same routine: wake up, drive an hour to the hospital for morning visiting hours, wait in the lobby until afternoon visiting hours, wait again for evening visiting hours, and then drive home. If they watched TV, there was one option: "Jolly Old England," a British comedy, because it was a show that Brian disliked. They couldn't cook dinner because it reminded them of the foods their son loved, so they didn't eat much. Instead, they waited for the phone to ring. "In the evening, they'd call a final time to give us the latest report," Garth says. If the call was bad news, Garth would go outside and mow the lawn, walking back and forth down the rows until the sun came up.
Joanne maintained a Web site with daily updates on Brian's progress. On the ride home from the hospital each night, they talked about what to post. Though they discussed every detail, they always avoided the one question they were afraid to ask each other: "Do you think Brian is going to die?"
Garth talked to his comatose son every day and massaged his feet. They hounded doctors for updates, signed forms for more surgeries, and waited. On some days, doctors predicted Brian would be out in a few months. On other days, they asked if the Boyles had allowed family and friends to say their goodbyes.
"That was a stormy two-month course, but his parents never lost faith no matter how bad the news was," Dr. Catevenis says. "It was amazing to watch how they could come every day and still be positive, still feel that he was going to make it."
After two months, Brian woke up to find himself paralyzed, strapped to a rotating bed to keep infection from setting in. IVs pumped his body with nutrients, but he continued to lose weight. He couldn't communicate to tell doctors that while his body was mangled, his mind was still intact.
And he still battled death. "There were many times when he had multiple cardiac arrests and we were doing chest compressions and giving him meds to try to restart his heart," Dr. Catevenis says. "When that happens, that's considered death."
Doctors and nurses kept telling him he'd broken a few bones and would be out soon. "But I stopped believing, because it turned into a few weeks and I wasn't leaving the hospital," Boyle says. "I was an athlete paralyzed in a hospital bed full of tubes. I couldn't imagine a worse situation."
A few weeks after waking up, he decided he'd had enough. "I started praying to God to end the suffering," Brian says. "I guess it was selfish, but I didn't want to live like that anymore." He wouldn't look at his parents that afternoon and his eyes glazed over. "Please," Garth pleaded with his son, sensing something was wrong. "Please don't give up." Begging turned to anger, with father yelling at son. "Your mother and I will not survive if you don't do this," Garth shouted. "You have to keep trying."
"That's when I realized, I'm their life," Brian says. So he decided he'd try to smile, and focused all his energy on moving the muscles around his mouth. As soon as he tried, his body went into convulsions. Nurses and doctors rushed in to stabilize him. When he tried again, the same thing happened. Neurologists ordered a CAT scan, worried that brain damage was causing the seizures. When the tests came back clear, Brian kept trying until his father returned that evening. He focused on his father's face -- and managed a contorted version of his smile.
His next goal was to speak. With the help of a voice box, one morning, after his parents had left, a sound finally came out. And another. Dr. Catevenis called his parents into the room. Brian smiled and told his mom he loved her. The nurses and doctors broke down in tears.
Four and a half months, 14 serious operations, 36 blood transfusions, 13 plasma treatments and a massive amount of medication later, Brian was granted permission to leave the hospital for Kernan, an orthopedic rehabilitation center in Baltimore. He spent six days in Kernan, surrounded by depressed, sick patients, which made him more depressed. He saw his reflection in a mirror for the first time, and was horrified. He tried to walk with one therapist standing on one side and one on the other while Brian held two poles, terrified of falling since he had no muscle or fat to cushion him.
After a week, he went home. "It was like having a toddler all over again and re-learning everything," Joanne says. His parents moved his bedroom downstairs and slept on either side of him, listening to make sure he was breathing. "I thought once we got him home, we'd have the old Brian back," Garth says. "I didn't realize how weak he really was."
Watching his son struggle one afternoon, Garth stepped out on the porch and sat down, fighting to breathe. As Garth yelled for Joanne to call 911, Brian crawled out of his bed toward the sliding glass door to the porch. When the medics arrived, they rushed to Brian, assuming he was hurt. "No, it's my husband this time," Joanne told them. At the hospital, Garth was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder and prescribed antidepressants.
A physical therapist came to the Boyles' house three times a week. "My body was so weak, and I literally had no muscles," Brian says. "When I tried to take a step, it felt like a thousand pins pushing into my entire body. The pain was excruciating -- worse than the accident itself."
But one day, he received an e-mail from Gary Hall Jr., the Olympic swimmer Brian had idolized since childhood. Hall had heard about Brian's ordeal through a friend. "Ride on over all obstacles and win the race," Hall wrote. "I look forward to meeting you one day --- maybe we'll go for a swim."
"That's what really motivated me to try swimming again," Brian says. So he set a new goal: to get back into the pool the new year, 2006. Sam Fleming, a friend and former swim-team rival, agreed to help. Once his doctors gave the OK, Brian and Sam returned to the same pool he'd worked out in before the accident. It was a week before Christmas -- his Christmas present from his doctors, Brian says.
Brian says the rehab was more painful than the injuries from the accident.
"When I jumped in, I sank to the bottom because I'd forgotten how to stay afloat," Brian says. He struggled to the surface before starting a slow dog paddle. "I wasn't even trying to stroke the water, I just wanted to make it one lap," he says. It took almost seven minutes, but he swam the length of the pool. "He seemed so excited to be back in the pool," Fleming says. "At one point, doctors had told him he wouldn't even be able to walk, and yet here he is swimming."
By the spring of '06, Brian had begun riding a stationary bike and swimming regularly. He planned on beginning his freshman year at St. Mary's in the fall. He also revisited the three goals he'd held since middle school: be a state champion swimmer, swim on a collegiate team, and compete in the Ironman World Championships, something that had interested him since first seeing it on TV at 5 years old.
Though his lungs weren't strong enough to compete in every meet, Brian joined his St. Mary's teammates that fall and swam in several competitions. He sat out the spring 2007 season and became involved in bodybuilding. Studying for exams, he was reading the Ironman site. On a whim, he wrote to officials, describing his ordeal and his dream of competing in an Ironman triathlon, perhaps "five or 10 years down the road."
Peter Henning, the producer of NBC's Ironman telecast, called Brian later that week. "How would you like to compete in the Ironman World Championships as a media slot this year?" Henning asked. This was June -- the race was in October. Brian had never ridden a bike or run more than a few miles. Still, "How could I pass up that opportunity?" Brian says. So he promised he'd take the first step and ask his doctors for approval.
Once his doctors granted him medical clearance, Brian had four days until the Steelhead 70.3 half-Ironman in Michigan on Aug. 4th, which Ironman officials insisted he complete to prove he could handle the world championships in Kona, Hawaii. Brian didn't own a bike, so he called Cannondale and asked if he could borrow one. Cannondale mailed him a $2,000 racing bike, which Brian had assembled two days before the race. With no time to test the bike, he flew to Michigan.
As the race began, his parents went to a nearby beach, too nervous to watch. "I was more nervous that Brian would die out there than when he was in the hospital," Joanne says. Because he'd never ridden a racing bike, Brian didn't realize that his feet clipped into the pedals or how to hold the handlebars or shift gears. For 56 miles, he rode in one gear, never letting go of the handles. He had a Gatorade bottle strapped in but was too afraid to let go to take a drink. By the end of the bike leg, "I was seeing stars," Brian says. He didn't know how to stop the bike, so he crashed at the finish as cameras rolled and spectators watched. Severely dehydrated and on wobbly legs, Brian took off on the 13.1-mile run. Seven and a half hours later, he'd completed the half-Ironman, proof that he was eligible for Kona. "That was harder than anything I've ever done," Brian says. "Sometimes I look back and still can't believe I finished with no training."
He spent the next two and a half months prepping for Hawaii. He found a coach and spent eight to 10 hours a day running, biking and swimming. In early October, the family left for Hawaii.
As the early morning sun rose over the Hawaiian coastline, Brian reflected on his journey to reach the Ironman. The reflection also served as his race motivation. "I kept thinking of how far I'd come to get here," Brian says. By the start of the marathon, dark had set in, but Brian kept going. As he approached the finish line, he saw both of his parents in "Team Boyle" T-shirts. He held his arms out to both sides, grinning as the crowd cheered. "Twenty-one-year-old Brian Boyle is an Ironman!" the announcer roared, as Brian and his parents broke down in tears. Fourteen hours, 42 minutes and 25 seconds after starting, Brian had finished.
Now, almost a year later, Brian's goals have shifted. He's focusing on half-Ironmans and hopes to break five hours for the first time this weekend in Clearwater, Fla., at the World Half-Ironman Championships. On Mondays and Wednesdays, Brian attends classes (he's set to graduate in December of 2009, studying graphic design) and on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and weekends, he trains. He rides his bike in the parking lot of a local school but runs his training legs on the highway. He's cut his half-marathon time in half, and has set a new goal of qualifying for Kona on his own, without a media slot. He's slimmed down to 180 pounds, his ideal competition weight, and is as healthy as he's ever been.
Still, there are reminders. "Every time I'm in the car, I think about the accident," Joanne says. The back of the Boyles' pantry door is covered in ICU name-tag stickers, which they placed there every evening after the hospital visits. "I wake up, even now, and I'll feel like I'm paralyzed or in a coma," Brian says. "But then I move and I know I'm living again, and I'm so thankful." In April 2005, he got a second tattoo of the Greek lettering for "alpha" to remember his status heading to Prince George's. He chose Greek in honor of Dr. Catevenis, whom Brian says is one of the main reasons he's alive today.
Their family pet, Daisy the bulldog, was also a post-accident addition. "We needed something to keep our spirits up, and that was Daisy," Boyle says. On most evenings, the family sits together on the back porch after dinner, reflecting on their life now and Brian's goals for the next year. Doctors have told him that given the extreme trauma to his organs, he probably won't live past the age of 50. But for Brian, that's just another odd he's ready to defy.
"Growing up, he was always 'One more time, Dad, one more throw,' when we played ball in the yard," Garth says. "He wouldn't stop until I made him stop. He's still like that. Everything's 'one more time.' When I got the call that day, that's what I was thinking. They told me Brian was critical, he'd been in an accident, and I started screaming 'No, no,' falling on my knees. I was devastated. But I then started thinking, "One more time, Brian. Please. Just one more time."
By Anna Katherine Clemmons
Anna Katherine Clemmons is a reporter for ESPN The Magazine and a regular contributor
Source: Internet
Winners And Losers
Winners say, If it is to be, it is up to me.
Losers say, I can't help it.
Winners translate dreams into reality.
Losers translate reality into dreams.
Winners empower.
Losers control.
Winners say, Let's find out.
Losers say, Nobody knows.
Winners are part of the solution.
Losers are part of the problem.
Winners are not afraid of losing.
Losers are afraid of winning.
Winners work harder than losers.
Losers are always too busy.
Winners say, I was wrong.
Losers say, It was not my fault.
Winners want to.
Losers have to.
Winners always make time.
Losers often waste time.
Winners say, I'll plan to do that.
Losers say, I'll try to do that.
Winners say, I'm good but not as good as I can be.
Losers say, I'm not as bad as a lot of other people.
Winners listen to what others say.
Losers wait until it's their turn to talk.
Winners catch others doing things right.
Losers catch others doing things wrong.
Winners learn from others.
Losers resent their colleagues.
Winners see opportunities.
Losers see only the problems.
Winners do it.
Losers talk about it.
Winners feel responsible for more than their jobs.
Losers frequently state, I only work here.
Winners say, There ought to be a better way.
Losers say, That's the way it's always been done.
Winners celebrate others.
Losers complain about others.
Winners are willing to pay the price.
Losers expect it on a silver platter.
Winners always expect success.
Losers always expect failure.
Author Unknown
Losers say, I can't help it.
Winners translate dreams into reality.
Losers translate reality into dreams.
Winners empower.
Losers control.
Winners say, Let's find out.
Losers say, Nobody knows.
Winners are part of the solution.
Losers are part of the problem.
Winners are not afraid of losing.
Losers are afraid of winning.
Winners work harder than losers.
Losers are always too busy.
Winners say, I was wrong.
Losers say, It was not my fault.
Winners want to.
Losers have to.
Winners always make time.
Losers often waste time.
Winners say, I'll plan to do that.
Losers say, I'll try to do that.
Winners say, I'm good but not as good as I can be.
Losers say, I'm not as bad as a lot of other people.
Winners listen to what others say.
Losers wait until it's their turn to talk.
Winners catch others doing things right.
Losers catch others doing things wrong.
Winners learn from others.
Losers resent their colleagues.
Winners see opportunities.
Losers see only the problems.
Winners do it.
Losers talk about it.
Winners feel responsible for more than their jobs.
Losers frequently state, I only work here.
Winners say, There ought to be a better way.
Losers say, That's the way it's always been done.
Winners celebrate others.
Losers complain about others.
Winners are willing to pay the price.
Losers expect it on a silver platter.
Winners always expect success.
Losers always expect failure.
Author Unknown
Golden Rule for Living
If you open it, close it.
If you turn it on, turn it off.
If you unlock it, lock it up.
If you break it, admit it.
If you can't fix it, call someone who can.
If you borrow it, return it.
If you value it, put it back.
If you make a mess, clean it up.
If you move it, put it back.
If it belongs to someone else, get permission to use it.
If you don't know how to operate it, leave it alone.
If it's none of your business, don't ask questions.
Author Unknown
If you turn it on, turn it off.
If you unlock it, lock it up.
If you break it, admit it.
If you can't fix it, call someone who can.
If you borrow it, return it.
If you value it, put it back.
If you make a mess, clean it up.
If you move it, put it back.
If it belongs to someone else, get permission to use it.
If you don't know how to operate it, leave it alone.
If it's none of your business, don't ask questions.
Author Unknown
Thursday, January 12, 2012
All I Ever Learned From A Dog:
1. Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joy ride.
2. Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy.
3. When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
4. When it's in your best interest, always practice obedience.
5. Let others know when they've invaded your territory.
6. Take naps and always stretch before rising.
7. Run, romp, and play daily.
8. Eat with gusto and enthusiasm.
9. Be loyal.
10. Never pretend to be something you're not.
11. If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
12. When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by and nuzzle them gently.
13. Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
14. Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
15. Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
16. On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.
17. When you are happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
18. No matter how often you are criticized, don't buy into the guilt thing and pout. Run right back and make friends.
2. Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy.
3. When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
4. When it's in your best interest, always practice obedience.
5. Let others know when they've invaded your territory.
6. Take naps and always stretch before rising.
7. Run, romp, and play daily.
8. Eat with gusto and enthusiasm.
9. Be loyal.
10. Never pretend to be something you're not.
11. If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
12. When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by and nuzzle them gently.
13. Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
14. Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
15. Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
16. On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.
17. When you are happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
18. No matter how often you are criticized, don't buy into the guilt thing and pout. Run right back and make friends.
Bobby's Gift
Bobby was getting cold sitting out in his back yard in the snow. Bobby didn't wear boots; he didn't like them and anyway he didn't own any. The thin sneakers he wore had a few holes in them and they did a poor job of keeping out the cold.
Bobby had been in his backyard for about an hour already. And, try as he might, he could not come up with an idea for his mother's Christmas gift. He shook his head as he thought, "This is useless, even if I do come up with an idea, I don't have any money to spend.
Ever since his father had passed away three years ago, the family of five had struggled. It wasn't because his mother didn't care, or try, there just never seemed to be enough. She worked nights at the hospital, but the small wage that she was earning could only be stretched so far.
What the family lacked in money and material things, they more than made up for in love and family unity. Bobby had two older and one younger sister, who ran the household in their mother's absence.
All three of his sisters had already made beautiful gifts for their mother. Somehow it just wasn't fair. Here it was Christmas Eve already, and he had nothing.
Wiping a tear from his eye, Bobby kicked the snow and started to walk down to the street where the shops and stores were. It wasn't easy being six without a father, especially when he needed a man to talk to.
Bobby walked from shop to shop, looking into each decorated window. Everything seemed so beautiful and so out of reach. It was starting to get dark and Bobby reluctantly turned to walk home when suddenly his eyes caught the glimmer of the setting sun's rays reflecting off of something along the curb. He reached down and discovered a shiny dime.
Never before has anyone felt so wealthy as Bobby felt at that moment. As he held his new found treasure, a warmth spread throughout his entire body and he walked into the first store he saw. His excitement quickly turned cold when salesperson after salesperson told him that he could not buy anything with only a dime.
He saw a flower shop and went inside to wait in line. When the shop owner asked if he could help him, Bobby presented the dime and asked if he could buy one flower for his mother's Christmas gift. The shop owner looked at Bobby and his ten cent offering. Then he put his hand on Bobby's shoulder and said to him, "You just wait here and I'll see what I can do for you."
As Bobby waited, he looked at the beautiful flowers and even though he was a boy, he could see why mothers and girls liked flowers.
The sound of the door closing as the last customer left, jolted Bobby back to reality. All alone in the shop, Bobby began to feel alone and afraid.
Suddenly the shop owner came out and moved to the counter. There, before Bobby's eyes, lay twelve long stem, red roses, with leaves of green and tiny white flowers all tied together with a big silver bow. Bobby's heart sank as the owner picked them up and placed them gently into a long white box.
"That will be ten cents young man," the shop owner said reaching out his hand for the dime. Slowly, Bobby moved his hand to give the man his dime. Could this be true? No one else would give him a thing for his dime! Sensing the boy's reluctance, the shop owner added, "I just happened to have some roses on sale for ten cents a dozen. Would you like them?"
This time Bobby did not hesitate, and when the man placed the long box into his hands, he knew it was true. Walking out the door that the owner was holding for Bobby, he heard the shop keeper say, "Merry Christmas, son."
As he returned inside, the shop keepers wife walked out. "Who were you talking to back there and where are the roses you were fixing?" Staring out the window, and blinking the tears from his own eyes, he replied, "A strange thing happened to me this morning. While I was setting up things to open the shop, I thought I heard a voice telling me to set aside a dozen of my best roses for a special gift. I wasn't sure at the time whether I had lost my mind or what, but I set them aside anyway. Then just a few minutes ago, a little boy came into the shop and wanted to buy a flower for his mother with one small dime.
When I looked at him, I saw myself, many years ago. I too was a poor boy with nothing to buy my mother a Christmas gift. A bearded man, whom I never knew, stopped me on the street and told me that he wanted to give me ten dollars.
When I saw that little boy tonight, I knew who that voice was, and I put together a dozen of my very best roses."
The shop owner and his wife hugged each other tightly, and as they stepped out into the bitter cold air, they somehow didn't feel cold at all.
Author Unknown
Bobby had been in his backyard for about an hour already. And, try as he might, he could not come up with an idea for his mother's Christmas gift. He shook his head as he thought, "This is useless, even if I do come up with an idea, I don't have any money to spend.
Ever since his father had passed away three years ago, the family of five had struggled. It wasn't because his mother didn't care, or try, there just never seemed to be enough. She worked nights at the hospital, but the small wage that she was earning could only be stretched so far.
What the family lacked in money and material things, they more than made up for in love and family unity. Bobby had two older and one younger sister, who ran the household in their mother's absence.
All three of his sisters had already made beautiful gifts for their mother. Somehow it just wasn't fair. Here it was Christmas Eve already, and he had nothing.
Wiping a tear from his eye, Bobby kicked the snow and started to walk down to the street where the shops and stores were. It wasn't easy being six without a father, especially when he needed a man to talk to.
Bobby walked from shop to shop, looking into each decorated window. Everything seemed so beautiful and so out of reach. It was starting to get dark and Bobby reluctantly turned to walk home when suddenly his eyes caught the glimmer of the setting sun's rays reflecting off of something along the curb. He reached down and discovered a shiny dime.
Never before has anyone felt so wealthy as Bobby felt at that moment. As he held his new found treasure, a warmth spread throughout his entire body and he walked into the first store he saw. His excitement quickly turned cold when salesperson after salesperson told him that he could not buy anything with only a dime.
He saw a flower shop and went inside to wait in line. When the shop owner asked if he could help him, Bobby presented the dime and asked if he could buy one flower for his mother's Christmas gift. The shop owner looked at Bobby and his ten cent offering. Then he put his hand on Bobby's shoulder and said to him, "You just wait here and I'll see what I can do for you."
As Bobby waited, he looked at the beautiful flowers and even though he was a boy, he could see why mothers and girls liked flowers.
The sound of the door closing as the last customer left, jolted Bobby back to reality. All alone in the shop, Bobby began to feel alone and afraid.
Suddenly the shop owner came out and moved to the counter. There, before Bobby's eyes, lay twelve long stem, red roses, with leaves of green and tiny white flowers all tied together with a big silver bow. Bobby's heart sank as the owner picked them up and placed them gently into a long white box.
"That will be ten cents young man," the shop owner said reaching out his hand for the dime. Slowly, Bobby moved his hand to give the man his dime. Could this be true? No one else would give him a thing for his dime! Sensing the boy's reluctance, the shop owner added, "I just happened to have some roses on sale for ten cents a dozen. Would you like them?"
This time Bobby did not hesitate, and when the man placed the long box into his hands, he knew it was true. Walking out the door that the owner was holding for Bobby, he heard the shop keeper say, "Merry Christmas, son."
As he returned inside, the shop keepers wife walked out. "Who were you talking to back there and where are the roses you were fixing?" Staring out the window, and blinking the tears from his own eyes, he replied, "A strange thing happened to me this morning. While I was setting up things to open the shop, I thought I heard a voice telling me to set aside a dozen of my best roses for a special gift. I wasn't sure at the time whether I had lost my mind or what, but I set them aside anyway. Then just a few minutes ago, a little boy came into the shop and wanted to buy a flower for his mother with one small dime.
When I looked at him, I saw myself, many years ago. I too was a poor boy with nothing to buy my mother a Christmas gift. A bearded man, whom I never knew, stopped me on the street and told me that he wanted to give me ten dollars.
When I saw that little boy tonight, I knew who that voice was, and I put together a dozen of my very best roses."
The shop owner and his wife hugged each other tightly, and as they stepped out into the bitter cold air, they somehow didn't feel cold at all.
Author Unknown
Love
Love is friendship that has caught fire. It is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing and forgiving. It is loyalty through good and bad times. It settles for less than perfection and makes allowances for human weakness.
Love is content with the present, it hopes for the future, and it doesn’t brood over the past. It’s the day-in and day-out chronicle of irritations, problems, compromises, small disappointments, big victories and working toward common goals.
If you have love in your life, it can make up for a great many things that are missing. If you don’t have love in your life, no matter what else there is, it’s not enough.
Author Unknown
Love is content with the present, it hopes for the future, and it doesn’t brood over the past. It’s the day-in and day-out chronicle of irritations, problems, compromises, small disappointments, big victories and working toward common goals.
If you have love in your life, it can make up for a great many things that are missing. If you don’t have love in your life, no matter what else there is, it’s not enough.
Author Unknown
The Pickle Jar
The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.
As a small boy I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar. They ended with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled. I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window.
When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank. Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production. Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck. Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully. "Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son.
You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back." Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly.
"These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me." We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm. "When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again."
He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other. "You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters," he said. "But you'll get there. I'll see to that."
The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed. A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words, and never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done.
When I married, I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me. No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar.
To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make away out for me. "When you finish college, Son," he told me, his eyes glistening, "You'll never have to eat beans again...unless you want to."
The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. "She probably needs to be changed," she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes. She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room.
"Look," she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins.
With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt.
Neither one of us could speak.
~ Author Unknown ~
As a small boy I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar. They ended with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled. I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window.
When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank. Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production. Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck. Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully. "Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son.
You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back." Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly.
"These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me." We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm. "When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again."
He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other. "You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters," he said. "But you'll get there. I'll see to that."
The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed. A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words, and never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done.
When I married, I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me. No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar.
To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make away out for me. "When you finish college, Son," he told me, his eyes glistening, "You'll never have to eat beans again...unless you want to."
The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. "She probably needs to be changed," she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes. She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room.
"Look," she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins.
With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt.
Neither one of us could speak.
~ Author Unknown ~
Dirt Roads
What's mainly wrong with society today is that too many Dirt Roads have been paved.
There's not a problem in America today, crime, drugs, education, divorce, delinquency that wouldn't be remedied, if we just had more Dirt Roads, because Dirt Roads give character.
People that live at the end of Dirt Roads learn early on that life is a bumpy ride.
That it can jar you right down to your teeth sometimes, but it's worth it, if at the end is home...a loving spouse, happy kids and a dog.
We wouldn't have near the trouble with our educational system if our kids got their exercise walking a Dirt Road with other kids, from whom they learn how to get along.
There was less crime in our streets before they were paved.
Criminals didn't walk two dusty miles to rob or rape, if they knew they'd be welcomed by 5 barking dogs and a double barrel shotgun.
And there were no drive by shootings.
Our values were better when our roads were worse!
People did not worship their cars more than their kids, and motorists were more courteous, they didn't tailgate by riding the bumper or the guy in front would choke you with dust & bust your windshield with rocks.
Dirt Roads taught patience.
Dirt Roads were environmentally friendly, you didn't hop in your car for a quart of milk you walked to the barn for your milk.
For your mail, you walked to the mail box.
What if it rained and the Dirt Road got washed out? That was the best part, then you stayed home and had some family time, roasted marshmallows and popped popcorn and pony rode on Daddy's shoulders and learned how to make prettier quilts than anybody.
At the end of Dirt Roads, you soon learned that bad words tasted like soap.
Most paved roads lead to trouble, Dirt Roads more likely lead to a fishing creek or a swimming hole.
At the end of a Dirt Road, the only time we even locked our car was in August, because if we didn't some neighbor would fill it with too much zucchini.
At the end of a Dirt Road, there was always extra springtime income, from when city dudes would get stuck, you'd have to hitch up a team and pull them out.
Usually you got a dollar...always you got a new friend...at the end of a Dirt Road!
-- By Paul Harvey
There's not a problem in America today, crime, drugs, education, divorce, delinquency that wouldn't be remedied, if we just had more Dirt Roads, because Dirt Roads give character.
People that live at the end of Dirt Roads learn early on that life is a bumpy ride.
That it can jar you right down to your teeth sometimes, but it's worth it, if at the end is home...a loving spouse, happy kids and a dog.
We wouldn't have near the trouble with our educational system if our kids got their exercise walking a Dirt Road with other kids, from whom they learn how to get along.
There was less crime in our streets before they were paved.
Criminals didn't walk two dusty miles to rob or rape, if they knew they'd be welcomed by 5 barking dogs and a double barrel shotgun.
And there were no drive by shootings.
Our values were better when our roads were worse!
People did not worship their cars more than their kids, and motorists were more courteous, they didn't tailgate by riding the bumper or the guy in front would choke you with dust & bust your windshield with rocks.
Dirt Roads taught patience.
Dirt Roads were environmentally friendly, you didn't hop in your car for a quart of milk you walked to the barn for your milk.
For your mail, you walked to the mail box.
What if it rained and the Dirt Road got washed out? That was the best part, then you stayed home and had some family time, roasted marshmallows and popped popcorn and pony rode on Daddy's shoulders and learned how to make prettier quilts than anybody.
At the end of Dirt Roads, you soon learned that bad words tasted like soap.
Most paved roads lead to trouble, Dirt Roads more likely lead to a fishing creek or a swimming hole.
At the end of a Dirt Road, the only time we even locked our car was in August, because if we didn't some neighbor would fill it with too much zucchini.
At the end of a Dirt Road, there was always extra springtime income, from when city dudes would get stuck, you'd have to hitch up a team and pull them out.
Usually you got a dollar...always you got a new friend...at the end of a Dirt Road!
-- By Paul Harvey
The Bricklayer's Accident Report...,
The next time you're having a bad day, just think -- you're lucky you're not this guy!
This is a bricklayer's accident report that was printed in the newsletter of the English equivalent of the Workers' Compensation Board.
Bricklayer's Accident Report
Dear Sir:
I am writing in response to your request for additional information in Block #3 of the accident reporting form. I put "Poor Planning" as the cause of my accident. You asked for a fuller explanation, and I trust the following details will be sufficient.
I am a bricklayer by trade. On the day of the accident, I was working alone on the roof of a new six-story building. When I completed my work, I found I had some bricks left over which when weighed later were found to weigh 240 lbs.
Rather than carry the bricks down by hand, I decided to lower them in a barrel by using a pulley which was attached to the side of the building at the sixth floor.
Bricklayer's Accident Report
Securing the rope at ground level, I went up to the roof, swung the barrel out and loaded the bricks into it. Then I went down and untied the rope, holding it tightly to insure a slow descent of the 240 lbs of bricks. You will note on the accident reporting form that my weight is 135 lbs.
Due to my surprise at being jerked off the ground so suddenly, I lost my presence of mind and forgot to let go of the rope. Needless to say, I proceeded at a rapid rate up the side of the building.
Bricklayer's Accident Report
In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel which was now proceeding downward at an equally impressive speed. This explains the fractured skull, minor abrasions and the broken collarbone, as listed in Section 3, accident reporting form.
Slowed only slightly, I continued my rapid ascent, not stopping until the fingers of my right hand were two knuckles deep into the pulley which I mentioned in Paragraph 2 of this correspondence. Fortunately, by this time, I had regained my presence of mind and was able to hold tightly to the rope, in spite of the excruciating pain I was now beginning to experience.
Bricklayer's Accident Report
At approximately the same time, however, the barrel of bricks hit the ground, and the bottom fell out of the barrel. Now devoid of the weight of the bricks, the barrel weighed approximately 50 lbs. I refer you again to my weight.
As you might imagine, I began a rapid descent down the side of the building. In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel coming up. This accounts for the two fractured ankles, broken tooth and severe lacerations of my legs and lower body.
Bricklayer's Accident Report
Here my luck began to change slightly. The encounter with the barrel seemed to slow me enough to lessen my injuries when I fell into the pile of bricks and fortunately only three vertebrae were cracked.
I am sorry to report, however, as I lay there on the pile of bricks, in pain, unable to move and watching the empty barrel six stories above me, I again lost my composure and presence of mind and let go of the rope.
Source: Internet
This is a bricklayer's accident report that was printed in the newsletter of the English equivalent of the Workers' Compensation Board.
Bricklayer's Accident Report
Dear Sir:
I am writing in response to your request for additional information in Block #3 of the accident reporting form. I put "Poor Planning" as the cause of my accident. You asked for a fuller explanation, and I trust the following details will be sufficient.
I am a bricklayer by trade. On the day of the accident, I was working alone on the roof of a new six-story building. When I completed my work, I found I had some bricks left over which when weighed later were found to weigh 240 lbs.
Rather than carry the bricks down by hand, I decided to lower them in a barrel by using a pulley which was attached to the side of the building at the sixth floor.
Bricklayer's Accident Report
Securing the rope at ground level, I went up to the roof, swung the barrel out and loaded the bricks into it. Then I went down and untied the rope, holding it tightly to insure a slow descent of the 240 lbs of bricks. You will note on the accident reporting form that my weight is 135 lbs.
Due to my surprise at being jerked off the ground so suddenly, I lost my presence of mind and forgot to let go of the rope. Needless to say, I proceeded at a rapid rate up the side of the building.
Bricklayer's Accident Report
In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel which was now proceeding downward at an equally impressive speed. This explains the fractured skull, minor abrasions and the broken collarbone, as listed in Section 3, accident reporting form.
Slowed only slightly, I continued my rapid ascent, not stopping until the fingers of my right hand were two knuckles deep into the pulley which I mentioned in Paragraph 2 of this correspondence. Fortunately, by this time, I had regained my presence of mind and was able to hold tightly to the rope, in spite of the excruciating pain I was now beginning to experience.
Bricklayer's Accident Report
At approximately the same time, however, the barrel of bricks hit the ground, and the bottom fell out of the barrel. Now devoid of the weight of the bricks, the barrel weighed approximately 50 lbs. I refer you again to my weight.
As you might imagine, I began a rapid descent down the side of the building. In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel coming up. This accounts for the two fractured ankles, broken tooth and severe lacerations of my legs and lower body.
Bricklayer's Accident Report
Here my luck began to change slightly. The encounter with the barrel seemed to slow me enough to lessen my injuries when I fell into the pile of bricks and fortunately only three vertebrae were cracked.
I am sorry to report, however, as I lay there on the pile of bricks, in pain, unable to move and watching the empty barrel six stories above me, I again lost my composure and presence of mind and let go of the rope.
Source: Internet
Stones, Pebbles and Sand - Time Management
One day, an old professor of the School of Public Management in France, was invited to lecture on the topic of “Efficient Time Management” in front of a group of 15 executive managers representing the largest, most successful companies in America. The lecture was one in a series of 5 lectures conducted in one day, and the old professor was given 1 hr to lecture.
Standing in front of this group of elite managers, who were willing to write down every word that would come out of the famous professor’s mouth, the professor slowly met eyes with each manager, one by one, and finally said, “we are going to conduct an experiment”.
Jar of Rocks
From under the table that stood between the professor and the listeners, the professor pulled out a big glass jar and gently placed it in front of him. Next, he pulled out from under the table a bag of stones, each the size of a tennis ball, and placed the stones one by one in the jar. He did so until there was no room to add another stone in the jar. Lifting his gaze to the managers, the professor asked, “Is the jar full?” The managers replied, “Yes”.
The professor paused for a moment, and replied, “Really?”
Once again, he reached under the table and pulled out a bag full of pebbles. Carefully, the professor poured the pebbles in and slightly rattled the jar, allowing the pebbles to slip through the larger stones, until they settled at the bottom. Again, the professor lifted his gaze to his audience and asked, “Is the jar full?”
At this point, the managers began to understand his intentions. One replied, “apparently not!”
“Correct”, replied the old professor, now pulling out a bag of sand from under the table. Cautiously, the professor poured the sand into the jar. The sand filled up the spaces between the stones and the pebbles.
Yet again, the professor asked, “Is the jar full?”
Without hesitation, the entire group of students replied in unison, “NO!”
“Correct”, replied the professor. And as was expected by the students, the professor reached for the pitcher of water that was on the table, and poured water in the jar until it was absolutely full. The professor now lifted his gaze once again and asked, “What great truth can we surmise from this experiment?”
With his thoughts on the lecture topic, one manager quickly replied, “We learn that as full as our schedules may appear, if we only increase our effort, it is always possible to add more meetings and tasks.”
“No”, replied the professor. The great truth that we can conclude from this experiment is:
If we don’t put all the larger stones in the jar first, we will never be able to fit all of them later.
The auditorium fell silent, as every manager processed the significance of the professor’s words in their entirety.
The old professor continued, “What are the large stones in your life? Health? Family? Friends? Your goals? Doing what you love? Fighting for a Cause? Taking time for yourself?”
What we must remember is that it is most important to include the lager stones in our lives, because if we don’t do so, we are likely to miss out on life altogether. If we give priority to the smaller things in life (pebbles & sand), our lives will be filled up with less important things, leaving little or no time for the things in our lives that are most important to us. Because of this, never forget to ask yourself,
What are the Large Stones in your Life? And once you identify them, be sure to put them first in your “Jar of Life”.
With a warm wave of his hand, the professor bid farewell to the managers, and slowly walked out of the room.
Author Unknown
Source: Internet
Standing in front of this group of elite managers, who were willing to write down every word that would come out of the famous professor’s mouth, the professor slowly met eyes with each manager, one by one, and finally said, “we are going to conduct an experiment”.
Jar of Rocks
From under the table that stood between the professor and the listeners, the professor pulled out a big glass jar and gently placed it in front of him. Next, he pulled out from under the table a bag of stones, each the size of a tennis ball, and placed the stones one by one in the jar. He did so until there was no room to add another stone in the jar. Lifting his gaze to the managers, the professor asked, “Is the jar full?” The managers replied, “Yes”.
The professor paused for a moment, and replied, “Really?”
Once again, he reached under the table and pulled out a bag full of pebbles. Carefully, the professor poured the pebbles in and slightly rattled the jar, allowing the pebbles to slip through the larger stones, until they settled at the bottom. Again, the professor lifted his gaze to his audience and asked, “Is the jar full?”
At this point, the managers began to understand his intentions. One replied, “apparently not!”
“Correct”, replied the old professor, now pulling out a bag of sand from under the table. Cautiously, the professor poured the sand into the jar. The sand filled up the spaces between the stones and the pebbles.
Yet again, the professor asked, “Is the jar full?”
Without hesitation, the entire group of students replied in unison, “NO!”
“Correct”, replied the professor. And as was expected by the students, the professor reached for the pitcher of water that was on the table, and poured water in the jar until it was absolutely full. The professor now lifted his gaze once again and asked, “What great truth can we surmise from this experiment?”
With his thoughts on the lecture topic, one manager quickly replied, “We learn that as full as our schedules may appear, if we only increase our effort, it is always possible to add more meetings and tasks.”
“No”, replied the professor. The great truth that we can conclude from this experiment is:
If we don’t put all the larger stones in the jar first, we will never be able to fit all of them later.
The auditorium fell silent, as every manager processed the significance of the professor’s words in their entirety.
The old professor continued, “What are the large stones in your life? Health? Family? Friends? Your goals? Doing what you love? Fighting for a Cause? Taking time for yourself?”
What we must remember is that it is most important to include the lager stones in our lives, because if we don’t do so, we are likely to miss out on life altogether. If we give priority to the smaller things in life (pebbles & sand), our lives will be filled up with less important things, leaving little or no time for the things in our lives that are most important to us. Because of this, never forget to ask yourself,
What are the Large Stones in your Life? And once you identify them, be sure to put them first in your “Jar of Life”.
With a warm wave of his hand, the professor bid farewell to the managers, and slowly walked out of the room.
Author Unknown
Source: Internet
The Legend About Two Wolves
A Cherokee elder was teaching his children about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to them. “It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continued, “The other is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too.”
The grandchildren thought about it and after a minute one of them asked, “Which wolf will win?”
The elder simply replied, “The one you feed.”
Source: Internet
The grandchildren thought about it and after a minute one of them asked, “Which wolf will win?”
The elder simply replied, “The one you feed.”
Source: Internet
The Cracked Pot
A waterbearer in India had two large pots, one hung on each end of a pole, which she carried across her neck.
One of the pots had a crack in it. While the other pot was perfect, and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the mistress's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.
For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to her master's house.
The perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.
After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream: "I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you."
Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?"
"I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your mistress's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.
The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in her compassion she said, "As we return to the mistress's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."
Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some.
But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.
The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side?
The water bearer, “That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them.
“For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my mistress's table. Without you being just the way you are, she would not have this beauty to grace her house."
Author Unknown
One of the pots had a crack in it. While the other pot was perfect, and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the mistress's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.
For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to her master's house.
The perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.
After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream: "I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you."
Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?"
"I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your mistress's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.
The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in her compassion she said, "As we return to the mistress's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."
Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some.
But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.
The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side?
The water bearer, “That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them.
“For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my mistress's table. Without you being just the way you are, she would not have this beauty to grace her house."
Author Unknown
I've learned...,
I've learned...that the best classroom in the world is at the feet of an elderly person.
I've learned...that when you're in love, it shows.
I've learned...that just one person saying to me, "You've made my day!" makes my day.
I've learned...that having a child fall asleep in your arms is one of the most peaceful feelings in the world.
I've learned...that being kind is more important than being right.
I've learned...that you should never say no to a gift from a child.
I've learned...that I can always pray for someone when I don't have the strength to help him in some other way.
I've learned...that no matter how serious your life requires you to be, everyone needs a friend to act goofy with.
I've learned...that sometimes all a person needs is a hand to hold and a heart to understand.
I've learned...that simple walks with my father around the block on summer nights when I was a child did wonders for me as an adult.
I've learned...that life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer it gets to the end, the faster it goes.
I've learned...that we should be glad God doesn't give us everything we ask for.
I've learned...that money doesn't buy class.
I've learned...that it's those small daily happenings that make life so spectacular.
I've learned...that under everyone's hard shell is someone who wants to be appreciated and loved.
I've learned...that the Lord didn't do it all in one day. What makes me think I can?
I've learned...that to ignore the facts does not change the facts.
I've learned...that when you plan to get even with someone, you are only letting that person continue to hurt you.
I've learned...that love, not time, heals all wounds.
I've learned...that the easiest way for me to grow as a person is to surround myself with people smarter than I am.
I've learned...that everyone you meet deserves to be greeted with a smile.
I've learned...that there's nothing sweeter than sleeping with your babies and feeling their breath on your cheeks.
I've learned...that no one is perfect until you fall in love with them.
I've learned...that life is tough, but I'm tougher.
I've learned...that opportunities are never lost; someone will take the ones you miss.
I've learned...that when you harbor bitterness, happiness will dock elsewhere.
I've learned...that I wish I could have told my Dad that I love him one more time before he passed away.
I've learned...that one should keep his words both soft and tender, because tomorrow he may have to eat them.
I've learned...that a smile is an inexpensive way to improve your looks.
I've learned...that I can't choose how I feel, but I can choose what I do about it.
I've learned...that when your newly born grandchild holds your little finger in his little fist, that you're hooked for life.
I've learned...that everyone wants to live on top of the mountain, but all the happiness and growth occurs while you're climbing it.
I've learned...that it is best to give advice in only two circumstances; when it is requested and when it is a life threatening situation.
I've learned...that the less time I have to work with, the more things I get done.
By Andy Rooney
I've learned...that when you're in love, it shows.
I've learned...that just one person saying to me, "You've made my day!" makes my day.
I've learned...that having a child fall asleep in your arms is one of the most peaceful feelings in the world.
I've learned...that being kind is more important than being right.
I've learned...that you should never say no to a gift from a child.
I've learned...that I can always pray for someone when I don't have the strength to help him in some other way.
I've learned...that no matter how serious your life requires you to be, everyone needs a friend to act goofy with.
I've learned...that sometimes all a person needs is a hand to hold and a heart to understand.
I've learned...that simple walks with my father around the block on summer nights when I was a child did wonders for me as an adult.
I've learned...that life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer it gets to the end, the faster it goes.
I've learned...that we should be glad God doesn't give us everything we ask for.
I've learned...that money doesn't buy class.
I've learned...that it's those small daily happenings that make life so spectacular.
I've learned...that under everyone's hard shell is someone who wants to be appreciated and loved.
I've learned...that the Lord didn't do it all in one day. What makes me think I can?
I've learned...that to ignore the facts does not change the facts.
I've learned...that when you plan to get even with someone, you are only letting that person continue to hurt you.
I've learned...that love, not time, heals all wounds.
I've learned...that the easiest way for me to grow as a person is to surround myself with people smarter than I am.
I've learned...that everyone you meet deserves to be greeted with a smile.
I've learned...that there's nothing sweeter than sleeping with your babies and feeling their breath on your cheeks.
I've learned...that no one is perfect until you fall in love with them.
I've learned...that life is tough, but I'm tougher.
I've learned...that opportunities are never lost; someone will take the ones you miss.
I've learned...that when you harbor bitterness, happiness will dock elsewhere.
I've learned...that I wish I could have told my Dad that I love him one more time before he passed away.
I've learned...that one should keep his words both soft and tender, because tomorrow he may have to eat them.
I've learned...that a smile is an inexpensive way to improve your looks.
I've learned...that I can't choose how I feel, but I can choose what I do about it.
I've learned...that when your newly born grandchild holds your little finger in his little fist, that you're hooked for life.
I've learned...that everyone wants to live on top of the mountain, but all the happiness and growth occurs while you're climbing it.
I've learned...that it is best to give advice in only two circumstances; when it is requested and when it is a life threatening situation.
I've learned...that the less time I have to work with, the more things I get done.
By Andy Rooney
English Proverbs
What can be done at any time is never done at all. ~ Author Unknown
What you are afraid of overtakes you. ~ Author Unknown
Everything passes, everything perishes, everything palls. ~ Author Unknown
Begin to weave and God will give you the thread. ~ Unknown
Patience cures many an old complaint. ~ Unknown
Small children disturb your sleep, big children your life. ~ Unknown
Source: Internet
What you are afraid of overtakes you. ~ Author Unknown
Everything passes, everything perishes, everything palls. ~ Author Unknown
Begin to weave and God will give you the thread. ~ Unknown
Patience cures many an old complaint. ~ Unknown
Small children disturb your sleep, big children your life. ~ Unknown
Source: Internet
Belgian Proverb
Experience is the comb that nature gives us when we are bald. ~ Author Unknown
Weeds never perish.
Who sieves too much keeps the rubbish.
He who does not wish for little things does not deserve big things.
The beautiful is less what one sees than what one dreams.
The horse must graze where it is tethered.
Tolerance when mocked is often transformed into anger. -- Belgian Proverb
Who being respected, is destitute? -- Belgian Proverb
If you don't use your head, you'll use your pocketbook. -- Belgian Proverb
Proverbs are the library of history. - Belgium Proverb
It's no use waiting for your ship to come in, unless you've sent one out. -- Belgian Proverb
Love is born of faith, lives on hope and dies of charity. -- Belgium Proverb
Only the undertaker chortles in the time of plague. -- -- Belgian Proverb
A philosopher enlightens the pathway . -- Belgium Proverb
Proverbs and old sayings reveal many aspects about the cultural traditions of a society. Proverbs originated from indigenous humble folk who handed down these wise old sayings over the centuries, generation to generation.
Source: Internet
Weeds never perish.
Who sieves too much keeps the rubbish.
He who does not wish for little things does not deserve big things.
The beautiful is less what one sees than what one dreams.
The horse must graze where it is tethered.
Tolerance when mocked is often transformed into anger. -- Belgian Proverb
Who being respected, is destitute? -- Belgian Proverb
If you don't use your head, you'll use your pocketbook. -- Belgian Proverb
Proverbs are the library of history. - Belgium Proverb
It's no use waiting for your ship to come in, unless you've sent one out. -- Belgian Proverb
Love is born of faith, lives on hope and dies of charity. -- Belgium Proverb
Only the undertaker chortles in the time of plague. -- -- Belgian Proverb
A philosopher enlightens the pathway . -- Belgium Proverb
Proverbs and old sayings reveal many aspects about the cultural traditions of a society. Proverbs originated from indigenous humble folk who handed down these wise old sayings over the centuries, generation to generation.
Source: Internet
Chinese Proverb
If you want happiness for an hour, take a nap. If you want happiness for a day, go fishing. If you want happiness for a year, inherit a fortune. If you want happiness for a lifetime, help somebody. ~ Author Unknown
By asking for the impossible, we obtain the best possible. ~ Author Unknown
Better to bend than to break. ~ Unknown
A trout in the pot is better than a salmon in the sea.
A quarrel is like buttermilk: once it's out of the churn, the more you shake it, the more sour it grows.
Source: Internet
By asking for the impossible, we obtain the best possible. ~ Author Unknown
Better to bend than to break. ~ Unknown
A trout in the pot is better than a salmon in the sea.
A quarrel is like buttermilk: once it's out of the churn, the more you shake it, the more sour it grows.
Source: Internet
Roads and Paths
There may be some steep hills to climb,
Some times when the road seems treacherous and you aren't sure which turn to take...
Times when you feel like you are on the brink of falling,
And there may be many curves in the road.
As you make your way through the ups and downs of 2012,
May you know God's presence with you through each tunnel,
Every steep climb,
Every curve,
In the beautiful mountaintop experiences with Him,
And through the slippery storms of life;
May He walk with you down through the valleys and up the mountains,
Take your hand and guide you through to the light,
Put a hedge around you to keep you safe,
Help you to find joy and excitement in the roller coaster ride,
And fill you with amazement at the beauty He provides along the way.
Take time to smell the flowers,
To admire His handiwork
Along Life's railway;
And may His love flood over you, fill you, and overflow in praise to Him for all He's done!
Source: Internet
Do You Need To Diet?
Then let's get started!
Here's the first rule of thumb:
If it tastes good....spit it out.
And remember...
If you must have a cheeseburger and fries
always order a diet coke!
Inside me there's a thin person struggling
to get out, but I can usually sedate her with
four or five cupcakes.
You can eat as much as you want on a
diet....of anything you don't like.
I don't exercise at all, if God had
wanted me to touch my toes he would
have put them up higher on my body.
The toughest part of a diet isn't watching what you
eat, it's watching what other people eat.
mmmmm.....love chocolate chip cookies.
I don't need to know how many calories are
in a chocolate chip cookie, I need to know
how many calories are in a whole batch!
The advantage of exercising everyday
is that you die healthier.
Did you ever see the customers in a health-
food store? They are pale, skinny people who
look half dead. In a steak house you see robust,
ruddy people. They're dying of course but they
look terrific.
Seriously now, count those fat grams and calories,
take long walks, buy all that fat free stuff they have in
grocery stores now-a-days...and while you guys get
started doing all of that, I'm going out for a cheeseburger,
fries, and of course a diet coke!
Source: Internet
Here's the first rule of thumb:
If it tastes good....spit it out.
And remember...
If you must have a cheeseburger and fries
always order a diet coke!
Inside me there's a thin person struggling
to get out, but I can usually sedate her with
four or five cupcakes.
You can eat as much as you want on a
diet....of anything you don't like.
I don't exercise at all, if God had
wanted me to touch my toes he would
have put them up higher on my body.
The toughest part of a diet isn't watching what you
eat, it's watching what other people eat.
mmmmm.....love chocolate chip cookies.
I don't need to know how many calories are
in a chocolate chip cookie, I need to know
how many calories are in a whole batch!
The advantage of exercising everyday
is that you die healthier.
Did you ever see the customers in a health-
food store? They are pale, skinny people who
look half dead. In a steak house you see robust,
ruddy people. They're dying of course but they
look terrific.
Seriously now, count those fat grams and calories,
take long walks, buy all that fat free stuff they have in
grocery stores now-a-days...and while you guys get
started doing all of that, I'm going out for a cheeseburger,
fries, and of course a diet coke!
Source: Internet
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Quote of the Day
When the world says, "Give up," Hope whispers, "Try it one more time." ~Author Unknown
Friday, January 6, 2012
Dear Son,
Your Pa has a new job. The first in 48 years. We are a little better, off now, getting $17.96 every Thursday. So we up and thought we'd do a little fixin’ up. We sent to Sears for one of them there bathrooms you hear so much about and it took a plumber to put it in shape.
On one side of the room is a great big long thing, something like the hogs drink out of, only you get in it and wash all over. Over on the other side is a little white thing called a sink, this is for light washing, like face and hands, but over in the other corner we really got something.
There you put one foot in, wash it clean, pull a chain and get fresh water for the other foot. Two lids come with the darn thing and we ain't had any use for them in the bathroom, so I'm using one for a bread board and the other we framed grandmother's picture in.
They were awful nice people to deal with and they sent us a roll of writing paper with it.
Take care of yourself son.
Your Maw
On one side of the room is a great big long thing, something like the hogs drink out of, only you get in it and wash all over. Over on the other side is a little white thing called a sink, this is for light washing, like face and hands, but over in the other corner we really got something.
There you put one foot in, wash it clean, pull a chain and get fresh water for the other foot. Two lids come with the darn thing and we ain't had any use for them in the bathroom, so I'm using one for a bread board and the other we framed grandmother's picture in.
They were awful nice people to deal with and they sent us a roll of writing paper with it.
Take care of yourself son.
Your Maw
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Things To Remember
24 Things to Always Remember...
(and one thing to never forget)
Your presence is a present to the world.
You're unique and one of a kind.
Your life can be what you want it to be.
Take the days just one at a time.
Count your blessings not your troubles.
You'll make it through whatever comes along.
Within you are so many answers.
Understand, have courage, be strong.
Don't put limits on yourself.
So many dreams are waiting to be realized.
Decisions are too important to leave to chance.
Reach for your peak, your goal, your prize.
Nothing wastes more energy then worrying.
The longer one carries a problem, the heavier it gets.
Don't take things too seriously.
Live a life of serenity, not a life of regrets.
Remember that a little love goes along way.
Remember that a lot... goes forever.
Remember that a friendship is a wise investment.
Life's treasures are people... together.
Realize that it's never too late.
Do ordinary things in an extraordinary way.
Have health and hope and happiness.
Take the time to wish upon a star.
And don't ever forget...
for even a day... how very special you are.
(Kim Murray)
(and one thing to never forget)
Your presence is a present to the world.
You're unique and one of a kind.
Your life can be what you want it to be.
Take the days just one at a time.
Count your blessings not your troubles.
You'll make it through whatever comes along.
Within you are so many answers.
Understand, have courage, be strong.
Don't put limits on yourself.
So many dreams are waiting to be realized.
Decisions are too important to leave to chance.
Reach for your peak, your goal, your prize.
Nothing wastes more energy then worrying.
The longer one carries a problem, the heavier it gets.
Don't take things too seriously.
Live a life of serenity, not a life of regrets.
Remember that a little love goes along way.
Remember that a lot... goes forever.
Remember that a friendship is a wise investment.
Life's treasures are people... together.
Realize that it's never too late.
Do ordinary things in an extraordinary way.
Have health and hope and happiness.
Take the time to wish upon a star.
And don't ever forget...
for even a day... how very special you are.
(Kim Murray)
Twelve Things To Remember
1) The value of time.
2) The success of perseverance.
3) The pleasure of working.
4) The dignity of simplicity.
5) The worth of character.
6) The power of kindness.
7) The influence of example.
8) The obligation of duty.
9) The wisdom of economy.
10) The virtue of patience.
11) The improvement of talent.
12) The joy of originating.
2) The success of perseverance.
3) The pleasure of working.
4) The dignity of simplicity.
5) The worth of character.
6) The power of kindness.
7) The influence of example.
8) The obligation of duty.
9) The wisdom of economy.
10) The virtue of patience.
11) The improvement of talent.
12) The joy of originating.
The Love Of God
We can talk an hour about it but not have it. No vessel can contain it all.
No tongue can explain it all, For it is only explained by living it, And retained by giving it. When we share it, then we have more than we had. Withhold it and we have less. It has no competitors or equals. Death cannot claim it, but only proclaim it. Persecution only brings it to the surface. It turns every experience into a privilege. It works best under pressure. It has no faults and no failures. It can turn every living thing sacrifice into a reasonable service. It has been cradled in a manger,crucified on a cross, resurrected from a tomb, and carried into heaven. I admire it in others. I desire it from others. I require it for others...But I can only acquire it From GOD.
Some Nice Thoughts ~ Author Unknown
No tongue can explain it all, For it is only explained by living it, And retained by giving it. When we share it, then we have more than we had. Withhold it and we have less. It has no competitors or equals. Death cannot claim it, but only proclaim it. Persecution only brings it to the surface. It turns every experience into a privilege. It works best under pressure. It has no faults and no failures. It can turn every living thing sacrifice into a reasonable service. It has been cradled in a manger,crucified on a cross, resurrected from a tomb, and carried into heaven. I admire it in others. I desire it from others. I require it for others...But I can only acquire it From GOD.
Some Nice Thoughts ~ Author Unknown
Geese
In the fall when you see geese in a "V" formation, heading back
south for the winter, you might be interested to know why they fly
that way. Scientist have learned that as each bird flaps its wings,
it creates an uplift for the bird immediately following. By flying in
a "V" formation, the whole flock adds at least 71% flying range,
more than if each bird were on its own.
Basic Truth # 1: Those who share
a common direction and sense of community can get where they are going
more quickly and easily because they travel on the thrust of one another's
effort.
Whenever a goose falls out of formation, it suddenly feels drag and air
resistance from trying to go it alone. It quickly gets back into
formation to take advantage of the lifting power of the bird immediately
in front.
Basic Truth # 2: If we have as much
sense as a goose, we will stay in formation with those headed the same way we
are.
When the lead goose gets tired, it rotates back in the wing and another flies
point.
Basic Truth # 3: It pays to take turns on hard jobs--for people as well as south-bound geese.
The geese honk from behind to encourage those up front to keep their speed.
Basic Truth # 4: We need to be careful
of what we say when we honk from behind.
Finally, when a goose gets sick, or is wounded by gunshot and falls out, two geese
fall out of formation and follow it down to provide help and protection. They
stay with it until it is either able to fly or it is dead, then set out to catch
up with their flock, flying on their own or with another group.
Final Truth: If we have the sense of a goose,
we will always stand by one another.
Unknown
south for the winter, you might be interested to know why they fly
that way. Scientist have learned that as each bird flaps its wings,
it creates an uplift for the bird immediately following. By flying in
a "V" formation, the whole flock adds at least 71% flying range,
more than if each bird were on its own.
Basic Truth # 1: Those who share
a common direction and sense of community can get where they are going
more quickly and easily because they travel on the thrust of one another's
effort.
Whenever a goose falls out of formation, it suddenly feels drag and air
resistance from trying to go it alone. It quickly gets back into
formation to take advantage of the lifting power of the bird immediately
in front.
Basic Truth # 2: If we have as much
sense as a goose, we will stay in formation with those headed the same way we
are.
When the lead goose gets tired, it rotates back in the wing and another flies
point.
Basic Truth # 3: It pays to take turns on hard jobs--for people as well as south-bound geese.
The geese honk from behind to encourage those up front to keep their speed.
Basic Truth # 4: We need to be careful
of what we say when we honk from behind.
Finally, when a goose gets sick, or is wounded by gunshot and falls out, two geese
fall out of formation and follow it down to provide help and protection. They
stay with it until it is either able to fly or it is dead, then set out to catch
up with their flock, flying on their own or with another group.
Final Truth: If we have the sense of a goose,
we will always stand by one another.
Unknown
The Race
"Quit, give up you're beaten"
They shout at you and plead.
"There's just too much against you now
This time you can't succeed."
And as I start to hang my head
In front of failure's face.
My down-ward fall is broken by
The memory of a race.
And hope refills my weakened will
As I recall that scene,
For just the thought of that short race
Rejuvinates my being.
A children's race, young boys,
Young men, how I remember well,
Excitement, sure, but also fear,
It wasn't hard to tell.
They all lined up, so full of hope,
Each thought to win that race,
Or tie for first, or if not that
At least take second place.
And fathers watched from off the side
Each cheering for his son,
And each boy hoped to show his Dad
That he could be the one.
The whistle blew and off they went
Young hearts and hopes afire,
To win and be the hero there
Was each young boys desire.
And one boy in particular
Whose Dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought,
"My Dad will be so proud."
But as they sped down the field,
Across a shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win
Lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself
His hands flew out to brace,
And mid the laughter of the crowd,
He fell flat on his face.
But as he fell, his Dad stood up
And showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said,
"Get up, and win the race!"
He quickly rose, no damage done,
Behind a bit, that's all
And ran with all his might and mind
To make up for the fall.
So anxious to restore himself,
To catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his legs,
He slipped and fell again.
he wished then, he had quit before,
With only one disgrace.
"I'm hopeless as a runner now
I shouldn't try to race."
But in the laughing crowd he searched
And found his fathers face,
That steady look which said again,
"Get up and win the race!"
So up he jumped to try again,
Ten yards behind the last
"If I'm to gain these yards,"he thought
I've got to move real fast."
Exerting everything he had,
He regained eight or ten,
But trying hard to catch the lead,
He slipped and fell again.
Defeat, he lay there silently,
A tear dropped from his eye.
There's no since running anymore,
Three strikes, I'm out; why try?
The will to rise had disappeared
All hope had fled away,
So far behind, so error prone,
A loser all the way.
"I've lost so what," he thought
"I'll live with my disgrace."
But then he thought about his Dad
Whom soon he'd have to face.
"Get up" and echo sounded low,
"Get up and take your place;
You were not meant for failure here,
Get up and win the race!"
With borrowed will "Get up" it said
"You haven't lost at all,
For winning is more than this;
To rise each time you fall."
So far behind the others now,
The most he'd ever been,
Still he gave it all he had,
And ran as though to win.
Three times he'd fallen, stumbling,
Three times he rose again,
To far behind to hope to win,
He still ran to the end.
They cheered the winning runner
As he crossed the line first place,
Head high and proud and happy,
No falling, no disgrace.
But when the fallen youngster
Crossed the line last place,
The crowd gave him the greater
Cheer, for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last
With head bowed low, not proud,
You would have thought he'd won the race,
To listen to the crowd.
And to his Dad he sadly said,
"I didn't do so well."
"To me, you won," his father said
"You rose each time you fell."
Author Unknown
They shout at you and plead.
"There's just too much against you now
This time you can't succeed."
And as I start to hang my head
In front of failure's face.
My down-ward fall is broken by
The memory of a race.
And hope refills my weakened will
As I recall that scene,
For just the thought of that short race
Rejuvinates my being.
A children's race, young boys,
Young men, how I remember well,
Excitement, sure, but also fear,
It wasn't hard to tell.
They all lined up, so full of hope,
Each thought to win that race,
Or tie for first, or if not that
At least take second place.
And fathers watched from off the side
Each cheering for his son,
And each boy hoped to show his Dad
That he could be the one.
The whistle blew and off they went
Young hearts and hopes afire,
To win and be the hero there
Was each young boys desire.
And one boy in particular
Whose Dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought,
"My Dad will be so proud."
But as they sped down the field,
Across a shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win
Lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself
His hands flew out to brace,
And mid the laughter of the crowd,
He fell flat on his face.
But as he fell, his Dad stood up
And showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said,
"Get up, and win the race!"
He quickly rose, no damage done,
Behind a bit, that's all
And ran with all his might and mind
To make up for the fall.
So anxious to restore himself,
To catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his legs,
He slipped and fell again.
he wished then, he had quit before,
With only one disgrace.
"I'm hopeless as a runner now
I shouldn't try to race."
But in the laughing crowd he searched
And found his fathers face,
That steady look which said again,
"Get up and win the race!"
So up he jumped to try again,
Ten yards behind the last
"If I'm to gain these yards,"he thought
I've got to move real fast."
Exerting everything he had,
He regained eight or ten,
But trying hard to catch the lead,
He slipped and fell again.
Defeat, he lay there silently,
A tear dropped from his eye.
There's no since running anymore,
Three strikes, I'm out; why try?
The will to rise had disappeared
All hope had fled away,
So far behind, so error prone,
A loser all the way.
"I've lost so what," he thought
"I'll live with my disgrace."
But then he thought about his Dad
Whom soon he'd have to face.
"Get up" and echo sounded low,
"Get up and take your place;
You were not meant for failure here,
Get up and win the race!"
With borrowed will "Get up" it said
"You haven't lost at all,
For winning is more than this;
To rise each time you fall."
So far behind the others now,
The most he'd ever been,
Still he gave it all he had,
And ran as though to win.
Three times he'd fallen, stumbling,
Three times he rose again,
To far behind to hope to win,
He still ran to the end.
They cheered the winning runner
As he crossed the line first place,
Head high and proud and happy,
No falling, no disgrace.
But when the fallen youngster
Crossed the line last place,
The crowd gave him the greater
Cheer, for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last
With head bowed low, not proud,
You would have thought he'd won the race,
To listen to the crowd.
And to his Dad he sadly said,
"I didn't do so well."
"To me, you won," his father said
"You rose each time you fell."
Author Unknown
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Old Age
I used to think that growing old
was reclaimed just in years,
But who can name the very date
when weariness appears?
I find no stated time when man
obedient to the law
Must settle in an easy chair
and from the world withdraw.
Old age is rather curious,
or so it seems to me,
I know old men at forty,
and young men at seventy-three.
I'm done with counting life with years,
or temples turning gray,
No man is old who wakes with joy
to greet another day.
What if the body cannot dance
with youth's elastic spring?
There's many a vibrant interest
to which the mind can cling.
'Tis in the spirit age must dwell,
or this would never be;
I know old men at forty,
and young men at seventy-three.
Some men keep all their friendships warm
and welcome friendships new,
They have no time to sit and morn
the things they used to do,
This changing world they greet with joy
and never bow to fate;
On every new adventure
they get out wit hearts elate;
From chilling fear and bitter dread,
they keep their spirits free,
While some seem old at forty,
these stay young at seventy-three.
So much to do, so much to learn,
so much in which to share,
With twinkling eyes and mind alert
some brave both time and care,
And this I've learned from other man,
that only they are old
Who think with something that has paused,
the tale of life is told.
For age is not a loan of time,
or we would never see
Man old and bent at forty,
and young at seventy-three.
Edgar Guest
was reclaimed just in years,
But who can name the very date
when weariness appears?
I find no stated time when man
obedient to the law
Must settle in an easy chair
and from the world withdraw.
Old age is rather curious,
or so it seems to me,
I know old men at forty,
and young men at seventy-three.
I'm done with counting life with years,
or temples turning gray,
No man is old who wakes with joy
to greet another day.
What if the body cannot dance
with youth's elastic spring?
There's many a vibrant interest
to which the mind can cling.
'Tis in the spirit age must dwell,
or this would never be;
I know old men at forty,
and young men at seventy-three.
Some men keep all their friendships warm
and welcome friendships new,
They have no time to sit and morn
the things they used to do,
This changing world they greet with joy
and never bow to fate;
On every new adventure
they get out wit hearts elate;
From chilling fear and bitter dread,
they keep their spirits free,
While some seem old at forty,
these stay young at seventy-three.
So much to do, so much to learn,
so much in which to share,
With twinkling eyes and mind alert
some brave both time and care,
And this I've learned from other man,
that only they are old
Who think with something that has paused,
the tale of life is told.
For age is not a loan of time,
or we would never see
Man old and bent at forty,
and young at seventy-three.
Edgar Guest
"My Get Up And Go Has Got Up And Went"
How do I know my youth is all spent,
Well my get up and go has got up and went,
But in spite of it all I'm able to grin,
When I think where my get up has been.
Old age is golden, so I've heard it said,
But sometimes I wonder as I get into bed,
With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup,
My eyes on the mantle, until I wake up.
Ere sleep dim my eyes I say to myself,
Is there anything else I should have laid on the shelf,
I'm happy to say as I close the door
My friends are the same - only perhaps even more.
When I was young my slippers were red,
I could kick up my heels right over my head,
When I grew older my slippers were blue,
But I could still dance the whole night through.
Now I am old and my slippers are black,
I walk in the store and puff my way back,
The reason I know that my youth is all spent,
My get up and go has got up and went.
But I really don't mind, when I think with a grin,
Of all the grand places my get up has been,
Since I've retired from life's competition
I bury myself with complete repetition.
I get up each morning and dust off my wits
Pick up the paper and read the "obits"
If my name is missing I know I'm not dead
So I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed.
Author Unknown
Well my get up and go has got up and went,
But in spite of it all I'm able to grin,
When I think where my get up has been.
Old age is golden, so I've heard it said,
But sometimes I wonder as I get into bed,
With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup,
My eyes on the mantle, until I wake up.
Ere sleep dim my eyes I say to myself,
Is there anything else I should have laid on the shelf,
I'm happy to say as I close the door
My friends are the same - only perhaps even more.
When I was young my slippers were red,
I could kick up my heels right over my head,
When I grew older my slippers were blue,
But I could still dance the whole night through.
Now I am old and my slippers are black,
I walk in the store and puff my way back,
The reason I know that my youth is all spent,
My get up and go has got up and went.
But I really don't mind, when I think with a grin,
Of all the grand places my get up has been,
Since I've retired from life's competition
I bury myself with complete repetition.
I get up each morning and dust off my wits
Pick up the paper and read the "obits"
If my name is missing I know I'm not dead
So I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed.
Author Unknown
Never Let It In
All the water in the world
However hard it tried
Could never, never sink a ship
Unless it got inside.
All the evil in the world
The blackest kind of sin
Can never hurt you one least bit
Unless you let it in.
Poem by Alma, written in 1933
However hard it tried
Could never, never sink a ship
Unless it got inside.
All the evil in the world
The blackest kind of sin
Can never hurt you one least bit
Unless you let it in.
Poem by Alma, written in 1933
Monday, January 2, 2012
Questions And Truths
If a person owns a piece of land, do they own it all the way down to the core of the earth?
Why are they called stairs inside but steps outside?
Why does mineral water that 'has trickled through mountains for centuries' have a 'use by date?'
Why is the person that handles your money called a 'Broker'?
If quizzes are quizzical what are tests?
If corn oil is made from corn, and vegetable oil is made from vegetables, then what is baby oil made from?
Why is it that when someone tells you that there are over a billion stars in the universe, you believe them, but when they tell you wet paint is somewhere, you have to touch it to make sure?
Do illiterate people get the full effect of Alphabet Soup?
Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog's face, he gets mad at you. Take him for a car ride, he sticks his head out the window?
Triangular sandwiches taste better than square ones.
Sharpening a pencil with a knife makes you feel manly.
Nobody ever dares to make a cup-of-soup in a bowl.
You never know where to look when eating a banana.
It's impossible to describe the smell of a wet cat.
You never ever run out of salt.
You can't respect a man who carries a dog.
Everyone has a Uncle who has tried to steal their nose.
Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit; Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.
Authors Unknown
Why are they called stairs inside but steps outside?
Why does mineral water that 'has trickled through mountains for centuries' have a 'use by date?'
Why is the person that handles your money called a 'Broker'?
If quizzes are quizzical what are tests?
If corn oil is made from corn, and vegetable oil is made from vegetables, then what is baby oil made from?
Why is it that when someone tells you that there are over a billion stars in the universe, you believe them, but when they tell you wet paint is somewhere, you have to touch it to make sure?
Do illiterate people get the full effect of Alphabet Soup?
Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog's face, he gets mad at you. Take him for a car ride, he sticks his head out the window?
Triangular sandwiches taste better than square ones.
Sharpening a pencil with a knife makes you feel manly.
Nobody ever dares to make a cup-of-soup in a bowl.
You never know where to look when eating a banana.
It's impossible to describe the smell of a wet cat.
You never ever run out of salt.
You can't respect a man who carries a dog.
Everyone has a Uncle who has tried to steal their nose.
Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit; Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.
Authors Unknown
Don't Quit
When things go wrong, as they sometimes will.
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high
And you want to smile but you have to sigh:
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.
Life is weird with twists and turns,
As everyone of us sometimes learns.
And many a failure turns about
When we might have won had we stuck it out.
Don't give up though the pace seems slow,
You may succeed wit another blow.
Often the goal is nearer
Than it seems to a faint and faltering man.
And often the struggler has given up
When he might have captured the victor's cup.
But he learned to late, when the night slipped down.
how close he was to the golden crown.
Success is failure turned inside out
The silver tint of clouds of doubt
And you can never tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems afar.
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit.
It's when things seem worst that you mustn't QUIT.
Unknown
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high
And you want to smile but you have to sigh:
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.
Life is weird with twists and turns,
As everyone of us sometimes learns.
And many a failure turns about
When we might have won had we stuck it out.
Don't give up though the pace seems slow,
You may succeed wit another blow.
Often the goal is nearer
Than it seems to a faint and faltering man.
And often the struggler has given up
When he might have captured the victor's cup.
But he learned to late, when the night slipped down.
how close he was to the golden crown.
Success is failure turned inside out
The silver tint of clouds of doubt
And you can never tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems afar.
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit.
It's when things seem worst that you mustn't QUIT.
Unknown
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