From an e-mail and unknown author:
READ THIS VERY SLOWLY .... IT'S PRETTY PROFOUND.
Too many people put off something that brings them joy just because they haven't thought about it, don't have it on their schedule, didn't know it was coming or are too rigid to depart from their routine. I got to thinking one day about all those people on the Titanic who passed up dessert at dinner that fateful night in an effort to cut back. From then on, I've tried to be a little more flexible.
How many women out there will eat at home because their husband didn't suggest going out to dinner until after something had been thawed? Does the word 'refrigeration' mean nothing to you?
How often have your kids dropped in to talk and sat in silence while you watched 'Jeopardy' on television? I cannot count the times I called my sister and said , 'How about going to lunch in a half hour?' She would gas up and stammer, 'I can't. I have clothes on the line. My hair is dirty. I wish I had known yesterday, I had a late breakfast, It looks like rain' And my personal favorite: 'It's Monday.' She died a few years ago. We never did have lunch together.
Because Americans cram so much into their lives, we tend to schedule our headaches. We live on a sparse diet of promises we make to ourselves when all the conditions are perfect! We'll go back and visit the grandparents when we get Steve toilet-trained. We'll entertain when we replace the living-room carpet. We'll go on a second honeymoon when we get two more kids out of college. Life has a way of accelerating as we get older, the days get shorter, and the list of promises to ourselves gets longer. One morning, we awaken, and all we have to show for our lives is a litany of 'I'm going to,' 'I plan on,' and 'Someday, when things are settled down a bit.'
When anyone calls my 'seize the moment' friend, she is open to adventure and available for trips. She keeps an open mind on new ideas. Her enthusiasm for life is contagious. You talk with her for five minutes, and you're ready to trade your bad feet for a pair of Rollerblades and skip an elevator for a bungee cord.
My lips have not touched ice cream in 10 years. I love ice cream. It's just that I might as well apply it directly to my stomach with a spatula and eliminate the digestive process. The other day, I stopped the car and bought a triple-decker. If my car had hit an iceberg on the way home, I would have died happy.
Now...go on and have a nice day. Do something you WANT to...not something on your SHOULD DO list. If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call and what would you say? And why are you waiting?
Have you ever watched kids playing on a merry go round or listened to the rain lapping on the ground? Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight or gazed at the sun into the fading night? Do you run through each day on the fly? When you ask 'How are you?' Do you hear the reply?When the day is done, do you lie in your bed with the next hundred chores running through your head? Ever told your child, 'We'll do it tomorrow.' And in your haste, not see his sorrow? Ever lost touch? Let a good friendship die? Just call to say 'Hi'? When you worry and hurry through your day, it is like an unopened gift....Thrown away.... Life is not a race. Take it slower. Hear the music before the song is over. Show your friends how much you care.
Life may not be the party we hoped for... but while we are here we might as well dance!
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
I Heart You
Since I haven't posted since the last time I posted, I thought I'd better post something. Here is a resurrected story, a retread, so if you've read it before, I hope you enjoy it again.
Six grade was a hard year for her. Helen was the class out-cast, being overweight and from the wrong side of the tracks made her the brunt of many jokes. Now the worst day of the year for her was coming, Valentine's Day. She knew they would decorate some shoe box to sit on their desks so that everyone would put their store bought Valentine's cards in them. She knew that she wouldn't be given any cards, just like last year and the year before, and so she didn't ask her mom to buy her any cards to give. Tears soaked her pillow that night as the dread of another day and more disappointment loomed before her.
He was the rich kid of the class. Born into money that his ancestors made on the backs of slaves and convicts. Somehow Patrick was different from his family. He loved life, not because of what he had, but because he enjoyed the creation around him. He would sit for hours on Saturdays watching the birds feed and water in his back yard. He would take photographs of the changing seasons and then paint magnificent works that even impressed his father. "Not bad for a kid, but don't think that you could make a living at that. You need to start preparing yourself for the real world, to follow in my footsteps…." yada yada yada. He believed in passion, even at his young age, and knew in his heart that he would follow that passion. His favorite time of year was approaching, Valentine's Day. The day that he would get a card from his parents that told him that they loved him. He would wear the card out looking it over and over throughout the year.
Patrick worked on his Valentine box with the artistic ability that he painted by. Everyone was amazed at how beautiful it turned out. "Typical," Helen thought, "the rich kid gets all the good paper and glue and stuff to make his box beautiful. All I had was some worn out fabic and a few buttons to dress mine up with." Patrick placed his box on the front of his desk and stared at it the rest of the day, content in what he had created. During the lunch break he walked around the classroom and admired what others had done to theirs. The last one he looked at was Helen's. He noticed the worn fabic and the chipped and broken buttons that covered the box. He also noticed that the corners were neat and folded like how his Christmas presents was wrapped.
"Helen did a good job with what she had." the teacher said startling Patrick.
"Yes she did." Patrick replied. The words "what she had" echoed in his mind. "What she had." Until that moment he hadn't realized how blessed he was compared to the rest of the world. He decided he would try to brighten Helen's world somehow.
That night Patrick laid out the construction paper, crayons, glue and glitter. He found his favorite pair of scissors and sat down to make a card. Not any Valentine card, but one that Helen would remember her whole life. The next day was Valentines Day and he wanted to make it special for Helen. This year there would be no store bought card for Helen.
Time came for the Valentine's day party. Recess was over and the kids came back into the room to find cupcakes on their desks and balloons tied to their chairs. The home room mothers had transformed this classroom into a fantasy land during the short recess time. The kids all ran to their desks, except Helen, and she slowly walked to her back row corner desk. She liked the way her desk was decorated and that uplifted her mood. She slid into her chair and waited on permission to eat her cupcake. She decided that she'd take half of it home to her mother, as she rarely received any such treat.
"OK, class. It's time to enjoy your goodies. Go ahead and open your Valentine boxes and you can eat your cupcakes too." The noise level increased as the kids talked and laughed together. Patrick turned to see if Helen had read her card yet, but she just sat there slowly munching on the cupcake. He then noticed that she wrapped half of it in her napkin and put it in her lunch pail. He stood and walked back to her desk, "Helen, would you like to take my cupcake home. I'm not supposed to eat sweets much and I'd like you to have it."
Helen looked at him with disbelief. Someone was actually talking to her and not making fun of her. "I'd like that," she said.
"Good, here ya go. By the way, I made a card for you last night."
Helen about tore the box in half trying to get to his card. To her surprise her box was full of cards, all hand made. Some were well done, some were just thrown together, but they were all given to her. Her eyes filled with tears and as she looked up, the whole class was looking at her. Ronnie, the brat of the class, walked up to her, "Helen, I'm sorry that I've been such a jerk. You're pretty cool to have taken all the ribbing that I dished out." One by one the class passed by Helen and gave her a hug, or some kind of encouragement. She looked at her teacher, whom also had tears streaming down her face.
"Class, I'm so proud of you. That is what this holiday is all about, love. Patrick realized the hard time Helen was having and mentioned it to you. You didn't have to do anything, but you did. Now Helen knows that you like her and I can tell by the tears in her eyes that you have touched her heart. So class, Happy Valentines day, and thank you for teaching me the true meaning of loving one another."
Helen ran home after school and excitedly told her mother about what had happened. She showed her the cupcake and each card and repeated word for word what each one had said to her. Her mom smiled as her eyes teared up at the change she saw in her daughter. Helen spent the rest of the evening looking over her treasures. Her mother spent the rest of the evening thanking God for what had happened.
Helen and Patrick became close friends and grew up together, but that is another story for later.
Six grade was a hard year for her. Helen was the class out-cast, being overweight and from the wrong side of the tracks made her the brunt of many jokes. Now the worst day of the year for her was coming, Valentine's Day. She knew they would decorate some shoe box to sit on their desks so that everyone would put their store bought Valentine's cards in them. She knew that she wouldn't be given any cards, just like last year and the year before, and so she didn't ask her mom to buy her any cards to give. Tears soaked her pillow that night as the dread of another day and more disappointment loomed before her.
He was the rich kid of the class. Born into money that his ancestors made on the backs of slaves and convicts. Somehow Patrick was different from his family. He loved life, not because of what he had, but because he enjoyed the creation around him. He would sit for hours on Saturdays watching the birds feed and water in his back yard. He would take photographs of the changing seasons and then paint magnificent works that even impressed his father. "Not bad for a kid, but don't think that you could make a living at that. You need to start preparing yourself for the real world, to follow in my footsteps…." yada yada yada. He believed in passion, even at his young age, and knew in his heart that he would follow that passion. His favorite time of year was approaching, Valentine's Day. The day that he would get a card from his parents that told him that they loved him. He would wear the card out looking it over and over throughout the year.
Patrick worked on his Valentine box with the artistic ability that he painted by. Everyone was amazed at how beautiful it turned out. "Typical," Helen thought, "the rich kid gets all the good paper and glue and stuff to make his box beautiful. All I had was some worn out fabic and a few buttons to dress mine up with." Patrick placed his box on the front of his desk and stared at it the rest of the day, content in what he had created. During the lunch break he walked around the classroom and admired what others had done to theirs. The last one he looked at was Helen's. He noticed the worn fabic and the chipped and broken buttons that covered the box. He also noticed that the corners were neat and folded like how his Christmas presents was wrapped.
"Helen did a good job with what she had." the teacher said startling Patrick.
"Yes she did." Patrick replied. The words "what she had" echoed in his mind. "What she had." Until that moment he hadn't realized how blessed he was compared to the rest of the world. He decided he would try to brighten Helen's world somehow.
That night Patrick laid out the construction paper, crayons, glue and glitter. He found his favorite pair of scissors and sat down to make a card. Not any Valentine card, but one that Helen would remember her whole life. The next day was Valentines Day and he wanted to make it special for Helen. This year there would be no store bought card for Helen.
Time came for the Valentine's day party. Recess was over and the kids came back into the room to find cupcakes on their desks and balloons tied to their chairs. The home room mothers had transformed this classroom into a fantasy land during the short recess time. The kids all ran to their desks, except Helen, and she slowly walked to her back row corner desk. She liked the way her desk was decorated and that uplifted her mood. She slid into her chair and waited on permission to eat her cupcake. She decided that she'd take half of it home to her mother, as she rarely received any such treat.
"OK, class. It's time to enjoy your goodies. Go ahead and open your Valentine boxes and you can eat your cupcakes too." The noise level increased as the kids talked and laughed together. Patrick turned to see if Helen had read her card yet, but she just sat there slowly munching on the cupcake. He then noticed that she wrapped half of it in her napkin and put it in her lunch pail. He stood and walked back to her desk, "Helen, would you like to take my cupcake home. I'm not supposed to eat sweets much and I'd like you to have it."
Helen looked at him with disbelief. Someone was actually talking to her and not making fun of her. "I'd like that," she said.
"Good, here ya go. By the way, I made a card for you last night."
Helen about tore the box in half trying to get to his card. To her surprise her box was full of cards, all hand made. Some were well done, some were just thrown together, but they were all given to her. Her eyes filled with tears and as she looked up, the whole class was looking at her. Ronnie, the brat of the class, walked up to her, "Helen, I'm sorry that I've been such a jerk. You're pretty cool to have taken all the ribbing that I dished out." One by one the class passed by Helen and gave her a hug, or some kind of encouragement. She looked at her teacher, whom also had tears streaming down her face.
"Class, I'm so proud of you. That is what this holiday is all about, love. Patrick realized the hard time Helen was having and mentioned it to you. You didn't have to do anything, but you did. Now Helen knows that you like her and I can tell by the tears in her eyes that you have touched her heart. So class, Happy Valentines day, and thank you for teaching me the true meaning of loving one another."
Helen ran home after school and excitedly told her mother about what had happened. She showed her the cupcake and each card and repeated word for word what each one had said to her. Her mom smiled as her eyes teared up at the change she saw in her daughter. Helen spent the rest of the evening looking over her treasures. Her mother spent the rest of the evening thanking God for what had happened.
Helen and Patrick became close friends and grew up together, but that is another story for later.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Give The Lady A Ride
A good friend, Linda Yezak, has her novel debut coming up in a matter of days. I've read a few chapters and now can't wait for the whole shooting match, or should I say rodeo. Here is a video trailer for her book, "Give The Lady A Ride". Click the link to the right on 777 Peppermint Place and give Linda a high five, she's also giving away some nifty prizes.
Hope you don't mind Linda, I copied your cover and stuck it in here also. If there is some copywrite problem, I can remove it.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Why I Don't Write Poetry 2011-2
I sit with my head in my hands
Life slipping by,
Not knowing where it will land.
The wind is blowing the dust
To regions yet unseen,
Upon my heart, a dagger is thrust.
The wounds are deep
Though the bleeding shallow,
Bandages wet and seep.
Upon each the time has come
Slowly, one by one.
The slow cadence of a bass drum.
The pain is eased, the light turns bright
Such is the seasons of life.
Such is why I fight.
Life slipping by,
Not knowing where it will land.
The wind is blowing the dust
To regions yet unseen,
Upon my heart, a dagger is thrust.
The wounds are deep
Though the bleeding shallow,
Bandages wet and seep.
Upon each the time has come
Slowly, one by one.
The slow cadence of a bass drum.
The pain is eased, the light turns bright
Such is the seasons of life.
Such is why I fight.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
By Request
A certain friend , I won't mention any names(OK shaddy), was snooping in my profile on Facebook and noticed that I painted. She said to show her some if I would, and since I don't think she'll be coming to Okieland any time soon, here are a few.
This first painting was my first painting. I copied the idea out of a book the teacher had, in writing words, I plagiarized it. As you'll see, I like painting scenery.
The second one with the window view is my mother's favorite. It is also a plagiarized painting.
The third with the horses is all my idea. The landscape is from North Central Kansas with the rolling hills and rock fence posts. The horses is from a picture I took of my father's horses.
The wind mill is from a picture I took somewhere. I liked it because it the foreground is in shadows.
The last one could only come from my mind. It is painted on a slate shingle that was from a 1800's Texas ranch house.
All the paintings are oil on canvas except for the slate. I've also painted a couple of saws, but they aren't "in style" now.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Monday, January 3, 2011
Why I Don't Write Poetry 2011-1
I am under pressure. The first post of a new year should be something profound and meaningful. I ain't one of those types of people. The most profound thing I can remember is when Noah said, "It looks like rain." Several of my favorite blogs first post this year have some kind of meaning, like "What I learned last year", "What I'm striving for in this new year", "I'm going to do this this year," and on and on and on.
So what can I post that is meaningful? I've got nana. So maybe it's time for a "Why I Don't Write Poetry" post. Yeah, lets see where that will lead:
Why I Don't Write Poetry 1011-1
A new beginning in this new year,
New laughter, new tears, new treasures, new fears.
New paths to wander,
New thoughts to ponder.
Words to write that was left unwritten,
Muse's prompts that was once hidden.
I choose to go the way that I walk,
To ink the metamorphic rock.
To look at the world through my eyes,
Then edit, polish and revise.
Though I may often fall short,
My desire cannot be thwart.
This year I send you blessings,
Of every kind, wrapped in different dressings.
Dream your greatest dreams,
May your eyes shine and gleam.
Fight that which is your greatest strife,
But most of all, thank you for touching my life.
So what can I post that is meaningful? I've got nana. So maybe it's time for a "Why I Don't Write Poetry" post. Yeah, lets see where that will lead:
Why I Don't Write Poetry 1011-1
A new beginning in this new year,
New laughter, new tears, new treasures, new fears.
New paths to wander,
New thoughts to ponder.
Words to write that was left unwritten,
Muse's prompts that was once hidden.
I choose to go the way that I walk,
To ink the metamorphic rock.
To look at the world through my eyes,
Then edit, polish and revise.
Though I may often fall short,
My desire cannot be thwart.
This year I send you blessings,
Of every kind, wrapped in different dressings.
Dream your greatest dreams,
May your eyes shine and gleam.
Fight that which is your greatest strife,
But most of all, thank you for touching my life.
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