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Sliced Bread...
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Nov 9, 2009 7:50 am
Mood: silly,
81 Views
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The greatest thing since sliced bread... Ever said that? But how many people know WHEN sliced bread was invented??? (The first commercial use of the machine was by the Chillicothe Baking Company of Chillicothe, Missouri, which produced their first slices on July 7, 192
And what IS the greatest thing since then???
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Jupiter in blue, even the Gods weep sometimes...
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Sep 9, 2009 2:02 pm
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They weep in anger, in sorrow and in vanity greater than Man.
But do They Laugh as easy?
Do They laugh as we the children, do They laugh at themselves?
The Gods do surely Laugh,
But I think they have a sick sense of what hurts.
Nov. 9, 1967-Sept. 9, 2007
"The grave is a fine and private place, but none I think do there embrace..."
Obituaries give the barest facts, and few of those... How could you sum up a life lived, not to the fullest, but even beyond that...? (Everything in excess! To enjoy the flavor of life, take big bites. Moderation is for monks.) A few words to describe the flavor of someone's life... Perhaps just a few bare facts are more than enough... we each have our own special memories of a friend, lover, or dear relative that has passed... Private treasures... and probably a few regrets...
Look, friends, the only possible way to enjoy life is not to be afraid to die. A zest for living requires a willingness to die; you cannot have the first without the second. The '60s and '70s and '80s and '90s can be loaded with the zest for living, high excitement, and gutsy adventure for any truly human person. Truly human? I mean you descendants of cavemen who outlasted the saber-tooth, you who sprang from the loins of the Vikings, you whose ancestors fought the Crusades and were numbered the Golden Horde. Death is the lot of all of us and the only way the human race has ever conquered death is by treating it with contempt. By living every golden minute as if one had all eternity.
Most people who have lost a loved one will tell you the words left unspoken, the final goodbye... that's the hardest on those left behind... Knowing you missed your last chance to tell someone, "I love you... thank you for touching my life, however briefly..."
I'm listening to Indigo Girls, regreting words unspoken, words that could not be spoken... A friend, teetering at the brink of oblivion... and I turned and walked away...
I find it relatively easy to forgive others, to overlook their shortcomings, real or perceived... but seldom my own... I am my own worst critic... my harshest judge... I place a high value on those I call friend; I would run out of friends before I ran out of fingers... so how do I forgive myself for turning away from one of them?
Joy and pain to drink
struggle, to long for, to Know
Immortality.
When the ship lifts, all bills are paid. No regrets.
Drink deep little brother... Thou art God...
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Do you believe in magic?
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Aug 21, 2009 5:09 pm
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We had a mare, due to foal any day... She'd been bred to our black stallion, quite successfully in the past and we were hoping for another quality filly out of the breeding...
For three days, she'd been in the barn, checked on every few hours...
The sun was barely creeping into view when my phone rang... "She'd dropped. There's a problem. Get down to the barn..."
Visions of the last problem delivery I helped with ran through my head as I went to put on the grungiest farm clothes I owned... After spending several hours laying on the floor of a horse stall, one foot on a horse's... well, at least I wasn't the one sticking my bare hand up a... well, never mind that part!... and then there is 'clean up'... I learned not to eat first, let's just leave it at that... Hmmm, the clothes I wore to THAT birthing now probably qualified as my grungiest... a pair of rubber muck boots and a bandanna completed my ensemble!
I was out the door in 5 minutes, coffee forgotten, and cooling, on the counter...
The mare had already delivered, a little stud colt... into her feed bin... several hours before from the dryness of his coat. Normally, a foal is delivered, cleaned, standing and nursing in very short order after its birth... We got the foal out of the feed bin, dried off his underside... and attempted to get him standing and nursing... with no luck... I stayed in the barn while a call was made to get our vet out to the farm... sans coffee...
I sat in the alley on a bale of hay, listening to the birds waking up... a few frogs... the goats causing a fuss... Pete the Peacock announcing to the entire world JUST how utterly lovely he was... when a emerald green humming bird darted in, buzzed me a bit, then flew around the barn... I watched as he darted into the stall... then up into the rafters... A wingtip snagged an old spider's web... He flew, but only managed to get even more tangled up... A few complete circles and he was fully cocooned... He fell over 20', landing inches from the feed bin... I sat, thinking how sad that was... hummingbirds are such vivid sparks of life!
At the time, my son was 3 years old... fascinated by... EVERYTHING! I decided to bring the hummingbird body home when I was done... Where else would he get a chance to see one up close?
I went into the stall... (steeling myself to touch anything spider related s a major chore for me...) I found the little cocoon, taking it with me to a bale in the doorway... It weighed almost nothing, more dust than anything... Not wanting to damage the fine details of the bird, I worked carefully, peeling away layers of webbing... uncovering the body was easy... The feathers were so incredibly tiny, each a perfect work of art, jewel tones so breathtaking they defy description...
The head took a bit longer... I almost dropped it to the ground when one tiny dark eye blinked at me!
I'm not sure WHY people talk to animals... to the best of my knowledge, very few of them speak English... but I do, and I did... in my very best 'stay calm, I won't eat you' voice, I told it exactly what I was doing, how utterly gorgeous it was, how much I enjoyed watching them buzz about the farm... All the nonsense...
It laid there, unmoving, as I worked... The hardest part I saved for last, pulling stands of webbing out of claws so small I could barely see them... Finally telling it, "I'm done now..." I moved it so it could perch on one finger... There was no weight, no sensation of claws touching skin... It seemed to shake itself, ruffling feathers, cocking its head to stare at me... For a minute we just sat... It finally flew up, buzzing in front of my face for a few seconds... circling... then flying off...
And the colt... we ended up calling him Bengy for his farm name! He would end up becoming a reenactor's gelding, so we got to see him periodically at events...
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What ever happened to Cinderella?
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Aug 9, 2009 8:34 pm
287 Views
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CINDERELLA was now 95 years old.
After a fulfilling life with the now dead prince, she happily sat upon her rocking chair, watching the world go by from her front porch, with a cat named Bob for companionship.
One sunny afternoon, out of nowhere, appeared the fairy godmother.
Cinderella said, 'Fairy Godmother, what are you doing here after all these years'?
The fairy godmother replied, 'Cinderella, you have lived an exemplary life since I last saw you. Is there anything for which your heart still yearns?'
Cinderella was taken aback, overjoyed, and after some thoughtful consideration, she uttered her first wish:
'The prince was wonderful, but not much of an investor. I'm living hand to mouth on my disability checks, and I wish I were wealthy beyond comprehension.'
Instantly her rocking chair turned into solid gold.
Cinderella said, 'Ooh, thank you, Fairy Godmother'..
The fairy godmother replied, 'It is the least that I can do. What do you want for your second wish?'
Cinderella looked down at her frail body, and said, 'I wish I were young and full of the beauty and youth I once had.' At once, her wish became reality, and her beautiful young Body returned. Cinderella felt stirrings inside of her that had been dormant for years.
And then the fairy godmother spoke once more: 'You have one more wish; what shall it be?'
Cinderella looked over to the frightened cat in the corner and said, 'I wish for you to transform Bob, my old cat, into a kind and handsome young man.'
Magically, Bob suddenly underwent so fundamental a change in his biological make-up that, when he stood before her, he was a man so beautiful the likes of him neither she nor the world had ever seen.
The fairy godmother said, 'Congratulations, Cinderella, enjoy your new life.'
With a blazing shock of bright blue electricity, the fairy godmother was gone as suddenly as she had appeared.
For a few eerie moments, Bob and Cinderella looked into each other's eyes.
Cinderella sat, breathless, gazing at the most beautiful, stunningly perfect man she had ever seen.
Then Bob walked over to Cinderella, who sat transfixed in her rocking chair, & held her close in his young muscular arms.
He leaned in close, blowing her golden hair with his warm breath as he whispered...
'Bet you're sorry you neutered me.'
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Who is your hero...?
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Aug 6, 2009 12:16 am
279 Views
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Find out who is your role model...
Do the simple math below, then scroll down to find your hero. It's CRAZY how accurate this is!
1) Pick your favorite number between 1 - 9...
2) Multiply by 3 then...
3) Add 3...
4) Then again multiply by 3 (I ' ll wait while you get the calculator...)
5 ) You ' ll get a 2 or 3 digit number...
6 ) Add the digits together
Now Scroll down
With that number see who your ROLE MODEL is from the list below:
1. Einstein
2. Oprah Winfrey
3. Snoopy
4. Ronald Reagan
5. Bill Gates
6. Gandhi
7. Brad Pitt
8. Babe Ruth
9. thenest
10. JFK
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Will work for food...?
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Jul 28, 2009 6:01 pm
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A sign of the times, the number of people you see with their little cardboard signs...? Sunday I saw 2 different ones. I take my son 20 miles outside of town to a truck stop where I hand him back over to his father. On the off ramp was a gentleman with a sign, "Stranded / Hungry" ...
Put yourself in their shoes... Think of how damaging that must be to their pride to stand there, begging, looking you in the eyes as you drive past, windows rolled up, looking right through them...
The second one was as I was almost home, only a few blocks away and I would be inside the air conditioned comfort of my home, taking a steak out of the freezer, mixing margaritas in the blender with my $1.99 margarita salt... He was on a bicycle, sign strapped to it saying "Heading West / Need help"
When we saw the first one, my son asked "Where did he get the marker and the cardboard?" Considering the same man was standing there 4 weeks ago and 6 weeks ago when I took my son there, the answer would have to be, "From his house..." The truck parked on the opposite side of the freeway with Arizona plates would tend to back that assumption up... Ditto for the gentleman on his bicycle... I've seen him periodically doing this for the past 2 months also...
How about the "Will work for food" sign, that you see 20 minutes later coming out of the convenience store with a pack of cigarettes and a beer... ? The silly little welfare mommy with 3 kids buying nothing but $40 worth of JUNK on her EBT card, then popping down $50 in cash for cigarettes and a bottle...? The person who plays online games when the boss isn't in the office...? The octomommy...?
When did we allow our PRIDE to disappear? I can remember my dad making a deal with a handshake, when a person's word was good enough... You could count on a person to do what they SAID they would do(or am I just naive beyond words to expect that?), to give an honest day's work, to save and sacrifice and sweat and... at the end of the day, sit back and savor their accomplishments...
There was also a time, when if someone was in need, they were helped... even without the cardboard sign that seems to be a lie more often than not...
... off my soap box now... NEXT!
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Enjoying that
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Jul 23, 2009 9:08 am
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It's been an interesting two weeks for me, with more to come! He would come over every 2-3 days... We'd been laying the groundwork for this for some time, but when it came down to it... I was still uncertain until that moment of truth... I'd been to the store a couple of times, until I found just the right look... Spent a few hours getting ready, nervously... When he walked in and said "mmm, looks good! Ready to get started?", I was beyond ready! I can still hear the way the noise we made echoed through my bedroom...
A few hours later, it was "Are you as sore as I am?", but it was a GOOD sore! You know you've accomplished something! Hot, sweaty, sore, tired, but pleased... utterly pleased!
I began to look forward to those casual "I'll be over around 5 tonight..." I'd race home after work, make sure everything looked good, I had beer in the fridge, the AC had the house to a nice temperature to get sweaty in... and of course the basic female 'is everything clean?'
I'm not complaining, but I don't think my knees have EVER been this sore! I've literally spent HOURS on them the last few weeks, far more than I'm used to! But then he has spent almost as much time on his! He is willing to tell me, "This is the way it needs to be done." Show me, guide me, train me...
Cleaning up afterwards is normally a bit of a let down... I mean, the fun is over, all you are left with is the mess, right? ...But I just think about the next time, and smile...
I have abit more tile to lay inside the closet, then I'm done... I've already grouted the bedroom, though that doesn't show in the picture... I think next, I'm going to learn how to lay bamboo flooring!
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1/2 boy 1/2 man
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Jul 12, 2009 6:31 pm
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I was in Sedona yesterday, at a wedding... One of the guys I used to survey with was also there, since for him, it was his best friend's wedding. He quit surveying a little over a year ago to join the army, and in September, he's going to Iraq... He was 19 or 20 when I first met him, still had a 'baby' face, though now, you can see the man he is becoming... My daughters would REALLY have been drooling if they could have seen him all cleaned up, wearing a tux... though they did enough of that when he was hot and sweaty, helping me build a pond...
This was in my email today, when I finally woke up sometime after 1pm, and it hit home in a way it wouldn't have 2 days ago...
The average age of the military man is 19 years. He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his father's, but he has never collected unemployment either.
He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and a 155mm howitzer.
He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk. He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.
He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional.
He can march until he is told to stop, or stop until he is told to march.
He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient.
He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry.
He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts.
If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low.
He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands.
He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job.
He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and still find ironic humor in it all.
He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime.
He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed.
He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away ' those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking.
In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful.
Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great- grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years.
He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding. Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.
And now we even have women over there in danger, doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so.
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Life in reverse....
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Jul 7, 2009 8:18 pm
376 Views
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In honor of recent losses, an oldie from the archives...
It would be good to have our life to live backwards... You start out dead and get it out of the way. Then you wake up in an old age home feeling better every day. You get kicked out for being too healthy; go collect your pension, then when you start work, you get a gold watch on your first day. You work 40 years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You drink alcohol, you party, you're generally promiscuous and you get ready for High School. You go to primary school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a baby, and then... You spend your last 9 months floating peacefully in luxury, in spa-like conditions; central heating, room service on tap, larger quarters everyday, and then, you finish off as an orgasm.
I rest my case....
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Service
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Jun 21, 2009 1:34 pm
401 Views
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I became confused when I heard the word 'service' used with these agencies.
U.S. Forest 'Service'
Internal Revenue 'Service'
U.S. Postal 'Service'
Telephone 'Service'
Cable TV 'Service'
Civil 'Service'
State, City, County & Public 'Service'
Customer 'Service'
This is not what I thought 'service' meant.
But today, I overheard two farmers talking, and one of them said he had hired a bull to 'service' a few cows.
Ta Dah! It all came into focus. Now I understand what all those agencies are doing to us.
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