After their 11th child, an Alabama couple decided that was enough as
they could not afford a larger bed. So the husband went to his
veterinarian and told him that he and his cousin didn't want to have any
more children.
The doctor told him that there was a procedure called a vasectomy that
could fix the problem but that it was expensive. "A less costly
alternative," said the doctor, "is to go home, get a cherry bomb,
(fireworks are legal in Alabama) light it, put it in a beer can, then hold
the can up to your ear and count to 10."
The Alabamian said to the doctor, "I may not be the smartest tool in the
shed, but I don't see how putting a cherry bomb in a beer can next to my
ear is going to help me."
"Trust me," said the doctor.
So the man went home, lit a cherry bomb and put it in a beer can. He held
the can up to his ear and began to count. . .
"1"
"2"
"3"
"4"
"5"
At which point he paused, placed the beer can between his legs and resumed
counting on his other hand.
This procedure also works in Tennessee , Georgia , Kentucky , Arkansas ,
Mississippi and West Virginia
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Not Tonight Honey
> I have never understood why the sexual urge of men and women differ so
> much.
>
> FOR EXAMPLE: One evening last week, my wife and I were getting into bed.
>
> The passion starts to heat up, when she eventually said "I don't feel
> like it, I just want you to hold me."
>
> I said "WHAT??!! What was that?!"
>
> So she says the words that every husband on the planet dreads to
> hear..."You're just not in touch with my emotional needs as a woman
> enough for me to satisfy your physical needs as a man."
>
> She then responded to my puzzled look by saying, "Can't you just love me
>
> for who I am and not for what I do in the bedroom?"
>
> Realizing that nothing was going to happen that night, I went to
> sleep...
>
> The very next day I opted to take the day off of work to spend time with
>
> her. We went out to a good lunch and then went shopping at a very big
> department store. I walked around with her wh ile she tried on several
> different very expensive outfits. She couldn't decide which one to take
> so
> I told her we'd just get them all.
>
> She wanted new shoes to complement her new clothes, so I said "Let's get
>
> a pair for each outfit".
>
> We went onto the jewelry department where she picked out a pair of
> diamond earrings.
>
> Let me tell you...she was so excited. She must have thought I was one
> wave short of a shipwreck.
>
> I started to think she was testing me because she then asked for a
> tennis bracelet when she doesn't even know how to play tennis.
>
> I think I threw her when I said, "That's fine, honey."
>
> She was a lmost nearing sexual satisfaction from all of the excitement.
>
> Smiling with excited anticipation she finally said, "I think this is all
>
> dear, let's go to the cashier."
>
> I could hardly contain myself when I blurted out, "No honey, I don't
> feel like it."
>
> Her face just went completely blank as her jaw dropped with a baffled
> "WHAT?"
>
> I then said "Honey! I just want you to HOLD this stuff for a while.
> You're just not in touch with my financial needs as a man enough for me
> to satisfy your shopping needs as a woman."
>
> And just when she had this look like she was going to kill me, I added,
> "Why can't you just love me for who I am and not for the things I buy
> you?"
>
> Apparently I'm not having sex tonight either.
> much.
>
> FOR EXAMPLE: One evening last week, my wife and I were getting into bed.
>
> The passion starts to heat up, when she eventually said "I don't feel
> like it, I just want you to hold me."
>
> I said "WHAT??!! What was that?!"
>
> So she says the words that every husband on the planet dreads to
> hear..."You're just not in touch with my emotional needs as a woman
> enough for me to satisfy your physical needs as a man."
>
> She then responded to my puzzled look by saying, "Can't you just love me
>
> for who I am and not for what I do in the bedroom?"
>
> Realizing that nothing was going to happen that night, I went to
> sleep...
>
> The very next day I opted to take the day off of work to spend time with
>
> her. We went out to a good lunch and then went shopping at a very big
> department store. I walked around with her wh ile she tried on several
> different very expensive outfits. She couldn't decide which one to take
> so
> I told her we'd just get them all.
>
> She wanted new shoes to complement her new clothes, so I said "Let's get
>
> a pair for each outfit".
>
> We went onto the jewelry department where she picked out a pair of
> diamond earrings.
>
> Let me tell you...she was so excited. She must have thought I was one
> wave short of a shipwreck.
>
> I started to think she was testing me because she then asked for a
> tennis bracelet when she doesn't even know how to play tennis.
>
> I think I threw her when I said, "That's fine, honey."
>
> She was a lmost nearing sexual satisfaction from all of the excitement.
>
> Smiling with excited anticipation she finally said, "I think this is all
>
> dear, let's go to the cashier."
>
> I could hardly contain myself when I blurted out, "No honey, I don't
> feel like it."
>
> Her face just went completely blank as her jaw dropped with a baffled
> "WHAT?"
>
> I then said "Honey! I just want you to HOLD this stuff for a while.
> You're just not in touch with my financial needs as a man enough for me
> to satisfy your shopping needs as a woman."
>
> And just when she had this look like she was going to kill me, I added,
> "Why can't you just love me for who I am and not for the things I buy
> you?"
>
> Apparently I'm not having sex tonight either.
Say I Broke Into Your House
A lady wrote the best letter in the Editorials
in ages!!! It explains things better than all
the baloney you hear on TV.
Her point:
Recently large demonstrations have taken place
across the country protesting the fact that Congress
is finally addressing the issue of illegal immigration.
Certain people are angry that
the US might protect its own
borders, might make it harder
to sneak into this country and,
once here, to stay indefinitely.
Let me see if I correctly understand
the thinking behind these protests.
Let's say I break into your house.
Let's say that when you discover
me in your house, you insist that I leave.
But I say, "I've made all
the beds and washed the
dishes and did the laundry
and swept the floors. I've
done all the things you don't
like to do. I'm hard-working
and honest
(except for when I broke into your house).
According to the protesters:
You are Required to let me stay in your house
You are Required to add me to your family's insurance plan
You are Required to Educate my kids
You are Required to Provide other benefits to me & to my family
(my husband will do all of your yard work because
he is also hard-working and honest, except for that
breaking in part).
If you try to call the police or force me out,
I will call my friends who will picket your
house carrying signs that proclaim my
RIGHT to be there.
It's only fair, after all, because you have
a nicer house than I do, and I'm just
trying to better myself. I'm a hard-working
and honest, person, except for well,
you know, I did break into your house
And what a deal it is for me!!!
I live in your house, contributing only a
fraction of the cost of my keep, and
there is nothing you can do about it
without being accused of cold,
uncaring, selfish, prejudiced, and
bigoted behavior.
Oh yeah, I DEMAND that you to learn
MY LANGUAGE!!! so you can communicate with me.And don't forget to
make sure your forms are in MY language - I need to understand them...
in ages!!! It explains things better than all
the baloney you hear on TV.
Her point:
Recently large demonstrations have taken place
across the country protesting the fact that Congress
is finally addressing the issue of illegal immigration.
Certain people are angry that
the US might protect its own
borders, might make it harder
to sneak into this country and,
once here, to stay indefinitely.
Let me see if I correctly understand
the thinking behind these protests.
Let's say I break into your house.
Let's say that when you discover
me in your house, you insist that I leave.
But I say, "I've made all
the beds and washed the
dishes and did the laundry
and swept the floors. I've
done all the things you don't
like to do. I'm hard-working
and honest
(except for when I broke into your house).
According to the protesters:
You are Required to let me stay in your house
You are Required to add me to your family's insurance plan
You are Required to Educate my kids
You are Required to Provide other benefits to me & to my family
(my husband will do all of your yard work because
he is also hard-working and honest, except for that
breaking in part).
If you try to call the police or force me out,
I will call my friends who will picket your
house carrying signs that proclaim my
RIGHT to be there.
It's only fair, after all, because you have
a nicer house than I do, and I'm just
trying to better myself. I'm a hard-working
and honest, person, except for well,
you know, I did break into your house
And what a deal it is for me!!!
I live in your house, contributing only a
fraction of the cost of my keep, and
there is nothing you can do about it
without being accused of cold,
uncaring, selfish, prejudiced, and
bigoted behavior.
Oh yeah, I DEMAND that you to learn
MY LANGUAGE!!! so you can communicate with me.And don't forget to
make sure your forms are in MY language - I need to understand them...
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Another Bit Of BS From Our Government!!
WRITE IT ON THE BACK OF YOUR ENVELOPES !
I THINK THIS A GREAT IDEA. I WILL START WRITING THIS ON FRONT OF ALL
MY ENVELOPES, TOO !
You may have heard in the news that the Post Office has been
forced to take down small posters that say
" IN GOD WE TRUST "
The law, they say, is being violated.
Anyway, I heard proposed on a radio station show, that we should all
write "IN GOD WE TRUST " on the back of all our mail...after all, that is
our national motto, and it's on all the money we use to buy those stamps.
I think it is a wonderful idea.
We must take back our nation from all the people who think that
anything that offends them should be removed.
If you like this idea, please pass it on. It has been reported that
86% of Americans believe in God. There fore, I have a very hard time
understanding why there is such a mess about having "In God We Trust" on
our money and having God in the pledge of Allegiance.
I THINK THIS A GREAT IDEA. I WILL START WRITING THIS ON FRONT OF ALL
MY ENVELOPES, TOO !
You may have heard in the news that the Post Office has been
forced to take down small posters that say
" IN GOD WE TRUST "
The law, they say, is being violated.
Anyway, I heard proposed on a radio station show, that we should all
write "IN GOD WE TRUST " on the back of all our mail...after all, that is
our national motto, and it's on all the money we use to buy those stamps.
I think it is a wonderful idea.
We must take back our nation from all the people who think that
anything that offends them should be removed.
If you like this idea, please pass it on. It has been reported that
86% of Americans believe in God. There fore, I have a very hard time
understanding why there is such a mess about having "In God We Trust" on
our money and having God in the pledge of Allegiance.
What Is Happening To Our Country??
I recieved this in my e-mail and knew that I just had to share!
Outrageous--------
I am hoping you have the opportunity to read this e mail
regarding the utter frustration we as English-speaking Americans
experience on a daily basis. Hopefully, this will go beyond just an e-mail
This is an experience that happened to my wife today.
April 1, 2007, in Denver County Traffic Court, Denver, Colorado
She had to appear in traffic court as a result of aspeeding ticket. She was speeding and knew she would have a fine to pay.We have no problem with that. The rest of the court experience, however, is something we should all stand up and take exception to and ask what is happening to the United States?
She was asked to be in court by 4:30PM today, with which she
complied. However, when she got there, it was announced that all non-English speaking persons with traffic violations would be taken care of first. The reasoning being that the interpreter leaves every day at the same time and does not stay late. So a reward for not speaking English is one gets to go the front of the line.
Next, the non-English speaking individuals do not have driver's licenses or insurance. Never was it asked why they did not have licenses, what they were doing to get licenses or insurance. What they were given for driving without a license was a $35 fine. Since many of them did not have $35 they were also given payment terms. So, they are granted another reward for not having the money to pay the fines.
My wife, who was born in Denver, Colorado, raised here, and lived here all her life, was given a $249 fine for her speeding ticket, was not given payment terms, and had to wait until all the non-speaking, aliens were treated first.
If I understand this correctly:
* Let's never require the non -English speaking individuals who live in this country to learn English.
* Let's never require they become citizens of this United States of America.
* Let's never require them to ever get driver's licenses and pray they never kill someone on the road with their driving.
* Let's never require they get automobile insurance, so that all of us who do will pay higher and higher premiums.
* Let's make sure that those of us who do get injured by these individuals pay higher and higher health insurance premiums
* Let's make sure those who can pay their fines, pay big ones to subsidize all those $35 fines on payment plans.
* Let's make sure we never inconvenience them and let's never inconvenience the interpreters in this country who may have to work late.
Our Country is eroding every day right before our eyes.
No country in the world has ever survived having 2 major languages. We are heading down that path.
Outrageous--------
I am hoping you have the opportunity to read this e mail
regarding the utter frustration we as English-speaking Americans
experience on a daily basis. Hopefully, this will go beyond just an e-mail
This is an experience that happened to my wife today.
April 1, 2007, in Denver County Traffic Court, Denver, Colorado
She had to appear in traffic court as a result of aspeeding ticket. She was speeding and knew she would have a fine to pay.We have no problem with that. The rest of the court experience, however, is something we should all stand up and take exception to and ask what is happening to the United States?
She was asked to be in court by 4:30PM today, with which she
complied. However, when she got there, it was announced that all non-English speaking persons with traffic violations would be taken care of first. The reasoning being that the interpreter leaves every day at the same time and does not stay late. So a reward for not speaking English is one gets to go the front of the line.
Next, the non-English speaking individuals do not have driver's licenses or insurance. Never was it asked why they did not have licenses, what they were doing to get licenses or insurance. What they were given for driving without a license was a $35 fine. Since many of them did not have $35 they were also given payment terms. So, they are granted another reward for not having the money to pay the fines.
My wife, who was born in Denver, Colorado, raised here, and lived here all her life, was given a $249 fine for her speeding ticket, was not given payment terms, and had to wait until all the non-speaking, aliens were treated first.
If I understand this correctly:
* Let's never require the non -English speaking individuals who live in this country to learn English.
* Let's never require they become citizens of this United States of America.
* Let's never require them to ever get driver's licenses and pray they never kill someone on the road with their driving.
* Let's never require they get automobile insurance, so that all of us who do will pay higher and higher premiums.
* Let's make sure that those of us who do get injured by these individuals pay higher and higher health insurance premiums
* Let's make sure those who can pay their fines, pay big ones to subsidize all those $35 fines on payment plans.
* Let's make sure we never inconvenience them and let's never inconvenience the interpreters in this country who may have to work late.
Our Country is eroding every day right before our eyes.
No country in the world has ever survived having 2 major languages. We are heading down that path.
Marriage~This Is So True
Marriage (Part I )
Typical macho man married typical good-looking lady, and
after the wedding, he laid down the following rules:
"I'll be home when I want, if I want and at what time
I want -- and I don't expect any hassle from you.
I expect a great dinner to be on the table unless
I tell you that I won't be home for dinner.
I'll go hunting, fishing, boozing, and card-playing
when I want with my old buddies, and don't you
give me a hard time about it.
Those are my rules. Any comments?"
His new bride said:
"No, that's fine with me. Just understand that there will be sex
here at seven o'clock every night...whether you're here or not."
(DARN SHE'S GOOD!)
************************************************
Marriage (Part II)
Husband and wife had a bitter quarrel on the day of their 40th wedding anniversary!
The husband yells, "When you die, I'm getting you a headstone
that reads, 'Here Lies My Wife -- Cold As Ever'!"
"Yeah?" she replies. "When you die, I'm getting you a headstone
that reads, 'Here Lies My Husband -- Stiff At Last'!"
(HE ASKED FOR IT!)
*****************************************
Marriage (Part III)
Husband (a doctor) and his wife are having a fight at the breakfast table.
Husband gets up in a rage and says, "And you are no
good in bed either," and storms out of the house.
After some time he realizes he was nasty and
decides to make amends and rings her up.
She comes to the phone after many rings, and the irritated husband
says, "What took you so long to answer to the phone?"
She says, "I was in bed."
"In bed this early, doing what?"
"Getting a second opinion!"
(YEP, HE HAD THAT COMING, TOO!)
*****************************************
Marriage (Part IV)
A man has six children and is very proud of his achievement.
He is so proud of himself, that he starts calling his
wife," Mother of Six" in spite of her objections.
One night, they go to a party. The man decides that it IS time to go home
and wants to find out if his wife is ready to leave as well. He shouts
at the top of his voice, "Shall we go home Mother of Six?"
His wife, irritated by her husband's lack of discretion,
shouts right back, "Any time you're ready, Father of Four."
(RIGHT ON, LADY!)
*****************************************
THE SILENT TREATMENT
A man and his wife were having some problems at home
and were giving each other the silent treatment.
Suddenly the man realized that the next day he would need his wife
to wake him at 5:00 AM for an early morning business flight.
Not wanting to be the first to break the silence (and LOSE), he wrote on a piece
of paper,"Please wake me at 5:00 AM." He left it where he knew she would find it.
The next morning the man woke up, only to discover it
was 9:00 AM and he had missed his flight.
Furious, he was about to go to see why his wife hadn't wakened him when he
noticed a piece of paper by the bed. The paper said, "It is 5:00 AM. Wake up."
Men are not equipped for these kinds of contests.
*****************************************
God may have created man before woman, but there
is always a rough draft before the masterpiece.
*****************************************
Typical macho man married typical good-looking lady, and
after the wedding, he laid down the following rules:
"I'll be home when I want, if I want and at what time
I want -- and I don't expect any hassle from you.
I expect a great dinner to be on the table unless
I tell you that I won't be home for dinner.
I'll go hunting, fishing, boozing, and card-playing
when I want with my old buddies, and don't you
give me a hard time about it.
Those are my rules. Any comments?"
His new bride said:
"No, that's fine with me. Just understand that there will be sex
here at seven o'clock every night...whether you're here or not."
(DARN SHE'S GOOD!)
************************************************
Marriage (Part II)
Husband and wife had a bitter quarrel on the day of their 40th wedding anniversary!
The husband yells, "When you die, I'm getting you a headstone
that reads, 'Here Lies My Wife -- Cold As Ever'!"
"Yeah?" she replies. "When you die, I'm getting you a headstone
that reads, 'Here Lies My Husband -- Stiff At Last'!"
(HE ASKED FOR IT!)
*****************************************
Marriage (Part III)
Husband (a doctor) and his wife are having a fight at the breakfast table.
Husband gets up in a rage and says, "And you are no
good in bed either," and storms out of the house.
After some time he realizes he was nasty and
decides to make amends and rings her up.
She comes to the phone after many rings, and the irritated husband
says, "What took you so long to answer to the phone?"
She says, "I was in bed."
"In bed this early, doing what?"
"Getting a second opinion!"
(YEP, HE HAD THAT COMING, TOO!)
*****************************************
Marriage (Part IV)
A man has six children and is very proud of his achievement.
He is so proud of himself, that he starts calling his
wife," Mother of Six" in spite of her objections.
One night, they go to a party. The man decides that it IS time to go home
and wants to find out if his wife is ready to leave as well. He shouts
at the top of his voice, "Shall we go home Mother of Six?"
His wife, irritated by her husband's lack of discretion,
shouts right back, "Any time you're ready, Father of Four."
(RIGHT ON, LADY!)
*****************************************
THE SILENT TREATMENT
A man and his wife were having some problems at home
and were giving each other the silent treatment.
Suddenly the man realized that the next day he would need his wife
to wake him at 5:00 AM for an early morning business flight.
Not wanting to be the first to break the silence (and LOSE), he wrote on a piece
of paper,"Please wake me at 5:00 AM." He left it where he knew she would find it.
The next morning the man woke up, only to discover it
was 9:00 AM and he had missed his flight.
Furious, he was about to go to see why his wife hadn't wakened him when he
noticed a piece of paper by the bed. The paper said, "It is 5:00 AM. Wake up."
Men are not equipped for these kinds of contests.
*****************************************
God may have created man before woman, but there
is always a rough draft before the masterpiece.
*****************************************
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
This Is Soo True!
This woman should run for president.
Written by a housewife from New Jersey and sounds like it! This is one ticked off lady.
"Are we fighting a war on terror or aren't we? Was it or was it not started by Islamic people who brought it to our shores on September 11, 2001?
Were people from all over the world, mostly Americans, not brutally murdered that day, in downtown Manhattan , across the Potomac from our nation's capitol and in a field in Pennsylvania?
Did nearly three thousand men, women and children die a horrible, burning or crushing death that day, or didn't they?
And I'm supposed to care that a copy of the Koran was "desecrated" when an overworked American soldier kicked it or got it wet?...Well, I don't. I don't care at all.
I'll start caring when Osama bin Laden turns himself in and repents for incinerating all those innocent people on 9/11.
I'll care about the Koran when the fanatics in the Middle East start caring about the Holy Bible, the mere possession of which is a crime in Saudi Arabia .
I'll care when these thugs tell the world they are sorry for hacking off Nick Berg's head while Berg screamed through his gurgling slashed throat.
I'll care when the cowardly so-called "insurgents" in Iraq come out and fight like men instead of disrespecting their own religion by hiding in mosques.
I'll care when the mindless zealots who blow themselves up in search of nirvana care about the innocent children within range of their suicide bombs.
I'll care when the American media stops pretending that their First Amendment liberties are somehow derived from international law instead of the United States Constitution's Bill of Rights.
In the meantime, when I hear a story about a brave marine roughing up an Iraqi terrorist to obtain information, know this: I don't care.
When I see a fuzzy photo of a pile of naked Iraqi prisoners who have been humiliated in what amounts to a college-hazing incident, rest assured: I don't care.
When I see a wounded terrorist get shot in the head when he is told not to move because he might be booby-trapped, you can take it to the bank: I don't care.
When I hear that a prisoner, who was issued a Koran and a prayer mat, and fed "special" food that is paid for by my tax dollars, is complaining that his holy book is being "mishandled," you can absolutely believe in your heart of hearts: I don't care.
And oh, by the way, I've noticed that sometimes it's spelled "Koran" and other times "Quran." Well, Jimmy Crack Corn and-you guessed it-I don't care !!
If you agree with this viewpoint, pass this on to all your E-mail friends. Sooner or later, it'll get to the people responsible for this ridiculous behavior!
If you don't agree, then by all means hit the delete button. Should you choose the latter, then please don't complain when more atrocities committed by radical Muslims happen here in our great Country! And may I add:
"Some people spend an entire lifetime wondering if they made a difference in the world. But, the Marines don't have that problem." -- Ronald Reagan
I have another quote that I would like to add AND.......I hope you forward all this.
"If we ever forget that we're One Nation Under God, then we will be a nation gone under." Also by.. Ronald Reagan
One last thought for the day:
In case we find ourselves starting to believe all the Anti-American sentiment and negativity, we should remember England 's Prime Minister Tony Blair's words during a recent interview. When asked by one of his Parliament members why he believes so much in America, he said: "A simple way to take measure of a country is to look at how many want in... And how many want out."
Only two defining forces have ever offered to die for you:
1. Jesus Christ
2. The American G. I.
One died for your soul, the other for your freedom.
Written by a housewife from New Jersey and sounds like it! This is one ticked off lady.
"Are we fighting a war on terror or aren't we? Was it or was it not started by Islamic people who brought it to our shores on September 11, 2001?
Were people from all over the world, mostly Americans, not brutally murdered that day, in downtown Manhattan , across the Potomac from our nation's capitol and in a field in Pennsylvania?
Did nearly three thousand men, women and children die a horrible, burning or crushing death that day, or didn't they?
And I'm supposed to care that a copy of the Koran was "desecrated" when an overworked American soldier kicked it or got it wet?...Well, I don't. I don't care at all.
I'll start caring when Osama bin Laden turns himself in and repents for incinerating all those innocent people on 9/11.
I'll care about the Koran when the fanatics in the Middle East start caring about the Holy Bible, the mere possession of which is a crime in Saudi Arabia .
I'll care when these thugs tell the world they are sorry for hacking off Nick Berg's head while Berg screamed through his gurgling slashed throat.
I'll care when the cowardly so-called "insurgents" in Iraq come out and fight like men instead of disrespecting their own religion by hiding in mosques.
I'll care when the mindless zealots who blow themselves up in search of nirvana care about the innocent children within range of their suicide bombs.
I'll care when the American media stops pretending that their First Amendment liberties are somehow derived from international law instead of the United States Constitution's Bill of Rights.
In the meantime, when I hear a story about a brave marine roughing up an Iraqi terrorist to obtain information, know this: I don't care.
When I see a fuzzy photo of a pile of naked Iraqi prisoners who have been humiliated in what amounts to a college-hazing incident, rest assured: I don't care.
When I see a wounded terrorist get shot in the head when he is told not to move because he might be booby-trapped, you can take it to the bank: I don't care.
When I hear that a prisoner, who was issued a Koran and a prayer mat, and fed "special" food that is paid for by my tax dollars, is complaining that his holy book is being "mishandled," you can absolutely believe in your heart of hearts: I don't care.
And oh, by the way, I've noticed that sometimes it's spelled "Koran" and other times "Quran." Well, Jimmy Crack Corn and-you guessed it-I don't care !!
If you agree with this viewpoint, pass this on to all your E-mail friends. Sooner or later, it'll get to the people responsible for this ridiculous behavior!
If you don't agree, then by all means hit the delete button. Should you choose the latter, then please don't complain when more atrocities committed by radical Muslims happen here in our great Country! And may I add:
"Some people spend an entire lifetime wondering if they made a difference in the world. But, the Marines don't have that problem." -- Ronald Reagan
I have another quote that I would like to add AND.......I hope you forward all this.
"If we ever forget that we're One Nation Under God, then we will be a nation gone under." Also by.. Ronald Reagan
One last thought for the day:
In case we find ourselves starting to believe all the Anti-American sentiment and negativity, we should remember England 's Prime Minister Tony Blair's words during a recent interview. When asked by one of his Parliament members why he believes so much in America, he said: "A simple way to take measure of a country is to look at how many want in... And how many want out."
Only two defining forces have ever offered to die for you:
1. Jesus Christ
2. The American G. I.
One died for your soul, the other for your freedom.
The Old Man And The Dog
Battle. "I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at Me When I'm driving."
My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer Than I really
felt. Dad glared at me, then turned Away and settled back.
At home I left Dad in front of the television and went Outside to
collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds Hung in the air with a promise
of rain. The rumble of Distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil.
What Could I do about him? Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and
Oregon . He had enjoyed being outdoors And had reveled in pitting his
strength against the Forces of nature. He had entered grueling
lumberjack Competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in His house
were filled with trophies that attested to His prowess. The years
marched on relentlessly. The First time he couldn't lift a heavy log,
he joked About it; but later that same day I saw him outside Alone,
Straining to lift it.
He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about His advancing age,
or when he couldn't do something he Had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a Heart attack. An
ambulance sped him to the hospital While a paramedic administered CPR
to keep blood and Oxygen flowing! At the hospital, Dad was rushed
into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside
Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow
doctor's Orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with
sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally
stopped altogether.
Dad was left alone. My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with
us on our small farm. We hoped the Fresh air and rustic atmosphere
would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the
Invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything
I did. I became frustrated and moody.
Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We Began to bicker and
argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation.
The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the
close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled
mind.
But the months wore on and God was silent. A raindrop struck my cheek.
I looked up into the gray sky. Somewhere up there was "God." Although I
believe a Supreme Being had created the universe I had difficulty
believing
that God cared about the tiny Human being on this earth. I was tired of
waiting for A God who didn't answer. Something had to be done and It was
up
to me to do it.
The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each
of
the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my
problem
in vain to each of the sympathetic voices that answered.
Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed,
"I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article."
I listened as She read. The article described a remarkable study done
at a nursing home all of the patients were under treatment for chronic
depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they
were given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a
questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of
disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each
contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired Dogs, curly-haired dogs,
black dogs, spotted dogs - all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied
each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too big,
too small, too much hair.
As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner
struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It
was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a
caricature of the breed, years had etched his face and muzzle with
shades of gray, his hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it
was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they
beheld me unwaveringly.
I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?"
The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement.
"He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat In front of the
gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim
him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up
tomorrow."
He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror.
"You mean you're going to kill him?" "Ma'am," he said gently, "that's
our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog." I looked at
the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take
him," I said.
I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me.
When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I Was helping my
prize out of the car when Dad shuffled Onto the front porch. "Ta-da!
Look what I got for You, Dad!" I said excitedly. Dad looked, then
wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have
gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag
of bones. Keep It! I Don't want it." Dad waved his arm scornfully and
turned back toward the house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and
pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's
staying!" Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those
words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, His eyes
narrowed
and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists,
when suddenly the
Pointer pulled free from my grasp he wobbled toward my dad and sat down
in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw. Dad's lower
jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the
anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his
knees hugging the animal. It was the beginning of a warm and intimate
Friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne, together he and
Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down
dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams,
angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services
together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years.
Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends.
Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose
burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our
bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's
room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left
quietly
sometime during the night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne
lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he
had slept on.
As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently
thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace
of mind.
The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks
like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews
reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and
Cheyenne had made filling the church.
The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog
who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2.
"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers." "I've often thanked God for
sending that angel," he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not
seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right
rticle...
Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the Animal shelter, his calm
acceptance
and complete devotion to my father. .and the proximity of their deaths.
And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after
all
My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer Than I really
felt. Dad glared at me, then turned Away and settled back.
At home I left Dad in front of the television and went Outside to
collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds Hung in the air with a promise
of rain. The rumble of Distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil.
What Could I do about him? Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and
Oregon . He had enjoyed being outdoors And had reveled in pitting his
strength against the Forces of nature. He had entered grueling
lumberjack Competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in His house
were filled with trophies that attested to His prowess. The years
marched on relentlessly. The First time he couldn't lift a heavy log,
he joked About it; but later that same day I saw him outside Alone,
Straining to lift it.
He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about His advancing age,
or when he couldn't do something he Had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a Heart attack. An
ambulance sped him to the hospital While a paramedic administered CPR
to keep blood and Oxygen flowing! At the hospital, Dad was rushed
into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside
Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow
doctor's Orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with
sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally
stopped altogether.
Dad was left alone. My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with
us on our small farm. We hoped the Fresh air and rustic atmosphere
would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the
Invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything
I did. I became frustrated and moody.
Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We Began to bicker and
argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation.
The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the
close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled
mind.
But the months wore on and God was silent. A raindrop struck my cheek.
I looked up into the gray sky. Somewhere up there was "God." Although I
believe a Supreme Being had created the universe I had difficulty
believing
that God cared about the tiny Human being on this earth. I was tired of
waiting for A God who didn't answer. Something had to be done and It was
up
to me to do it.
The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each
of
the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my
problem
in vain to each of the sympathetic voices that answered.
Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed,
"I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article."
I listened as She read. The article described a remarkable study done
at a nursing home all of the patients were under treatment for chronic
depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they
were given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a
questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of
disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each
contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired Dogs, curly-haired dogs,
black dogs, spotted dogs - all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied
each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too big,
too small, too much hair.
As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner
struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It
was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a
caricature of the breed, years had etched his face and muzzle with
shades of gray, his hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it
was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they
beheld me unwaveringly.
I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?"
The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement.
"He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat In front of the
gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim
him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up
tomorrow."
He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror.
"You mean you're going to kill him?" "Ma'am," he said gently, "that's
our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog." I looked at
the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take
him," I said.
I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me.
When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I Was helping my
prize out of the car when Dad shuffled Onto the front porch. "Ta-da!
Look what I got for You, Dad!" I said excitedly. Dad looked, then
wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have
gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag
of bones. Keep It! I Don't want it." Dad waved his arm scornfully and
turned back toward the house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and
pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's
staying!" Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those
words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, His eyes
narrowed
and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists,
when suddenly the
Pointer pulled free from my grasp he wobbled toward my dad and sat down
in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw. Dad's lower
jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the
anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his
knees hugging the animal. It was the beginning of a warm and intimate
Friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne, together he and
Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down
dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams,
angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services
together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years.
Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends.
Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose
burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our
bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's
room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left
quietly
sometime during the night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne
lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he
had slept on.
As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently
thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace
of mind.
The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks
like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews
reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and
Cheyenne had made filling the church.
The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog
who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2.
"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers." "I've often thanked God for
sending that angel," he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not
seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right
rticle...
Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the Animal shelter, his calm
acceptance
and complete devotion to my father. .and the proximity of their deaths.
And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after
all
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Mean Moms
Someday when my children are old enough to
Understand the logic that motivates a parent,
I will tell them, as my Mean Mom told me:
I loved you enough to ask where you were going,
With whom, and what time you would be home.
I loved you enough to be silent and let you
Discover that your new best friend was a creep.
I loved you enough to stand over you for
Two hours while you cleaned your room,
A job that should have taken 15 minutes.
I loved you enough to let you see anger,
Disappointment, and tears in my eyes. Children must
Learn that their parents aren't perfect.
I loved you enough to let you assume the
Responsibility for your actions even when the
Penalties were so harsh they almost broke my heart.
But most of all, I loved you enough to say
NO when I knew you would hate me for it.
Those were the most difficult battles of all.
I'm glad I won them, because in the end you won, too.
And someday when your children are old enough to
Understand the logic that motivates parents, you will tell them..
Was your Mom mean?
I know mine was.
We had the meanest mother in the whole world!
While other kids ate candy for breakfast,
We had to have cereal, eggs, and toast.
When others had a Pepsi and a Twinkie for lunch,
We had to eat sandwiches.
And you can guess our mother fixed us a dinner that was
Different from what other kids had, too.
Mother insisted on knowing where we were at all times.
You'd think we were convicts in a prison.
She had to know who our friends were
And what we were doing with them.
She insisted that if we said we
Would be gone for an hour, we would be gone for an hour or less.
We were ashamed to admit it,
But she had the nerve to break
The Child Labor Laws by making us work.
We had to wash the dishes, make the beds, learn to cook, vacuum the floor, do laundry, empty the trash and all sorts of cruel jobs. And get a real job when we were almost old enough.
I think she would lie awake at night
Thinking of more things for us to do.
She always insisted on us telling the truth,
The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
By the time we were teenagers,
She could read our minds
And had eyes in the back of her head.
Then, life was really tough!
Mother wouldn't let our friends just honk
The horn when they drove up
They had to come up to the door
So she could meet them.
While everyone else could date
When they were 12 or 13,
We had to wait until we were 16.
Because of our mother we missed out
On lots of things other kids experienced.
None of us have ever
Been caught shoplifting, vandalizing other's
Property or ever arrested for any crime.
It was all her fault.
Now that we have left home, we are all educated, honest adults.
We are doing our best to be mean parents just like Mom was.
I think that is what's wrong with the world today.
It just doesn't have enough mean moms!
PROUD TO BE A MEAN MOM!!
Understand the logic that motivates a parent,
I will tell them, as my Mean Mom told me:
I loved you enough to ask where you were going,
With whom, and what time you would be home.
I loved you enough to be silent and let you
Discover that your new best friend was a creep.
I loved you enough to stand over you for
Two hours while you cleaned your room,
A job that should have taken 15 minutes.
I loved you enough to let you see anger,
Disappointment, and tears in my eyes. Children must
Learn that their parents aren't perfect.
I loved you enough to let you assume the
Responsibility for your actions even when the
Penalties were so harsh they almost broke my heart.
But most of all, I loved you enough to say
NO when I knew you would hate me for it.
Those were the most difficult battles of all.
I'm glad I won them, because in the end you won, too.
And someday when your children are old enough to
Understand the logic that motivates parents, you will tell them..
Was your Mom mean?
I know mine was.
We had the meanest mother in the whole world!
While other kids ate candy for breakfast,
We had to have cereal, eggs, and toast.
When others had a Pepsi and a Twinkie for lunch,
We had to eat sandwiches.
And you can guess our mother fixed us a dinner that was
Different from what other kids had, too.
Mother insisted on knowing where we were at all times.
You'd think we were convicts in a prison.
She had to know who our friends were
And what we were doing with them.
She insisted that if we said we
Would be gone for an hour, we would be gone for an hour or less.
We were ashamed to admit it,
But she had the nerve to break
The Child Labor Laws by making us work.
We had to wash the dishes, make the beds, learn to cook, vacuum the floor, do laundry, empty the trash and all sorts of cruel jobs. And get a real job when we were almost old enough.
I think she would lie awake at night
Thinking of more things for us to do.
She always insisted on us telling the truth,
The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
By the time we were teenagers,
She could read our minds
And had eyes in the back of her head.
Then, life was really tough!
Mother wouldn't let our friends just honk
The horn when they drove up
They had to come up to the door
So she could meet them.
While everyone else could date
When they were 12 or 13,
We had to wait until we were 16.
Because of our mother we missed out
On lots of things other kids experienced.
None of us have ever
Been caught shoplifting, vandalizing other's
Property or ever arrested for any crime.
It was all her fault.
Now that we have left home, we are all educated, honest adults.
We are doing our best to be mean parents just like Mom was.
I think that is what's wrong with the world today.
It just doesn't have enough mean moms!
PROUD TO BE A MEAN MOM!!
Mid-Life
As my thirtieth birthday approaches..too fast...I have stopped and pondered my life so far. When I recieved this in my inbox it brought tears to my eyes..literally!
Mid-life is when the growth of hair on our legs slows down.
This gives us plenty of time to care for our newly acquired mustache.
In mid-life women no longer have upper arms, we have wing spans.
We are no longer women in sleeveless shirts, we are flying squirrels in drag.
Mid-life is when you can stand naked in front of a mirror and you can see your rear without turning around.
Mid-life is when you go for a mammogram and you realize that this is the only time someone will ask you to appear topless.
Mid-life is when you want to grab every firm young lovely in a tube top and scream, "Listen honey, even the Roman empire fell and those will too."
Mid-life brings wisdom to know that life throws us curves and we're sitting on our biggest ones.
Mid-life is when you look at your know-it-all, beeper-wearing teenager and think: "For this I have stretch marks?"
In mid-life your memory starts to go. In fact the only thing we can retain is water.
Mid-life means that your Body By Jake now includes Legs By Rand McNally -- more red and blue lines than an accurately scaled map of Wisconsin .
Mid-life means that you become more reflective . . . You start pondering the "big" questions.
What is life?
Why am I here?
How much Healthy Choice ice cream can I eat before it's no longer a healthy choice?
But mid-life also brings with it an appreciation for what is important. We realize that breasts sag, hips expand and chins double, but our loved ones make the journey worthwhile. Would any of you trade the knowledge that you have now, for the body you had way back when? Maybe our bodies simply have to expand to hold all the wisdom and love we've acquired. That's my philosophy and I'm sticking to it!
"Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a
pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used
up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming...."WOW !! WHAT A RIDE!!!!!"
****Quoted From Dr.Phillip Murray****
Mid-life is when the growth of hair on our legs slows down.
This gives us plenty of time to care for our newly acquired mustache.
In mid-life women no longer have upper arms, we have wing spans.
We are no longer women in sleeveless shirts, we are flying squirrels in drag.
Mid-life is when you can stand naked in front of a mirror and you can see your rear without turning around.
Mid-life is when you go for a mammogram and you realize that this is the only time someone will ask you to appear topless.
Mid-life is when you want to grab every firm young lovely in a tube top and scream, "Listen honey, even the Roman empire fell and those will too."
Mid-life brings wisdom to know that life throws us curves and we're sitting on our biggest ones.
Mid-life is when you look at your know-it-all, beeper-wearing teenager and think: "For this I have stretch marks?"
In mid-life your memory starts to go. In fact the only thing we can retain is water.
Mid-life means that your Body By Jake now includes Legs By Rand McNally -- more red and blue lines than an accurately scaled map of Wisconsin .
Mid-life means that you become more reflective . . . You start pondering the "big" questions.
What is life?
Why am I here?
How much Healthy Choice ice cream can I eat before it's no longer a healthy choice?
But mid-life also brings with it an appreciation for what is important. We realize that breasts sag, hips expand and chins double, but our loved ones make the journey worthwhile. Would any of you trade the knowledge that you have now, for the body you had way back when? Maybe our bodies simply have to expand to hold all the wisdom and love we've acquired. That's my philosophy and I'm sticking to it!
"Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a
pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used
up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming...."WOW !! WHAT A RIDE!!!!!"
****Quoted From Dr.Phillip Murray****
Political Correctness
Because of the climate of political correctness now pervading America,
those of us in Oklahoma , Arkansas and Missouri will no longer be referred to as HILLBILLIES.
We ask that you now refer to us as OZARK-AMERICANS.
Thank you!
Now if you'll excuse me, I got Possums to fry and Pecans to shell.
those of us in Oklahoma , Arkansas and Missouri will no longer be referred to as HILLBILLIES.
We ask that you now refer to us as OZARK-AMERICANS.
Thank you!
Now if you'll excuse me, I got Possums to fry and Pecans to shell.
Worry
This is another of those things I received in my e-mail and found that I just had to share.
Is there a magic cutoff period when offspring become accountable for their own actions? Is there a wonderful moment when parents can become detached spectators in the lives of their children and shrug, "It's their life," and feel nothing?
When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital corridor waiting for doctors to put a few stitches in my son's head. I asked, "When do you stop worrying?" The nurse said, "When they get out of the accident stage." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little chair in a classroom and heard how one of my children talked incessantly, disrupted the class, and was headed for a career making license plates. As if to read my mind , a teacher said, "Don't worry, they all go through this stage and then you can sit back, relax and enjoy them." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime waiting for the phone to ring, the cars to come home, the front door to open. A friend said, "They're trying to find themselves. Don't worry, in a few years, you can stop worrying. They'll be adults." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.
By the time I was 50, I was sick & tired of being vulnerable. I was still worrying over my children, but there was a new wrinkle. There was nothing I could do about it. My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing. I continued to anguish over their failures, be tormented by their frustrations and absorbed in their disappointments.
My friends said that when my kids got married I could stop worrying and lead my own life. I wanted to believe that, but I was haunted by my mother's warm smile and her occasional, "You look pale. Are you a all right? Call me the minute you get home. Are you depressed about something?"
Can it be that parents are sentenced to a lifetime of worry? Is concern for one another handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of human frailties and the fears of the unknown? Is concern a curse or is it a virtue that elevates us to the highest form of life?
One of my children became quite irritable recently, saying to me, "Where were you? I've been calling for 3 days, and no one answered I was worried." I smiled a warm smile. The torch has been passed.
Is there a magic cutoff period when offspring become accountable for their own actions? Is there a wonderful moment when parents can become detached spectators in the lives of their children and shrug, "It's their life," and feel nothing?
When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital corridor waiting for doctors to put a few stitches in my son's head. I asked, "When do you stop worrying?" The nurse said, "When they get out of the accident stage." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little chair in a classroom and heard how one of my children talked incessantly, disrupted the class, and was headed for a career making license plates. As if to read my mind , a teacher said, "Don't worry, they all go through this stage and then you can sit back, relax and enjoy them." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime waiting for the phone to ring, the cars to come home, the front door to open. A friend said, "They're trying to find themselves. Don't worry, in a few years, you can stop worrying. They'll be adults." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.
By the time I was 50, I was sick & tired of being vulnerable. I was still worrying over my children, but there was a new wrinkle. There was nothing I could do about it. My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing. I continued to anguish over their failures, be tormented by their frustrations and absorbed in their disappointments.
My friends said that when my kids got married I could stop worrying and lead my own life. I wanted to believe that, but I was haunted by my mother's warm smile and her occasional, "You look pale. Are you a all right? Call me the minute you get home. Are you depressed about something?"
Can it be that parents are sentenced to a lifetime of worry? Is concern for one another handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of human frailties and the fears of the unknown? Is concern a curse or is it a virtue that elevates us to the highest form of life?
One of my children became quite irritable recently, saying to me, "Where were you? I've been calling for 3 days, and no one answered I was worried." I smiled a warm smile. The torch has been passed.
Friday, July 6, 2007
God's Coffee
A group of alumni, highly established in their careers, got together to visit their old university professor. Conversation soon turned into complaints about stress in work and life. Offering his guests coffee, the professor went to the kitchen and returned with a large pot of coffee and an assortment of cups--porcelain, plastic, glass, crystal, some plain, some expensive, some exquisite--telling them to help themselves to the coffee.
When all the students had a cup of coffee in hand, the professor said: "If you noticed, all the nice-looking, expensive cups were taken, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones. While it is normal for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is the source of your problems and stress. Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee.
In most cases, it is just more expensive and in some cases even hides what we drink. What all of you really wanted was coffee, not the cup, but you consciously went for the best cups . . .and then you began eyeing each other's cups. Now consider this: Life is the coffee; the jobs, money and position in society are the cups. They are just tools to hold and contain Life, and the type of cup we have does not define nor change the quality of Life we live. Sometimes, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee God has provided us." God brews the coffee, not the cups . . Enjoy your coffee!
(Then the part I like best). .
The happiest people don't HAVE the best of everything. They just MAKE the best of everything they have.
Live simply, love generously, and care deeply!!
When all the students had a cup of coffee in hand, the professor said: "If you noticed, all the nice-looking, expensive cups were taken, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones. While it is normal for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is the source of your problems and stress. Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee.
In most cases, it is just more expensive and in some cases even hides what we drink. What all of you really wanted was coffee, not the cup, but you consciously went for the best cups . . .and then you began eyeing each other's cups. Now consider this: Life is the coffee; the jobs, money and position in society are the cups. They are just tools to hold and contain Life, and the type of cup we have does not define nor change the quality of Life we live. Sometimes, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee God has provided us." God brews the coffee, not the cups . . Enjoy your coffee!
(Then the part I like best). .
The happiest people don't HAVE the best of everything. They just MAKE the best of everything they have.
Live simply, love generously, and care deeply!!
To My Daughter
This is just one of those things I recieved in my e-mail and thought I would share. The beauty of this is profounding.
*Just for this morning, I am going to step over the laundry, and pick
you up and take you to the park to play.
*Just for this morning, I will leave the dishes in the sink, and let
you teach me how to put that puzzle of yours together.
*Just for this afternoon, I will unplug the telephone and keep the
computer off, and sit with you in the backyard and blow bubbles.
*Just for this afternoon, I will not yell once, not even a tiny
grumble when you scream and whine for the ice cream truck and I will
buy you one if he comes by.
*Just for this afternoon, I won't worry about what you are going to be
when you grow up, or second guess every decision I have made where you
are concerned.
*Just for this afternoon, I will let you help me bake cookies, and I
won't stand over you trying to fix them.
*Just for this afternoon, I will take us to McDonald's and buy us both
a Happy Meal so you can have both toys.
*Just for this evening, I will hold you in my arms and tell you a
story about how you were born and how much I love you.
*Just for this evening, I will let you splash in the tub and not get angry.
*Just for this evening, I will let you stay up late while we sit on
the porch and count all the stars.
*Just for this evening, I will snuggle beside you for hours, and miss
my favorite TV shows.
*Just for this evening when I run my finger through your hair as you
pray, I will simply be grateful that God has given me the greatest
gift ever given.
*I will think about the mothers and fathers who are searching for
their missing children, the mothers and fathers who are visiting their
children's graves instead of their bedrooms, and mothers and fathers
who are in hospital rooms watching their children suffer senselessly,
and screaming inside that they can't handle it anymore.
*And when I kiss you good night I will hold you a little tighter, a
little longer. It is then, that I will thank God for you, and ask Him
for nothing, except one more day.............
*Just for this morning, I am going to step over the laundry, and pick
you up and take you to the park to play.
*Just for this morning, I will leave the dishes in the sink, and let
you teach me how to put that puzzle of yours together.
*Just for this afternoon, I will unplug the telephone and keep the
computer off, and sit with you in the backyard and blow bubbles.
*Just for this afternoon, I will not yell once, not even a tiny
grumble when you scream and whine for the ice cream truck and I will
buy you one if he comes by.
*Just for this afternoon, I won't worry about what you are going to be
when you grow up, or second guess every decision I have made where you
are concerned.
*Just for this afternoon, I will let you help me bake cookies, and I
won't stand over you trying to fix them.
*Just for this afternoon, I will take us to McDonald's and buy us both
a Happy Meal so you can have both toys.
*Just for this evening, I will hold you in my arms and tell you a
story about how you were born and how much I love you.
*Just for this evening, I will let you splash in the tub and not get angry.
*Just for this evening, I will let you stay up late while we sit on
the porch and count all the stars.
*Just for this evening, I will snuggle beside you for hours, and miss
my favorite TV shows.
*Just for this evening when I run my finger through your hair as you
pray, I will simply be grateful that God has given me the greatest
gift ever given.
*I will think about the mothers and fathers who are searching for
their missing children, the mothers and fathers who are visiting their
children's graves instead of their bedrooms, and mothers and fathers
who are in hospital rooms watching their children suffer senselessly,
and screaming inside that they can't handle it anymore.
*And when I kiss you good night I will hold you a little tighter, a
little longer. It is then, that I will thank God for you, and ask Him
for nothing, except one more day.............
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
What A Day!
I would just like to say that this is my second posting for the day. If you only have time to read one...pick the other one! It has a more meaningful and important content than this one will have.
I have had quite the day! It is quite the trip to my aunt's house and this year we decided to load up the kids and go. It was the least we could do since there will be no more Fourth of July Blowouts unless someone else carries on the tradition. My aunt and uncle are starting to feel their years a bit more than before so they have decided to retire. I just dread knowing that unless I do it, there will never be another. They have been going on since my mother was a kid. However, the thought of having all of those people at my house is quite overwhelming. I have never hosted for more than fifteen people (my crew included) and I also worry that no one would show up if I tried to do such a thing. I have had parties before where no one showed up..those aren't very fun let me tell ya!
Anyway, back to my story. We load the kids up in the van. When we get into the van it seems like a normal sized van. However, once you have ridden in a van with four kids for over two hours, a van just isn't a van. It is more like a compact car. We did make it however, and I was finally able to see some family members who I had not seen in 15 years. It was a great day and well worth the trip. My husband had a heck of a time getting me back into that van for the ride home. He thought (and still does he he he) that it was because I was enjoying myself too much to leave. Truth be told, I just did not want to ride all the way back home with the kids! I knew that they were tired and I can't handle too much whining. I was blessed though. They fell asleep about 5 minutes into the car ride and slept almost all the way home. They did wake up hungry, but that was no surprise. They always do. I was prepared, however, since I have been doing this mom thing for quite a while now and had cookies and juice to last through the rest of the trip. It was quite the day for all of us. As I sit here writing this I listen to the sounds of snoring. A sign that I have done my job and given my children a happy and carefree day that has totally worn them out. Ahh silence!
I have had quite the day! It is quite the trip to my aunt's house and this year we decided to load up the kids and go. It was the least we could do since there will be no more Fourth of July Blowouts unless someone else carries on the tradition. My aunt and uncle are starting to feel their years a bit more than before so they have decided to retire. I just dread knowing that unless I do it, there will never be another. They have been going on since my mother was a kid. However, the thought of having all of those people at my house is quite overwhelming. I have never hosted for more than fifteen people (my crew included) and I also worry that no one would show up if I tried to do such a thing. I have had parties before where no one showed up..those aren't very fun let me tell ya!
Anyway, back to my story. We load the kids up in the van. When we get into the van it seems like a normal sized van. However, once you have ridden in a van with four kids for over two hours, a van just isn't a van. It is more like a compact car. We did make it however, and I was finally able to see some family members who I had not seen in 15 years. It was a great day and well worth the trip. My husband had a heck of a time getting me back into that van for the ride home. He thought (and still does he he he) that it was because I was enjoying myself too much to leave. Truth be told, I just did not want to ride all the way back home with the kids! I knew that they were tired and I can't handle too much whining. I was blessed though. They fell asleep about 5 minutes into the car ride and slept almost all the way home. They did wake up hungry, but that was no surprise. They always do. I was prepared, however, since I have been doing this mom thing for quite a while now and had cookies and juice to last through the rest of the trip. It was quite the day for all of us. As I sit here writing this I listen to the sounds of snoring. A sign that I have done my job and given my children a happy and carefree day that has totally worn them out. Ahh silence!
The Room
THE ROOM
17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a
class. The subject was what Heaven was like. "I wowed 'em," he later
told his father, Bruce. "It's a killer. It's the bomb. It's the best thing I
ever wrote.." It also was the last.
Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it while
cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teary Valley High School. Brian had
been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece of
his life near them-notes from classmates and teachers, his homework.
Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about encountering
Jesus in a file room full of cards detailing every moment of the teen's
life..
But it was only after Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized
that their son had described his view of heaven. "It makes such an impact
that
people want to share it. You feel like you are there." Mr. Moore said.
Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving
home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in
Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck
unharmed but
stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.
The Moore's framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the family
portraits in the living room. "I think God used him to make a point. I
think we were meant to find it and make something out of it," Mrs. Moore
said of
the essay. She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life
after
death. "I'm happy for Brian. I know he's in heaven. I know I'll see
him."
Brian's Essay: The Room.
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room.
There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with
small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list
titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which
stretched
from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very
different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch
any attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began
flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I
recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I
knew
exactly where I was.
This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my
life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in
a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled
with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and
exploring
their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of
shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if
anyone
was watching.
A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed."
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird "Books I Have
Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed
at."
Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my
brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger",
"Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to
be surprised by the contents.
Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I
hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived.
Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these
thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth.
Each was
written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched", I realized
the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly,
and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut
it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I
knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run
through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test
its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content.
I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost
animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see
these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!"
In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had
to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began
pounding it
on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and
pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear
it.
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my
forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.
And then I saw it.. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel
With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I
pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell
into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then
the
tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started
in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried
out
of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves
swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I
must
lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw
Him.
No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched
helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear
to
watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His
face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own.
He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read
every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He
looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger
me. I
dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He
walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things.
But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end
of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over
mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to
say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on
these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive.
The
name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently
took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I
don't
think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant
it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side.
He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up,
and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were
still cards to be written.
"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." -Phil. 4:13
"For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes
in
Him shall not perish but have eternal life."
I found this story in my E-Mail this week and just had to share it with you. The beauty of it brought me to tears. I just knew that it was something I had to share with all my avid readers.
17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a
class. The subject was what Heaven was like. "I wowed 'em," he later
told his father, Bruce. "It's a killer. It's the bomb. It's the best thing I
ever wrote.." It also was the last.
Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it while
cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teary Valley High School. Brian had
been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece of
his life near them-notes from classmates and teachers, his homework.
Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about encountering
Jesus in a file room full of cards detailing every moment of the teen's
life..
But it was only after Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized
that their son had described his view of heaven. "It makes such an impact
that
people want to share it. You feel like you are there." Mr. Moore said.
Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving
home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in
Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck
unharmed but
stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.
The Moore's framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the family
portraits in the living room. "I think God used him to make a point. I
think we were meant to find it and make something out of it," Mrs. Moore
said of
the essay. She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life
after
death. "I'm happy for Brian. I know he's in heaven. I know I'll see
him."
Brian's Essay: The Room.
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room.
There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with
small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list
titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which
stretched
from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very
different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch
any attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began
flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I
recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I
knew
exactly where I was.
This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my
life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in
a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled
with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and
exploring
their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of
shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if
anyone
was watching.
A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed."
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird "Books I Have
Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed
at."
Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my
brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger",
"Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to
be surprised by the contents.
Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I
hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived.
Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these
thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth.
Each was
written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched", I realized
the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly,
and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut
it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I
knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run
through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test
its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content.
I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost
animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see
these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!"
In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had
to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began
pounding it
on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and
pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear
it.
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my
forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.
And then I saw it.. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel
With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I
pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell
into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then
the
tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started
in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried
out
of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves
swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I
must
lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw
Him.
No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched
helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear
to
watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His
face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own.
He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read
every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He
looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger
me. I
dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He
walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things.
But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end
of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over
mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to
say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on
these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive.
The
name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently
took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I
don't
think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant
it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side.
He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up,
and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were
still cards to be written.
"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." -Phil. 4:13
"For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes
in
Him shall not perish but have eternal life."
I found this story in my E-Mail this week and just had to share it with you. The beauty of it brought me to tears. I just knew that it was something I had to share with all my avid readers.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Redneck Computer Terms
Backup - What you do when you run across a
skunk in the woods
Byte -Whut them dang flys do
Bug - The reason you give for calling in sick
Chip - Pasture muffins that you try not to step in
Crash - When you go to Junior's party uninvited
Diskette - Female disco dancer
Hacker - Uncle Leroy after 32 years of smoking
Hard drive - Trying to climb a steep, muddy hill with 3 flat
tires and pulling a trailer load of fertilizer
Keyboard - Place to hang your truck keys
Mac - Big Bubba's favorite fast food
Mouse Pad - Where Mickey and Minnie live
Online - Where you hang your clothes to dry
Terminal - Time to call the undertaker
Windows - Place in the truck to hang your guns
Modem - How you got rid of your dandelions
Reboot - What you do when the first pair gets
covered with barnyard stuff
Network - How to get yer bait for fishin
Digital control - What yore fingers do on the TV remote
Packet - What you do to a suitcase before a trip
Log on - Making the wood stove hotter
Log off - Don't add no more wood
Download - Gettin' the farwood offn the pickup
Megahertz - When yer not keerful gettin' that
farwood downloaded
Prompt - Whut th mail ain't in the winter taim
Screen - Whut to shut when it's black fly season
Microchip - Whut's left in the munchie bag
Laptop - Whur the kitty sleeps
Enter - Northern 'fer c'mon in y'all
Software - Them dang plastik forks and knives
Mainframe - Holds up the barn ruf
Have A Fun Day
Thought I'd Learn Ya Somthin
skunk in the woods
Byte -Whut them dang flys do
Bug - The reason you give for calling in sick
Chip - Pasture muffins that you try not to step in
Crash - When you go to Junior's party uninvited
Diskette - Female disco dancer
Hacker - Uncle Leroy after 32 years of smoking
Hard drive - Trying to climb a steep, muddy hill with 3 flat
tires and pulling a trailer load of fertilizer
Keyboard - Place to hang your truck keys
Mac - Big Bubba's favorite fast food
Mouse Pad - Where Mickey and Minnie live
Online - Where you hang your clothes to dry
Terminal - Time to call the undertaker
Windows - Place in the truck to hang your guns
Modem - How you got rid of your dandelions
Reboot - What you do when the first pair gets
covered with barnyard stuff
Network - How to get yer bait for fishin
Digital control - What yore fingers do on the TV remote
Packet - What you do to a suitcase before a trip
Log on - Making the wood stove hotter
Log off - Don't add no more wood
Download - Gettin' the farwood offn the pickup
Megahertz - When yer not keerful gettin' that
farwood downloaded
Prompt - Whut th mail ain't in the winter taim
Screen - Whut to shut when it's black fly season
Microchip - Whut's left in the munchie bag
Laptop - Whur the kitty sleeps
Enter - Northern 'fer c'mon in y'all
Software - Them dang plastik forks and knives
Mainframe - Holds up the barn ruf
Have A Fun Day
Thought I'd Learn Ya Somthin
Don't Mess With Kids!
A little girl was talking to her teacher about whales. The teacher said it
was physically impossible for a whale to swallow a human because even though
it was a very large mammal its throat was very small. The little girl
stated that Jonah was swallowed by a whale. Irritated, the teacher
reiterated that a whale could not swallow a human; it was physically
impossible. The little girl said, "When I get to heaven I will ask Jonah".
The teacher asked, "What if Jonah went to hell?" The little girl replied,
"Then you ask him ".
A Kindergarten teacher was observing her classroom of children while
they were drawing. She would occasionally walk around to see each child's
work. As she got to one little girl who was working diligently, she asked
what the drawing was. The girl replied, "I'm drawing God." The teacher
paused and said, "But no one knows what God looks like." Without missing a
beat, or looking up from her drawing, the girl replied, "They will in a
minute."
A Sunday school teacher was discussing the Ten Commandments with her five
and six year olds. After explaining the commandment to "honor" thy Father
and thy Mother, she asked, "Is there a commandment that teaches us how to
treat our brothers and sisters?" Without missing a beat one little boy (the
oldest of a family) answered, "Thou shall not kill."
One day a little girl was sitting and watching her mother do the dishes at
the kitchen sink. She suddenly noticed that her mother had several strands
of white hair sticking out in contrast on her brunette head. She looked at
her mother and inquisitively asked, "Why are some of your hairs white, Mom?"
Her mother replied, "Well, every time that you do something wrong and make
me cry or unhappy, one of my hairs turns white." The little girl thought
about this revelation for a while and then said, "Momma, how come ALL of
grandma's hairs are white?"
A teacher was giving a lesson on the circulation of the blood. Trying to
make the matter clearer, she said, "Now, class, if I stood on my head, the
blood, as you know, would run into it, and I would turn red in the face."
"Yes," the class said. "Then why is it that while I am standing upright in
the ordinary position the blood doesn't run into my feet?" A little fellow
shouted, "Cause your feet ain't empty."
The children were lined up in the cafeteria of a Catholic elementary school
for lunch. At the head of the table was a large pile of apples. The nun made
a note, and posted on the apple tray: "Take only ONE. God is watching."
Moving further along the lunch line, at the other end of the table was a
large pile of chocolate chip cookies. A child had written a note, "Take all
you want. God is watching the apples.
was physically impossible for a whale to swallow a human because even though
it was a very large mammal its throat was very small. The little girl
stated that Jonah was swallowed by a whale. Irritated, the teacher
reiterated that a whale could not swallow a human; it was physically
impossible. The little girl said, "When I get to heaven I will ask Jonah".
The teacher asked, "What if Jonah went to hell?" The little girl replied,
"Then you ask him ".
A Kindergarten teacher was observing her classroom of children while
they were drawing. She would occasionally walk around to see each child's
work. As she got to one little girl who was working diligently, she asked
what the drawing was. The girl replied, "I'm drawing God." The teacher
paused and said, "But no one knows what God looks like." Without missing a
beat, or looking up from her drawing, the girl replied, "They will in a
minute."
A Sunday school teacher was discussing the Ten Commandments with her five
and six year olds. After explaining the commandment to "honor" thy Father
and thy Mother, she asked, "Is there a commandment that teaches us how to
treat our brothers and sisters?" Without missing a beat one little boy (the
oldest of a family) answered, "Thou shall not kill."
One day a little girl was sitting and watching her mother do the dishes at
the kitchen sink. She suddenly noticed that her mother had several strands
of white hair sticking out in contrast on her brunette head. She looked at
her mother and inquisitively asked, "Why are some of your hairs white, Mom?"
Her mother replied, "Well, every time that you do something wrong and make
me cry or unhappy, one of my hairs turns white." The little girl thought
about this revelation for a while and then said, "Momma, how come ALL of
grandma's hairs are white?"
A teacher was giving a lesson on the circulation of the blood. Trying to
make the matter clearer, she said, "Now, class, if I stood on my head, the
blood, as you know, would run into it, and I would turn red in the face."
"Yes," the class said. "Then why is it that while I am standing upright in
the ordinary position the blood doesn't run into my feet?" A little fellow
shouted, "Cause your feet ain't empty."
The children were lined up in the cafeteria of a Catholic elementary school
for lunch. At the head of the table was a large pile of apples. The nun made
a note, and posted on the apple tray: "Take only ONE. God is watching."
Moving further along the lunch line, at the other end of the table was a
large pile of chocolate chip cookies. A child had written a note, "Take all
you want. God is watching the apples.
Just One More Thing Wrong With This Country
Love him or loathe him, he nailed this one right on the head..........
By Rush Limbaugh:
I think the vast differences in compensation between victims of the September 11 casualty and those who die serving our country in Uniform are profound. No one is really talking about it either, because you just don't criticize anything having to do with September 11 Well, I can't let the numbers pass by because it says something really disturbing about the entitlement mentality of this country. If you lost a family member in the September 11 attack, you're going to get an average of $1,185,000. The range is a minimum guarantee of $250,000, all the way up to $4.7 million.
If you are a surviving family member of an American soldier killed in action, the first check you get is a $6,000 direct death benefit, half of which is taxable.
Next, you get $1,750 for burial costs. If you are the surviving spouse, you get $833 a month until you remarry. And there's a payment of $211 per month for each child under 18. When the child hits 18, those payments come to a screeching halt.
Keep in mind that some of the people who are getting an average of $1.185 million up to $4.7 million are complaining that it's not enough. Their deaths were tragic, but for most, they were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Soldiers put themselves in harms way FOR ALL OF US, and they and their families know the dangers. (Actually, soldiers are put in harms way by politicians and commanding officers.)
We also learned over the weekend that some of the victims from the Oklahoma City bombing have started an organization asking for the same deal that the September 11 families are getting. In addition to that, some of the families of those bombed in the embassies are now asking for compensation as well.
You see where this is going, don't you? Folks, this is part and parcel of over 50 years of entitlement politics in this country. It's just really sad. Every time a pay raise comes up for the military, they usually receive next to nothing of a raise. Now the green machine is in combat in the Middle East while their families have to survive on food stamps and live in low-rent housing. Make sense?
However, our own US Congress voted themselves a raise. Many of you don't know that they only have to be in Congress one time to receive a pension that is more than $15,000 per month. And most are now equal to being millionaires plus. They do not receive Social Security on retirement because they didn't have to pay into the system. If some of the military people stay in for 20 years and get out as an E-7, they may receive a pension of $1,000 per month, and the very people who placed them in harm's way receives a pension of $15,000 per month.
I would like to see our elected officials pick up a weapon and join ranks before they start cutting out benefits and lowering pay for our sons and daughters who are now fighting.
" When do we finally do something about this?" If this doesn't seem fair to you, it is time to forward this to as many people as you can.
By Rush Limbaugh:
I think the vast differences in compensation between victims of the September 11 casualty and those who die serving our country in Uniform are profound. No one is really talking about it either, because you just don't criticize anything having to do with September 11 Well, I can't let the numbers pass by because it says something really disturbing about the entitlement mentality of this country. If you lost a family member in the September 11 attack, you're going to get an average of $1,185,000. The range is a minimum guarantee of $250,000, all the way up to $4.7 million.
If you are a surviving family member of an American soldier killed in action, the first check you get is a $6,000 direct death benefit, half of which is taxable.
Next, you get $1,750 for burial costs. If you are the surviving spouse, you get $833 a month until you remarry. And there's a payment of $211 per month for each child under 18. When the child hits 18, those payments come to a screeching halt.
Keep in mind that some of the people who are getting an average of $1.185 million up to $4.7 million are complaining that it's not enough. Their deaths were tragic, but for most, they were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Soldiers put themselves in harms way FOR ALL OF US, and they and their families know the dangers. (Actually, soldiers are put in harms way by politicians and commanding officers.)
We also learned over the weekend that some of the victims from the Oklahoma City bombing have started an organization asking for the same deal that the September 11 families are getting. In addition to that, some of the families of those bombed in the embassies are now asking for compensation as well.
You see where this is going, don't you? Folks, this is part and parcel of over 50 years of entitlement politics in this country. It's just really sad. Every time a pay raise comes up for the military, they usually receive next to nothing of a raise. Now the green machine is in combat in the Middle East while their families have to survive on food stamps and live in low-rent housing. Make sense?
However, our own US Congress voted themselves a raise. Many of you don't know that they only have to be in Congress one time to receive a pension that is more than $15,000 per month. And most are now equal to being millionaires plus. They do not receive Social Security on retirement because they didn't have to pay into the system. If some of the military people stay in for 20 years and get out as an E-7, they may receive a pension of $1,000 per month, and the very people who placed them in harm's way receives a pension of $15,000 per month.
I would like to see our elected officials pick up a weapon and join ranks before they start cutting out benefits and lowering pay for our sons and daughters who are now fighting.
" When do we finally do something about this?" If this doesn't seem fair to you, it is time to forward this to as many people as you can.
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