Just a short note to let you all know I am still in operation.A little older but still willing and able to cut the mustard when it appears. The Grandkids are still challenging my intellect and they are winning. Everday they prove to me I am not as smart as them.
So,what if I built regions of the internet and now could care less about an ipad or ipod or ipip etc,its not the same as a pencil and paper now is it. I love the spell checker,its a bonus when it works. I can manage to confuse that critter everyday,so whom is smarter,the man or the machine.?
So,I am smart,but with 4 people trying to prove you wrong,well its a game. However,that said,when the shithitsthefan,who can you call.?? Yes,its me,the old man,poppa,pops,gramps.grumpy,grandpus,old geezer,and hey you.!!.
Been there and done that and making it work is my motto, along with,get the hell outta the way and why don't you go to your mamma's place.!! or don't I hear your mamma calling,you,"oh,fuck-head dinner's ready".?.
*sorry,I forgot to put in a disclaimer that certain language may and will be used to only make certain its not mis-understood, understand?. Confusing,??,wait until you get here,all that doubt will be removed,trust me.!!.
Ok,so,if I made some sense,yahoo and ifin I didn't,I don't care, because judging by the look on your face,you are part of the problem and there is no solution for you other than to donate yourself to a museum.!!
Amen.
Showing posts with label stay younger longer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stay younger longer. Show all posts
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Summer time at the Lake Cottage
Hi Joe:
Well, its raining here, so no outside work. I want to continue about the cottage and what it was like with all the people there that made this place special in its glory days. This is my supposition of the Families.
The main purpose of the cottage was for Family time and to relax from the city or town and enjoy a simpler time as the Families were growing up and struggling with the day to day life. This was a place where the rules could be relaxed and everyone could explore who they were.
Parents of course were still watchful over the kids but it was the aunts and uncles that didn’t hassle them over certain rules. They in fact would encourage the youngsters to do their own thing within reason and still have fun.
This would make your Uncle or Aunt a person to admire more so than Mom and Dad. These people were laid back already because of there nature and the quiet calm and wisdom they had rubbed off on their nieces and nephews. Having said that, they also had a lighthearted side and that’s what was the most fun when they all played games of tag, hide n seek or duck, duck, goose, within limits.
These relatives would instruct the kids on the proper pronouncement of certain words read to them from the paper or magazine as they explored new ways to improve their minds and outlooks on life. These words will stick with them as they brag about “listen to what I can say” and do you know what it means?.
And now the ipads and iphones are the replacements tools the adults use to teach the kids and the kids also can teach the adults as they are more in tune with the technology used in schools. Reading in the bathroom is going to take a new dimension., not the same??, Or different.?. these models even have a piano and guitar programs on them and the kids can play them very well.
Before the advent of hand held electronic games I could imagine that reading out loud, coloring books and looking thru magazines or Sears catalogues was the way to pass time in the evening. They would have their snacks and washed up and now some quiet time before bed to settle them down.
This was a time where the family would bond on a personal level as each child would rotate around the relatives and say their good nights and review that special moment that was fresh in their minds. Hugs and kisses and then off to bed.
Once the kids were in bed the parents would play cards or read or just talk about the events of the day and their own world. The quiet chatter and laughter would drift to the bedrooms of the kids and give them a sense of comfort as the sandman came to put them to sleep. Sometimes the critters of the night might interrupt the sleep but only a short time.
Morning was another adventure waiting to happen as everyone slowly awoke from the sleep and began to go about getting food for the Family. Mom would start the kettle and Dad started the coffee in his usual manner and soon the smells of the breakfast was drifting around and waking the rest of the Family up.
The feeding was in stages as the kids were fed first and then the adults would filter in the empty spots or wait in the rec room for a turn. The kids would get dressed and the younger ones would dawdle in pjs for a while until someone would help them. And soon its time for them to go outside and play.
The day was spent swimming, playing in the fields and forests and getting back in time for a quick snack or lunch and then going away again to continue. The smaller of the kids would have a afternoon nap and the afternoon would laze away into evening. Suppers were the same, kids first and then the adults.
After the dishes were done it was a walk down to the shore and watch the big old sun set into the water ending another perfect day of bliss. The kids were given a quick bath and into their pjs again and the evening would slowly dwindle to bed time for the kids.
This was a wonderful time for all and it was sad to see the aunts and uncles pack up and leave, but the next day more relatives would show up and it all begin again. Summer time at the Lake just never ceases to amaze and revitalize people with a short visit. Time, well spent.
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| Cheese,........its coool!! |
Saturday, October 17, 2009
DOG spelled backwards is GOD
This was sent to me thru e-mail from the sister-in-law and I get misty eyed every time I read it. It seems like a true story and the word DOG spelled backwards is: GOD. I want to share it with you; for your soul and peace of mind, it sure is a real great story.
Watch out!
You nearly broadsided that car!' My father yelled at me. 'Can't you do anything right?' Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn’t prepared for another 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. 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 and 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. 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 to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In, vain. 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, and 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, and 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 that 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 article.
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. Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly, and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.
But do share this with someone.. Lost time can never be found
Watch out!
You nearly broadsided that car!' My father yelled at me. 'Can't you do anything right?' Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn’t prepared for another 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. 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 and 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. 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 to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In, vain. 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, and 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, and 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 that 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 article.
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. Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly, and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.
But do share this with someone.. Lost time can never be found
Monday, August 10, 2009
Perpetual Youth,are you interested?
Love & enjoy your children & grandchildren & great-grandchildren. It's the best investment you'll ever make.
Perpetual youth:
Please read this next line carefully, it can change your life forever!
And for those of you whom want perpetual youth, you can raise them as well. Yes, raise your grandchildren. It seems the thing to do, your natural born children throw in the towel and leave a marriage and it’s the parents (a.k.a.) grandparents are left to clean the mess….again. Includes, the children and the pets and maybe, one of the parents of the kids.
Why, is it that your kids will listen to complete strangers for advice and never seem to heed your sensible words? It’s the nature of the beast and guess, what its old as time it’s self, everybody thinks their shit don’t stink and who listens to old folks anyway?(the meatheads).
Perpetual youth:
Please read this next line carefully, it can change your life forever!
And for those of you whom want perpetual youth, you can raise them as well. Yes, raise your grandchildren. It seems the thing to do, your natural born children throw in the towel and leave a marriage and it’s the parents (a.k.a.) grandparents are left to clean the mess….again. Includes, the children and the pets and maybe, one of the parents of the kids.
Why, is it that your kids will listen to complete strangers for advice and never seem to heed your sensible words? It’s the nature of the beast and guess, what its old as time it’s self, everybody thinks their shit don’t stink and who listens to old folks anyway?(the meatheads).
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