IT IS OVER

I MADE IT----I blogged for one month straight---YES—I am so proud of myself—it has been two years since I have done that—and I am celebrating my victory!!!!

I am really glad I did it---just to see if I could start and finish something—that seems to be a task I always have to work hard at.
Anyway----This weekend we are going to put up the lights on the big window—but as promised –here is an instagram pic of our Xmas Tree…

Truly it looks so much better in person but I like how the lights are sparkled in this pic.
Well I don’t know if I mentioned this—but Allen and my daughter were in an accident  a couple of months ago. A college student ran a red light and hit them broadside at 50 miles an hour…Allen hit his head—but my daughter’s neck and back got “wrenched” (for lack of a better term)…well she has been going to physical therapy and it turns out that now they suspect she has more then one herniated discs…SO NOT GOOD…She gets on her feet for more then 5 minutes and cries in pain…so if the MRI confirms this—she will be getting a lawyer…because then other more serious treatments will be needed. It is funny how the mother of the driver that hit them sent her son to Puerto Rico to live (he was in college here). Unbelievable!!! So tonight she is a bit bummed out—I feel so bad for her.

Allen went hog hunting tonight (just absolutely disgusting) but he loves to hunt—so hopefully he will at least have some fun!!

Again I had a BLAST blogging for a month in the NABLOPOMO challenge…
Until Next Time …. PEACE!!!

CRANKY OLD MAN

This is another inspirational story that was sent to me and I wanted to share---it really touched my heart!!

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, They found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.
One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.
And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.
Cranky Old Man
What do you see nurses? . . .. . .What do you see?
What are you thinking .. . When you're looking at me?
A cranky old man, . . . . . .not very wise,
Uncertain of habit .. . . . . . . .. With faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food .. . ... . . And makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . .'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice . . .the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . .. . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . ... Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . .The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking?. .Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse .you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am . . . . .. As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, .. . . . As I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten . .with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .. . . .. . Who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen . . . .. With wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now . . .. . . A lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . ..my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . . .I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . .. . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . .. With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone,
But my woman is beside me . . To see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, .. ...Babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . . My wife is now dead.
I look at the future ... . . . . I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing .. . . Young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . And the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man . . . . . . .. And nature is cruel.
It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . Look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles .. .. . Grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . . . Where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass . A young man still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . My battered heart swells
I remember the joys . . . . .. . I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living . . . . . . . Life over again.
I think of the years, all too few . . .. Gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . That nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people .. . . . .. . . Open and see.
Not a cranky old man .
Look closer . . . . See .. .. . .. .... . ME!!
Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there, too!
(originally by Phyllis McCormack; adapted by Dave Griffith)

Until Tomorrow ….. PEACE!!!

JUST SHARING

Today we put up our Christmas Tree—We only have a four foot tree because all the kids are grown up—well—we redid all the lights on it, the lights are all white – two sets—one stays on constant and the other flashes… and we bought new bulbs for it in red and silver—Hopefully I can upload a pic of it by tomorrow… We all really like it and the way it came out. Tomorrow hopefully we will get lights around the big window in the room we spend the most time in (computer room) it is also the biggest window on the front of the house…so we are excited!!!

So all of my Christmas shopping is done---I did A LOT of mine online from Friday to Monday—found what I wanted for everyone—so I am pretty happy. We still have to make a Christmas box for our son in Afghan—some fun food and treats to keep him happy.

I hope your Christmas decorating and gift buying goes smoothly…Tis The Season To Give!!!

Until Tomorrow …. PEACE!!!

SHAY

I am on a roll ….here is another inspirational story I thought you all might like---I love stories that just tug at the heart..enjoy!!!

SHAY

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves learning disabled children, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question: "When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is the natural order of things in my son?"

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued. "I believe that when a child like Shay, physically and mentally handicapped comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes, in the way other people treat that child." Then he related the following story:

Shay and his father had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, "Do you think they will let me play?" Shay's father knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but the father also understood that if his son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

Shay's father approached one of the boys on the field and asked if Shay could play, not expecting much. The boy looked around for guidance and said, "We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning."

Shay struggled over to the team's bench and put on a team shirt with a broad smile and his father had a small tear in his eye and warmth in his heart.

The boys saw the father's joy at his son being accepted. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three in the top of the ninth inning. Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his father waved to him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was impossible 'cause Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less contact with the ball. However, as Shay stepped to the plate, the pitcher recognizing the other team putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, move in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so that Shay could at least be able to make contact. The first pitch came and Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher. The game would now be over, but the pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game. Instead, the pitcher threw the ball over the head of the first baseman, out of reach of all team mates. Everyone from the stands and both team started yelling, "Shay, run to first! Run to first!" Never in his life had Shay ever run that far but made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled. Everyone yelled, "Run to second, run to second!"

Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to second base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball, the smallest guy on the their team, who had a chance to be the hero for his team for the first time. He could have thrown the ball to the second baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions and he too intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head. Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.

All we screaming, "Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay"&nb sp; Shay reached third base, the opposing shortstop ran to help him and turned him the direction of third base, and shouted, "Run to third! Shay, run to third," As shay rounded third, the boys from both teams and those watching were on their feed screaming, "Shay, run home! Shay run to home" Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the here who hit the grand slam. He had won the game for his team!

That day, said the father softly with tears rolling down his face, the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world.

Shay didn't make it to another summer and died that winter having never forgotten being the hero and making his father so happy and coming home and seeing his mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day.

A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it's least fortunate amongst them.

Until Tomorrow …… PEACE!!!!

THE FOLDED NAPKIN

 

Another Inspirational Story Just To Make You Feel Good!!!

I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be a

Good, reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my customers would react to Stevie. He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Downs Syndrome.
I wasn't worried about most of my trucker customers because truckers don't generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade. The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded "truck stop germ" the pairs of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks.
I shouldn't have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop mascot. After that, I really didn't care what the rest of the customers thought of him. He was like a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table.
Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met.
Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home. That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work.
He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Downs Syndrome often have heart problems at an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.
A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery, and doing fine. Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news. Bell Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table. Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Belle Ringer a withering look.
He grinned. "OK, Frannie, what was that all about?" he asked.
"We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay."
"I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?"
Frannie quickly told Bell Ringer and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie's surgery, then sighed: "Yeah, I'm glad he is going to be OK," she said. "But I don't know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is." Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables.
Since I hadn't had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn't want to replace him, the girls were busing their own tables that day until we decided what to do. After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face.
"What's up?" I asked.
"I didn't get that table where Bell Ringer and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and Tony Tipper were sitting there when I got back to clean it off," she said. "This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup."
She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed "Something For Stevie.
Pony Pete asked me what that was all about," she said, "so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this." She handed me another paper napkin that had "Something For Stevie" scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds.
Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply: "truckers."
That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work. His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy.
I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back. Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting.
"Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast," I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. "Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate you coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!"
I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room. I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins.
"First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess," I said. I tried to sound stern. Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had "Something for Stevie" printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table.
Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I turned to his mother.
"There's more than $10,000 in cash and checks on table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. "Happy Thanksgiving,"
Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well. But you know what's funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table. Best worker I ever hired.

**Until Tomorrow ….. Peace**

LEAVING GREAT LEGACIES

I thought I would share a lil inspirational story to just make you feel good…with the holidays approaching – it is easy to get the blues—so hopefully this puts a smile on your face!!

LEAVING GREAT LEGACIES
Edwin Hubbel Chapin once said, "Every action of our lives touches on
Some chord that will vibrate in eternity." That is the definition of a
Legacy. Wouldn't you love to do something that might strike a
Beautiful chord that will "vibrate in eternity"?
I've discovered something about legacies…generous people leave great
Legacies. I read about a couple in Canada who stopped to help a
Motorist who had run out of gasoline. It was a regular occurrence in
Their part of rural Canada. After they got him on his way, they bought
A new fuel can, scratched their initials on it, filled it with petrol
And stored it in the trunk of their car.
A few months later they again stopped to assist a stranded motorist.
But this time they GAVE him their gas can and told him to fill it up,
Keep it with him and pass it along to the next motorist he sees who
Has run out of fuel.
Though they never expected to see their can again, in a couple of
Years they spotted it being passed along to a grateful motorist on the
Road. They recognized it several more times over the years, and each
Time they asked its owner where it had come from. They ascertained
That the can had traveled across the continent at least two times!
They never intended to leave a legacy. When they bought the fuel can
They never dreamed that their action might strike chords that could
Vibrate in eternity. But that container may still be traveling around
The country!
And it might not seem like a big thing, but many motorists have been
Saved by the generosity of complete strangers who stop to help. Then
Each in turn has taken the container, re-filled it, and diligently
Looked, perhaps for days or weeks, for an opportunity to pass it
Along. Good will generated by a humble can of fuel has no doubt
Been multiplied many times in countless ways, striking beautiful
Chords that vibrate forever.
It's true - generous people leave great legacies. Even that small
Piece of yourself you generously give away may thrive in surprising
Ways throughout eternity.

**Until Tomorrow ….. PEACE**

HOLIDAY TIMES

I know that the holidays can make people more stressed out – Some times I think I am there also…. I have found that in those times—I just forget to be HAPPY—with just my life…It is all too easy to forget the meaning behind all the holidays – well I came upon this lil inspirational graphic and thought I would pass it along..

Okay---today there are some HUGE college football rivalries--
The one closest to my heart is Florida State Seminoles VS University of Florida Gators…So All I have to say is
GO GATORSSSSSSS!!!!

”Florida By Birth – Gator By The Grace Of God”
Until Tomorrow…PEACE!!