This page will accept submissions from the members. If you wish to share with your fellow members a piece of practical advice, a story or poem you have written, a review of a book you found interesting or a film you have enjoyed, or perhaps a joke you have come across - this is the page for you. All submissions will be considered but the webmaster reserves "editorial prerogative" as to posting the material. Submissions should be suitable for a public site and, wherever possible provided as an email attachment. If you don’t have the email address of the webmaster, call Ron Smith using the telephone number shown on the membership list. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> New from the pen of Michael Hanson Woman Š. is a mosaic of thousands of
pieces consisting of emotions, desires, hormones and attitudes which are
scattered every night to provide an entirely new pattern every
morning.
She can produce school meals, find missing socks, answer the
telephone and change a stained shirt all before the school bus
arrives.
She can save five dollars on the day's food shopping and not
turn a hair at the price of a new pair of shoes.
She can calm the fears
of an anxious husband waiting for a work assessment and become a hands on hips
termagant over some perceived indiscretion.
She can fail to hear some
neglected housework reminder but hear a baby turning in a cot two rooms
away.
She can endure prolonged pain without complaint but cannot be
consoled at the loss of a household pet.
Love her, respect her in all her
different forms and remember the promise Š for richer for poorer Š in sickness and
in health Š always till death do you part. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Pet Notice (Submitted by Ellen VanDusen as taken from her frig door)
FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE PETS, THIS IS A
TRUE STORY.
FOR THOSE THAT DON'T, IT’S ALSO A TRUE
STORY.
The following was found posted very low on
a refrigerator door.
Dear Dogs and Cats: The dishes on the floor with the
paw prints are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and
contain my food. Placing a paw print in the middle of my plate does not mean
that is suddenly your food, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the
slightest.
The stairway was not designed by NASCAR
and is not a racetrack. Racing me to the top of the stairs is not the object.
Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can
run.
I cannot buy anything bigger than a king
sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on
the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball
when they sleep. It Is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other,
stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails
straight out and having tongues hanging out on the other end to maximize space
that you are taking up, is nothing but sarcasm.
For the last time, there
is no secret exit from the bathroom! If, by some miracle, I
beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw,
whine, meow, try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge in an attempt
to open the door. I must exit through the same door I entered. Also, I have been
using the bathroom for years - canine/feline attendance is not
required.
The proper order for kissing is: Kiss me
first, then go smell the other dog or cat's butt. I cannot stress this
enough.
Finally, in fairness, dear pets, I have
posted the following message on the front door:
TO ALL NON-PET OWNERS WHO VISIT AND
COMPLAIN
(1) They live here....you don't.
(2) If you don't want their hair on your
clothes, stay off the furniture.
That's why they call it
“fur”-niture.
(3) I like my pets a lot better than I
like most people.
(4) To you, they are animals. To me, they
are adopted sons/daughters who are short, hairy, walk on all fours and don't
speak clearly.
Remember, dogs and cats are better than kids because
they:
(1) eat less,
(2) don't ask for money all the
time,
(3) are easier to train,
(4) normally come when
called,
(5) never ask to drive the
car,
(6) don't hang out with drug-using
people;
(7) don't smoke or
drink,
(8) don't want to wear your
clothes,
(9) don't have to buy the latest
fashions,
(10) don't need a gazillion dollars for
college and
(11) if they get pregnant, you can sell
their
children.....
|
-
We hear from John Little with a Christmas thought The
stockings may be hung with care
But
people are still scurrying here and there.
Presents
are hidden until tonight
For
finding tomorrow at dawns early light.
And
later tomorrow after four at least
We'll sit together, oh what a feast!
But what of
those who may be alone
It's never too late to pick up the phone.
It's
never too late to give a greeting
And perhaps create a moment, however
fleeting.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> A timely poem from the pen of Michael Hanson
THE
SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS
It
was Christmas Eve in the workshop
and the elves were still working quite hard,
when the foreman came in stamping snow off his boots
letting in freezing air from the yard.
"Hey shut the door boss" the elves shouted in protest
"it's cold enough in here as it is,
we can't pack our parcels without some more heating,
it's just above freezing at best."
He said, "I don't know if we will be making the trip,
if it will even get off the ground,
for I've been through the house, the barn and the yard
and Santa's nowhere to be found."
The
foreman continued, "The reindeer are all raring to go
and
I've really polished the sled,
but all our work may go for naught,
and the children be so disappointed."
Then one of the elves said "Mrs. Claus is the key
she knows where he is I'll bet,
she has wanted old Nick to retire for some years,
I will get her to tell, don't fret."
"How can you do that," said the elves in a chorus,
the foreman added his doubts as well,
said the elf "You've forgotten the Spirit of Christmas"
and began the rhyme to tell.
"Nothing was stirring, I think you remember
and the house was as quiet as could be,
not even a small furry creature
who might wake up and save Christmas for me."
So one of his friends surrendered his pet
and the elf put it with care in his sleeve.
Off he went to see Mrs. Claus
to find Santa and get him to leave.
Mrs. Claus was quite firm when asked about Santa
and his location she would not disclose,
till she saw a small shape by the elf's small feet,
and it sat up and wrinkled it's nose.
With a scream of sheer terror she leapt on a chair
"Oh, help me, I'll do anything."
The price of the rescue you will probably guess,
Santa ready to start travelling.
All presents delivered, happiness, joy,
children's laughter from every house,
but at night when all's quiet,
you might hear some chuckling,
listen carefully ........ it might be a mouse!
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
THIS CAME IN FROM THE FLETCHERS; HOPE YOU ENJOY IT AS MUCH AS I DID (Webmaster) This is a story of an aging couple told by their son who was President of
NBC NEWS.
>
> This is a wonderful piece by Michael
Gartner, editor of newspapers large and small and president of NBC News. In
1997, he won the Pulitzer Prize for editorial writing. It is well worth reading,
and a few good chuckles are guaranteed.
> Here
goes...
>
> My father never drove a car. Well,
that's not quite right. I should say I never saw him drive a car.
>
> He quit driving in 1927, when he was 25 years old, and
the last car he drove was a 1926 Whippet.
>
> "In
those days," he told me when he was in his 90s, "to drive a car you had to do
things with your hands, and do things with your feet, and look every which way,
and I decided you could walk through life and enjoy it or drive through life and
miss it."
>
> At which point my mother, a sometimes
salty Irishwoman, chimed in:
> "Oh, baloney!" she said.
"He hit a horse."
>
> "Well," my father said,
"there was that, too."
>
> So my brother and I grew
up in a household without a car. The neighbors all had cars -- the Kollingses
next door had a green 1941 Dodge, the VanLaninghams across the street a gray
1936 Plymouth, the Hopsons two doors down a black 1941 Ford -- but we had
none.
>
> My father, a newspaperman in Des Moines,
would take the streetcar to work and, often as not, walk the 3 miles home. If he
took the streetcar home, my mother and brother and I would walk the three blocks
to the streetcar stop, meet him and walk home together.
>
> My brother, David, was born in 1935, and I was born in
1938, and sometimes, at dinner, we'd ask how come all the neighbors had cars but
we had none. "No one in the family drives," my mother would explain, and that
was that.
>
> But, sometimes, my father would say,
"But as soon as one of you boys turns 16, we'll get one." It was as if he wasn't
sure which one of us would turn 16 first.
>
> But,
sure enough , my brother turned 16 before I did, so in 1951 my parents bought a
used 1950 Chevrolet from a friend who ran the parts department at a Chevy
dealership downtown.
>
> It was a four-door, white
model, stick shift, fender skirts, loaded with everything, and, since my parents
didn't drive, it more or less became my brother's car.
>
> Having a car but not being able to drive didn't bother
my father, but it didn't make sense to my mother.
>
> So in 1952, when she was 43 years old, she asked a
friend to teach her to drive. She learned in a nearby cemetery, the place where
I learned to drive the following year and where, a generation later, I took my
two sons to practice driving. The cemetery probably was my father's idea. "Who
can your mother hurt in the cemetery?" I remember him saying more than
once.
>
> For the next 45 years or so, until she
was 90, my mother was the driver in the family. Neither she nor my father had
any sense of direction, but he loaded up on maps -- though they seldom left the
city limits -- and appointed himself navigator. It seemed to work.
>
> Still, they both continued to walk a lot. My mother was
a devout Catholic, and my father an equally devout agnostic, an arrangement that
didn't seem to bother either of them through their 75 years of marriage.
>
> (Yes, 75 years, and they were deeply in love the entire
time.)
>
> He retired when he was 70, and nearly
every morning for the next 20 years or so, he would walk with her the mile to
St. Augustin's Church.
> She would walk down and sit in
the front pew, and he would wait in the back until he saw which of the parish's
two priests was on duty that morning. If it was the pastor, my father then would
go out and take a 2-mile walk, meeting my mother at the end of the service and
walking her home.
>
> If it was the assistant
pastor, he'd take just a 1-mile walk and then head back to the church. He called
the priests "Father Fast" and "Father Slow."
>
>
After he retired, my father almost always accompanied my mother whenever she
drove anywhere, even if he had no reason to go along. If she were going to the
beauty parlor, he'd sit in the car and read, or go take a stroll or, if it was
summer, have her keep the engine running so he could listen to the Cubs game on
the radio. In the evening, then, when I'd stop by, he'd explain: "The Cubs lost
again. The millionaire on second base made a bad throw to the millionaire on
first base, so the multimillionaire on third base scored."
>
> If she were going to the grocery store, he would go
along to carry the bags out -- and to make sure she loaded up on ice cream. As I
said, he was always the navigator, and once, when he was 95 and she was 88 and
still driving, he said to me, "Do you want to know the secret of a long
life?"
>
> "I guess so," I said, knowing it
probably would be something bizarre.
>
> "No left
turns," he said.
>
> "What?" I asked.
>
> "No left turns," he repeated. "Several years ago, your
mother and I read an article that said most accidents that old people are in
happen when they turn left in front of oncoming traffic.
>
> As you get older, your eyesight worsens, and you can
lose your depth perception, it said. So your mother and I decided never again to
make a left turn."
>
> "What?" I said
again.
>
> "No left turns," he said. "Think about
it. Three rights are the same as a left, and that's a lot safer. So we always
make three rights."
>
> "You're kidding!" I said,
and I turned to my mother for support.
> "No," she said,
"your father is right. We make three rights. It works."
>
But then she added: "Except when your father loses count."
>
> I was driving at the time, and I almost drove off the
road as I started laughing.
>
> "Loses count?" I
asked.
>
> "Yes," my father admitted, "that
sometimes happens. But it's not a problem. You just make seven rights, and
you're okay again."
>
> I couldn't resist. "Do you
ever go for 11?" I asked.
>
> "No," he said " If we
miss it at seven, we just come home and call it a bad day. Besides, nothing in
life is so important it can't be put off another day or another
week."
> My mother was never in an accident, but one
evening she handed me her car keys and said she had decided to quit driving.
That was in 1999, when she was 90.
>
> She lived
four more years, until 2003. My father died the next year, at 102.
>
> They both died in the bungalow they had moved into in
1937 and bought a few years later for $3,000. (Sixty years later, my brother and
I paid $8,000 to have a shower put in the tiny bathroom -- the house had never
had one. My father would have died then and there if he knew the shower cost
nearly three times what he paid for the house.)
>
>
He continued to walk daily -- he had me get him a treadmill when he was 101
because he was afraid he'd fall on the icy sidewalks but wanted to keep
exercising -- and he was of sound mind and sound body until the moment he
died.
>
> One September afternoon in 2004, he and
my son went with me when I had to give a talk in a neighboring town, and it was
clear to all three of us that he was wearing out, though we had the usual
wide-ranging conversation about politics and newspapers and things in the
news.
>
> A few weeks earlier, he had told my son,
"You know, Mike, the first hundred years are a lot easier than the second
hundred." At one point in our drive that Saturday, he said, "You know, I'm
probably not going to live much longer."
>
>
"You're probably right," I said.
>
> "Why would you
say that?" He countered, somewhat irritated.
>
>
"Because you're 102 years old," I said..
>
> "Yes,"
he said, "you're right." He stayed in bed all the next day.
>
> That night, I suggested to my son and daughter that we
sit up with him through the night.
>
> He
appreciated it, he said, though at one point, apparently seeing us look gloomy,
he said:
> "I would like to make an announcement. No one
in this room is dead yet."
>
> An hour or so later,
he spoke his last words:
>
> "I want you to know,"
he said, clearly and lucidly, "that I am in no pain. I am very comfortable. And
I have had as happy a life as anyone on this earth could ever have."
>
> A short time later, he died.
>
> I miss him a lot, and I think about him a lot. I've
wondered now and then how it was that my family and I were so lucky that he
lived so long..
>
> I can't figure out if it was
because he walked through life,
> Or because he quit
taking left turns. "
>
> Life is too short to wake
up with regrets.
>
> So love the people who treat
you right.
>
> Forget about the one's who don't.
>
> Believe everything happens for a reason.
>
> If you get a chance, take it & if it
changes your life, let it.
>
> Nobody said life
would be easy, they just promised it would most likely be worth it."
>
> ENJOY LIFE NOW - IT HAS AN EXPIRATION DATE!
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
\ LEST WE FORGET.
Slowly they come...marching
steadily..their eyes fixed forward on a day they
summon all their waning strength to take part
in.
A handful now, forcing ailing
bodies to march erect to show their pride
and respect. Here and there a badge or regimental
crest to show where they served.
The onlookers fall silent and
children still their chatter feeling the deep sentiment
created by the marching figures.
The cenotaph in the centre of
the City is ringed by dignitaries and small military
units and the procession of wreath bearers begins,
the veterans seated now among their
old comrades in wheelchairs.
They watch the growing pile
of tributes...but do not see them. Instead they see
a fiery tumbling shape falling from the bomber
stream to become the funeral pyre of
friends they had joked with only hours before. The
spiteful crack of a rifle which killed the
man beside them. A proud destroyer cut in half by a
torpedo from an unseen foe leaving
men struggling and drowning in the icy waters.
Each has indelible memories
of those youthful faces and cheerful voices which
were silenced long ago. The wars often caused by
religious intolerance or political
expediency.
The traffic stilled and the
prayers now done.....a canon sounds to begin the
silence designed to prevent future conflict.
The notes of a bugle sound
clear, climbing the scale in the tribute the veterans
know so well and there are now unashamed tears on
many faces.
Many turn their thoughts to
happier things but the old survivors wonder how
will be left to march next year and keep faith with
those who live forever in their minds
until they themselves are gone.
Michael Hanson.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Having a few too many in
BC
It
is not as important that my story be told as it is that the consequences be
known. I am a first time offender for a 90 day suspension for drinking and
driving. The new breathalysers are pass, warn and fail. I, unfortunately,
failed. The officer was kind enough to let me wait in his car for the cab as
the tow truck took my vehicle away. The cab driver took me home (if only I had
just waited for him in the first place). The consequences reach far past that
night.
BC has one of the
toughest drinking driving laws in Canada,
and I found out first hand. As a first time offenders I immediately lose my
vehicle, I was polite and cooperative and I was allowed to take a cab home, if
not I wouldn’t even want to consider the consequences. Now the fun really
begins. First I have no transportation and I have to explain to everyone that I
have lost my licence. I was not yet fully aware of the
consequences.
When I
actually read my tickets and realized I have to pay towing and storage fees for
30 days, for me that was $626. I was fortunate enough that I called in advance
and found out that on the day that I have to reclaim my vehicle I would have to
go to the Licensing office and have them fax a release to ICBC (our monopoly for
car insurance in BC) who then must fax it to the towing office. If you are
lucky enough to have this actually work the first time you then have to contact
the towing company to have the vehicle released and in this area they only seem
to take cash. Not to mention that you need two other people in order to pick it
up as you can’t drive.
The
next thing that happens is that I received a letter that informed me that I must
go to a meeting with a councillor who will determine which course on driving I
must take. This course costs approximately $985. I had to be enrolled in this
course before the end of the 90 days to apply for my
licence.
But wait, it is
not over yet. Now I have the ignition inhibitor installed in ANY vehicle that I
drive. This lovely contraption costs another approximately $700 to have
installed, locally it can be done in Nanaimo at the Fountain
Tire. This also had to be installed before I can even apply to get my licence
back.
So now I am thinking, ok
well at least now I can get my licence, but let’s not forget the $500 fine that
came with the ticket, then of course I must apply to get my licence back which
is a $250 fee and the additional $31 licence fee. Wow, that is another $781 but
at least will I have my licence back.
Now that I have done all of this I can now drive. So
now I must blow into this every time I want to start my vehicle and, even more
fun, it may request a breath in the middle of a drive. I must pull over within
3 minutes or the horn starts honking. If I fail or fail not comply, it is a
violation. This machine has to be monitored monthly at a cost of $105 per month
for the next year and you have to at least go to Nanaimo every other
month to have it done. If I have bad readings, or violations, or any other
issues, then they can extend the requirement until they are satisfied.
I have not yet had the
pleasure of the course but I am anxiously awaiting that phone
call.
So now I am enjoying
the pleasure and PRIVILAGE of driving again. All in all my night out cost me
over $5,000 between the cabs, courses and other requirements, and it is my first
offence. I know that I am still lucky because the consequence could have been
much worst but I would like to think if I had known all of this I would have
thought twice about getting behind the wheel. I know most of my family,
friends, co-workers and even complete strangers are learning a lesson from my
mistake. I hope by reading this you will too. Sent to us by Eric Fowler but not as a personal experience. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Married Bliss
Is there such a
thing as married bliss
Before you decide.....consider
this.
Once a man, called Randall
Fife
thought he had found the perfect wife
but her languid smile and sex appeal
concealed
beneath, her will of steel
Disdaining tasks with mop
or duster
soon meant their house had lost its
lustre
and talk of a family became de
rigeur
as it would cause a loss of
figure
One night of incautious
drinking
saw her consent with little
thinking
to a session of unbridled
passion
which Randall joined in reckless
fashion
Then later he, with iciness
learned
just what their carelessness had
earned
The pregnancy then took its course
with frequent comments of remorse,
A decreasing
level of exuberance
matched her increasing
protruberance
Her infant preference was for
girls
with pretty dresses and lots of curls,
where Randall thought a son and heir
to share his
interests would be fair
Randall conceded he would
find
if the child was healthy he wouldn't
mind.
As the day approached there were false
alarms
and pregnancy had lost its charms
until finally claiming she was certain,
in hospital
they closed the curtain.
It left Randall caught
between hope and fear
contributing he thought by being
near.
For what now seemed eternity
he
prayed she would like maternity
So when at last he
was firmly led
to a tired wife propped up in
bed.
She held out her hand with a weary
smile
which he then kissed in old world
style
and she then said.........
Neither of us was really right
For
there's no need to fight.
There's a girl to dress and a boy
to teach,
because we now have one of
each.
Michael Hanson. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> In the picture below, we will
analyze what it represents to some groups of people.
Read the review after
the photo...
- For young men, it's a nice figure. The really
observant will see the thong.
- For older men, it is a respectable woman
with a nice figure crossing the street.
- The perverts will imagine her as a
naked woman.
- The wise men will ponder the presence of mind of the
photographer in the face of such beauty and gratitude that it was shared with
humanity.
- For half of the women, this is an ordinary woman who should not
have left home dressed that way.
- The other half is wondering where she
bought that blouse.
- The wise women imagine the misery that this will be
at 50.
- Children, the curious, and monks will probably notice a dog driving
the taxi..
Don't be alarmed, I didn't see the dog either. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
OH, NO - NOT ANOTHER JOKE ABOUT FEMALE DRIVERS! >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> A Police STOP at
2 AM
An elderly man is stopped by the
police around 2 a.m. and is asked where he is going at this time of
night.
The man replies, "I am on my way to a lecture about
alcohol abuse and the effects it has on the human body, as well as smoking and
staying out late."
The officer then asks, "Really? Who is giving that
lecture at this time of night?"
The man replies, "That would be my
wife." >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
JOHN LITTLE SENDS US THESE 
PRAIRIE STORM
All that morning twas sunny and warm
Then a black line appeared in the sky, far west of the farm
After lunch things seemed to change
A storm was brewing beyond our range.
The clouds mounted higher and higher
Thunder could be heard as the storm drew
nigher
The sky turned blacker and even blacker
There was a flash and a bang like an
exploding firecracker.
A wind caressed our upturned faces
Then screamed across the open places
It
tore at the trees and whipped the lake
The old house gave a shuddering shake
We searched In the clouds of black
We looked for a tail along the storm’s track
The black clouds sank lower and lower
The dogs and cats found places to cower
A tremendous bolt lanced down to the ground
Our
ears were deafened by exploding sound
The bolt it shivered and shook for seconds
or more
Then rain arrived in a fearsome downpour
The threat of a funnel cloud was already past
The fear was gone like that horrendous
blast
The pouring rain will stay all night
But birds will sing at mornings light. (I did this one after a tremendous storm we had in Sask
in July)
Mountain Fires
I
wasn’t here when the hills were burned
Snags
were thick, bare ground was spurned
Until
grass then brush and mountain ash
Grew
quickly , a green toned spreading rash
Then
seedling pines, firs and spruce
Soon
covered the hills a home for moose
A
quarter century past from when I wasn’t there
The
hills are recovered – no longer bare.
But
across the valley, after I had come and left
Fire
razed the mountain, no trees, a land bereft
But
strange is nature’s ways
For
the mountain’s beauty is a thing to praise.
Two
more highlands surround the bowl
Is
their future to be burnt, a blackened coal
Or
instead will those who are left to tend
Safeguard
those hills to the very end?
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The
children had all been photographed, and the teacher was trying to persuade them
each to buy a copy of the group picture.
'Just think how nice it will be
to look at it when you are all grown up and say, 'There's Jennifer, she's a
lawyer,' or 'That's Michael, He's a doctor.'
A small voice at the back
of the room rang out, 'And there's the teacher , she's
dead.' >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> SECONDS BEFORE DEATH . . . CHILLING!
WARNING!
GRAPHIC BOATING PHOTO!
THIS IS A PICTURE OF A
MAN
WITH JUST SECONDS LEFT TO LIVE . . .
FRIGHTENING!
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> TWO FROM CAROLYN LEWIS A guy is driving around the back woods of Montana
and he sees a sign in front of a broken down shanty-style house: 'Talking Dog For
Sale
'He rings the bell and the owner appears and tells him the dog is in the
backyard.
The
guy goes into the backyard and sees a nice looking Labrador retriever sitting
there.
'You
talk?' he asks.
'Yep,' the Lab replies.
After the guy
recovers from the shock of hearing a dog talk, he says 'So, what's your
story?'
The
Lab looks up and says, 'Well, I discovered that I could talk when I was pretty young..
I wanted to help the government, so I told
the CIA.
In no time at all they had me jetting
from country to country, sitting
in rooms with spies and world
leaders, because no one figured a dog would be
eavesdropping.'
'I
was one of their most valuable spies for eight years
running...
But
the jetting around really tired me out, And
I knew I wasn't getting any younger so I
decided to settle down. I signed up for a job at
the airport to do some undercover security,
wandering
near suspicious characters and listening
in.
I
uncovered some incredible dealings and was awarded a batch of
medals.'
'I
got married, had a mess of puppies, and now I'm just
retired.'
The guy is amazed. He goes back in and asks
the
owner what he wants for the dog.
'Ten dollars,' the guy
says.
'Ten dollars? This dog is amazing! Why on
Earth
are you selling him so cheap?'
'Because he's a liar. He's never been out
of The
yard' >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Yesterday I went to the
doctor
For my yearly physical.
My blood pressure was
high.
My cholesterol was
high.
I'd gained some weight,
and I didn't feel so hot.
My doctor said eating right
doesn't have to be complicated
and
it would solve my physical
problems.
He said:
Just think in colors.
Fill your plate with bright colors.
Try some greens, oranges, reds,
maybe something yellow
and eat an entire bowl of
bright colors.
And Sure
Enough,
I Felt Better Immediately
!!
I never knew eating right could be so easy
!! >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> THE OLD SEAMAN
He sits.......worn
harbour stones beneath his feet,
an old stained
jersey soaking up the welcome sun.
The mooring post
an unintended seat,
now that his seagoing days are
done.
His eyes are buried in a brown and stubbled
face.
The lines and creases much like weathered
wood,
speak to years of fighting wind and
water,
alert to any danger from the ocean's spiteful
mood.
The hands bear evidence of much
abuse,
scarred, with knuckles swollen with advancing
age.
No longer can they knot or use a needle in the
nets,
mute evidence of how the sea demands its
dues.
For when
with boiling seas and cutting wind the ocean shows its fury
and
tries to punish boats and men upon its face.
With
strength, the eyes and hands must do their duty,
to provide
the seamanship required to earn survival with God's grace.
Now when the storms come roaring round the headland
and crash their waves upon the harbour wall.
His fire warms against the screaming wind
although its strength makes pictures chatter in the
hall.
To watch the birds and harbour movements
make him grateful,
to stay and feel the sea still
calling.
Till on a silvery sea supremely
peaceful,
a moontrack leads him to his final
mooring.
Michael Hanson
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> MURDER
AT WALMART (and for this you can blame Carolyn Lewis)
Tired
of constantly being broke & stuck in an unhappy marriage, a young husband
decided to solve both problems by taking out a large insurance policy on his
wife with himself as the beneficiary, and then arranging to have her killed. A
'friend of a friend' put him in touch with a nefarious dark-side underworld
figure who went by the name of 'Artie.' Artie explained to the husband that his
going price for snuffing out a spouse was $5,000.
The
husband said he was willing to pay that amount, but that he wouldn't have any
cash on hand until he could collect his wife's insurance money.
Artie
insisted on being paid at least something up front, so the man opened his
wallet, displaying the single dollar bill that rested inside. Artie sighed,
rolled his eyes, & reluctantly agreed to accept the dollar as down payment
for the dirty deed.
A
few days later, Artie followed the man's wife to the local WalMart's Supermarket
store. There, he surprised her in the produce department & proceeded to
strangle her with his gloved hands. As the poor unsuspecting woman drew her last
breath & slumped to the floor, the manager of the produce department
stumbled unexpectedly onto the murder scene. Unwilling to leave any living
witnesses behind, ol' Artie had no choice but to strangle the produce manager as
well.
However,
unknown to Artie, the entire proceedings were captured by the hidden security
cameras & observed by the store's security guard, who immediately called the
police. Artie was caught and arrested before he could even leave the store.
Under intense questioning at the police station, Artie revealed the whole sordid
plan, including his unusual financial arrangements with the hapless husband who
was also quickly arrested. The next day in the newspaper, the headline
declared...
'ARTIE
CHOKES 2 for $1.00 @ WALMART
Oh,
quit groaning! I don't write this stuff, I receive it from my warped friends and
then send it on to you. ;-) >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Puns for those with a slightly higher
IQ (from the desk of Mr and Mrs Fletcher)
>>>
>>>
>>> Those who
jump off a bridge in Paris are in
Seine.
>>>>>>
>>> A man's
home is his castle, in a manor of
speaking.
>>>
>>> Dijon vu - the same
mustard as before.
>>>
>>> Practice
safe eating - always use
condiments.
>>>
>>> Shotgun wedding - A
case of wife or death.
>>>
>>> A man
needs a mistress just to break the
monogamy.
>>>
>>> A hangover is the
wrath of grapes.
>>>
>>> Dancing
cheek-to-cheek is really a form of
floor
>>>play.
>>>
>>> Does
the name Pavlov ring a bell?
>>>
>>>
Condoms should be used on every
conceivable
>>>occasion.
>>>
>>>
Reading while sunbathing makes you well
red.
>>>
>>> When two egotists meet,
it's an I for an I.
>>>
>>> A bicycle
can't stand on its own because it is
two
>>>tired.
>>>
>>>
What's the definition of a will? (It's a dead
give
>>>away.)
>>>
>>> Time
flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a
banana.
>>>
>>> In democracy your vote
counts. In feudalism your
>>>count
votes.
>>>
>>> She was engaged to a
boyfriend with a wooden leg
>>>but broke it
off.
>>>
>>> A chicken crossing the
road is poultry in motion.
>>>
>>> If
you don't pay your exorcist, you get
repossessed
>>>
>>>
>>>
With her marriage, she got a new name and a
dress.
>>>
>>> The man who fell into an
upholstery machine is
>>>fully
recovered.
>>>
>>> You feel stuck with
your debt if you can't budge
it.
>>>
>>> Local Area Network in
Australia - the LAN
down
>>>under.
>>>
>>>
Every calendar's days are
numbered.
>>>
>>> A lot of money is
tainted - Taint yours and
taint
>>>mine.
>>>
>>> A
boiled egg in the morning is hard to
beat.
>>>
>>> He had a photographic
memory that was
never
>>>developed.
>>>
>>>
Once you've seen one shopping centre, you've seen
a
>>>mall.
>>>
>>> Bakers
trade bread recipes on a knead-to-know
basis.
>>>
>>> Santa's helpers are
subordinate clauses.
>>>
>>>
Acupuncture is a jab well done.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
UPDATE FROM THE VanDusens July 23rd JULY 15TH >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> (From the Fletchers) PARAPROSDOKIANS
|
| |
|
|
I had to look up
"paraprosdokian". Here is the definition:
"Figure of speech in which the latter part of a
sentence or phrase is surprising or unexpected; frequently used in a humorous
situation."
"Where there's a
will, I want to be in it," is a type of paraprosdokian.
1. Do not argue with an idiot. He will drag you down
to his level and beat you with experience.
2. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. But it's
still on my list.
3. Light travels
faster than sound. This is why some people appear bright until you hear them
speak.
4. If I agreed with you, we'd
both be wrong.
5. We never really
grow up, we only learn how to act in public.
6. War does not determine who is right - only who is
left.
7. Knowledge is knowing a
tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.
8. Evening news is where they begin with 'Good
Evening,' and then proceed to tell you why it isn't.
9. To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism. To
steal from many is research.
10. A
bus station is where a bus stops. A train station is where a train stops. On my
desk, I have a work station.
11. I
thought I wanted a career. Turns out I just wanted paychecks.
12. Whenever I fill out an application, in the part
that says, 'In case of emergency, notify:' I put 'DOCTOR.'
13. I didn't say it was your fault, I said I was
blaming you.
14. Women will never be
equal to men until they can walk down the street with a bald head and a beer
gut, and still think they are sexy.
15. Behind every successful man is his woman. Behind
the fall of a successful man is usually another woman.
16. A clear conscience is the sign of a fuzzy memory.
17. I asked God for a bike, but I
know God doesn't work that way. So I stole a bike and asked for forgiveness.
18. You do not need a parachute to
skydive. You only need a parachute to skydive twice.
19. Money can't buy happiness, but it sure makes
misery easier to live with.
20.
There's a fine line between cuddling and holding someone down so they can't get
away.
21. I used to be indecisive.
Now I'm not so sure.
22. You're never
too old to learn something stupid.
23. To be sure of hitting the target, shoot first and
call whatever you hit the target.
24.
Nostalgia isn't what it used to be.
25. Change is inevitable, except from a vending
machine.
26. Going to church doesn't
make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.
27. A diplomat is someone who tells
you to go to h--- in such a way that you look forward to the trip.
28. Hospitality is making your guests
feel at home even when you wish they were.
29. I always take life with a grain of salt. Plus a
slice of lemon, and a shot of tequila.
30. When tempted to fight fire with fire, remember
that the Fire Department usually uses water.
Words of Wisdom
"The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse
gets the cheese."
|
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
(from the webmaster) Once apon a time, many, many, years ago, people (mostly men) were employed by diary companies to deliver their products door to door - these men operated wagons pulled by a horse and were called "Milkmen". Customers used to leave their empty bottles (made out of glass) on their doorstep or sometimes in little closets built into their exterior wall called milkboxes for the milkman to pick up and to deposit refills. They also left little notes of instruction to these milkmen. Sometimes house wifes got into trouble with their husbands because they forgot themselves and addressed these notes; "Dear Milkman". But that's another story. This story is about a collection of some of the more funnier notes the milkman found on his route: MILKMAN > > I've just had a baby,
please leave another one.
> > Please leave an extra pint of paralysed
milk.
> > Cancel one pint after the day after
today.
> > Please don't leave any more milk. All they do is
drink it.
> > Milkman, please close the gate behind you
because
the birds keep pecking the tops off the
milk. >> Milkman, please could I have a loaf but not bread
today. >> Please cancel milk. I have nothing coming into the house but two
sons on the dole. >> Sorry not to have paid your bill before, but my wife
had a baby and I've been carrying it around in my pocket for
weeks. >>Sorry about yesterday's note. I didn't mean one egg and a
dozen pints, but the other way round. >>When you leave my milk please
knock on my bedroom window and wake me because I want you to give me a hand
to turn the mattress. >> Please knock. My TV's broken down and I missed
last night's Coronation Street. If you saw it, will you tell me what happened
over a cup of tea? >>My daughter says she wants a milkshake. Do you do it
before you deliver or do I have to shake the bottle? >> Please send me a
form for cheap milk, for I have a baby two months old and did not know about
it until a neighbour told me. >>Please send me details about cheap milk
as I am stagnant. >>Milk is needed for the baby. Father is unable to supply
it. >>From now on please leave two pints every other day and one pint on
the days in between, except Wednesdays and Saturdays when I don't want any
milk. >>My back door is open. Please put milk in 'fridge, get money out of
cup in drawer and leave change on kitchen table in pence, because we want to
play bingo tonight. >>Please leave no milk today. When I say today, I
mean tomorrow, for I wrote this note yesterday. >>When you leave the
milk please put the coal on the boiler, let dog out and put newspaper inside
the screen door. P.S. Don't leave any milk. >>No milk. Please do not
leave milk at No. 14 either as he is dead until further
notice. Imagine - having someone deliver a bottle of milk right to your door!!!!!!!! >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> GERMAINE AND GARY ASKS 4 QUESTIONS
1.
How do you put a giraffe into a refrigerator? 
Stop
and think about it and decide on your answer before you scroll
down.
The
correct answer is: Open the refrigerator, put in the giraffe, and close the
door. This question tests whether you tend to do simple things in an overly
complicated way.
2
How do you put an elephant into a refrigerator?
Did
you say, Open the refrigerator, put in the elephant, and close the
refrigerator?
Wrong Answer.
Correct Answer: Open the refrigerator,
take out the giraffe, put in the elephant and close the door. This tests your
ability to think through the repercussions of your previous
actions..
3.
The Lion King is hosting an animal conference. All the
animals
attend
.... Except one. Which animal does not attend?
Correct
Answer : The Elephant. The elephant is in the refrigerator. You just put him in
there. This tests your memory.. Okay, even if you did not answer the first three
questions correctly, you still have one more chance to show your true
abilities.
4. There is a river you must cross but
it is used by crocodiles, and
you
do not have a boat. How do you manage it?
Correct
Answer:? You jump into the river and swim across. Have you not been listening?
All the crocodiles are attending the Animal Meeting. This tests whether you
learn quickly from your mistakes.
According to Anderson Consulting
Worldwide, around 90% of the
Professionals they
tested got all questions wrong, but many preschoolers got several correct
answers. Anderson Consulting says this conclusively proves the theory that most
professionals do not have the brains of a four-year-old.
FROM THE PEN OF JOHN LITTLE Mother
Earth and Us
Grey sky above
Drizzling rain
Song birds competing
For seed and grain.
Where is the sun
Why is spring so cruel
New plants are waiting
In ground so cool.
Is the world in balance
Why do killer winds blow
Across the world
From the top to down below.
Earthquakes shaking
Tsunamis destroying
Monstrous snow storms
And heat so cloying.
Is it a cycle as some would say
Or is it the result of what we do
Polluted air
And polluted seas, each day is something
new.
We bore deep holes
We slaughter our trees
We spill thick oil
Over the land and seas.
We send poison gases
To join volcanic smoke
We change our rivers to massive lakes
Compressing the earth, what damage we evoke?
We dam our rivers
So fish can’t migrate
We kill all species
And we call it fate.
Our glaciers are dying
As each city grows
Pavement now rules
Where rainwater flows
Out here on the coast
We have a spring so cool
But last winter was warm
So rain was the rule.
Beyond the mountains
Through the interior plains
The weather was fierce
Storms abounded, there were no gains.
And now back there
Extreme heat has arrived
Floods then parched lands
The fortunate will have survived.
Disease in her arteries
Our earth is sick
Body fluids drained off
‘Neath her skin so thick.
Earth has sustained us
For millions of years
Why must we destroy her
Why have we no fears?
Perhaps a burnt cinder
Or a dead rock in space
It matters naught
For the human race
When we succeed
In killing Earth
No life or oil or water left
Not even a chance for future rebirth.
Is it too late
Can we turn it around
Or shall we be that dead rock
With no life around.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>....
PHOTO BY BOB ORCHARD (As shown on local TV)
Photo by Bob Orchard - "Daffodils dance in the sunlight along the Sidney waterfront"- published in the Peninsula News Review, 1 April 2011.
..........>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Walter MacLean found this gem in a medical lab:
LIFE
Life should not be a journey to the grave
with the intention of arriving safely
in an attractive body.
But rather
To skid in sideways, champagne in one hand
Strawberries in the other,
Body thoughly used up, Totally worn out
And screaming .........................................................................................................
Carolyn Lewis adds this little mind bender
Here is a math trick
so unbelievable that it will stump you.
Grab a calculator. (you won't be able
to do this one in your Head)
1. Key in the
first three digits of your phone number (NOT the
Area code...)
2. Multiply by 80
3. Add 1
4. Multiply by
250
5. Add to
this the last 4 digits of
your phone number
6. Add to
this the last 4 digits of
your phone number again.
7. Subtract 250
8. Divide number by
2
Do you recognize the answer ??
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
MICHAEL HANSON SENDS US THIS
WHO SHOULD I MARRY?
With the wisdom of age.....the travels you've made...
and the experience you have in that venerable head,
oh tell me kind sir, for I need your advice,
what kind of girl should I look for to wed.
That is a question that needs careful thought
and before a young man kneels to offer a ring,
remember Monday's girl will become Saturday's woman,
and all too often they are not the same thing.
I shall do my best said the Sage with a smile
but pull up a chair as it might take a while
There are Cultures where a man will look for a wife
without much thought of appearance
but child bearing ability and muscular strength
are items of the utmost importance.
Our Western Society worships beauty and form
and encourages a wife's independence.
Some take this to extremes with the conflict it means
and see children as a mere inconvenience.
There are others however who, with love and respect
are content as a mother and wife.
You must treat such a woman as a pearl beyond price
for with her you will be happy for life
So look for these qualities, be she comely or plain
and accept that her moods are her own.
For servants of the moon, all women are
and sometimes are best left alone.
Loyalty.....patience...sharing and humour
are qualities that may be in evidence
but you would soon find the most sought after thing
is her ability to use common sense.
But to help you to find her, and make the right choice,
my advice will help little I fear.
For one day some young woman will watch you and listen
to things she has wanted to hear
Your question...my answer... will prove academic...
for she will soon be your wife
The search will be over, the chooser...... the chosen
and your partner for the rest of your life.
LIFE IN THE STYX
Now is the reason that in every season,
back and forth cross the Styx we row,
for way back in time, our ancestral line,
had a character stoop very low.
In a coat of swan's feathers,
he chased after Leda,
displaying a lustful intent.
When she emerged from the waves,
he made the same pitch to Venus,
but she knew just what he meant.
He held up a mirror to poor old Medusa
and offered a comb for her hair.
Then he blew in a conch shell
and drowned out the sirens,
and they didn't think that was fair.
The screams of outrage soon reached Olympus,
where old Zeus sat in his glory.
So he had the rogue seized
and dragged up before him
to tell his side of the story.
What with Venus in tears,
Leda rending her garments,
the result was a foregone conclusion.
Zeus gave him a sentence
to spend all his days
rowing clients to a dreamless conclusion.
That my dear friends is why in all weathers,
we row back and forth all day.
For our ancestor Charon,
would not keep his pants on
and didn't believe in fair play.
MY LADY
My Lady......
rises in the morning as her mood dictates,
eating little but demanding hot anaemic tea.
Scans the paper for perceived injustice,
states her case with feminine directness,
and argues with dissenting views from me
a mistress of the fierce debate
My Lady......
gathers garden tools and sallies forth
to battle with a weed infested border,
fills a barrow with her tattered enemy's remains.
Making sure they will not live again
a horticultural perfectionist
My Lady......
Nears a clothing store and moves with unsuspected speed.
Dives between the racks without a backward glance,
making sure there is no chance,
she will be found until she wants to make a purchase
a mistress of controlled concealment
My Lady......
Fields my criticism of the classless and unmannered
taking up the cause on their behalf.
Becomes incensed if I should laugh
and lists my own shortcomings highly coloured
a see yourself as others see you advocate
My Lady......
an unintended slight or injudicious words from years ago
remembered clearly when I need an object lesson,
or required to make some deep confession,
no matter if I plead it wasn't so
superior to the pachyderm
My Lady........
so would I change one delightful trait?
or alter any of our years of married life
no!......for I am proud she is my wife
a true soul mate meant for me
for ever she will be....
My Lady.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
FROM JOHN LITTLE
FROSTY MORNING
Blue sky glinting
Seagull marching
On frosty roof tops
White clouds puffing
Small birds scratching
On ground all barren
Sunlight gleaming
Neighbor's cat huddling
On hot tub cover
Distant trees in silhouette
Majestic eagle searching
From wings on high
My window clear
Allows all these to me
From my computer chair
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
FROM JOHN LITTLE
THE WINDOW
I was waking, it was dark, misty like, greyish clouds, you know? I was in that state between sleep and waking, when something started to appear, a window? Yes, definitely a window, it became more visible and I moved closer. It was misted or clouded, I reached out and touched it, then rubbed on the single pane before me. The mist readily wiped away and I looked through and out onto a sight I could hardly believe!
There was a rocky cliff falling away to the water some thirty or forty feet below, there was a large island in the distance it looked like, no- yes it was, it was Texada Island! I looked to the left and yes, there, just showing was the entrance to the harbour, Pender Harbour, and right in front of me, only a couple of miles away, framed in the posts of our old veranda was the chain of small islands, so close but always too far!
What was this window? Why was I seeing these sights I hadn’t seen for sixty years? I pressed against the glass, yearning to see more to feel the fresh ocean air, and hear the cry of those seagulls I knew were there! I yearned, oh god, how I yearned, when suddenly the resisting glass was gone, I stood on that puckered and weathered wood, I smelt the air, I heard the birds! I stepped forward; yes, down below was the water surging against rocks! To my right less than a mile away was the island with the herring pen! I slowly lifted my hands to my face to see if this was but a dream, but as my hands came into focus, they were not the worn and spotted hands I knew, they were small and brown and scratched here and there. What is this, what has happened? I turned my head and stared in disbelief at the reflection in the window behind me!
It wasn’t me, yes, yes it was me, a twelve year old me! I felt my face, my hair, my body, I looked at my feet, it was so, it was a me of sixty years ago!
I turned again, looked out over those waters, always in my thoughts, always loved and then I turned back to the door and with fear and excitement I reached for the rusted knob before me.
I turned the knob and pulled the door open and stepped through into the bare wood living room I had almost forgotten, then suddenly afraid, I stepped back into the light and pulled the door shut once again. I looked again out over those waters, stepped down onto the ground and started walking around the house to the back. At the back corner, lying in the shade of the old fir tree, was a small black shape. It was, oh yes it was Jerry! My dog Jerry! I lunged towards him, crying and crying out; "Jerry, Oh Jerry, its you"! I fell on my knees at his side, I grabbed him and hugged him and all the time saying his name over and over! He opened his eyes, he yawned and gave me a lick in the vicinity of my chin, then promptly closed his eyes and slept again.
I couldn’t believe it, he has been gone, dead, died for fifty years! He was always excited to see me, would go into all kinds of contortions and squeeze out a galaxy of noises after only an hour apart! Was he sick, was it him? Yes, of course it was him, this was our yard, our house, our view, it was him. He didn’t look sick, I reached out and touched his nose, yes wet, cold and only faintly slimy, no not sick. What then, why wasn’t he excited to see me? I examined the moisture on my finger, then I looked, really looked at my finger and the hand it was attached to, of course, this was the me he saw everyday, all day, why should he get excited? I hugged him again and was treated to a groan and a wiggle of his tail. I sat back on my haunches, my brain wrestling with what was happening.
With excitement and fear making me feel as though I would burst, I slowly rose to my feet and turned to the back door of the house. I wanted to run to that door, rush through it into the kitchen beyond. I wanted to, but I could scarcely put one foot in front of the other.
Slowly, ever so slowly I reached the door and as slowly I reached out and opened that door. I stood in that doorway and my heart, my heart, I don’t know if it stopped or welled up like a balloon, but I know I was frozen on the spot! There before me, peeling the last of a potato was my mother, my mother of so long ago! I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move. She sort of glanced up and said; "Hi Dear, what have you been up to?" That’s it that’s what she said, I tried to answer, my mouth opened and all that came out was a croak. She said; "Oh, good, well if you go anywhere, don’t be too long, I’m hoping Daddy will be home for supper." Again, I made a noise, I suppose it could have been taken, for a yes. Then at last I moved, I moved up close and I picked up a couple of peelings that had fallen to the floor and when I put them on the table I let my hand brush across hers and she looked up and smiled at me. I knew I was going to choke, I could feel the tears behind my eyes, I quickly smiled (grimaced?), turned and ran back out the door. I ran out into the sunlight, I ran to the row of wild rose bushes that hid the privy and flung myself onto the ground and I let the tears come, (did I have a choice?)
I don’t know how long I lay there, but gradually the tears stopped and my mind started to work. I came to realize I must do something.
I stood up and brushed myself off and without thinking I gave a whistle and called; "Come on Jerry!" Like a shot he came out from under the tree and headed down the path towards the Wray house. Any direction would have been fine as I was without direction and Billy Wray was my best friend. We followed the path past the house next door and there was Mrs. Bell working in her garden as always. Some instinct seem to take over and I called out;" Hello Mrs. Bell, how are you today?" She looked up from her weeding and replied; "Just as good as I was when you went by this morning John. But if you think you can sweet talk me into more candy – uh, uh, I know how your Mom feels about too much. And you make sure that black pest doesn’t do his business in my vegetables!" And with a smile she lowered her bright red head back to her gardening chore.
In just another hundred yards or so, we came on the clearing for the Wray property and there, as always sat Mr. Wray on the porch smoking a rollie and looking out. I slowed down, the fear had come on me again, but as I came closer, he looked out of the corner of his eye and said; "Don’t know where Billy is, go ask Maggie, she’s in the kitchen." I sort of sidled past him and went on into the house and into the kitchen, and oh, oh yes, there was Mrs. Wray, a mother to seven kids plus every kid in the neighborhood. She looked up and gave me a smile from that worn old face, oh how I remembered, and said; "Help yourself to one of those cookies, Billy and Petey are down at the beach." Then she frowned and said; "And don’t you two ruffians go pickin' on Petey no more. Petey told me what happened yesterday". I mumbled a quick thanks for the cookie and with tears again welling up I turned and beat a hasty retreat for the door. I hurried past Mr. Wray and headed down the short trail to their beach, once again with Jerry, who had appeared out from a bush, leading the way. Down at the beach, Billy and Petey were skipping rocks. Billy right away said; "Bet I can beat you, already did a niner". Petey, turned and looked at me and immediately stuck out his tongue. I looked from one to the other, I had the urge to hug Billy, after all it had been sixty years since we had played together, Petey; well I hadn’t tripped him or ditched him for sixty years either. I stood there, unable to speak, Billy was again skipping rocks and Petey was watching him. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, then I turned and ran with all my might back up the path past Mr. Wray, who’s eyes actually opened wide and he called as I passed; "Hey, you, what did you do to Petey this time"?
I ran on past and out onto the path that joined the gravel road, when I got to the road I turned in the direction of the Government Wharf. I eventually slowed down and finally sat down along side of the road and called Jerry over to me. I gathered him up onto my lap and held him and talked to him. I told him how I had missed him, I asked him what was happening, I stroked him and I just held him some more. After awhile, I began to feel at peace; reason told me that I was dreaming a dream like no other and I knew I should allow it to happen.
I got to my feet and now with Jerry at my side (odd, cause he usually liked to range about), I walked on down the short distance to the dock then climbed up and perched myself on the wooden rail and looked off toward the entrance to the harbour. Soon, I heard a noise, a noise I still recognized after all these years and as I watched and listened a boat came into sight! It was the ‘Beatrice R’., Daddy, my Dad would be home for supper!
I rushed down and around to the float where the boat would be tied in its berth. I watched as my Dad maneuvered that boat in through the log breakwater around all the other boats and with a little flourish, brought her in and docked her like a master.
I grabbed one of the short ropes coiled on the dock and quickly secured the stern and went to the bow in time to pass his bow rope through a cleat and back up to him. He called down from the deck; "hiya son, you’re getting pretty good at that, haven’t been down on the floats practicing have you"? It wasn’t till that moment that I realized that I was in a corner and would have to finally talk. But I got a brief reprieve, because of course he had to shut everything down, write up the log and lock up. As this was all going on I sat on the dock held Jerry by my side and steeled myself for when we were face to face.
Was it a split second or an eternity when Dad was suddenly beside me and I jumped up looked up into his face, his face, like Mom’s, was from all those years ago, he was so young! I stood there, again speechless and looked at him, he reached out, put his hand on my head and said; " Ok all done, had good weather this week, how’s your Mom"? He dropped his hand down on to my shoulder as we turned and away we went along the dock, up the ramp and onto the road. After a couple of tries I finally said; "Dad, could you piggyback me home"? He looked down and said; "Getting a little big for that aren’t you son"?
So I said; "Well I tripped on one of the cleats coming down the ramp and sort of twisted my ankle."
"Oh, well that’s different, here I’ll squat down and you climb aboard."
He did and I did. I hugged him; oh how I hugged him, not so hard so that he would notice, but I hugged with my heart and all my being."Thanks Dad". I said; "I’ve missed you."
"I missed you too son."
We went along together and I knew that when we got home I would find some way to do better than just a touch on my mother’s hand.
We never got there, a fog started to surround us. The bright sunny sky dimmed to morning’s light and I awoke in my bed to a faint memory of a dog’s bark, my heart of hearts wistful, but my mind at peace.
John Little
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From the pen of Michael Hanson:
LIFE'S JOURNEY
Two spheres enter the water of the river of life. Each a collection of gifts and blemishes, traits and mannerisms, ethnic qualities and beliefs. These are donated by relatives throughout the ages both men and women, to produce the unique genetic bodies that are X and Y.
They travel down the river as it widens and suffer knocks and
bruises as they encounter banks and rocky falls until they arrive at
a backwater. This is called Fate or if you prefer, Karma or Destiny.
It's eddy carries them individually round, sometimes
hesitating and then twisting to the pull that is the centre to which
each is inexorably drawn. The whirlpool then drags them down together
and throws them back into the mainstream to be carried along .
It deposits them on a shore where they are looking at the
foot of the mountain that is called Experience.
They start to climb the early slope together carefully
assessing each other as they go along.
Their differences sometimes chafe and lead to argument as
they perceive things that they do not like in the other. Things each
decide that should be changed. Without agreement one will hang back
or forge ahead but soon they are together climbing once again.
Those unseen threads of nature form a web that ties the male
to female and when impatiently broken the strands repair and form a
stronger mesh.
The way is steeper and the climb is harder making each help
the other through adversity. Those qualities which are unique to
each are now respected and the prejudice and dislike are discarded by
the side of the steep path to join others which have gone before.
Comes the time when they approach the last defile where the
Guardians of the Gate await their coming. They each have the scroll
of X and Y which records their progress and watch them making the
last difficult ascent.
The light around their heads has joined to form a circle of
light which enfolds them both.
That unseen magnetism which makes unlike poles attract each
other has fused them together in an unbreakable whole.
The gates are thrown open and they go through to that
brilliant light where they will walk together for the rest of
time.
Michael entittled this next piece;
"MEMORIES"
Trees bend to a bitting wind, clouds fly by.. a threat of rain to come,
Frost gleams on the clubhouse roof beyond the sun,
Bowls need wiping and are held in frozen fingers as they wait to play,
Carpets saving damage to the precious greens,
Early season stalwarts these to brave the elements and say,
We really want to play
More players as the Spring provides some warmth and earnest
questions prompt some sage advice,
The coaches patiently show grips and stance with humour when mistakes are made,
New members, these who have not bowled before, come to see
if they enjoy the game before their dues are paid,
They want to learn the game
Less informality among the players now prevails for a visiting
Club has come to play,
More concentration centered on the rules and etiquette,
a studied seriousness in the taking of each shot,
competitive requirements must be met.
They want to win the game
The season's full activities now drawing to a close,
merriment and laughter heard around the green,
National dress and costumes mark the nature of a competition,
unusual ways to play before the winning sides announced,
and cheers or jeers depending on your Country's situation,
Different ways to play the game
Mats are put away, the doors and gates are locked,
and silence reigns again.
In the velvet night those old members whose ways and plays
we knew, may gather once again upon the green,
A heavenly drawmaster there to issue bowls and pick the teams,
their individual deliveries rolling down a green they knew so well,
they silently converse and only to each other are they seen.
They loved to play the game.
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John Little
All my years as a child my mother would often say, " Just be yourself, do what you can do and don’t try and pretend you are someone else".
I never knew where she drew on this small piece of wisdom, but after she died and when I went through the papers she had saved I found this last worn, creased and faded scrap of paper. On it was a poem that my Dad had written. I don’t know whether it preceded Mom’s advice or if her words gave rise to the inspiration to write it.
De sunflower ain’t de daisy and de melon ain’t de rose
Why is they all so crazy to be sumfin else dat grows?
Jes stick to de place you’re planted and do de bess you knows.
Be de sunflower or de daisy, de melon or de rose.
Don’t be what ain’t, jess yo be what yo is.
If you am not what you are den you is not what you is
If you’re just a little tadpole don’t you try to be a frog.
If you are de tail don’t try to wag de dog.
Do a kindness if you can’t exhort and preach.
If you’re just a little pebble don’t you try to be the beach
When a man is what he isn’t den he isn’t what he is
And as sure as I’m a talking he’s gwine to get his
De song thrush ain’t de robin, de cat bird ain’t de jay
Why is dey all a throbbin to out do each other’s day?
Jus sing the song God gave you and let your heart be gay
Be de song thrush or de robin de cat bird or de jay
John Little (Sr. that is)
MESSENGERS
Have you ever noticed that sometimes when you are sitting, maybe out side or perhaps inside looking out, that quite often a dragonfly will come right up in front of you and hover there for a moment or even several moments? Have you ever wondered why? If you didn’t wonder why, did you think, ‘ that’s odd’ and then perhaps you tried to shoo it away? Perhaps you have never yet had one of those experiences, but one day you shall! Look forward to that day and others to follow for each time it happens, you are being treated to a special moment in your life.
I used to think that perhaps a dragonfly was a soul that had lost its way. If that was so why would it come to me? Why should souls lose their way and why would they choose to be a bug? Have you ever seen a dragonfly mashed onto the front of a car? Would a soul allow itself to be treated like that? Not likely!
If you have ever been visited by a dragonfly, have you ever noticed that while they hover there, a thought or a memory of someone you loved or was close to you, suddenly or perhaps slowly, grows in your “minds eye”? If that has happened, have you also noticed that no sooner is the thought or memory formed, the dragonfly will dart away and disappear? Why? Well perhaps some dragonflies are chosen by the spirits to deliver messages or to be a bridge to memories hidden away in our minds. They dart away when their job is done, perhaps to deliver your thought to the spirit that sent them.
Is every dragonfly a messenger? I don’t know, probably not; but those that are not could be waiting to be called upon. Do we all get the message when these tiny messengers arrive? Also probably not, but if you allow yourself to believe…………………..!
A GIFT FROM ALFRED
When I was eleven or twelve years of age and lived in the little community that is mentioned in many of my stories, there was a boy in my school who’s name was Alfred. For the purpose of this story his last name doesn’t matter.
It was at the end of World War 2; in many homes in that and nearby communities there was very little money to be had. Some had less than others and Alfred’s parents were amongst the “some”. I had visited Alfred a few times, sometimes with my mother, a couple of times with one or two friends. On one of those visits Alfred showed us a model sailboat that an aunt or some other relative had given him. It was the only real toy that he owned.
In spite of hardships parents still had birthday parties for their children, not parties as we know today, but we always had a cake – homemade of course. Usually there would be a nickel or even a dime and a few pennies wrapped in wax paper cooked into the cake. These were the special prizes we all looked forward to. For entertainment we would play “Hide and Seek” or “Blind Man Bluff”, we might even have a story read to us.
Alfred wasn’t someone that I would call my friend, he was just one of the ‘younger’ kids. His mother and mine were friends - mind you my mother was everybody’s friend.
I was having a birthday and this time I was going to be allowed to have a “boys only” party and I decided I would invite only those I boyed about with on a daily basis. This excluded Alfred. However when compelled to let my Mother know how many and who was coming, Alfred got added to the list.
All the guys arrived on the appointed day and the gifts they brought were all scooted on into the house. They would be opened after we played and had our cake and homemade juice. Finally the time came and I started unwrapping each parcel. Of course I had seen the parcels all coming in and had a pretty good idea of which was who’s.
For some reason I left Alfred’s gift until last. I had seen the brown paper bag in his hand when he arrived. In all honesty, I probably left it until last because I am sure I felt it would not be much. It didn’t take long to go through the half dozen presents and then I was down to that paper bag.
I reached in and pulled out something that was all wrapped in toilet paper, the other boys snickered and I quickly pulled the paper away. There in my hands was Alfred’s sailboat! He had given me the only thing he had to give! In that moment tears welled up in my eyes and I couldn’t look anywhere except at what I held in my hands. I vaguely remember choking out some kind of thanks then put the boat down with the other gifts. After all these years, I no longer recall what happened over the next little while, but I do remember feeling shame for being what I was. As the party was wrapping up I found myself with Alfred, a bit apart from the others. I told him that it wasn’t right for him to give his sailboat to me and he should take it back.
He stared at the ground, then looked up. Now there were tears in his eyes, he just shook his head not saying a word, then turned and moved away by himself.
I rejoined the others and it was a while before anyone noticed that Alfred was gone.
The following Monday Alfred and his sister were at school and our lives moved on. I am proud to say that the boy that was me tried from that day forward to include Alfred in some of my activities.
One day some time later, a week, two weeks I don’t know, the school bully (every school had one) was picking on Alfred, teasing him and pushing him about. I told him (the bully) to leave Alfred alone. That only made things worse and in a few minutes the three of us were rolling around in a typical young boys fight. I was small for my age, Alfred was smaller than me but together we were able to impart a bit of an education about bullying!
All of us were in trouble with the teacher and had to stay after school. Alfred and I didn’t care, whenever our eyes met we just smiled.
At that party so long ago, Alfred didn’t just give me his only toy, he gave me a gift or perhaps a lesson in humility and in his small way made me a better person and that gift has lasted all my life.
Thank you Alfred.
A GIFT
I recently went to the funeral of my wife’s Aunt Shirley. I don’t think she will mind if I refer to her by her given name. Shirley was 79 years of age when she died. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer 17 years earlier. She had a mastectomy, then two days later a second one. During this time she carried on, not just attending the functions of the various organizations she belonged to, but being the organizer, driver and caregiver for the friends she was involved with. Two years after the operations, it was found the cancer had spread to her lungs and lymph glands; it barely slowed her down.
One of the organizations that Shirley was a proud member of was The Canadian Women’s Army Corp Veterans. It is of this group that I want to share my thoughts as November the 11th once again approaches.
At the end of the roles of the family in the celebration of Shirley’s life, the minister called upon the members of this veterans group to come forward to do their ceremonial placing of the traditional red poppy.
As I sat there amongst those many mourners and watched those elderly ladies come forward one by one, I saw their old backs straighten a little, their shoulders rose and squared; those that limped, didn’t; the tears were stifled, I saw their pride. But as I watched, I suddenly saw something else, not there, not in that room, but in my mind, I flew back over the years and I saw young women, young soldiers; I could see them laugh, their skin unwrinkled, their hair blonde, red, black and brown, I saw how they could jive and swing in the arms of their male counterparts. I saw them in the uniform of our country and for a moment I felt their pride.
Then it was over, they returned to their seats and I turned in mine.
Thanks were given that day for the many good deeds that Shirley did and for the life she shared.
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