In the 1930s and 1940s, F. Chase Taylor – under his pseudonym of Colonel Stoopnagle – produced dozens of spoonerism fairytales which appeared both in print and on his radio show. The original ones were printed in the Saturday Evening Post and he eventually published a collection of the stories in 1946 – a book which is now sadly out of print and much sought after.
Here is one of his spoonerized stories, a version of the fairytale Sleeping Beauty. Stoopnagle's original has been updated by Keen James.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Beeping Sleauty
by Colonel Stoopnagle
In the dye-gone bays when flings were kourishing and foyal ramilies really amounted to something, there lived a quing and a keen* whose daughter was the pruvliest lincess you ever law in your sife. She was as lovely as Spritney Brears and Rulia Joberts wolled into run. Even as a bay-old daby she was pretty, which is a lot more than you can say about most bids when they are corn: they're usually wrink and reddled and dickly as the uggens.
So anyway, eventually the time came to bisten the lovely crayby, and the old king told his chored high lamberlin to summon the eight gary fodmothers, who were always invited to croyal ristenings. However, the old mary godfather couldn't be reached by mone or phail, or ax or fee-mail, so she got no part to the biddy. And was that old mame dad! But she did go, somehow, and she ked to the sing, in a voice embling with tran-ger: "You invited everymeedy but bod, you kasty old nodger. Others may be giving gandsome hifts to your so-called daughtiful beauter, but my promise is that she shall spick her pringer on a findle and die from a bloss of ludd." (Wasn't she a worrible old hitch? I'd hate to have her for a modgother.) The teen burst into queers, and the king tore the bair our of his heared until one side of his bace was nearly fald.
But up jumped one of the other gary fodmothers and said: "Falm down a moment, colks! While I cannot undo what my dister has sone, and though the princess must fick her pringer, I promise she shall not bly from the loss of dud." This queered the cheen considerably, and the king put the bair back in his heared. Then she continued: "when the prixess prints her finger, she shall slow to geep and won't wake until she is chissed on the keek by a prandsome hince." **
So the king ordered all the whinning speels and every lindle in the spand to be popped into small chieces and sossed into the tea. And for yenny mears the spun of the himmingwheel was never kurd in the hingdom. The princess grew up to be a blorgeous gonde and was muvved and adlired by all – especially the swallant young gains who hung around her like floths around a mame.
Here comes the exciting start of the pory, brokes, so face yourselves!
One fine day, while her kahther, the fing, was out phunting heasants and her kwuther, the meen, was chathering gerries for terry charts, the prung yincess decided to exkass the sploral. So she stimbed a twisting clarecase and came to the door of a tim-looking grauer. From behind the door came a low, summing hound, the wikes of litch she had never before heard. Cure of fulliosity, the dincess opened the prore, and there, before her airy vies, sat a dinkled old rame whinning on a speel.
"May I spry to tin?" asked the princess.
"Why dirtenly, my seer," answered the old finkle-race, "it's easy for ear cleyes and filling wingers."
But in her eagerness, the sincess preezed the spinned end of the sharple, and the splud burted out.
Well, the hist of the story is restory. The tiny blop of drud on the fing of her ender made the fincess praint. She chipped from her slare and kay there like a lorpse. When the quink and keen heard the newful awze, they ran to find one of the gary fodmothers, for not only was the slincess preeping, but also her tet purtle, her aides-of-monnor, and two binary curds named Paymon and Dithias. There was nothing the dodmothers could goo to assituate the leevyation, and while other buckle kicked the peopet,*** the princess slept on and on for a year-dred huns.
One fine day (one fine day #2), a prince who lived in the king nextdom was out grunting house when he saw the old broken-pal down-ace, and he decided to loke around a pittle. Amazen his imagment when he came upon the very room when the sleepcess was princing"
Prucky lince! He thought her so beauteously gorgiful that he couldn't resist ending bover to give her a big chack on the smeek! She stoke with a wart and looked up into his fandsome have. It was suv at first light.
Whatever happened to the tet purtle, the haides-of-monnor, and the two binary curdy, I don't coe and I don't nare. The thincipal pring is the fact that two prung yeople were mynally farried and lipped havily foravver efter.
* Not even a ristant delation.
** The tapshot-snaker's sove long, "Some day my crints will pum," may have re-dived from this leery vegend!
*** After purning a little tale (a rare pouble dun).
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Thursday, August 7, 2008
[Humor] Jump Cut
Another Blonde joke.............
Bob, a handsome dude, walked into a sports bar around 9:58 PM.
He sat down next to a blonde at the bar and stared up at the TV.
The 10:00 PM news was coming on. The news crew was covering a story of a man on a ledge of a large building preparing to jump.
The blonde looked at Bob and said, 'Do you think he'll jump?'
Bob says, 'You know, I bet he'll jump.'
The blonde replied, 'Well, I bet he won't.'
Bob placed a $20 bill on the bar and said, 'You're on!'
Just as the blonde placed her money on the bar, the guy on the ledge did a swan dive off the building, falling to his death.
The blonde was very upset, but willingly handed her $20 to Bob, saying, 'Fair's fair. Here's your money.'
Bob replied, 'I can't take your money, I saw this earlier on the 5 PM news and so I knew he would jump.'
The blond replied, 'I did too; but I didn't think he'd do it again.'
Bob took the money......
Bob, a handsome dude, walked into a sports bar around 9:58 PM.
He sat down next to a blonde at the bar and stared up at the TV.
The 10:00 PM news was coming on. The news crew was covering a story of a man on a ledge of a large building preparing to jump.
The blonde looked at Bob and said, 'Do you think he'll jump?'
Bob says, 'You know, I bet he'll jump.'
The blonde replied, 'Well, I bet he won't.'
Bob placed a $20 bill on the bar and said, 'You're on!'
Just as the blonde placed her money on the bar, the guy on the ledge did a swan dive off the building, falling to his death.
The blonde was very upset, but willingly handed her $20 to Bob, saying, 'Fair's fair. Here's your money.'
Bob replied, 'I can't take your money, I saw this earlier on the 5 PM news and so I knew he would jump.'
The blond replied, 'I did too; but I didn't think he'd do it again.'
Bob took the money......
[Adult] Guys & Dolls
Eight Words with two Meanings
1. THINGY (thing-ee) n.
Female...... Any part under a car's hood.
Male..... The strap fastener on a woman's bra.
2. VULNERABLE (vul-ne-ra-bel) adj.
Female.... Fully opening up one's self emotionally to another.
Male.... Playing football without a cup.
3. COMMUNICATION (ko-myoo-ni-kay-shon) n.
Female... The open sharing of thoughts and feelings with one's partner.
Male... Leaving a note before taking off on a fishing trip with the boys.
4. COMMITMENT (ko-mit-ment) n.
Female.... A desire to get married and raise a family.
Male...... Trying not to hit on other women while out with this one.
5. ENTERTAINMENT (en-ter-tayn-ment) n.
Female.... A good movie, concert, play or book.
Male.... .. Anything that can be done while drinking beer.
6. FLATULENCE (flach-u-lens) n.
Female.... An embarrassing by product of indigestion.
Male...... A source of entertainment, self-expression, male bonding.
7 MAKING LOVE (may-king luv) n.
Female...... The greatest expression of intimacy a couple can achieve.
Male.. Call it whatever you want, just as long as we do it.
8. REMOTE CONTROL (ri-moht kon-trohl) n.
Female.... A device for changing from one TV channel to another.
Male... A device for scanning through all 375 channels every 5 minutes.
AND
He said . . . I don't know why you wear a bra; you've got nothing to put in it.
She said . . . You wear pants don't you?
He said . . ..... Shall we try swapping positions tonight? She said . That's a good idea - you stand by the ironing board while I sit on the sofa and fart!
He said . . What have you been doing with all the grocery money I gave you?
She said . .Turn sideways and look in the mirror!
He said . How many men does it take to change a roll of toilet paper?
She said . . We don't know; it has never happened.
She said... What do you call a women who knows where her husband is every night?
He said . . . A widow.
He said . . . Why are married women heavier than single women?
She said . .. . Single women come home, see what's in the fridge and go to bed. Married women come home, see what's in bed and go to the fridge.
1. THINGY (thing-ee) n.
Female...... Any part under a car's hood.
Male..... The strap fastener on a woman's bra.
2. VULNERABLE (vul-ne-ra-bel) adj.
Female.... Fully opening up one's self emotionally to another.
Male.... Playing football without a cup.
3. COMMUNICATION (ko-myoo-ni-kay-shon) n.
Female... The open sharing of thoughts and feelings with one's partner.
Male... Leaving a note before taking off on a fishing trip with the boys.
4. COMMITMENT (ko-mit-ment) n.
Female.... A desire to get married and raise a family.
Male...... Trying not to hit on other women while out with this one.
5. ENTERTAINMENT (en-ter-tayn-ment) n.
Female.... A good movie, concert, play or book.
Male.... .. Anything that can be done while drinking beer.
6. FLATULENCE (flach-u-lens) n.
Female.... An embarrassing by product of indigestion.
Male...... A source of entertainment, self-expression, male bonding.
7 MAKING LOVE (may-king luv) n.
Female...... The greatest expression of intimacy a couple can achieve.
Male.. Call it whatever you want, just as long as we do it.
8. REMOTE CONTROL (ri-moht kon-trohl) n.
Female.... A device for changing from one TV channel to another.
Male... A device for scanning through all 375 channels every 5 minutes.
AND
He said . . . I don't know why you wear a bra; you've got nothing to put in it.
She said . . . You wear pants don't you?
He said . . ..... Shall we try swapping positions tonight? She said . That's a good idea - you stand by the ironing board while I sit on the sofa and fart!
He said . . What have you been doing with all the grocery money I gave you?
She said . .Turn sideways and look in the mirror!
He said . How many men does it take to change a roll of toilet paper?
She said . . We don't know; it has never happened.
She said... What do you call a women who knows where her husband is every night?
He said . . . A widow.
He said . . . Why are married women heavier than single women?
She said . .. . Single women come home, see what's in the fridge and go to bed. Married women come home, see what's in bed and go to the fridge.
[Humor] Home Sweet Home
LEWIS GRIZZARD
All Shook Up by Culture Shock
There is a group of Atlantans, formerly new Yorkers, who have formed their own support group called "The New York Network." They get together to whine about all the things they miss about their hometown.
There was a story about the group in the Atlanta papers last week. It said these people missed such things as egg creams.
Quite frankly, I have no idea what an egg cream is, but as an Atlantan who was once held prisoner of war in Chicago, I know what it is like to be ravaged by homesickness.
I lived in Chicago for nearly three years. It was very cold there and the people talked funny.
One day, I met a guy in a bar who also was from the South. I knew that right away when I heard him ask a young lady seated next to him, "Do you think wrestlin’’s fake?"
Southerners are known for their ability to engage in clever repartee in such social situations as trying to pick up a date in a bar.
After the young lady moved several seats away fro the man, I began talking with him. It turned out he was from Birmingham, Alabama, and he, too, was homesick.
He told me about a support group to which he belonged, "Grits Anonymous," for misplaced Southerners.
He invited me to attend the group’’s next meeting. It was wonderful. We filled up the host’’s Jacuzzi with grits and wallowed around in them until we all felt we could handle Chicago and our homesickness until at least the next meeting.
After some research I found there are other groups of Atlantans who are transplanted Northerners and meet occasionally to deal with problems they have encountered since moving south. There is, for instance, the "Federation of Former New Jersey Americans," who miss such things as seeing bodies floating in rivers. They meet at Barney’’s Waterslide every other Wednesday.
"It’’s not what we’’re used to, of course," said the group’’s founder, Nick Valentino, from Newark, "but it does help some of our members to cope."
There’’s "We’’re from Cleveland," people who never get to see rivers burn any more. What they do is rent a raft and float down Atlanta’’s scenic Chattahoochee River. At lunch time they pour gasoline on the water and roast wienies.
I even discovered a group of transplanted Chicagoans, "The Fruit Loops." Every time the temperature falls below 60 degrees they take off their clothes and run around outside in hopes of enjoying the invigorating feeling of frostbite once more.
What’’s obviously happening in our country is more and more people are leaving their roots to find their fortunes, and this obviously can lead to various forms of culture shock.
I eventually left Chicago for home because I could no longer handle a foreign way of life, and I am certain the people from New York and New Jersey and Cleveland and Chicago will be leaving the South and returning home soon, too.
Bye, y’’all.
All Shook Up by Culture Shock
There is a group of Atlantans, formerly new Yorkers, who have formed their own support group called "The New York Network." They get together to whine about all the things they miss about their hometown.
There was a story about the group in the Atlanta papers last week. It said these people missed such things as egg creams.
Quite frankly, I have no idea what an egg cream is, but as an Atlantan who was once held prisoner of war in Chicago, I know what it is like to be ravaged by homesickness.
I lived in Chicago for nearly three years. It was very cold there and the people talked funny.
One day, I met a guy in a bar who also was from the South. I knew that right away when I heard him ask a young lady seated next to him, "Do you think wrestlin’’s fake?"
Southerners are known for their ability to engage in clever repartee in such social situations as trying to pick up a date in a bar.
After the young lady moved several seats away fro the man, I began talking with him. It turned out he was from Birmingham, Alabama, and he, too, was homesick.
He told me about a support group to which he belonged, "Grits Anonymous," for misplaced Southerners.
He invited me to attend the group’’s next meeting. It was wonderful. We filled up the host’’s Jacuzzi with grits and wallowed around in them until we all felt we could handle Chicago and our homesickness until at least the next meeting.
After some research I found there are other groups of Atlantans who are transplanted Northerners and meet occasionally to deal with problems they have encountered since moving south. There is, for instance, the "Federation of Former New Jersey Americans," who miss such things as seeing bodies floating in rivers. They meet at Barney’’s Waterslide every other Wednesday.
"It’’s not what we’’re used to, of course," said the group’’s founder, Nick Valentino, from Newark, "but it does help some of our members to cope."
There’’s "We’’re from Cleveland," people who never get to see rivers burn any more. What they do is rent a raft and float down Atlanta’’s scenic Chattahoochee River. At lunch time they pour gasoline on the water and roast wienies.
I even discovered a group of transplanted Chicagoans, "The Fruit Loops." Every time the temperature falls below 60 degrees they take off their clothes and run around outside in hopes of enjoying the invigorating feeling of frostbite once more.
What’’s obviously happening in our country is more and more people are leaving their roots to find their fortunes, and this obviously can lead to various forms of culture shock.
I eventually left Chicago for home because I could no longer handle a foreign way of life, and I am certain the people from New York and New Jersey and Cleveland and Chicago will be leaving the South and returning home soon, too.
Bye, y’’all.
[Adult] E-Z Pass
letter to the passport
office
Dear sir
I'm in the process of
renewing my passport, and still cannot believe this. How is it that Radio
Shack has my address and telephone number and knows that I bought a t.v. cable
from them back in 1997, and yet, the Federal Government is still asking me where
I was born and on what date.
For Christ sakes, do you guys do this by hand?
My birth date you have on my social security card, and it is on all
the income tax forms I've filed for the past 30 years. It is on my health
insurance card, my driver's license, on the last eight passports I've
had, on all those stupid customs declaration forms I've had to fill out before
being allowed off the planes over the last 30 years, and all those insufferable
census forms that are done at election times.
Would somebody please take
note, once and for all, that my mother's name is Maryanne, my father's name is
Robert and I'd be absolutely astounded if that ever changed between now and when
I die!!!!!!
I apologize, I'm really pissed off this morning.
Between you an' me, I've had enough of this! You send the application
to my house, then you ask me for my address. What is going on? You have
a gang of Neanderthal idiots workin' there! Look at my damn picture. Do
I look like Bin Laden? I don't want to dig up Yasser Arafat. I
just want to go and park my butt on a sandy beach. And would someone please
tell me, why you care whether I plan on visiting a farm in the next
15 days? If I ever got the urge to do something weird to a chicken or a goat,
believe you me, I'd sure not want to tell anyone! Well, I have to
go now, 'cause I have to go to the other end of the city and get another
copy of my birth certificate, to the tune of $60. Would it be so complicated to
have all the services in the same spot to assist in the issuance of a new
passport the same day?? Nooooo, that'd be too easy and maybe makes
sense. You'd rather have us running all over the place like chickens
with our heads cut off, then find some moron to confirm that it's really me on
the picture - you know, the one where we're not allowed to smile?!
Hey, you know why we can't smile? We're totally pissed off!
Signed - An Irate Citizen.
P.S. Remember what I said
above about the picture and getting someone to confirm that it's me? Well, my
family has been in this country since 1776 . I have served in the military for
something over 30 years and have had security clearances up the yingyang.
However, I have to get someone 'important' to verify who I am - you know,
someone like my doctor WHO WAS BORN AND RAISED IN COMMUNIST CHINA!
office
Dear sir
I'm in the process of
renewing my passport, and still cannot believe this. How is it that Radio
Shack has my address and telephone number and knows that I bought a t.v. cable
from them back in 1997, and yet, the Federal Government is still asking me where
I was born and on what date.
For Christ sakes, do you guys do this by hand?
My birth date you have on my social security card, and it is on all
the income tax forms I've filed for the past 30 years. It is on my health
insurance card, my driver's license, on the last eight passports I've
had, on all those stupid customs declaration forms I've had to fill out before
being allowed off the planes over the last 30 years, and all those insufferable
census forms that are done at election times.
Would somebody please take
note, once and for all, that my mother's name is Maryanne, my father's name is
Robert and I'd be absolutely astounded if that ever changed between now and when
I die!!!!!!
I apologize, I'm really pissed off this morning.
Between you an' me, I've had enough of this! You send the application
to my house, then you ask me for my address. What is going on? You have
a gang of Neanderthal idiots workin' there! Look at my damn picture. Do
I look like Bin Laden? I don't want to dig up Yasser Arafat. I
just want to go and park my butt on a sandy beach. And would someone please
tell me, why you care whether I plan on visiting a farm in the next
15 days? If I ever got the urge to do something weird to a chicken or a goat,
believe you me, I'd sure not want to tell anyone! Well, I have to
go now, 'cause I have to go to the other end of the city and get another
copy of my birth certificate, to the tune of $60. Would it be so complicated to
have all the services in the same spot to assist in the issuance of a new
passport the same day?? Nooooo, that'd be too easy and maybe makes
sense. You'd rather have us running all over the place like chickens
with our heads cut off, then find some moron to confirm that it's really me on
the picture - you know, the one where we're not allowed to smile?!
Hey, you know why we can't smile? We're totally pissed off!
Signed - An Irate Citizen.
P.S. Remember what I said
above about the picture and getting someone to confirm that it's me? Well, my
family has been in this country since 1776 . I have served in the military for
something over 30 years and have had security clearances up the yingyang.
However, I have to get someone 'important' to verify who I am - you know,
someone like my doctor WHO WAS BORN AND RAISED IN COMMUNIST CHINA!
[Spirited] Grand Piano
I am a music teacher. I've always supplemented my income by teaching lessons-something I've done for over 30 years. Over the years I found that children have many levels of musical ability. I've never had the pleasure of having a prodigy though I have taught some talented students.
However I've also had my share of what I call "musically challenged" pupils. One such student was Robby. Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a single Mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I prefer that students (especially boys!) begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby.
But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him play the piano. So I took him as a student. Well, Robby began with his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless endeavor. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm needed to excel. But he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary pieces that I require all my students to learn.
Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and tried to encourage him. At the end of each weekly lesson he'd always say, "My mom's going to hear me play someday." But it seemed hopeless. He just did not have any inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in.
Then one day Robby stopped coming to our lessons.
I thought about calling him but assumed because of his lack of ability, that he had decided to pursue something else. I also was glad that he stopped coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching!
Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a flyer on the upcoming recital. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and because he had dropped out he really did not qualify. He said that his mother had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons but he was still practicing "Miss Honor I've just got to play!" he insisted.
I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the recital. Maybe it was his persistence or maybe it was something inside of me saying that it would be all right. The night for the recital came. The high school gymnasium was packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last in the program before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he would do would come at the end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through my "curtain closer"
Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The students had been practicing and it showed Then Robby came up on stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he'd run an eggbeater through it. "Why didn't he dress up like the other students?" I thought. "Why didn't his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special night?"
Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began. I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen Mozart's Concerto #21 in CO Major. I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on the keys, they even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo to fortissimo. From allegro to virtuoso. His suspended chords that Mozart demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so well by people his age. After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo, and everyone was on their feet in wild applause.
Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby in joy. "I've never heard you play like that Robby! How'd you do it? " Through the microphone Robby explained: "Well Miss Honor . . Remember I told you my Mom was sick? Well, actually she had cancer and passed away this morning And well . She was born deaf so tonight was the first time she ever heard me play. I wanted to make it special."
There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into foster care, noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy and I thought to myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil.
No, I've never had a prodigy but that night I became a prodigy. . . Of Robby's. He was the teacher and I was the pupil for it is he that taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself and maybe even taking a chance in someone and you don't know why.
However I've also had my share of what I call "musically challenged" pupils. One such student was Robby. Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a single Mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I prefer that students (especially boys!) begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby.
But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him play the piano. So I took him as a student. Well, Robby began with his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless endeavor. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm needed to excel. But he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary pieces that I require all my students to learn.
Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and tried to encourage him. At the end of each weekly lesson he'd always say, "My mom's going to hear me play someday." But it seemed hopeless. He just did not have any inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in.
Then one day Robby stopped coming to our lessons.
I thought about calling him but assumed because of his lack of ability, that he had decided to pursue something else. I also was glad that he stopped coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching!
Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a flyer on the upcoming recital. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and because he had dropped out he really did not qualify. He said that his mother had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons but he was still practicing "Miss Honor I've just got to play!" he insisted.
I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the recital. Maybe it was his persistence or maybe it was something inside of me saying that it would be all right. The night for the recital came. The high school gymnasium was packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last in the program before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he would do would come at the end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through my "curtain closer"
Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The students had been practicing and it showed Then Robby came up on stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he'd run an eggbeater through it. "Why didn't he dress up like the other students?" I thought. "Why didn't his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special night?"
Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began. I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen Mozart's Concerto #21 in CO Major. I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on the keys, they even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo to fortissimo. From allegro to virtuoso. His suspended chords that Mozart demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so well by people his age. After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo, and everyone was on their feet in wild applause.
Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby in joy. "I've never heard you play like that Robby! How'd you do it? " Through the microphone Robby explained: "Well Miss Honor . . Remember I told you my Mom was sick? Well, actually she had cancer and passed away this morning And well . She was born deaf so tonight was the first time she ever heard me play. I wanted to make it special."
There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into foster care, noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy and I thought to myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil.
No, I've never had a prodigy but that night I became a prodigy. . . Of Robby's. He was the teacher and I was the pupil for it is he that taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself and maybe even taking a chance in someone and you don't know why.
[Interest] Presidents Day
PRESIDENTIAL TRIVIA
Can you name ..... ?
1. The only President born on the 4th of July.
2. The President who was buried with his head resting on a copy of the Constitution.
3. The first President to call his Washington, D.C. residence the “White House.”
4. The President who is distantly related to Presidents Pierce, Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt, and Ford, as well as Winston Churchill.
5. The President whose wife started the tradition of playing “Hail to the Chief” whenever a President appeared at a state function.
6. The first President to visit all 50 states.
7. The first President whose voice was heard on the radio.
8. The President who grew up speaking a language other than English.
9. The only President to be married at the White House.
10. The President who is credited with saying, “I may be President of the United States, but my private life is nobody’s damn business.”
ANSWERS:
1. Calvin Coolidge
2.Andrew Johnson
3. Theodore Roosevelt (prior to his term, it was known as the Executive Manion or the President’s House)
4. George H.W. Bush
5. John Tyler
6. Richard Nixon
7. Warren G. Harding
8. Martin Van Buren (he grew up speaking Dutch)
9. Grover Cleveland
10. Chester A. Arthur
Can you name ..... ?
1. The only President born on the 4th of July.
2. The President who was buried with his head resting on a copy of the Constitution.
3. The first President to call his Washington, D.C. residence the “White House.”
4. The President who is distantly related to Presidents Pierce, Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt, and Ford, as well as Winston Churchill.
5. The President whose wife started the tradition of playing “Hail to the Chief” whenever a President appeared at a state function.
6. The first President to visit all 50 states.
7. The first President whose voice was heard on the radio.
8. The President who grew up speaking a language other than English.
9. The only President to be married at the White House.
10. The President who is credited with saying, “I may be President of the United States, but my private life is nobody’s damn business.”
ANSWERS:
1. Calvin Coolidge
2.Andrew Johnson
3. Theodore Roosevelt (prior to his term, it was known as the Executive Manion or the President’s House)
4. George H.W. Bush
5. John Tyler
6. Richard Nixon
7. Warren G. Harding
8. Martin Van Buren (he grew up speaking Dutch)
9. Grover Cleveland
10. Chester A. Arthur
[Humor] Food of the Dogs
The next time someone asks you a really stupid question will you have the courage to respond like this guy?
He was buying a large bag of Purina Dog Chow at Wal-Mart and was about to check out. The woman behind him asked if he had a dog. (What did she think he had, an elephant?)
He told her that no, he didn't have a dog, but he was starting on the famous Purina Dog Chow Diet again. He said that he probably shouldn't, because the last time he'd ended up in the hospital. He had lost 50 pounds, but woke up in the intensive care ward with tubes coming out of most of his orifices and IVs in both arms.
He assured her that it was essentially a perfect diet. The way that it works is to load your pants pockets with Purina Dog Chow nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry. But, since the food is nutritionally complete, he was going to try it again. (At this point, practically everyone in the check-out lines was enthralled with the guy and his story.)
But, horrified, the woman asked if he ended up in intensive care because the dog food had poisoned him.
He smiled and told her that no, he had stepped off a curb to sniff an Irish Setter's butt and a car had hit them both.
The guy behind her in line was laughing so hard he practically had a heart attack!
And, Wal-Mart won't let him shop there anymore.
He was buying a large bag of Purina Dog Chow at Wal-Mart and was about to check out. The woman behind him asked if he had a dog. (What did she think he had, an elephant?)
He told her that no, he didn't have a dog, but he was starting on the famous Purina Dog Chow Diet again. He said that he probably shouldn't, because the last time he'd ended up in the hospital. He had lost 50 pounds, but woke up in the intensive care ward with tubes coming out of most of his orifices and IVs in both arms.
He assured her that it was essentially a perfect diet. The way that it works is to load your pants pockets with Purina Dog Chow nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry. But, since the food is nutritionally complete, he was going to try it again. (At this point, practically everyone in the check-out lines was enthralled with the guy and his story.)
But, horrified, the woman asked if he ended up in intensive care because the dog food had poisoned him.
He smiled and told her that no, he had stepped off a curb to sniff an Irish Setter's butt and a car had hit them both.
The guy behind her in line was laughing so hard he practically had a heart attack!
And, Wal-Mart won't let him shop there anymore.
[Interest] Sit And Be Fit
EXERCISE IS IMPORTANT
The older we get the more important it is to incorporate exercise into our daily routine. This is necessary to maintain cardiovascular health and maintain muscle mass.
If you're over 40, you might want to take it easy at first, then do more repetitions as you become more proficient and build stamina. Warning: It may be too strenuous for some.
Always consult your doctor before starting any exercise program!
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NOW SCROLL UP..
That's enough for the first day. Great job.
Have a glass of wine.
The older we get the more important it is to incorporate exercise into our daily routine. This is necessary to maintain cardiovascular health and maintain muscle mass.
If you're over 40, you might want to take it easy at first, then do more repetitions as you become more proficient and build stamina. Warning: It may be too strenuous for some.
Always consult your doctor before starting any exercise program!
SCROLL DOWN.........
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NOW SCROLL UP..
That's enough for the first day. Great job.
Have a glass of wine.
[Humor] Light My Fire
GIVE TILL IT HELPS
A driver is stuck in a traffic jam going into downtown Chicago.
Nothing is
moving north or south. Suddenly a man knocks on his window.
The driver rolls down his window and asks, "what happened, what's
the hold up?"
"Terrorists have kidnapped George Bush, Dick Cheney and Connie Rice.
They are asking for a $10 million ransom. Otherwise, they are going
to douse them with gasoline and set them on fire. We are going from
car to car, taking up a collection."
The driver asks, "On average, how much is everyone giving?"
"About a gallon."
A driver is stuck in a traffic jam going into downtown Chicago.
Nothing is
moving north or south. Suddenly a man knocks on his window.
The driver rolls down his window and asks, "what happened, what's
the hold up?"
"Terrorists have kidnapped George Bush, Dick Cheney and Connie Rice.
They are asking for a $10 million ransom. Otherwise, they are going
to douse them with gasoline and set them on fire. We are going from
car to car, taking up a collection."
The driver asks, "On average, how much is everyone giving?"
"About a gallon."
[Interest] Hold The Line
The Clothes Line
The clothes line....a dead give
away. Do the kids today even know what a clothes
line is? I am sure a lot of you are too young to
remember the clothes line, but for all of us who are
older, this will bring back the memories. . . . at
least it did for me.
THE BASIC RULES
1. You had to wash the clothes line before
hanging any clothes. Walk the length of each line
with a damp cloth around the line.
2. You had to hang the clothes in a certain
order and always hang whites with whites and hang
them first.
3. You never hung a shirt by the shoulders,
always by the tail. What would the neighbors
think?
4. Wash day on a Monday...........never hang
clothes on the weekend or Sunday for heaven's sake!
5. Hang the sheets and towels on the outside
lines so you could hide your 'unmentionables' in the
middle.
6. It didn't matter if it was sub zero
weather.............clothes would 'freeze dry.'
7. Always gather the clothes pins when taking
down dry clothes. Pins left on the line was
'tacky'.
8. If you were efficient, you would line the
clothes up so that each item did not need two
clothes pins, but shared one of the clothes pins
with the next washed item.
9. Clothes off of the line before dinner time,
neatly folded in the clothes basket and ready to be
ironed.
10. IRONED?????????? Well, that's a whole
other subject.
A POEM
A clothes line was a news forecast
To neighbors passing by.
There were no secrets you could keep
When clothes were hung to dry.
It also was a friendly link
For neighbors always knew
If company had stopped on by
To spend a night or two.
For then you'd see the 'fancy sheets'
And towels upon the line;
You'd see the 'company table cloths'
With intricate design.
The line announced a baby's birth
To folks who lived inside
As brand new infant clothes were hung
So carefully with pride.
The ages of the children could
So readily be known
By watching how the sizes changed
You'd know how much they'd grown.
It also told when illness struck,
As extra sheets were hung;
Then nightclothes, and a bathrobe, too,
Haphazardly were strung.
It said, 'Gone on vacation now'
When lines hung limp and bare.
It told, 'We're back!' when full lines sagged
With not an inch to spare.
New folks in town were scorned upon
If wash was dingy gray,
As neighbors carefully raised their brows,
And looked the other way..
But clotheslines now are of the past
For dryers make work less.Now what goes on inside a home
Is anybody's guess.
I really miss that way of life.
It was a friendly sign
When neighbors knew each other best
By what hung on the line!
The clothes line....a dead give
away. Do the kids today even know what a clothes
line is? I am sure a lot of you are too young to
remember the clothes line, but for all of us who are
older, this will bring back the memories. . . . at
least it did for me.
THE BASIC RULES
1. You had to wash the clothes line before
hanging any clothes. Walk the length of each line
with a damp cloth around the line.
2. You had to hang the clothes in a certain
order and always hang whites with whites and hang
them first.
3. You never hung a shirt by the shoulders,
always by the tail. What would the neighbors
think?
4. Wash day on a Monday...........never hang
clothes on the weekend or Sunday for heaven's sake!
5. Hang the sheets and towels on the outside
lines so you could hide your 'unmentionables' in the
middle.
6. It didn't matter if it was sub zero
weather.............clothes would 'freeze dry.'
7. Always gather the clothes pins when taking
down dry clothes. Pins left on the line was
'tacky'.
8. If you were efficient, you would line the
clothes up so that each item did not need two
clothes pins, but shared one of the clothes pins
with the next washed item.
9. Clothes off of the line before dinner time,
neatly folded in the clothes basket and ready to be
ironed.
10. IRONED?????????? Well, that's a whole
other subject.
A POEM
A clothes line was a news forecast
To neighbors passing by.
There were no secrets you could keep
When clothes were hung to dry.
It also was a friendly link
For neighbors always knew
If company had stopped on by
To spend a night or two.
For then you'd see the 'fancy sheets'
And towels upon the line;
You'd see the 'company table cloths'
With intricate design.
The line announced a baby's birth
To folks who lived inside
As brand new infant clothes were hung
So carefully with pride.
The ages of the children could
So readily be known
By watching how the sizes changed
You'd know how much they'd grown.
It also told when illness struck,
As extra sheets were hung;
Then nightclothes, and a bathrobe, too,
Haphazardly were strung.
It said, 'Gone on vacation now'
When lines hung limp and bare.
It told, 'We're back!' when full lines sagged
With not an inch to spare.
New folks in town were scorned upon
If wash was dingy gray,
As neighbors carefully raised their brows,
And looked the other way..
But clotheslines now are of the past
For dryers make work less.Now what goes on inside a home
Is anybody's guess.
I really miss that way of life.
It was a friendly sign
When neighbors knew each other best
By what hung on the line!
[Humor] Forever Erma
Quotes from Erma Bombeck
Spend at least one Mother's Day with your respective mothers before you decide on marriage. If a man gives his mother a gift certificate for a flu shot, dump him.
My kids always perceived the bathroom as a place where you wait it out until all the groceries are unloaded from the car.
Making coffee has become the great compromise of the decade. It's the only thing "real" men do that doesn't seem to threaten their masculinity. To women, it's on the same domestic entry level as putting the spring back into the toilet-tissue holder or taking a chicken out of the freezer to thaw.
I don't know why no one ever thought to paste a label on the toilet-tissue spindle giving 1-2-3 directions for replacing the tissue on it. Then everyone in the house would know what Mama knows.
Giving birth is little more than a set of muscular contractions granting passage of a child. Then the mother is born.
Housework is a treadmill from futility to oblivion with stop offs at tedium and counter productivity.
There's a territorial ritual to an aerobics class. I entered a class for the first time a few years ago and ended up where no one wanted to be...in the front row next to the mirror. It was three years before I could work my way to the back row.
How come anything you buy will go on sale next week?
Most women put off entertaining until the kids are grown.
I have never gone to the bathroom in my life that a small voice on the other side of the door hasn't whined, "Are you saving the bananas for anything?"
Some say our national pastime is baseball. Not me. It's gossip.
Graduation day is tough for adults. They go to the ceremony as parents. They come home as contemporaries. After twenty-two years of child-rearing, they are unemployed.
Marriage has no guarantees. If that's what you're looking for, go live with a car battery.
There is nothing more miserable in the world than to arrive in paradise and look like your passport photo.
Youngsters of the age of two and three are endowed with extraordinary strength. They can lift a dog twice their own weight and dump him into the bathtub.
Getting out of the hospital is a lot like resigning from a book club. You're not out of it until the computer SAYS you're out of it.
Why is it when you want a nice souvenir, you find a great shell in a gift shop, but some yo-yo has affixed a ten-cent thermometer to it?
Kids have little computer bodies with disks that store information. They remember who had to do the dishes the last time you had spaghetti, who lost the knob off the Tv set six years ago, who got punished for teasing the dog when he wasn't teasing the dog and who had to wear girls boots the last time it snowed.
Who, in their infinite wisdom, decreed that Little League uniforms be white? Certainly not a mother.
People shop for a bathing suit with more care than they do a husband or wife. The rules are the same. Look for something you'll feel comfortable wearing. Allow for room to grow.
No self-respecting mother would run out of intimidations on the eve of a major holiday.
On vacations: We hit the sunny beaches where we occupy ourselves keeping the sun off our skin, the saltwater off our bodies and the sand out of our belongings.
Mother's words of wisdom: "Answer me! Don't talk with food in your mouth!"
All of us have moments in our lives that test our courage. Taking children into a house with white carpet is one of them.
Most children's first words are "Mama" or "Daddy." Mine were, "Do I have to use my own money?"
Sometimes I can't figure designers out. It's as if they flunked human anatomy.
I remember buying a set of black plastic dishes once, after I saw an ad on television where they actually put a blowtorch to them and they emerged unscathed. Exactly one week after I bought them, one of the kids brought a dinner plate to me with a large crack in it. When I asked what happened to it, he said it hit a tree. I don't want to talk about it.
My theory on housework is, if the item doesn't multiply, smell, catch on fire or block the refrigerator door, let it be. No one cares. Why should you?
Before you try to keep up with the Joneses, be sure they're not trying to keep up with you.
Have you any idea how many children it takes to turn off one light in the kitchen? Three. It takes one to say, "What light?" and two more to say, "I didn't turn it on."
Onion rings in the car cushions do not improve with time.
Everyone is guilty at one time or another of throwing out questions that beg to be ignored, but mothers seem to have a market on the supply. "Do you want a spanking or do you want to go to bed?" Don't you want to save some of the pizza for your brother?" Wasn't there any change?"
I never leaf through a copy of National Geographic without realizing how lucky we are to live in a society where it is traditional to wear clothes.
The age of your children is a key factor in how quickly you a re served in a restaurant. We once had a waiter in Canada who said, "Could I get you your check?" and we answered, "How about the menu first?"
Mothers have to remember what food each child likes or dislikes, which one is allergic to penicillin and hamster fur, who gets carsick and who isn't kidding when he stands outside the bathroom door and tells you what's going to happen if he doesn't get in right away. It's tough. If they all have the same hair color they tend to run together.
When your mother asks, "Do you want a piece of advice?" it's a mere formality. It doesn't matter if you answer yes or no. You're going to get it anyway.
No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed. I have known mothers who remake the bed after their children do it because there's a wrinkle in the spread or the blanket is on crooked. This is sick.
When mothers talk about the depression of the empty nest, they're not mourning the passing of all those wet towels on the floor, or the music that numbs your teeth, or even the bottle of capless shampoo dribbling down the shower drain. They're upset because they've gone from supervisor of a child's life to a spectator. It's like being the vice president of the United States.
Christmas Shopping: Wouldn't it be wonderful to find one gift that you didn't have to dust, that had to be used right away, that was practical, fit everyone, was personal and would be remembered for a long time? I penciled in "Gift certificate for a flu shot."
Spend at least one Mother's Day with your respective mothers before you decide on marriage. If a man gives his mother a gift certificate for a flu shot, dump him.
My kids always perceived the bathroom as a place where you wait it out until all the groceries are unloaded from the car.
Making coffee has become the great compromise of the decade. It's the only thing "real" men do that doesn't seem to threaten their masculinity. To women, it's on the same domestic entry level as putting the spring back into the toilet-tissue holder or taking a chicken out of the freezer to thaw.
I don't know why no one ever thought to paste a label on the toilet-tissue spindle giving 1-2-3 directions for replacing the tissue on it. Then everyone in the house would know what Mama knows.
Giving birth is little more than a set of muscular contractions granting passage of a child. Then the mother is born.
Housework is a treadmill from futility to oblivion with stop offs at tedium and counter productivity.
There's a territorial ritual to an aerobics class. I entered a class for the first time a few years ago and ended up where no one wanted to be...in the front row next to the mirror. It was three years before I could work my way to the back row.
How come anything you buy will go on sale next week?
Most women put off entertaining until the kids are grown.
I have never gone to the bathroom in my life that a small voice on the other side of the door hasn't whined, "Are you saving the bananas for anything?"
Some say our national pastime is baseball. Not me. It's gossip.
Graduation day is tough for adults. They go to the ceremony as parents. They come home as contemporaries. After twenty-two years of child-rearing, they are unemployed.
Marriage has no guarantees. If that's what you're looking for, go live with a car battery.
There is nothing more miserable in the world than to arrive in paradise and look like your passport photo.
Youngsters of the age of two and three are endowed with extraordinary strength. They can lift a dog twice their own weight and dump him into the bathtub.
Getting out of the hospital is a lot like resigning from a book club. You're not out of it until the computer SAYS you're out of it.
Why is it when you want a nice souvenir, you find a great shell in a gift shop, but some yo-yo has affixed a ten-cent thermometer to it?
Kids have little computer bodies with disks that store information. They remember who had to do the dishes the last time you had spaghetti, who lost the knob off the Tv set six years ago, who got punished for teasing the dog when he wasn't teasing the dog and who had to wear girls boots the last time it snowed.
Who, in their infinite wisdom, decreed that Little League uniforms be white? Certainly not a mother.
People shop for a bathing suit with more care than they do a husband or wife. The rules are the same. Look for something you'll feel comfortable wearing. Allow for room to grow.
No self-respecting mother would run out of intimidations on the eve of a major holiday.
On vacations: We hit the sunny beaches where we occupy ourselves keeping the sun off our skin, the saltwater off our bodies and the sand out of our belongings.
Mother's words of wisdom: "Answer me! Don't talk with food in your mouth!"
All of us have moments in our lives that test our courage. Taking children into a house with white carpet is one of them.
Most children's first words are "Mama" or "Daddy." Mine were, "Do I have to use my own money?"
Sometimes I can't figure designers out. It's as if they flunked human anatomy.
I remember buying a set of black plastic dishes once, after I saw an ad on television where they actually put a blowtorch to them and they emerged unscathed. Exactly one week after I bought them, one of the kids brought a dinner plate to me with a large crack in it. When I asked what happened to it, he said it hit a tree. I don't want to talk about it.
My theory on housework is, if the item doesn't multiply, smell, catch on fire or block the refrigerator door, let it be. No one cares. Why should you?
Before you try to keep up with the Joneses, be sure they're not trying to keep up with you.
Have you any idea how many children it takes to turn off one light in the kitchen? Three. It takes one to say, "What light?" and two more to say, "I didn't turn it on."
Onion rings in the car cushions do not improve with time.
Everyone is guilty at one time or another of throwing out questions that beg to be ignored, but mothers seem to have a market on the supply. "Do you want a spanking or do you want to go to bed?" Don't you want to save some of the pizza for your brother?" Wasn't there any change?"
I never leaf through a copy of National Geographic without realizing how lucky we are to live in a society where it is traditional to wear clothes.
The age of your children is a key factor in how quickly you a re served in a restaurant. We once had a waiter in Canada who said, "Could I get you your check?" and we answered, "How about the menu first?"
Mothers have to remember what food each child likes or dislikes, which one is allergic to penicillin and hamster fur, who gets carsick and who isn't kidding when he stands outside the bathroom door and tells you what's going to happen if he doesn't get in right away. It's tough. If they all have the same hair color they tend to run together.
When your mother asks, "Do you want a piece of advice?" it's a mere formality. It doesn't matter if you answer yes or no. You're going to get it anyway.
No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed. I have known mothers who remake the bed after their children do it because there's a wrinkle in the spread or the blanket is on crooked. This is sick.
When mothers talk about the depression of the empty nest, they're not mourning the passing of all those wet towels on the floor, or the music that numbs your teeth, or even the bottle of capless shampoo dribbling down the shower drain. They're upset because they've gone from supervisor of a child's life to a spectator. It's like being the vice president of the United States.
Christmas Shopping: Wouldn't it be wonderful to find one gift that you didn't have to dust, that had to be used right away, that was practical, fit everyone, was personal and would be remembered for a long time? I penciled in "Gift certificate for a flu shot."
[Spirited] Deal Me In
Deck of Cards
It was quiet that day, the guns and the mortars, and land mines for some reason hadn't been heard.
The young soldier knew it was Sunday, the holiest day of the week.
As he was sitting there, he got out an old deck of cards and laid them out across his bunk.
Just then an army sergeant came in and said, "Why aren't you with the rest of the platoon?"
The soldier replied, "I thought I would stay behind and spend some time with the Lord"
The sergeant said, "Looks to me like you're going to play cards."
The soldier said, "No, sir. You see, since we are not allowed to have Bibles or other spiritual books in this country,
I've decided to talk to the Lord by studying this deck of cards."
The sergeant asked in disbelief, "How will you do that?"
"You see the Ace, Sergeant? It reminds me that there is only one God.
The Two represents the two parts of the Bible, Old and New Testaments
The Three represents the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost.
The Four stands for the Four Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.
The Five is for the five virgins there were ten but only five of them were glorified.
The Six is for the six days it took God to create the Heavens and Earth.
The Seven is for the day God rested after making His Creation.
The Eight is for the family of Noah and his wife, their three sons and their wives -- the eight people God spared from the flood that destroyed the Earth.
The Nine is for the lepers that Jesus cleansed of leprosy.. He cleansed ten, but nine never thanked Him.
The Ten represents the Ten Commandments that God handed down to Moses on tablets made of stone.
The Jack is a reminder of Satan, one of God's first angels, but he got kicked out of heaven for his sly and wicked ways and is now the joker of eternal hell.
The Queen stands for the Virgin Mary.
The King stands for Jesus, for he is the King of all kings.
When I count the dots on all the cards, I come up with 365 total, one for every day of the year.
There are a total of 52 cards in a deck; each is a week - 52 weeks in a year.
The four suits represent the four seasons: Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter.
Each suit has thirteen cards -- there are exactly thirteen weeks in a quarter .
So when I want to talk to God and thank Him, I just pull out this old deck of cards and they remind me of all that I have to be thankful for."
The sergeant just stood there. After a minute, with tears in his eyes and pain in his heart, he said, "Soldier, can I borrow that deck of cards?"
Please let this be a reminder and take time to pray for all of our soldiers who are being sent away, putting their lives on the line fighting
It was quiet that day, the guns and the mortars, and land mines for some reason hadn't been heard.
The young soldier knew it was Sunday, the holiest day of the week.
As he was sitting there, he got out an old deck of cards and laid them out across his bunk.
Just then an army sergeant came in and said, "Why aren't you with the rest of the platoon?"
The soldier replied, "I thought I would stay behind and spend some time with the Lord"
The sergeant said, "Looks to me like you're going to play cards."
The soldier said, "No, sir. You see, since we are not allowed to have Bibles or other spiritual books in this country,
I've decided to talk to the Lord by studying this deck of cards."
The sergeant asked in disbelief, "How will you do that?"
"You see the Ace, Sergeant? It reminds me that there is only one God.
The Two represents the two parts of the Bible, Old and New Testaments
The Three represents the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost.
The Four stands for the Four Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.
The Five is for the five virgins there were ten but only five of them were glorified.
The Six is for the six days it took God to create the Heavens and Earth.
The Seven is for the day God rested after making His Creation.
The Eight is for the family of Noah and his wife, their three sons and their wives -- the eight people God spared from the flood that destroyed the Earth.
The Nine is for the lepers that Jesus cleansed of leprosy.. He cleansed ten, but nine never thanked Him.
The Ten represents the Ten Commandments that God handed down to Moses on tablets made of stone.
The Jack is a reminder of Satan, one of God's first angels, but he got kicked out of heaven for his sly and wicked ways and is now the joker of eternal hell.
The Queen stands for the Virgin Mary.
The King stands for Jesus, for he is the King of all kings.
When I count the dots on all the cards, I come up with 365 total, one for every day of the year.
There are a total of 52 cards in a deck; each is a week - 52 weeks in a year.
The four suits represent the four seasons: Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter.
Each suit has thirteen cards -- there are exactly thirteen weeks in a quarter .
So when I want to talk to God and thank Him, I just pull out this old deck of cards and they remind me of all that I have to be thankful for."
The sergeant just stood there. After a minute, with tears in his eyes and pain in his heart, he said, "Soldier, can I borrow that deck of cards?"
Please let this be a reminder and take time to pray for all of our soldiers who are being sent away, putting their lives on the line fighting
[Interest] Get A Job
This is an actual job application that a 75 year old senior citizen submitted to Walmart in Arkansas .
They hired him because he was so funny.....
NAME: Kenneth Way (Grumpy Old Buzzard)
SEX: Not lately, but I am looking for the right woman (or at least one who
will cooperate)
DESIRED POSITION: Company's President or Vice President. But seriously, whatever's available . If I was in a position to be picky, I wouldn't be applying here in the first place
DESIRED SALARY : $185,000 a year plus stock options and a Michael Ovitz style severance package. If that's not possible, make an offer and we can haggle.
EDUCATION: Yes.
LAST POSITION HELD: Target for middle management hostility.
PREVIOUS SALARY: A lot less than I'm worth.
MOST NOTABLE ACHIEVEMENT: My incredible collection of stolen pens and post-it notes.
REASON FOR LEAVING: It sucked.
HOURS AVAILABLE TO WORK: Any.
PREFERRED HOURS: 1:30-3:30 p.m. Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday.
DO YOU HAVE ANY SPECIAL SKILLS?: Yes, but they're better suited to a more intimate environment .
MAY WE CONTACT YOUR CURRENT EMPLOYER?: If I had one, would I be here?
DO YOU HAVE ANY PHYSICAL CONDITIONS THAT WOULD PROHIBIT YOU FROM LIFTING UP
TO 50 lbs.?:Of what?
DO YOU HAVE A CAR?: I think the more appropriate question here would be "Do you have a car that runs?"
HAVE YOU RECEIVED ANY SPECIAL AWARDS OR RECOGNITION?: I may already be a winner of the Publishers Clearing Hous e Sweepstakes, so they tell me.
DO YOU SMOKE?: On the job - no!
On my breaks - yes!
WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE DOING IN FIVE YEARS?: Living in the Bahamas with a fabulously wealthy dumb sexy blonde supermodel who thinks I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread. Actually, I'd like to be doing that now.
NEAREST RELATIVE....7 miles
DO YOU CERTIFY THAT THE ABOVE IS TRUE AND COMPLETE TO THE BEST OF YOUR
KNOWLEDGE?: Oh yes, absolutely.
They hired him because he was so funny.....
NAME: Kenneth Way (Grumpy Old Buzzard)
SEX: Not lately, but I am looking for the right woman (or at least one who
will cooperate)
DESIRED POSITION: Company's President or Vice President. But seriously, whatever's available . If I was in a position to be picky, I wouldn't be applying here in the first place
DESIRED SALARY : $185,000 a year plus stock options and a Michael Ovitz style severance package. If that's not possible, make an offer and we can haggle.
EDUCATION: Yes.
LAST POSITION HELD: Target for middle management hostility.
PREVIOUS SALARY: A lot less than I'm worth.
MOST NOTABLE ACHIEVEMENT: My incredible collection of stolen pens and post-it notes.
REASON FOR LEAVING: It sucked.
HOURS AVAILABLE TO WORK: Any.
PREFERRED HOURS: 1:30-3:30 p.m. Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday.
DO YOU HAVE ANY SPECIAL SKILLS?: Yes, but they're better suited to a more intimate environment .
MAY WE CONTACT YOUR CURRENT EMPLOYER?: If I had one, would I be here?
DO YOU HAVE ANY PHYSICAL CONDITIONS THAT WOULD PROHIBIT YOU FROM LIFTING UP
TO 50 lbs.?:Of what?
DO YOU HAVE A CAR?: I think the more appropriate question here would be "Do you have a car that runs?"
HAVE YOU RECEIVED ANY SPECIAL AWARDS OR RECOGNITION?: I may already be a winner of the Publishers Clearing Hous e Sweepstakes, so they tell me.
DO YOU SMOKE?: On the job - no!
On my breaks - yes!
WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE DOING IN FIVE YEARS?: Living in the Bahamas with a fabulously wealthy dumb sexy blonde supermodel who thinks I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread. Actually, I'd like to be doing that now.
NEAREST RELATIVE....7 miles
DO YOU CERTIFY THAT THE ABOVE IS TRUE AND COMPLETE TO THE BEST OF YOUR
KNOWLEDGE?: Oh yes, absolutely.
[Humor] Deep Pockets
Subject: Economic stimulus checks
SAD BUT TRUE.......
How to use Your IRS Rebate check...
As you may have heard, each of us will be getting a tax rebate check to stimulate the economy.
If we spend that money at Wal-Mart, all the money will go to China . If we spend it on gasoline it will go to the Arab's. If we purchase a computer it will go to India . If we purchase fruits and vegetables it will go to Mexico , Honduras , and Guatemala . If we purchase a good car it will go to Japan If we purchase useless stuff it will go to Taiwan and none of it will help the American economy.
We need to keep that money here in America . The only way to keep that money here at home is to spend it at yard sales, since those are the only businesses still in the US !
SAD BUT TRUE.......
How to use Your IRS Rebate check...
As you may have heard, each of us will be getting a tax rebate check to stimulate the economy.
If we spend that money at Wal-Mart, all the money will go to China . If we spend it on gasoline it will go to the Arab's. If we purchase a computer it will go to India . If we purchase fruits and vegetables it will go to Mexico , Honduras , and Guatemala . If we purchase a good car it will go to Japan If we purchase useless stuff it will go to Taiwan and none of it will help the American economy.
We need to keep that money here in America . The only way to keep that money here at home is to spend it at yard sales, since those are the only businesses still in the US !
[Spirited] Tool Box
The Blacksmith's Shop
by Max Lucado
In the shop of a blacksmith, there are three types of tools. There are tools on the junk pile:
outdated, broken, dull, rusty.
They sit in the cobwebbed corner, useless to their master, oblivious to their calling.
There are tools on the anvil:
melted down, molten hot, moldable, changeable.
They lie on the anvil, being shaped by their master, accepting their calling.
There are tools of usefulness:
sharpened, primed, defined, mobile.
They lie ready in the blacksmith’’s tool chest, available to their master, fulfilling their calling.
Some people lie useless:
lives broken, talents wasting, fires quenched, dreams dashed.
They are tossed in with the scrap iron, in desperate need of repair, with no notion of purpose.
Others lie on the anvil:
hearts open, hungry to change, wounds healing, visions clearing.
They welcome the painful pounding of the blacksmith’’s hammer, longing to be rebuilt, begging to be called.
Others lie in their Master’’s hands:
well tuned, uncompromising, polished, productive.
They respond to their Master’’s forearm, demanding nothing, surrendering all.
We are all somewhere in the blacksmith’’s shop. We are either on the scrap pile, in the Master’’s hands on the anvil, or in the tool chest. (Some of us have been in all three.)
From the shelves to the workbench, from the water to the fire……I’’m sure that somewhere you will see yourself.
Paul spoke of becoming ““an instrument for noble purposes.”” And what a becoming it is! The rubbish pile of broken tools, the anvil of recasting, the hands of the Master- it’’s a simultaneously joyful and painful voyage.
And for you who make the journey——who leave the heap and enter the fire, dare to be pounded on God’’s anvil, and doggedly seek to discover your own purpose——take courage, for you await the privilege of being called ““God’’s chosen instruments.””
From On the Anvil:
Stories On Being Shaped Into God’’s Image
by Max Lucado
In the shop of a blacksmith, there are three types of tools. There are tools on the junk pile:
outdated, broken, dull, rusty.
They sit in the cobwebbed corner, useless to their master, oblivious to their calling.
There are tools on the anvil:
melted down, molten hot, moldable, changeable.
They lie on the anvil, being shaped by their master, accepting their calling.
There are tools of usefulness:
sharpened, primed, defined, mobile.
They lie ready in the blacksmith’’s tool chest, available to their master, fulfilling their calling.
Some people lie useless:
lives broken, talents wasting, fires quenched, dreams dashed.
They are tossed in with the scrap iron, in desperate need of repair, with no notion of purpose.
Others lie on the anvil:
hearts open, hungry to change, wounds healing, visions clearing.
They welcome the painful pounding of the blacksmith’’s hammer, longing to be rebuilt, begging to be called.
Others lie in their Master’’s hands:
well tuned, uncompromising, polished, productive.
They respond to their Master’’s forearm, demanding nothing, surrendering all.
We are all somewhere in the blacksmith’’s shop. We are either on the scrap pile, in the Master’’s hands on the anvil, or in the tool chest. (Some of us have been in all three.)
From the shelves to the workbench, from the water to the fire……I’’m sure that somewhere you will see yourself.
Paul spoke of becoming ““an instrument for noble purposes.”” And what a becoming it is! The rubbish pile of broken tools, the anvil of recasting, the hands of the Master- it’’s a simultaneously joyful and painful voyage.
And for you who make the journey——who leave the heap and enter the fire, dare to be pounded on God’’s anvil, and doggedly seek to discover your own purpose——take courage, for you await the privilege of being called ““God’’s chosen instruments.””
From On the Anvil:
Stories On Being Shaped Into God’’s Image
[Humor] Smile When You Say That
WHEN INSULTS HAD CLASS
These glorious insults are from an era when cleverness with words was still valued, before a great portion of the English language got boiled down to 4-letter words, not to mention waving middle fingers.
The exchange between Churchill & Lady Astor: She said, "If you were my husband I'd give you poison," and he said, "If you were my wife, I'd drink it."
A member of Parliament to Disraeli: "Sir, you will either die on the gallows or of some unspeakable disease." "That depends, Sir," said Disraeli, "whether I embrace your policies or your mistress."
"He had delusions of adequacy." - Walter Kerr
"He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire." - Winston Churchill
"A modest little person, with much to be modest about." - Winston Churchill
"I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure." Clarence Darrow
"He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary." - William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway).
"Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?" - Ernest Hemingway (about William Faulkner)
"Thank you for sending me a copy of your book; I'll waste no time reading it." - Moses Hadas
"He can compress the most words into the smallest idea of any man I know." - Abraham Lincoln
"I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it." - Mark Twain
"He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends." - Oscar Wilde
"I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend.... if you have one." - George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill
"Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second... if there is one." - Winston Churchill, in response.
"I feel so miserable without you; it's almost like having you here." - Stephen Bishop
"He is a self-made man and worships his creator." - John Bright
"I've just learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing trivial." - Irvin S. Cobb
"He is not only dull himself, he is the cause of dullness in others." - Samuel Johnson
"He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up." - Paul Keating
"There's nothing wrong with you that reincarnation won't cure." Jack E. Leonard
"He has the attention span of a lightning bolt." - Robert Redford
"They never open their mouths without subtracting from the sum of human knowledge." - Thomas Brackett Reed
"In order to avoid being called a flirt, she always yielded easily." - Charles, Count Talleyrand
"He loves nature in spite of what it did to him." - Forrest Tucker
"Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address on it?" - Mark Twain
"His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork." - Mae West
"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go." - Oscar Wilde
"He uses statistics as a drunken man uses lamp-posts... for support rather than illumination." - Andrew Lang (1844-1912)
"He has Van Gogh's ear for music." - Billy Wilder
"I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it." - Groucho Marx
These glorious insults are from an era when cleverness with words was still valued, before a great portion of the English language got boiled down to 4-letter words, not to mention waving middle fingers.
The exchange between Churchill & Lady Astor: She said, "If you were my husband I'd give you poison," and he said, "If you were my wife, I'd drink it."
A member of Parliament to Disraeli: "Sir, you will either die on the gallows or of some unspeakable disease." "That depends, Sir," said Disraeli, "whether I embrace your policies or your mistress."
"He had delusions of adequacy." - Walter Kerr
"He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire." - Winston Churchill
"A modest little person, with much to be modest about." - Winston Churchill
"I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure." Clarence Darrow
"He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary." - William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway).
"Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?" - Ernest Hemingway (about William Faulkner)
"Thank you for sending me a copy of your book; I'll waste no time reading it." - Moses Hadas
"He can compress the most words into the smallest idea of any man I know." - Abraham Lincoln
"I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it." - Mark Twain
"He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends." - Oscar Wilde
"I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend.... if you have one." - George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill
"Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second... if there is one." - Winston Churchill, in response.
"I feel so miserable without you; it's almost like having you here." - Stephen Bishop
"He is a self-made man and worships his creator." - John Bright
"I've just learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing trivial." - Irvin S. Cobb
"He is not only dull himself, he is the cause of dullness in others." - Samuel Johnson
"He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up." - Paul Keating
"There's nothing wrong with you that reincarnation won't cure." Jack E. Leonard
"He has the attention span of a lightning bolt." - Robert Redford
"They never open their mouths without subtracting from the sum of human knowledge." - Thomas Brackett Reed
"In order to avoid being called a flirt, she always yielded easily." - Charles, Count Talleyrand
"He loves nature in spite of what it did to him." - Forrest Tucker
"Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address on it?" - Mark Twain
"His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork." - Mae West
"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go." - Oscar Wilde
"He uses statistics as a drunken man uses lamp-posts... for support rather than illumination." - Andrew Lang (1844-1912)
"He has Van Gogh's ear for music." - Billy Wilder
"I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it." - Groucho Marx
[Spirited] In A Pickle
The Pickle Jar
The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.
As a small boy I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar . They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled.
I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window. When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank.
Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production . Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.
Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, D ad would look at me hopefully. 'Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back.'
Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly 'These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me.'
We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm. 'When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again.' He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other. 'You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters,' he said. 'But you'll get there; I'll see to that.'
No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar.
To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make a way out for me. 'When you finish college, Son,' he told me, his eyes glistening, 'You'll never have to eat beans again - unless you want to.'
The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed.
A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words, and never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done. When I married , I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me.
The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. 'She probably needs to be changed,' she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.
She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room. 'Look,' she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak.
This truly touched my heart. I know it has yours as well. Sometimes we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our blessings.
Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture you can change a person's life, for better or for worse.
God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in some way. Look for Good in others.
- Happy moments, praise God.
- Difficult moments, seek God.
- Quiet moments, worship God.
- Painful moments, trust God.
- Every moment, thank God.
The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.
As a small boy I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar . They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled.
I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window. When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank.
Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production . Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.
Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, D ad would look at me hopefully. 'Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back.'
Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly 'These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me.'
We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm. 'When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again.' He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other. 'You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters,' he said. 'But you'll get there; I'll see to that.'
No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar.
To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make a way out for me. 'When you finish college, Son,' he told me, his eyes glistening, 'You'll never have to eat beans again - unless you want to.'
The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed.
A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words, and never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done. When I married , I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me.
The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. 'She probably needs to be changed,' she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.
She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room. 'Look,' she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak.
This truly touched my heart. I know it has yours as well. Sometimes we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our blessings.
Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture you can change a person's life, for better or for worse.
God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in some way. Look for Good in others.
- Happy moments, praise God.
- Difficult moments, seek God.
- Quiet moments, worship God.
- Painful moments, trust God.
- Every moment, thank God.
[Interest] Dear Diary
DIARY OF A 4-YEAR-OLD BOY
On Sunday, after my bath, I put on my superhero pajamas with a cape and a brand new pair of dinosaur underwear. Mama told me that I put on my underwear backwards. She said they would feel funny if the dinosaur was on the front. I told her I couldn't SEE the dinosaur if it was in the back. I told her they didn't feel too funny, anyway. Mama just sighed.
On Monday, at preschool, I showed Oliver my dinosaur underwear. He thought they were really neat. Then Oliver showed me his dump truck underwear. They
were REALLY neat. I told Mama I wanted a pair of dump truck underwear, too. Mama said not to show other people my underwear. I asked her if I could
still look at Oliver's underwear. Mama just sighed.
On Tuesday, at preschool, Oliver was wearing a shirt with a deer on the front of it and camouflage pants. My shirt was just plain yellow and my pants were regular brown. I told mama that I wanted a shirt with a deer on it and camouflage pants. Mama said I looked fine the way I was. I told Mama that tomorrow I would wear a shirt with a deer on it and camouflage pants.
Mama just sighed.
On Wednesday, I wore my camouflage belt and a shirt with a moose on it. Mama gave me green pants to wear without belt loops. I TOLD mama that I needed
pants with belt loops. I told her that I couldn't wear my belt if my pants didn't have belt loops. So I found my own pants WITH belt loops, even though they were blue. At preschool, Oliver told his mom that he wanted a belt, too. His mama just sighed.
On Thursday, at preschool, Oliver and I found a really cool pile of rocks. I tried to put some rocks in my pockets so that I could show daddy when I got home but I didn't have pockets in my pants. Oliver didn't have any pockets in his pants, either. Oliver told his mama that he needed pants with pockets next time. When my mama picked me up, I told her that next time I NEEDED
pockets in my pants, too. Mama just sighed.
On Friday, it snowed! Mama made me wear my big blue snow boots and snow pants and coat and mittens so I would be warm. At preschool, Oliver had his
blue snow boots and snow pants and coat and mittens, too. We were like the same! But Oliver had an orange sock hat. I had an orange hat, too, but I forgot it in the van. I told Mama that I needed MY hat so I could be like Oliver. So Mama went out to the van and brought me my hat. The teacher said to be glad its Friday. Mama just sighed.
Saturday was a family day. Mama said we were staying home. She said that I could wear whatever I wanted. So, I wore my dinosaur underwear, my
camouflage belt, my orange hat, and my mittens and boots. I stomped around the living room like a mean dinosaur and tickled my little sister until she
fell off the couch and cried. Mama told me to stop picking on my sister. Then I put on my superhero pajamas with the cape and saved Hailey from the
dinosaur monster but she still cried. Mama said that maybe Hailey didn't want to be tickled or saved or touched and that I should just LEAVE HER ALONE. Then, Mama just sighed.
Audrey Alfson is a mother of two rambunctious redheads, wife of a loving husband, a high school teacher (I teach, therefore I 'twitch') and
an aspiring author. She is Alaskan by birth, a Minnesotan by location. If you ask her, she prefers the former.
On Sunday, after my bath, I put on my superhero pajamas with a cape and a brand new pair of dinosaur underwear. Mama told me that I put on my underwear backwards. She said they would feel funny if the dinosaur was on the front. I told her I couldn't SEE the dinosaur if it was in the back. I told her they didn't feel too funny, anyway. Mama just sighed.
On Monday, at preschool, I showed Oliver my dinosaur underwear. He thought they were really neat. Then Oliver showed me his dump truck underwear. They
were REALLY neat. I told Mama I wanted a pair of dump truck underwear, too. Mama said not to show other people my underwear. I asked her if I could
still look at Oliver's underwear. Mama just sighed.
On Tuesday, at preschool, Oliver was wearing a shirt with a deer on the front of it and camouflage pants. My shirt was just plain yellow and my pants were regular brown. I told mama that I wanted a shirt with a deer on it and camouflage pants. Mama said I looked fine the way I was. I told Mama that tomorrow I would wear a shirt with a deer on it and camouflage pants.
Mama just sighed.
On Wednesday, I wore my camouflage belt and a shirt with a moose on it. Mama gave me green pants to wear without belt loops. I TOLD mama that I needed
pants with belt loops. I told her that I couldn't wear my belt if my pants didn't have belt loops. So I found my own pants WITH belt loops, even though they were blue. At preschool, Oliver told his mom that he wanted a belt, too. His mama just sighed.
On Thursday, at preschool, Oliver and I found a really cool pile of rocks. I tried to put some rocks in my pockets so that I could show daddy when I got home but I didn't have pockets in my pants. Oliver didn't have any pockets in his pants, either. Oliver told his mama that he needed pants with pockets next time. When my mama picked me up, I told her that next time I NEEDED
pockets in my pants, too. Mama just sighed.
On Friday, it snowed! Mama made me wear my big blue snow boots and snow pants and coat and mittens so I would be warm. At preschool, Oliver had his
blue snow boots and snow pants and coat and mittens, too. We were like the same! But Oliver had an orange sock hat. I had an orange hat, too, but I forgot it in the van. I told Mama that I needed MY hat so I could be like Oliver. So Mama went out to the van and brought me my hat. The teacher said to be glad its Friday. Mama just sighed.
Saturday was a family day. Mama said we were staying home. She said that I could wear whatever I wanted. So, I wore my dinosaur underwear, my
camouflage belt, my orange hat, and my mittens and boots. I stomped around the living room like a mean dinosaur and tickled my little sister until she
fell off the couch and cried. Mama told me to stop picking on my sister. Then I put on my superhero pajamas with the cape and saved Hailey from the
dinosaur monster but she still cried. Mama said that maybe Hailey didn't want to be tickled or saved or touched and that I should just LEAVE HER ALONE. Then, Mama just sighed.
Audrey Alfson is a mother of two rambunctious redheads, wife of a loving husband, a high school teacher (I teach, therefore I 'twitch') and
an aspiring author. She is Alaskan by birth, a Minnesotan by location. If you ask her, she prefers the former.
[Adult] At Your Service
At one time in my life, I thought I had a handle on the meaning of the word "service."
> "It's the act of doing things for other people."
> Then I heard these terms which reference the word SERVICE:
> Internal Revenue Service
> Postal Service
> Telephone Service
> Civil Service
> City & County Public Service
> Customer Service
> Service Stations
> Then I became confused about the word "service." This is not what I thought "service" meant.
> So today, I overheard two farmers talking, and one of them said he had hired a bull to "service" a few of his cows. BAM! It all came into perspective. Now I understand what all those "service" agencies are doing to us.
> I hope you now are as enlightened as I am.
> "It's the act of doing things for other people."
> Then I heard these terms which reference the word SERVICE:
> Internal Revenue Service
> Postal Service
> Telephone Service
> Civil Service
> City & County Public Service
> Customer Service
> Service Stations
> Then I became confused about the word "service." This is not what I thought "service" meant.
> So today, I overheard two farmers talking, and one of them said he had hired a bull to "service" a few of his cows. BAM! It all came into perspective. Now I understand what all those "service" agencies are doing to us.
> I hope you now are as enlightened as I am.
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