A busy day and Andrew

another find: 

• MOOD: accepting, accomplished
• MUSIC: the best was yet to come...bryan adams

 busy day and andrew

today was a little better emotionally. I am still a little hurt by the fact that another guy I have feelings for loves someone else. but I guess I might need to get my heart broken more often because I got a lot done around the house today.
i had the best time going through the papers. I laughed and laughed at the cards and letters that I went through. some of allen ira grossmans letter just cracked me up so much. i remember how funny he always was. how much he always made me laugh. I am thinking of writing him at his parents address. I also have sarah granger's address. I am thinking of writing her. going through those memories makes me realize how important those people were in my life and how much they made my life a better place. reading through the letters and going back through old memories, made me miss them and those times we shared together. what a different person i was then. even though most of the memories are good ones, I am so glad that life has changed me. and i am glad it is changing me still.
even though I can get depressed and don't always concentrate as intently as I'd know I should and wish I would on christ and the church, I am thankful for the change in me that learning about him and at least, endeavoring to follow Him, has wrought. the girl I used to be was really ugly in behavior.
Andrew called me tongiht while I was out with Kevin and Kim. I called him back and he just said that he wanted to know if I got his email and if it made sense. I told him it was good.=(and it is.. .i'll get over this) I wish I had the guts to tell him that I was a little hurt last night, but not because I felt that he had lied to me...which I don't...but that when he did change his mind, that he didn't change it for me, but for K. I can't say i'm really surprised. because I knew this was coming. My brain noticed his notice of her..and I knew he would choose her. but I allowed my heart to continue growing in my feelings towards him. I guess these feelings of heartbreak are basically my own fault. I should have known better. but sadly, i do that a lot. I see great qualities in a man and I allow my heart to feel, and feel, and feel. ssssssssssssiiiiiiiiiiiiiggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
I can't believe he called to see if I got it and if I understood. another reason to think he is totally a fabulous man.
I hate to get all depressing, but I do wonder when the fabulous man will choose me over the other girl. and more importantly, why do i even care about this: why can't i just let go? If i could make myself concentrate on something else..then I would be fine. but it is hard to do. I just keep feeling the "36" of it all. if I got pregnant TONIGHT... I'd have a baby sometime in May of next year.. about two months before i turned 37. so when that baby graduates from high school, I will be 55 years old.
i dont' really want to be alone for the rest of my life.
BUT.... ON THE BRIGHT SIDE. i got a lot of work done today at the house..and my first batch of ice cream is cooling away in the fridge. wooohooooo.

Inspired by Lana

 More finds from the other blog

Inspired by Lana

i was messing around on here and I saw some of Lana's posts. one of them was about poetry..mostly Mother's poetry. the subject line read. .when you see this. .post some of your own poetry...so i thought I would.

EPIPHANY

written on 06FEB03 and dedicated to Pattalee Glass-Koentop and Robert Bernd Dittrich, Jr.

While sitting in the car with him, talking after class, I remembered that while she was lying in that hospital bed dying, I noticed for the first time ever that her hair was just plain old brown with grey in it.

and my heart cried.

His heart felt my grief, and he pulled me over to his shoulder and comforted me with his friendship.

and I remember thinking, "I should love this heart."



The Lawnmower Poem:

Hello Wonderful Ms. Cody-


What a great way to start my day
An email from Cody, and I'm on my way
To conquer great worlds, and buy a lawn mower
so that the mobile home park guy won't say, "Let's tow-her
Because she won't mow her tiny, small lawn
And the grass that is there is about to spawn
millions of different kinds of weeds
who'll grow and grow and produce more seeds
who will give birth to some nefarious plants
and maybe even attract some ants
who'll eat all the plants and grow to great size
and climb up our houses and even capsize
them, and then where will we be with no houses to live in
and maybe we'll die and go straight to heaven
and since we're not ready to die yet, let's show her
that she must go out and buy a lawn mower."

so, Cody the thanks all goes to you
your email encouraged me to go put on my shoe(s)
and get out of the house and go shopping for
a lawn mower, weedeater, (and maybe a blower)!!!!!!!!!





AND HE SECRETLY STEALS MY HEART

Despite what seems like his arrogance and mean heart,

Sometimes, secretly, I still feel.


I mean it at the time when I say the words, "I do not want him!!."

And I mean it at the time when I say the words, "I cannot love he who does not honor me!"


So, then why? WHY? when he pierces my heart with his words does that little girl inside of me sob

"why does he not love me?"





HOMER, THE HERO BIRD

To Nathalie Ann's birthday, I wanted to go,

but when I called my dear sister, she firmly said, "NO,

You haven't seen your nieces and nephew for a year!!

I'll tell you quite truly; its all very clear

that their poor hearts are broken for their cries can be heard

three miles up in the air by a keen-eared Hero Bird."

The bird's name was simple: last name: Singsong, first name: Homer.

and he hailed from a town called Shawnee, Oklahoma.

His plans were to fly south to the North Pecan Isle.

He thought he would stop and give his friends a quick, "Hi Y'all!"

He was hoping for a meal and a cold diet coke,

and some time with his friend for some laughs and a joke.

He had left from his home Monday morning at sunrise,

and on his way South, he had QUITE a big surprise!

He was flying along deep in his own thoughts,

when he heard the loud cries of one of the tots.

He swiftly raced down to earth toward the cries.

He found the small girl and said, "Child, dry your eyes.

Stop those wet tears: take a deep breath or two!

and kindly tell me, dear child, what has happened to you."

The girl, whose name was Caroline Elisabeth,

took a deep breath...and started to hiccup.

She turned to little Hannah and said, "you do it, Sister,

these hiccups are causing my poor tongue to twister!"

So, Hannah stood up straight and took in some air

and opened her mouth, their story to share,

but, sadly, the gum in her mouth sealed it shut,

so, she signaled to brother to take the job up.

And as Garland began the story to say,

a butterfly flew past and he was off and away.

and, so Rebekah, the youngest of the great clan of Parker,

began to tell the tale from her seat on Mom's rocker.

"How much we miss our auntie is very hard to tell,

and when we try to do it, our eyes begin to swell,

with tears as big as gumdrops, and cries as loud as trains

and so for us to tell you will take so many pains"

she spoke with such a sweet, soft voice,

and her lips began to quiver,

"You see, our aunt is always busy, and we never are togever!!"

As Homer listened to the tale, his eyes filled up with water,

and he said, "I remember the same tale from my own sister's daughter"

So, I will fly to Maxwell to have a chat with Auntie

for of this type of situation, I remember plenty.

Now, I will leave to see your aunt and tell her what she must do.

I shall return with her in tow within one day...or two.

So, Homer flapped his wings and he took off in the sky,

and the minutes shant be counted that those children waved goodbye.

Now what occurred in Homer's absence, we will never know...

but great cheers filled the air when I returned in tow.

On Homer's wings we had swiftly flown from Maxwell on towards Spring,

and to try to tell the fun we had...Why, there isn't such a thing!!

Homer's kind heart and selflessness were sure impressive that day,

to put the needs of others over his big plans to play.

Thankfully, Homer's flights will never be just one-way,

and so I hope on Saturday, I'll hear a big, huge "Hooray!"

when I arrive, although late, at Nathalie Ann's birthday!!!

completed 21March01




and lastly:

RAINBOW...HAPPILY, WITHOUT BLUE
written 13NOV04

up at 5 a.m. driving north alone. watching at the yellow sun comes up.

4 quiet hours at 917. Lunch just mom and me. Homemade soup in a big red cup.

At Blalack, sitting next to Daddy. Red, White, and Blue on the gym walls. 2 veterans shoulder to shoulder.

Burgers at the Orange Joint with 'Melie Mac. Talk, laughter, and thanksgiving letters to 8 soldiers.

Alone again. driving south under a black sky. 1 full day. to the brim with love.

Too busy to be blue with missing her.

this last poem was written two days after the second anniversary of the death of my mother. She died on November 11th which is also Veteren's Day.

 

Hershal Glen French

this was a letter to help me deal with a situation that occurred yesterday.

14DEC05 2:00 p.m.

Dear Wesley David,
     I just wanted to communicate sensibly to you regarding the situation today at brother Stewart’s shop.
     Just a few minutes before the paramedics arrived Cindy sent me out to help with Frenchie.  The 911 operator had told her to send someone out there to keep the blood out of his airways.  I grabbed a roll of paper towels and rushed out there.  Oh, Wesley, I know you are used to seeing such things (since you are an EMT), but I am not!   I was HORRIFIED!
     I saw all that blood pooled around his head and caked in his nose, that large cut in his forehead, and I was horrified.  (And I don’t know for sure, but I think I saw his skull.)  It was truly one of the most horrific things I think I’ve ever seen.
     I knelt down beside him, and tore off a piece of paper towel.  I looked to see where I could help clear an airway.  I saw his tongue through his slightly open mouth and could hear his labored breathing.  His nose was clotted with two mounds of thick blood.  I thought I would start there.  I was trying to keep his nostrils clear, but all I was doing was blotting, blotting, BLOTTING blood.   Looking back now, the fact that fresh rivulets of blood kept flowing from his nose was probably a good sign, but at that moment, I was thinking, “He is STILL bleeding…more blood to add to the gallons of it here on the floor around me.”
    At one point, I remembered something I had heard on a radio program one dark night driving back from somewhere…so, I sucked it up, Wesley, and I reigned in the tears I’d been crying, and I lengthened the short breaths I’d been taking (quietly, I hoped) and I said, “Frenchie, the worst is over now.  Whatever needs to happen now will happen.  The worst is over now, Frenchie” and I kept blotting blood. 
    I never thought I’d be so happy to see paramedics in my lifetime.  I backed away from Frenchie,  trying to grab all those bloody paper towels, in order to get them out of y’all’s way.  I took the widest path around Frenchie that I could.  I just wanted those rushing paramedics to be able to help him as quickly as they could without me in the way.
     I never saw you, Wesley, until you walked in the office near the end of the whole ordeal.  But by then, I had spent 45 minutes pacing back and forth between the office and the warehouse…wondering and praying, wondering and praying.  Cindy asked me to answer phones so I tried to stay in the office as much as I could, but I was worried.  What I saw out there in the warehouse while kneeling next to Frenchie was bad, Wesley.  That forklift where Frenchie had been working before he fell…it looked so high; and the blood pooled around him looked like too much.  I couldn’t imagine how he could possibly survive all that!   I saw his skull!  It looked like the back of his head might have been crushed up, also.  When that paramedic named Dominguez came in to question Weldon and Steve about what happened, I became even more scared.   He said, “I saw a cane up there.  Does he usually use a cane?   Weldon answered, “Yes, but he was sitting.”  (I’m sure he expected Frenchie to be sitting all the way up there).  But Steve piped up, “No, he was standing.  He is so hardheaded.”
    Then Dominguez said, “You can’t allow this to happen again.  He is not hardheaded.  His head is all crushed up.    If he even makes it to surgery, he’ll be in there for a long time.”   And at that point, I thought the worst.
     By then, Cindy and I were rushing around the office trying to contact his two sons, one of whom doesn’t really care about his Daddy, and didn’t care that he had a head injury and was being rushed by helicopter to Brackenridge.
   It was utter chaos in there.  I was scared.  I was a mess inside.  I was trying very diligently not to break down in tears like I really wanted to do.  What I really wanted to do was hug my Mommy or my Daddy and feel safe.  I wanted to cry.  But I sat there in the chair dealing with it all.

And then you walked in.

Tall, trim, wearing a perfectly shiny, white shirt, and that clean-cut, boy-next-door hair cut.  There was a hero…someone who could save the day…someone who loves me and, under normal circumstances, would have gladly volunteered to fill in for parents and give that “cry ‘til you feel safe again” hug.  So, I, without thinking, went to get that hug.  I wasn’t thinking that it might not look professional.  I was only thinking, “Wesley is here. He loves me. He is my friend. He cares. His hug will heal this hurt I am feeling.”    And Wesley, I don’t know that I was fully aware of feeling those things. I just knew you could make things better because you were Wesley.

     I wrote these words in a stream of conscious several minutes shortly after you left.
I sorta felt that it might have seemed that I crossed barriers since I hugged you while you were at work…or at least that some, perhaps even you, might have thought so.
And, I just felt like I needed to let you know what I was thinking, and how I was feeling.  And even though I often tease you about being such a hottie, and flirt with you way too much, I want you to know that your importance to me is much more wholesome and much deeper than how you look.
   I love you, Wesley David Hopkins.  You are my friend.  You are my brother in Christ.  I believe in you.  I feel safe with you. I trust you. I look up to you. I adore you…and I’m glad to have a friend like you in my life.
   I just thought you should know it.

With so much affection that my heart is about to burst,

Loralee

Another find... 

inspired by a moment, part I

presidential question

His face wisps across my mind.

when it appears clearly...and only for a moment...

a smile comes, unbidden, every single time.

He challenges my mind and we share so many dreams.

The world is full of possibilities for the two of us, it seems.

He brings laughter to my heart and to my voice.

but sadly, soon, I must make a choice.

His heart is God's, but not completely.

I must ask myself, "What can he mean to me?"

 

for Paul

Found on another website 

inspired by a moment, part II

Walking with him at the lights

His hands were in his pockets because it was night-time, it was December, and it was cold.

My arm was linked with his as we walked through the Trail Of Lights.

As we walked along, our bodies in motion, I felt the top of his hipbone brush continually against my wrist,

And it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

And even more so, it felt like a harbinger of the future, of sorts.

You know, that sometime, somewhere in our future when the idea that me touching his hip would be a very natural, very allowable thing to do. And I’m not even talking in a sexual way. I’m talking about the natural ownership between a husband and a wife.

Quite like that song by maroon five called Sunday morning. Some of the lyrics just seem to illustrate that kind of comfortable proprietary feeling.

"steal some covers share some skin
Clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable
You twist to fit the mold that I am in…

Fingers trace your every outline
Paint a picture with my hands
Back and forth we sway like branches in a storm
Change the weather still together when it ends":

So back to my thought: that moment, walking with Paul, I could feel that feeling, so slightly, but so wonderfully.

I reveled in that feeling! and was so excited by the idea that this could ever happen with us. I realize that the possibility is slim, but it was a moment and a feeling I cherish.

for Paul, again.

HATGCT

Something unfinished and unrefined from another website

 HOMER AND THE GOVERNOR'S CHRISTMAS TREE-

It was snowing in Shawnee , Oklahoma that day,

and Homer, the Hero bird was NOT going to stay!!

"It is time to flee from the cold that is here.

I shall fly south toward the ones who are dear."

So,  Homer donned a warm cap, and a scarf which was green;

and then up and away, he was off to the sea.

"In Rockport, I'll visit Joanna, Faith, Caleb, and Clay

and on the beach we shall all share one fun, Fun, FUN day!!!

So, Homer was flying south with Billy Joel in his earphones,

when he was distracted quite suddenly by some loud sobbing moans.

Homer was three miles up... just above Colorado and eleventh

and he said, "I'll stop just a bit. This won't take but a second."

and there in the gazebo on the Governor's grounds,

sat a curly haired girl who was sporting a frown.

(the tears which flowed from her gigantic blue eyes)     this part i am working on..something about big blue eyes and tears

(lalalallalalalalalala to be inserted this line)           and this line needs to rhyme it.    hahahahah

She was crying and yelling at a bedraggled little dolly.

"Cordelia  McGillicutty!!  This is YOUR FAULT...well, prob'ly."

"I can't put this  star on the Governor's tree!

It is two thousand feet tall.  That is too tall for me!!"

"This tree must be finished, but I JUST don't know how!!

Cordie. you MUST fix this problem, and you MUST FIX IT NOW!!!"

Homer flew down and asked, "Child, what is your name?"

She said, "My mom is  Callie Crabapple and I am the same"

Homer asked the small girl, "Child, why are you fussing??

"That attitude you have won’t get you nothing!"

"It is always nicer to be nice to another,

like your best friend, your dolly, your cat, or your mother"

"Now, why don’t you start with your small precious toy?"

and then Callie Crabapple exclaimed with great joy,

"you mean if I acted and spoke nicely to others

Like Dad, Uncle Steve, my teacher, and brothers

And I change my tone and the way that I say

Things to other people, it could be that they

Will be nice also and help little me

Put this bright star on that very tall tree?"

"Why, yes, it could happen" said Homer quite lightly

"In fact, by tonight it could be shining quite brightly

on the very tip top of that tall pretty tree.

Shining QUITE brightly for all who can see!!"

"Hooray!!" yelled Callie, "I"ll start being nice NOW!!"

"That’s sure to make a difference in this problem somehow"

Callie picked up little Cordie and hugged her with glee.

She said, "Cordie, Won’t you please forgive me?"

At that moment, Governor Perry walked out of his house.

He’d been standing there, listening, as quiet as a mouse.

"Homer," said he, "you are as kind as you are wise."

"and today," he shouted, "this big state I"ll apprise"

" of the fact that next Tuesday we’ll call Homer Hero Day"

"We'll have big parades and UT’s band will play"

"Now didn’t you have a problem to fix?"

I could loan you my ladder, but that plan I will nix"

"the best plan," said the governor," is to use Homer’s beak

to pick up Callie and fly to the peak

of the very bright, tall Christmas tree in the mansion

"why, with that star up there, my tree’ll be quite handsome"

so Homer obeyed the leader of our state,

and when he was finished, he quickly made haste,

Once again, he was off, up into the sky,

And the minutes can’t be counted that those Texans waved goodbye.

He arrived in Rockport just in time for dinner.

And as he fell asleep that night, he knew the day had been a winner.

It sure felt nice to know that he’d spent it being a helper.

And he fell asleep dreaming of his next big adventure!

The Bliss of Amnesia

 I found this poem on a website that I had forgotten I had.

The Bliss of Amnesia

Never before have I been as close to death as I was on Wednesday.
I saw his skull through the layers of blood & tissue.
I saw the blood pool around his head.
I heard his labored breathing as he struggled to survive.
I tried to help and who knows if I did, but I hope I did with my whispered words.
I hope he left our world with at least a modicum of peace because part of me feels as if I shall never feel totally at peace again.
I long for the moment when, like the hazy face that you want to remember but can't, I can no longer clearly see the image of Glen's battered, twisted, and bloody body on the warehouse floor.

12/16/2005

Cuibhreach Le nil Gra

December 15, 2008

Current Mood: Hurt 

Her words make chains that bind me

To the pain I always feel

When I hear what she says behind me

Those words do nothing but steal

The peace I felt when she tucked me in,

The love I felt when she gave me him,

The bond I felt when she took a stance

and did my hair on the day I danced

The pride I felt when she said that day

That words are the court where I hold sway

But all that flies when she says those things

And the preacher speaks when the church bell rings

And out of his mouth come these words of truth

about how little I am really worth.

Does ANY love flow from her heart to mine?

Will my questions be answered with the passing of time?

When I need wiping of tears or smoothing of hair

Can I ever be certain that she will be there?

I'll tell you the truth; and lie, I will not.

I really just want what it feels I ain't got.

Like a hug or a cuddle in an old rockin' chair

or the tiniest piece of her heart she will share.

But, her words build chains that bind me

To the pain I always feel 

when I hear what she says behind me

And I fear that I never shall heal.

Covid Schmovid

 13DEC20

Covid Schmovid

The red, white, and blue of 'Old Glory' is waving--stridently--in a cold Winter wind.

Trees are half-dressed with bright yellow, magenta, and orange leaves.

Monochromatic gray and white clouds are covering the sky.

Little black birdies, sitting side-by-side on the top of a beige building, are chirping their happiness.

God, via his servant the beautiful Mother Nature, is telling us that everything is going to be okay.

I am the luckiest girl in the world and I'm gonna keep on truckin'.

Rhapsody in the Key of 'F'

 Reposted from FB from 29MAR09

Rhapsody in the Key of 'F'

    For felipe, who understands that a free-spirited heart needs to express itself as it was designed to do.

Rhap-so-dy

-Music. an instrumental composition irregular in form and suggestive of improvisation.

-An ecstatic expression of feeling or enthusiasm.

-an unusually intense or irregular poem or piece of prose.

    He is singing about the smiling sky; and I feel my heart melt with every word. He is singing about the shining sun; and I am shocked to catch a glimpse of the future. I see him singing again. But this time, the song is 'The Bedtime Song' and his two curly-headed sons are looking up at him with adoration.

    Purely, I feel lust. I want his straight back. I want his pale chest with the few black hairs peeking through his partially unbuttoned blue-and-white patterned shirt. I want his flat stomach and strong legs. I want to be a part of him. I want to be inside him.

    He turns to look at me one last time before he leaves. His brown eyes are smiling, along with his mouth. In his look, I see friendship. I see family. I see a certain kind of want that is not quite lust and not quite not. Is that possible? Am i seeing things?

    I find I want to touch his leg--just above the knee--in a proprietary way. And I want to feel the heat from his chest against my back as he stands just behind me with his hands on my hips in the same proprietary way. I want him to own me. I want to own him.

Picking Peaches, a prose poem

 Reposted from FB on 25MAY09

Picking Peaches

I spent this Memorial Day under a perfect, blue, cloudless, Arizona sky 

as the sun shimmered down upon my brown, and red and blonde and silver hair

whilst I tromped through the--sometimes--waist-high, unkempt grass in search

of beautiful red-orange perfection.

I spent this Memorial Day under the sun as she tanned everything on my arms 

except that odd, upside-down triangle scar on my left wrist

whilst I watched the yellow and blue and white and purple weeds trumpeting

their unintentional, yet beautiful praises of perfection.

I spent this Memorial Day under the sun as she warmed my freckled 

Scottish and Irish and English and Cherokee face

whilst I flitted through fields, playing with the white butterflies who must have 

just escaped from their ugly cocoons into a world where were 

suddenly and perfectly beautiful.

Then, I remembered on this beautiful Memorial Day

whilst I tromped and watched and flitted that EVERYTHING,

even the most ugly and imperfect things, can be beautiful and perfect 

when they truly touch God.

A Treatise on Belle

 Reposted from FB from 09JUL09

A Treatise of Belle

I'm quite certain that some of my readers will wonder why in the world I am writing about this particular subject.  The subject was brought up in class the other day and I've been thinking about it--off and on. The subject, you ask? The Disney movie, 'Beauty and the Beast.'

One of my classmates (whom I like very much, by the way--just in case you are the phantom reader who reports my posts) mentioned her dislike for this particular movie. In her opinion, it is a terrible movie for young girls to watch because it teaches them several bad lessons and because some bad things happen in it.

For example:

a) A young girl is imprisoned by someone throughout most of the film.

b) Her love 'saves' him in the end.

c) Several other things that I can't remember cos It has been about two weeks since we had this conversation.

I will admit that I can see from where some of her concern comes. It is kind of a dangerous lesson that-if you love someone--they will change their bad behavior.  Most of the time, that doesn't happen. However, I think there are several great lessons and examples from this film. They are:

a) Belle is intelligent--a reader, and thinks for herself. These facts are evidenced by the fact that she sees beyond the conventionally good-looking veneer of Gaston, and she sees his ugliness.  Later, though she is scorned by many people in her town because of it, she rejects him because he is not the kind of man with whom she wants to spend her life. She wants someone who will love her for both her beauty AND her brains. Gaston is only interested in her beauty, and--in fact--encourages her not to think too much.

b) Belle is selfless. This fact is evidenced by the fact that--though she sees the horrible beast with whom she will have to spend the rest of her life--she stays in the castle to take her father's place because he is sick and needs medical care. Add to this the fact that she assumes that she will have to spend the rest of her life in the dungeon because that is where she finds her father.  The fact that the Beast allows her to live in a comfortable room in a four-poster bed with a talking wardrobe--well, that is just a fringe benefit. She does not know the situation will change when she decides to take her Daddy's place.

c) She sees beyond the ugliness of the Beast into the beauty of his character which he EVENTUALLY develops. Most people will not look beyond the ugly or the fat or the disfigured to see the beauty of the real person underneath. Belle really should get some credit her. Additionally, it was another fringe benefit that he turned into a cartoon hunk just after the last rose petal fell. She was willing to accept him as he was--hair and all.

d) You know, I was thinking that very few people change without the influence of someone else. So, I'm not really sure Belle's love saved the Beast, anyway. I just think he was influenced by her gentler nature. He saw an example of the kind of person he would rather be, so his attitude changed. With that change of attitude, Belle was able to see what was underneath his ugly exterior and fell in love. In the end, however, no matter how great an influence one person is, the other person will NOT truly change unless that person WANTS to change. Someone can wish and hope and plan and dream that the one they love will change, but their loved one wont' change unless he wants to do so. That is a fact. Plain and simple.

Just a few thoughts, my peeps, in defense of Belle and the general message of the movie. By the way, none of this was meant in any sort of aggressive or angry way. I'm just expressing my feelings. I hate to have to add that sort of proviso, but it seems I am misinterpreted by most of the people with whom I've come in contact lately. It is a little frustrating. 

A Note of Thanks

 Reposted from FB  from 27JAN10

A Note of Thanks

January 26th, 2010

Dear Mrs. Tindall,

Our records indicate that your gift of cream cheese and chives crackers were invaluable in staving off the hunger of one of our clients this morning at 3:21 a.m.

Please accept our sincere thanks for your efforts in hunger relief.  If it were not for the assistance of people like you, many people throughout the world would not make it to the dawn without becoming very, very hungry.

Please keep up your good work in this very worthy cause.

Sincerely,

Benjamin Quixote, Head Hunger Fairy

Snow Music

 Reposted from FB from 14FEB10

Snow Music

The wind rages fiercely outside my window as i fall asleep--warm and safe--tucked under my blue fleece blanket on which a black and white cow jumps over a yellow moon.

The quiet is loud as I stand--motionless on the front porch--looking out at this beautiful white and grey world. The snow seems to have cleansed everything. Ground, trees, mailboxes, and even sky are monochromatic white.

In my borrowed, brown sandals and white socks, i step onto the crispy, crunchy, unmarred snow and marvel that I am here--surrounded by this wonder of God's creation--and that it is me, Loralee, who is making the first marks in this pristine snow.

This natural and quiet beauty affects everything around me. Even the grey birds chirp--behind me and beside me, joyfully and colorfully singing their awe.

From tree branches, house eaves, and telephone wires, the melting snow drops down--with vehemence--onto the brown and yellow leaves like a brisk spring rain, signalling the coming of something new.

Constitutional

 Repost from FB, 04MAR10

Constitutional

  A serene, cloudless, cerulean sky greets me as I close the front screen door. The amazing blue reminds me, not only of an Arizona sky, but also of Amelia's eyes as I check to see if my hips, shoulders, and ears are aligned and begin my doctor-ordered walk.

A tiny, pale-yellow butterfly friend accompanies me on my walk. She flutters along, slowly, dipping down--here and there--to visit a flower or a piece of grass or to check her look in the glass of a passing window.

The brittle brown leaves skitter along in front of me on the sidewalk--stopping and starting in a unknown pattern--encouraged by a gentle, patient, and persistent wind

My butterfly friend disappears over the top of a dark-grey, slate roof and--when I am sure she is gone for good--reappears in front of me and heads back the way we came.

I smile and turn slowly as she passes by me--close enough to touch if I were inclined to do so--and watch as she flutters--unsure--over the property line between our house and the next. She alights on our side to rest a bit and to make sure I get in the house for my own rest.

Goodbye Arizona Sky and Brown Playful Leaves and Butterfly Friend--my fellow creatures of God.  Rehab is easier for me when you join me on these daily constitutionals.

April Evening 02APR10, a poem

 Reposted from FB, 05APR10

April Evening, 02APR10

Birds sing pretty tunes

outside my mother's window

as the sun goes down.

Seeing Through God's Eyes

 Reposted from FB May 20th, 2010

Seeing Through God's Eyes 

           While recovering from cervical spine surgery, I tried to branch out a bit.  I read a LOT--everything from 'The Reagan Diaries' to 'The Case For Christ' to Lloyd Alexander's series 'The Book of Three.'  I learned to like a few new bands and songs. I even took a painting class with my Aunt Gail.

        During that class, I re-learned some of the basics of painting and even learned some new things. I learned how to mix my own colors and about the different kinds of brushes and what can be created using each different one. I learned how to make 'reflections' on water and even how to erase my mistakes--if I catch them soon enough!

        On my last day of class, my teacher, Joyce, was showing me how to put the finishing touches on my painting. My job was to paint a few pieces of 'uniquely-hued" grass right around the front of the trees. Since she didn't think I needed very many of these fuchsia and orange grasses, she was reluctant to allow me to add those colors to my palette. This was because most people--when squeezing paint out of the tube onto the palette--use too much and waste the paint.

        To solve this problem, Joyce brought me one of those small plastic containers filled with the leftover paint from previous weeks. She showed me how to take the tiny, pointy brush (Okay--so I didn't learn ALL the names of the brushes), dip it into water to thin out the paint, and then paint the grasses.

        So, here I was dipping my brush into this small plastic container filled with paint. As I dipped I thought, "Well, I never thought I'd be using this contraption as a palette. Just goes to show ya that almost anything can be used to be creative. You just can't count anything out, can ya?"

        Immediately, I stilled. You know, the way they do in the movies when someone has an epiphany? I thought again, "It's kinda like Christianity, yeah? You just can't count anyone out." Christians come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. People--who aren't anything like what we think Christians are or ought to be--can BECOME Christians. They can be affected by the Gospel and then be molded and shaped by God's Word.

        It is easy to behave like the people described in James 2:1-3. We decided-based on someone's dress or words or actions--that they wouldn't be interested in learning about God's love. And really, who are we to judge?  When Jesse presented Eliab as a possible future King of Israel, God, Himself, said, "Do not look at his appearance or at the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” (II Samuel 16:7)

Just a few verses later (vss. 11-13), David, the youngest of Jesse’s boys, was picked over all his elder brothers. This was just the beginning of David’s usefulness to God. By the end of his life, God described David as a man after his own heart.

In Bible times, women weren’t really looked upon as equal citizens in ability or with. Nevertheless, the Bible is rife with examples of women who helped make the church stronger. Dorcas, for example, was well-known for her godly works. (Acts 9:36, 39) She spent her days making clothes for those who were needy and participating in acts of kindness and goodness toward other people. Lydia, a businesswoman in the city of Thyatira, upon learning of God’s love, obeyed HIs commands and immediately began working at encouraging brethren and strengthening the Kingdom. (Acts 9 and 16:24, 15,& 40)

In II Timothy 1:5, Paul gave kudos to Lois and Eunice, the mother and grandmother of Timothy for their work in making Timothy the man he was--Paul’s right hand man. Mary Magdalene began her spiritual journey as a demon-filled woman. After the demons were expelled, she began contributing monetarily to the work of God. (Luke 8:2)  Mary, was one of the few standing at the cross as Christ died, (John 19:25) and was in the group who discovered His empty tomb on the third day. (John 20:1-2) Despite her dubious origins, Mary was clearly part of that special group of people with whom Christ spent His last days.

Peter, along with his brother, Andrew, was merely a fisherman working in a family owned business when he met Christ. However, he helped them to become ‘fishers of men.’ (Mark 1:16-18), and--on the day of Pentecost--thousands of souls were added to the Kingdom because of his efforts. (Acts 2: 41, 42, 47)

If we are looking through the feeble and cloudy eyes of man, it is so easy to misread people and their intentions and attitudes. Back in November of 1991, My sister and brother-in-law at their first meeting with me, saw--instead of an immoral, alcoholic fornicator--a soul who needed God’s love and forgiveness. I thank God greatly for their clear and loving eyes. I hope we’ll all make diligent efforts to see people through the eyes of God. Just some food for thought. Love y’all!

Lists, a poem

 Repost from FB

This haiku just popped outta me in just a few minutes this afternoon--a day too late for Mother's Day, but the muse works when she wants to do so, yeah?  This poem was written particularly with Mary Tindall in mind; however, there are many other moms of other people whom I consider moms to me. This is also for Rachel's mom; and Mark and Russel's mom; and Jordan, Jacob, and Micah's mom; and Christine, Luke, and Aubrey's mom; and Timothy, Andrew, and Phillip's mom; and speaking of Philip--a different one, and Catherine, and Edmund's mom; and--well, really, the list could go on and on, yeah? So, if you're a mom tome, and y'all know who y'all are--this is for you!!

Lists 

Mary, though 'Lou Ann's

Mom' on my phone list, is--in

my heart's list--mother.

Superman #2, a poem

 Repost:

Hey, Guys,  This is another haiku in my 'Superman' series, so, as you're reading it--especially if you have daughters--think of you and her and your relationship you can do the same with the boys, just don't think of them as 'her!'  LOL

Superman # 2

A Pollyanna

plant, when put in the sun, grows

exponentially.

Superman, #1, a poem

 Repost:

I was home on leave from Luke Air Force Base at Christmastime, sometime in the early 90s. Vicky and Douglas were still living at home, and--surprisingly--Lana was home,too.  Getting all four of us home at the same time was always a challenge. Perhaps, it was that we were all home that made Daddy get sentimental; but, I remember a conversation we all had sitting in that living room at 422.

Smiling that smile he has when he is happy, Daddy told us that were were each his favorite child. I remember wondering how in the world that was possible when he explained with four stories. I don't remember why Lana and Douglas were his favorite, though I can hazard a guess. Lana was his first born and Douglas was his last born, and only boy. Vicky's reason had something to do with his meeting Mom (step-mom, officially, though--in my heart--complete and total REAL MOM).  

Mine had its start with a play pen.  Some of y'all will be old enough to remember that device. A mother could place her child in it along with several toys and a sippy cup, and the child would play by himself for quite some time. Daddy and Mother had one of those for me when I was still in diapers. It was obviously a usual thing for me to spend the later part of my afternoons in that gizmo because Daddy's favorite moment for me involved the play pen. When he walked in the front door of our home, he would shout a greeting to us.  According to him, every day--when I heard his voice--I would crane my neck back in order to see him.  To me, his voice came from somewhere way up high, as if my Daddy was 12 feet tall--bigger and better and cooler and funnier and more wonderful than any other man alive.  This poem comes from that memory.

Superman # 1 

No matter how old

I get, you'll always be as

tall as the ceiling.

Summer Rain, a poem

 15MAY10

Summer Rain 

Water, smelling pure

raining, vehemently down

from a sunny sky.

Moving Day, #2, a poem

15MAY10

Moving Day #2

My car, loaded to

the brim with bags, boxes and

gifts of love from y'all.

My hand, waving out

the car window as smaller

and smaller y'all grow.

My heart, as I drive

south, filled with memories of 

happy times with y'all.

Moving Day, #1, a poem

 23FEB10

Moving Day, #1

As I move boxes from my car to Nat's barn, the air

is an

ominous gray, and

crisp, and

cool.

Ruby's brown eyes are gazing at me

protectively, and

watchfully, and

curiously.

She is intrigued--and perhaps--charmed by me as I 

whisper, and 

then talk, and 

finally, sing to her.

She approaches me at first

slowly and 

then forcefully and 

finally, confidently.

As I bring my face near to hers in a gesture of friendship, her horsey breath

tickles my ear, and

warms my cheek, and

fogs my right eyeglass lens.

The giggle which escapes my mouth is

surprised, and

then delighted, and

finally, joyful!

At that moment, I am

extremely, and

fervently, and

vehemently certain

That this world God made is a 

happy, and 

wonderful, and 

beautiful place to be.

The Dog Who Was A Cat, a poem

 24MAY10

The Dog Who Was A Cat 

Her tail is pointing

out as straight as a ruler.

Her front paw is bent.

She is watching and 

still as she focuses on

a nearby squirrel.

She creeps forward like

a jungle lion ready

to pounce on her prey.

The squirrel sees her

and stills, hoping to become

one with the brown bark.

Wary, predator

and prey eye one another

seeing who'll move first.

Moments pass while dog

and squirrel fight a battle

of strength and patience.

The hunt ends as dog

pounces and squirrel escapes

safely up her tree.

East Texas Living, a poem

 30MAY10

East Texas Living 

Gentle winds blowing

through pink and white blossoms on

the mimosa trees.

Lazy, tan-and-white 

dog dozing on the front porch,

ignoring the bugs.

Warm, slate grey heavens

signaling an impending

afternoon rain storm.

Wafting through the air,

the scent of magnolia

blossoms, smelling sweet.

Soothing highway hum

from Ninety-Six competing

with joyful bird song.

Back and forth rhythm

of wooden porch swing lulling

away today's toils.

When my friend, Donald (from Dallas) originally read this, he responded in semi-haiku:  He said, "Sounds like an improvement on...                            So many people--

                                                          Heat, noise, traffic congestion,

                                                                  and planes overhead.

Watching The Day As She Ends, a poem

 31MAY10

Watching The Day As She Ends

The phone call between

me and the 'puter geek guy

was interrupted.

I found Dale and Pop

coming back from the mailbox.

There were no letters! :(

We heard thunder from 

the south and signed at the thought

of rain. No such luck!

The dimmed light through cloud

cast an otherworldly glow

on the ground below.

Magnolia and

Mimosa and Gardenia

blossoms enthralled us.

Tomorrow's Delight

was foretold by the pale pink

clouds and soft blue sky.

Pop and I--on the

side porch--don't really mind that

we're not on the phone.

We're just loving the

beauty, watching the day as

she comes to her end.

Commissioned (well, free really) Poem for Ben Hartley

 06JUN10

On Interstate Ten

The hum of truck tires lulls me 

to sleep. Hope I live!!

Dear Ben, When you asked if I had been inspired by the trip, I hadn't yet.  Your comment did, though. I figured you'd enjoy the humor in this one. It seems like something YOU'D say!

His comment to me was:

Hmm, yes. I might need this one for a bedtime story. It just might work...unless an airbag nightmare wakes me up. :)  Thanks for the poem!

Lesson learned from downtown Houston 12JUN10

 In the midst of steel and stone and glass and tar and engine noises from cars, buses and machines, I saw one wispy, white cloud passing by, highlighting the blue sky; and two yellow birds flying past (I think they might have been making their way to Rockport) and three green trees--whose leaves and limbs were shaking and swaying in the wind--and was reminded awesomely and simply of the God Who Exists--ALWAYS--despite the chaos which surrounds us.

Words of Affirmation: Heather Sanders

 April 2nd, 2012,

Loralee,  You know I am not one to throw around compliments lightly, and when I do say it, I really mean it...

YOU should be writing for a living. PERIOD, no question.  This is what you are called to do, and extremely gifted at, and if you should ever need it, I would be honored to illustrate this story for you. (Especially if Homer is a white egret!)

Words of Affirmation: Guy Crain

So, have y'all ever heard of the 5 Languages of Love? It's a book which goes through--in depth--the five ways most people feel loved. They are: Gifts, Acts of Service, Quality Time, Touch, and Words of Affirmation.

Mine are--in descending order--Words of Affirmation, Touch, and then the other three. :)   So, when I get especially encouraging, touching, etc. 'Words of Affirmation', I write them down! Here is # 1.

Guy is a young man who went to Brown Trail after I had already graduated, but I was still a member of the congregation.  I kinda had a little crush on him at the time.  Anyway, time passed, he got married, had a kid, his wife left him for another man, and we had gotten back in touch with each other.  Nothing was going on, but a friendship which was encouraging. We talked on the phone and were people who filled a need for each other at that time in our lives.  I've since lost touch--again, but I'm sure he is having a lovely life, playing his guitar, and helping his wife raise that little boy (although the boy might be a grown-up by now.)   Anyway.... 

From Guy to me:

-A heart-felt amen to all your frustration and confusion about the suffering and injustice in the world.  

-And a heart-felt amen to your affirmation that God is still nonetheless good and just even beyond our capacity to understand. BOTH amens are very important, I think. (not just the first one, Mr./Ms.Unbeliever, and not just the last one, Mr./Ms. Preaching School Graduate. =o)

-I am humbled by the colossal size of your heart and its endless well of compassion. You are an example to me.

A HUGE PROJECT

Good evening, Everyone!

     So, I've been considering getting back to blogging recently because of some serious upcoming changes in my life, but have been putting it off because of all the work required in ACCOMPLISHING the aforementioned serious upcoming changes.  I will write a blog about the 'Serious Upcoming Changes" soon.  

However, today I discovered something kind of horrific.  FACEBOOK deleted the Notes feature and all my poetry and writing VANISHED!!  Thankfully, my amazing and intelligent and talented (and young and tech saavy) niece figured out a way to re-capture my notes, but it will be an issue of me bringing up the notes and hand typing them back onto another location--which for now will be here.  At some point, I will definitely buy one of those nifty thingies that keep things stored, but--for now--I'm doing it this way!   Anyway, so there will be LOTS Of new posts in the next week or so....I'm just transferring stuff.  Please forgive!

P.S. Nice to see y'all!