Tuesday, March 15, 2011

never too old

Common sense wisdom: I am never too old to say sorry or thank you to others. This applies to all others including my own children. God help me if I ever forget this.

I love my children and I hope to always honor them in word and deed. Being human guanrantees I am sure to mess this up. Which is why I want to be ready to apologize and give thanks when the occasion occurs.

Saturday, February 19, 2011


Today I realized I have a name and phone number written in my handwriting on the message board in the kitchen. I have no idea why the number is there, who the person is, or how long they have been there. This is my life.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011


As the receptionist at our church I find this hilarious!

A crusty old man walks into the local First Baptist Church and says to the secretary, "I would like to join this damn church." The astonished woman replies, "I beg your pardon, sir. I must have misunderstood you. What did you say?"

"Listen up, damn it. I said I want to join this damn church!"
"I'm very sorry sir, but that kind of language is not tolerated in this
The secretary leaves her desk and goes into the pastor's study to inform him of her situation. The pastor agrees that the secretary does not have to isten to that foul language. They both return to her office and the pastor asks the old geezer, "Sir, what seems to be the problem here?"
"There is no damn problem," the man says. "I just won $200 million bucks in the damn lottery and I want to join this damn church to get rid of some of this damn money."
"I see," said the pastor. "And is this bitch giving you a hard time?"

Monday, February 7, 2011

A love Poem by Billy Collins

Me and Poetry don't typically mix but I loved this Poem. It reminds me of the love my husband and I share. Real, exposed and true.

You are the bread and the knife
The crystal goblet and the wine.
Jacques Crickillon
You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass,
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron on the baker
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight. However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is no way you are the pin-scented air. It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk. And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse. It might interest you to know
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of the rain on the roof. I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley,
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table. I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's teacup.
But don't worry, I am not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife,
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--
the wine.
by Billy Collins