sharossody's Blog

A TRUE STORY by Catherine Moore

"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?"
Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, 
daring me to challenge him.

A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.
"I saw the car, Dad . Please don't yell at me when I'm driving.."
My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and 
went outside to collect my
thoughts..... dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder 
seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon . He had enjoyed being outdoors and had 
revelled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature.

He had entered gruelling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his 
house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.
The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; 
but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it.. He became irritable whenever 
anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had  done as a 
younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the 
hospital while a paramedic administered

CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.
At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. 
But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone..

He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside 
with sarcasm and insults.

The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone..
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air 
and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.
Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. 
He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody.

Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue.
Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly 
counselling appointments for us.

At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind.
But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.
The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health 
clinics listed in the Yellow Pages.

I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.
Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something 
that might help you! Let me go get the article.."
I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. 
All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression.

Yet their attitudes had proved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog...
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon.. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer 
led me to the kennels. The odour of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens.

Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, 
spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me.

I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair.

As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, 
walked to the front of the run and sat down.

It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed.
Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of grey. His hip bones jutted out in 
lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention.

Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.
I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in 
puzzlement. "He's a funny one.

Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone 
would be right down to claim him.

That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror.. "You mean you're going to kill him?"
"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."
I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said. 
I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me.. When I reached the house I honked 
the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch...

"Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad !" I said excitedly.
Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one.
 And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones.

Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.
Anger rose inside me.. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my  temples. 
"You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!"
Dad ignored me.. "Did you hear me, Dad ?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily,
 his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.

We stood glaring at each other like duellists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp.
 He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him.

Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw...
Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw confusion replaced the 
anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently.

Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne ..

Together he and Cheyenne explored the community.

They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the 
banks of streams, angling for tasty trout.

They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and 
Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, 
and he and Cheyenne made many friends.

Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through 
our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night..

I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene.
 But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside 
Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on..

As Dick and I buried him near a favourite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help 
he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.
The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, 
I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family.

I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church... 
The pastor began his eulogy.

It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life.
And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, 
for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it."
"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before:
 the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article..

Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter ..
...his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths.
 And suddenly I understood.

I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.
Life is too short for drama or petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. 
Live While You Are Alive. Forgive now those who made you cry.


 I arrived at the address and honked the horn. 
After waiting a few minutes I walked to the door and knocked.
'Just a minute', answered a frail, elderly voice.
I could hear something being dragged across the floor..
After a long pause, the door opened. 
A small woman in her 90's stood before me. 
She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it,
like somebody out of a 1940's movie.
 By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had 
lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters.
In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
'Would you carry my bag out to the car?' she said. I took the suitcase 
to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.
 She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept thanking me for my kindness.
'It's nothing', I told her.. 'I just try to treat my passengers 
the way I would want my mother to be treated.'
'Oh, you're such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave 
me an address and then asked, 'Could you drive through downtown?'
'It's not the shortest way,' I answered quickly..
'Oh, I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice.
I looked in the rear-view mirror. 
Her eyes were glistening. 'I don't have any family left,' she continued in a soft 
voice.. 'The doctor says I don't have very long.'

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
'What route would you like me to take?' I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me 
the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived 
when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that
had once  been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and 
would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said,
'I'm tired. Let's go now'.
We drove in silence to the address she had given me.
It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, 
with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up.
They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. 
They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door.
The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
'How much do I owe you?' She asked, reaching into her purse.
'Nothing,' I said
'You have to make a living,' she answered.
'There are other passengers,' I responded.
 Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. 
She held onto me tightly.
'You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,' she said.
'Thank you.'
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning 
light.. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life...

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought.
For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver,
or one who was impatient to end his shift?
What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.
We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others 
may consider a small one.


This is a wonderful Please read to the end and make your day.

Having four visiting family members, my wife was very busy, so I offered to go to the store for her
 to get some needed items, which included light bulbs, paper towels, trash bags, detergent and Clorox.
 So off I went.
I scurried around the store, gathered up my goodies and headed for the checkout counter, 
only to be blocked in the narrow aisle by a young man who appeared to be about sixteen-years-old.
 I wasn't in a hurry, so I patiently waited for the boy to realize that I was there. 
This was when he waved his hands excitedly in the air and declared in a loud voice, "Mommy, I'm over here."

It was obvious now, he was mentally challenged and also startled as he turned and saw me standing so
 close to him, waiting to squeeze by. His eyes widened and surprise exploded on his face as I said,
 "Hey Buddy, what's your name?"
"My name is Denny and I'm shopping with my mother," he responded proudly.
"Wow," I said, "that's a cool name; I wish my name was Denny, but my name is Steve."
"Steve, like Stevarino?" he asked.  "Yes," I answered. "How old are you Denny?"
"How old am I now, Mommy?" he asked his mother as she slowly came over from the next aisle.
"You're fifteen-years-old Denny; now be a good boy and let the man pass by."
I acknowledged her and continued to talk to Denny for several more minutes about summer,
 bicycles and school. I watched his brown eyes dance with excitement, 
because he was the center of someone's attention. He then abruptly turned and headed toward the toy section.
Denny's mom had a puzzled look on her face and thanked me for taking the time to talk with her son.
 She told me that most people wouldn't even look at him, much less talk to him.
I told her that it was my pleasure and then I said something I have no idea where it came from,
 other than by the prompting of the Holy Spirit. I told her that there are plenty of 
red, yellow, and pink roses in God's Garden; however, "Blue Roses" are very rare and should be 
appreciated for their beauty and distinctiveness. You see, Denny is a Blue Rose and if someone 
doesn't stop and smell that rose with their heart and touch that rose with their kindness,
 then they've missed a blessing from God.
She was silent for a second, then with a tear in her eye she asked, "Who are you?"
Without thinking I said, "Oh, I'm probably just a dandelion, but I sure love living in God's garden."
She reached out, squeezed my hand and said, "God bless you!" and then I had tears in my eyes.

May I suggest, the next time you see a BLUE ROSE, don't turn your head and walk off.
 Take the time to smile and say Hello. Why? Because, by the grace of GOD, this mother or father could be you.
 This could be your child, grandchild, niece or nephew. What a difference a moment can mean to that person or their family.
From an old dandelion!  Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly. Leave the rest to God.

"People will forget what you said, People will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel!"        ANON.


Summary of Life


1] Raising teenagers is like nailing jelly to a tree.

2] Wrinkles don't hurt.

3] Families are like fudge.... mostly sweet, with a few nuts.

4] Today's mighty oak is just yesterday's nut that held its ground.

5] Laughing is good exercise. It's like jogging on the inside.

6] Middle age is when you choose your cereal for the fibre, not the toy.



1] Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional.

2] Forget the health food, I need all the preservatives I can get.

3] When you fall down,you wonder what else you can do while you're down there.

4] You're getting old when you get the same sensation from a rocking chair

that you once got from a roller coaster.

5] It's frustrating when you know all the answers but nobody bothers to ask you

the questions.

6] Time may be a great healer, but its a lousy beautician.

7] Wisdom comes with age, but sometime age comes alone.


If you "tear up" go ahead, who's watching? 
In Calgary , Alberta a 26-year-old mother stared down at her 6 year old son, 
who was dying of terminal leukemia.

Although her heart was filled with sadness, she also had a strong feeling of determination.  
Like any parent, she wanted her son to grow up & fulfill all his dreams. Now that was no longer possible.  
The leukemia would see to that. But she still wanted her son's dream to come true.

She took her son's hand and asked, 'Billy, did you ever think about what you wanted to be once you grew up?  
Did you ever dream and wish what you would do with your life?'

Mommy, 'I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up..'

Mom smiled back and said, 'Let's see if we can make your wish come true.'

Later that day she went to her local fire Department  in Calgary, where she met Fireman Bob, 
who had a heart as big as Alberta

She explained her son's final wish and asked if it might be possible to give her 6 year-old son 
a ride around the block on a fire engine. 

Fireman Bob said, “Look, we can do better than that. If you'll have your son ready at seven o'clock 
Wednesday morning, we'll make him an honorary Fireman for the whole day.  
He can come down to the fire station, eat with us, go out on all the fire calls, the whole nine yards! 

And if you'll give us his sizes, we'll get a real fire uniform for him, with a real fire hat - 
not a toy - one with the emblem of the  Calgary Fire Department on it, and a yellow slicker 
like we wear and rubber boots.”

“They're all manufactured right here in Calgary , so  we can get them fast.”

Three days later Fireman Bob picked up Billy, dressed him in his uniform and escorted him from 
his hospital bed to the waiting hook and ladder truck.

Billy got to sit on the back of the truck and help steer it back to the fire station. He was in heaven. 

There were three fire calls in Calgary that day and Billy got to go out on all three calls.

He rode in the different fire engines, the Paramedics’ van, and even the fire chief's car.  
He was also videotaped for the local news program.  Having his dream come true, 
with all the love and attention that was lavished upon him, so deeply touched Billy, that he lived 
three months longer than any doctor thought possible.

One night all of his vital signs began to drop dramatically and the head nurse, 
who believed in the hospice concept (that no one should die alone), began to call 
the family members to the hospital.  Then she remembered the day Billy had spent as a fireman, 
so she called the Fire Chief and asked if it would be possible to send a fireman in uniform 
to the hospital to be with Billy as he made his transition.

The chief replied, “We can do better than that. We'll be there in five minutes. 
 Will you please do me a favor?  
When you hear the sirens screaming and see the lights flashing, will you announce 
over the PA system that there is not a fire?  It's the department coming to see one of 
its finest members one more time. And will you open the window to his room?”

About five minutes later a hook and ladder truck arrived at the hospital and extended 
its ladder up to Billy's third floor open window.  16 fire-fighters climbed up the ladder into Billy's room.  
With his mother's permission, they hugged him and held him and told him how much they LOVED him. 
With his dying breath, Billy looked up at the fire chief and said, “Chief, am I really a fireman now?”

“Billy, you are.  And The Head Chief, Jesus, is holding your hand.” The Chief said with those words, 
Billy smiled and said, “I know, He's been holding my hand all day, and the angels have been singing.” 

He closed his eyes one last time.

This story is powerful and there is nothing attached. 

Uplifting stories are one of the best gifts we receive.
There is no cost, but a lot of rewards, let's continue to uplift one another. 
                       This is a true story.

New way of STEALING...

This is a new one. People sure stay busy
Trying to cheat us, don't they? 

A friend went to the local gym and placed his belongings in the locker.
 After the workout and a shower,  
he came out, saw the locker open, and thought to himself,
'Funny, I thought I locked the locker...
Hmm, 'He dressed and just flipped the wallet to make sure all was in order. 
Everything looked okay - all cards were in place...
A few weeks later his credit card bill came - a whooping bill of $14,000!
He called the credit card company and started yelling at them, 
saying that he did not make the transactions.
Customer care personnel verified that there was no mistake in the system 
and asked if his card had been stolen...
'No,' he said, but then took out his wallet, pulled out the credit card, 
and yep - you guessed it - a switch had been made.
An expired similar credit card from the same bank was in the wallet.
The thief broke into his locker at the gym and switched cards.
Verdict: The credit card issuer said since he did not report the card missing 
earlier, he would have to pay the amount owed to them.
How much did he have to pay for items he did not buy?
$9,000! Why were there no calls made to verify the amount swiped?
Small amounts rarely trigger a 'warning bell' with some credit card companies. 
It just so happens that all the small amounts added up to a big one! 

A man at a local restaurant paid for his meal with his credit card.

The bill for the meal came, he signed it and the waitress folded the 
receipt and passed the credit card along.
Usually, he would just take it and place it in his wallet or pocket. 
Funny enough, though, he actually took a look at the card and, lo and behold, 
it was the expired card of another person.
He called the waitress and she looked perplexed.
She took it back, apologized, and hurried back to the counter under the 
watchful eye of the man.
All the waitress did while walking to the counter was wave the wrong expired card to the
counter cashier, and the counter cashier immediately looked down and took out the real card.
No exchange of words --- nothing! She took it and came back to the man with an apology..
Verdict: Make sure the credit cards in your wallet are yours.
Check the name on the card every time you sign for something and/or the card is taken
away for even a short period of time.
Many people just take back the credit card without even looking at it, 'assuming' that it has to be theirs.

Yesterday I went into a pizza restaurant to pick up an order that I had called in.

I paid by using my Visa Check Card which, of course, is linked directly to my checking Account.

The young man behind the counter took my card, swiped it, then laid it on the counter as he 
waited for the approval, which is pretty standard procedure.
While he waited, he picked up his cell phone and started dialing.
I noticed the phone because it is the same model I have, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. 
Then I heard a click that sounded like my phone sounds when I take a picture.
He then gave me back my card but kept the phone in his hand as if he was still pressing buttons.
Meanwhile, I'm thinking: I wonder what he is taking a picture of, oblivious to what was really going on.
It then dawned on me: the only thing there was my credit card, so now I'm paying close attention to 
what he is doing..
He set his phone on the counter, leaving it open.
About five seconds later, I heard the chime that tells you that the picture has been saved.
Now I'm standing there struggling with the fact that this boy just took a picture of my credit card.
Yes, he played it off well, because had we not had the same kind of phone, 
I probably would never have known what happened.
Needless to say, I immediately canceled that card as I was walking out of the pizza parlour.
All I am saying is, be aware of your surroundings at all times.
Whenever you are using your credit card take caution and don't be careless.
Notice who is standing near you and what they are doing when you use your card.
Be aware of phones, because many have a camera phone these days.

Never let your card out of your sight.....check and check again!
Scary isn't it.....


When a soldier comes home, he finds it hard.... listen to his son whine about being bored. keep a straight face when people complain about potholes.

To be tolerant of people who complain about the hassle of getting ready for work. be understanding when a co-worker complains about a bad night's sleep. be silent when people pray to God for a new car. control his panic when his wife tells him he needs to drive slower. be compassionate when a businessman expresses a fear of flying. keep from laughing when anxious parents say they're afraid to send their kids off to summer camp. keep from ridiculing someone who complains about hot weather. control his frustration when a colleague gripes about his coffee being cold. remain calm when his daughter complains about having to walk the dog. be civil to people who complain about their jobs. just walk away when someone says they only get two weeks of vacation a year. be forgiving when someone says how hard it is to have a new baby in the house.

The only thing harder than being a Soldier..

Is loving one.

And Our Aussie Mates. Always There.

We "Band of Brothers".


Stay with this -- the answer is at the end... It will blow you away. 

One evening a grandson was talking to his grandmother 
About current events.

The grandson asked his grandmother what she thought 
About the shootings at schools, the computer age, and 
Just things in general. 

The Grandmother replied, "Well, let me think a minute, 

I was born before:
' television 
' penicillin 
' polio shots 
' frozen foods 
' Xerox 
' contact lenses 
' Frisbees and 
' the pill 

There were no:
' credit cards 
' laser beams or 
' ball-point pens 

Man had not yet invented:
' pantyhose 
' air conditioners 
' dishwashers 
' clothes dryers 
' and the clothes were hung out to dry in the fresh air and 
' man hadn't yet walked on the moon

Your Grandfather and I got married first, and then lived together. 
Every family had a father and a mother.

Until I was 25, I called every man older than me, "Sir."

And after I turned 25, I still called policemen and every man 
With a title, "Sir."

We were before gay-rights, computer-dating, dual careers, daycare centers, and group therapy.

Our lives were governed by the Ten Commandments, good judgment, and common sense.

We were taught to know the difference between right and 
Wrong and to stand up and take responsibility for our actions.

Serving your country was a privilege; living in this country was 
A bigger privilege.

We thought fast food was what people ate during Lent.

Having a meaningful relationship meant getting along with 
Your cousins.

Draft dodgers were those who closed front doors as the 
Evening breeze started.

Time-sharing meant time the family spent together in the 
Evenings and weekends not purchasing condominiums.

We never heard of FM radios, tape decks, CD's, electric typewriters, yogurt, or guys wearing 

We listened to Big Bands, Jack Benny, and the President's speeches on our Wireless (radios).

If you saw anything with 'Made in Japan ' on it, it was junk.

The term 'making out' referred to how you did on your school exam.

Pizza Hut, McDonald's, and instant coffee were unheard of.

We had 5 &10-cent (5 and dime) stores where you could actually buy things for 5 and 10 cents.

Ice-cream cones, phone calls, rides on a streetcar, and a Pepsi were all a nickel.

And if you didn't want to splurge, you could spend your nickel on enough stamps to mail 1 letter 
and 2 postcards.

You could buy a new Ford Coupe for $600, but who could 
Afford one? Too bad, because gas was 11 cents a gallon.
In my day:
' "grass" was mowed, 
' "coke" was a cold drink, 
' "pot" was something your mother cooked in and 
' "rock music" was your grandmother's lullaby. 
' "Aids" were helpers in the Principal's office,
' "chip" meant a piece of wood,
' "hardware" was found in a hardware store and.
' "software" wasn't even a word.

We were the last generation to actually believe that a lady needed a husband to have a baby.
We volunteered to protect our precious country.
No wonder people call us "old and confused" and say there is a generation gap.
How old do you think I am? 
Read on to see -- pretty scary if you think about it and pretty sad at the same time. 

Are you ready?????

This woman would be only 61 years old.
She would have been born in late 1952.





 by Robert Peterson
She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live.  

I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world 
begins to close in on me.  She was building a sand castle or something  
and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.  

"Hello," she said.  
I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.  

"I'm building," she said.  

"I see that.  What is it?"  I asked, not really caring.  
"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."  

That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes.  
A sandpiper glided by.  

"That's a joy," the child said.  

"It's a what?"  

"It's a joy.  My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy."  

The bird went gliding down the beach.  Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself,  
hello pain, and turned to walk on.  I was depressed, my life seemed completely 
out of balance.  

"What's your name?"  She wouldn't give up.  
"Robert," I answered.  "I'm Robert Peterson."  

"Mine's Wendy... I'm six."  
Hi, Wendy."  
She giggled.  "You're funny," she said.  
In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on.  

Her musical giggle followed me.  
"Come again, Mr.. P," she called.  "We'll have another happy day."  

 The next few days consisted of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, 
PTA meetings, and an ailing mother.  The sun was shining one morning as I took my 
hands out of the dishwater.  I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.  

The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me..  
The breeze was chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.  

"Hello, Mr. P," she said.  "Do you want to play?"  
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.  
"I don't know.  You say."  
"How about charades?"  I asked sarcastically.  

The tinkling laughter burst forth again.  "I don't know what that is."  
"Then let's just walk."  
Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.
"Where do you live?" I asked.  
"Over there."  She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.  

Strange, I thought, in winter.  
"Where do you go to school?"
"I don't go to school.  Mom my says we're on vacation"  
She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things. 
 When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day.  Feeling surprisingly better, 
I smiled at her and agreed.  

 Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. 
 I was in no mood to even greet Wendy.  I thought I saw her mother on the porch
 and felt like demanding she keep her child at home.  

"Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, 
I'd rather be alone today."  She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.  
"Why?" she asked.  
I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought, 
My God, why was I saying this to a little child?  
"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."  
"Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and -- oh, go away!"  
"Did it hurt?" she inquired.  
"Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.  
"When she died?"  
"Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding,  
wrapped up in myself.  I strode off.  

A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there.  
Feeling guilty, ashamed, and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage 
after my walk and knocked at the door.  A drawn looking young woman with 
honey-colored hair opened the door.  

"Hello," I said, "I'm Robert Peterson.  I missed your little girl today 
and wondered where she was."  
"Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in.  Wendy spoke of you so much.  
I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you.  If she was a nuisance, please, 
accept my apologies."  
"Not at all! she's a delightful child."  I said, suddenly realizing  
that I meant what I had just said.  
"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson.  She had leukemia
Maybe she didn't tell you."  
Struck dumb, I groped for a chair.  I had to catch my breath.  
"She loved this beach, so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no.  
She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days.  
But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly..." Her voice faltered, "She left something for you, 
if only I can find it.  Could you wait a moment while I look?"  

 I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young woman. 
She handed me a smeared envelope with "MR. P" printed in bold childish letters..  
Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a yellow beach, a blue sea, 
and a brown bird.  Underneath was carefully printed:  

Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide.  I
 took Wendy's mother in my arms.  "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,"
I uttered over and over, and we wept together.  The precious little picture is framed now 
and hangs in my study.  Six words -- one for each year of her life --
 that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love.  

 A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand  
-- who taught me the gift of love.  

 NOTE: This is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson. 
 It happened over 20 years ago and the incident changed his life forever.  
It serves as a reminder to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living
 and life and each other. The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less.  

Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas can make 
us lose focus about what is truly important  
or what is only a momentary setback or crisis..  

This week, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, 
and by all means, take a moment... even if it is only ten seconds, 
to stop and smell the roses.  

This comes from someone's heart, and is read by many  
and now I share it with you..  
May God Bless everyone who receives this!  There are NO coincidences!  

 Everything that happens to us happens for a reason.  Never brush aside anyone as insignificant.  Who knows what they can teach us?                                  

I wish for you, a sandpiper. 


The girl with the apple 
August 1942. Piotrkow, Poland  

The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously. All the men, women 
and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto had been herded into a square. Word 
had gotten around that we were being moved. My father had only recently died 
from typhus, which had run rampant through the crowded ghett o. My greatest 
fear was that our family would be separated. 'Whatever you do,' Isidore, my 
eldest brother, whispered to me, 'don't tell them your age. Say you're 
'I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I might be 
deemed valuable as a worker. 
An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked 
me up and down, and then asked my age. 
'Sixteen,' I said. He directed me to the left, where my three brothers and 
other healthy young men already stood. 
My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children, sick and 
elderly people. 
I whispered to Isidore, 'Why?' 
He didn't answer. 
I ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her. 
'No, 'she said sternly. 
'Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers.' 
She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting 
me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was 
the last I ever saw of her. 
My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany. 
We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night later and were led 
into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and 
identification numbers. 
'Don't call me Herman anymore,' I said to my brothers. 'Call me 94983.' 
I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a 
hand-cranked elevator. 
I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number. 
Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald 's 
sub-camps near Berlin. 
One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice. 
'Son,' she said softly but clearly, I am going to send you an angel.' 
Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream. 
But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work. And hunger. 
And fear. 
A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the barracks, 
near the barbedwire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was 
On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little girl with light, 
almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree. 
I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in 
German. 'Do you have something to eat?' 
She didn't understand. 
I inched closer to the fence and repeated the question in Polish. She 
stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but 
the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life. < br>  
She pulled an apple from her woollen jacket and threw it over the fence. 
I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly, 
'I'll see you tomorrow.' 
I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day. She was 
always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread or, better yet, 
an apple. 
We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both. 
I didn't know anything about her, just a kind farm girl, except that she 
understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she risking her life for me? 
Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of the fence 
gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and apples. 
Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car 
and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia . 
'Don't return,' I told the girl that day. 'We're leaving.' 
I turned toward the barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye 
to the little girl whose name I'd never learned, the girl with the apples. 
We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and 
Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed. 
On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00am. 
In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed 
ready to claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over. 
I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited. 
But at 8am there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running 
every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers. 
Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was 
running, so I did too. Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived; 
I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples had been the key 
to my survival. 
In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my 
life, had given me hope in a place where there was none. 
My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come. 
Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish 
charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust 
and trained in electronics. Then I came to America, where my brother Sam had 
already moved. I served in the US Army during the Korean War, and returned 
to New York City after two years. 
By August 1957 I'd opened my own electronics repair shop. I was starting to 
settle in. 
One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me. 
'I've got a date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date.' 
A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me. But Sid kept pestering me, and a few 
days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her friend 
I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a nurse at a 
Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling brown 
curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life. 
The four of us drove out to Coney Island. Roma was easy to talk to, easy to 
be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! 
We were both just doing our friends a favour. We took a stroll on the 
boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the 
shore. I couldn't remember having a better time. 
We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat. 
As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been 
left unsaid between us. She broached the subject, ' 
'Where were you,' she asked softly, 'during the war?' 
'The camps,' I said. The terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable 
loss. I had tried to forget. But you can never forget. 
She nodded. 'My family was hiding on a farm in Germany, not far from 
Berlin,' she told me. 'My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers.' 
I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion. And 
yet here we were both survivors, in a new world. 
'There was a camp next to the farm.' Roma continued. 'I saw a boy there and 
I would throw him apples every day.' 
What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy. 'What did he 
look like?' I asked. 
'He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I must have seen him every day for six 
My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it. This couldn't be. 
'Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?' 
Roma looked at me in amazement. 'Yes!' 
'That was me!' 
I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn't 
believe it! My angel. 
'I'm not letting you go.' I said to Roma. And in the back of the car on that 
blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait. 
'You're crazy!' she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for Shabbat 
dinner the following week. 
There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma, but the most 
important things I always knew:  her steadfastness, her goodness. For many 
months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come to the fence and given 
me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I could never let her go. 
That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of 
marriage, two children and three grandchildren, I have never let her go. 
Herman Rosenblat of Miami Beach, Florida. 
This story is being made into a movie called The Fence. This email is 
intended to reach 40 million people world-wide. Join us and be a link in the 
memorial chain and help us distribute it around the world. 


1) You can't count your hair.

2) You can't wash your eyes with soap.

3) You can't breathe when your tongue is out.

Put your tongue back in your mouth, you silly person.


Ten (10) Things I know about you:

1) You are reading this.

2) You a re human.

3) You can't say the letter ''P'' without separating your lips.

4) You just attempted to do it.

6) You are laughing at yourself.

7) You have a smile on your face and you skipped No. 5.

8) You just checked to see if there is a No. 5.

9) You laugh at this because you are a fun loving person & everyone does it too.

10) You are probably going to send this to see who else falls for it.

This is very scary - so please be on guard at all times!!

You've heard about people who have been abducted and had their kidneys
removed by black-market organ thieves.

My thighs were stolen from me during the night a few years ago.
I went to sleep and woke up with someone else's thighs. It was just that quick.
The replacements had the texture of cooked oatmeal.
Whose thighs were these and what happened to mine?
I spent the entire summer looking for my thighs.
Finally, hurt and angry, I resigned myself to living out my life in  jeans.
And then the thieves struck again.

My bu m was next. I knew it was the same gang, because they took
pains to match my new rear-end to the thighs they had stuck me with
earlier. But my new bu m was attached at least three inches lower
than my original! I realized I'd have to give up my jeans in favour
of long skirts.

Two years ago I realized my arms had been switched. One morning I
was drying my hair and was horrified to see the flesh of my upper
arm swing to and fro with the motion of the hairbrush. This was
really getting scary - my body was being replaced one section at a time.

What could they do to me next?

When my poor neck suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a
turkey neck, I decided to tell my story. Women of the world wake up
and smell the coffee! Those 'plastic' surgeons are using REAL
replacement body parts -stolen from you and me! The next time
someone you know has something 'lifted', look again - was it lifted from you?

THIS IS NOT A HOAX. This is happening to women everywhere every night.


P.S. Last year I thought some one had stolen my Boobs. I was lying
in bed and they were gone! But when I jumped out of bed, I was
relieved to see that they had just been hiding in my armpits as I
slept. Now I keep them hidden in my waistband.

Thought this was too 'important' not to pass on
Have a wonderful day - with a joy filled heart
BTW - These same thieves come in my closet and shrank my clothes!
How do they do it???? 


If you can start the day without caffeine,

 If you can get going without pep pills,

If you can always be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains,

If you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles,
If you can eat the same food every day and be grateful for it,

 If you can understand when your loved ones are too busy to give you any time,

 If you can take criticism and blame without resentment,

 If you can conquer tension without medical help.
If you can relax without liquor,
If you can sleep without the aid of drugs,


An Outback Story......

It was one of the hottest days of the dry season.

We had not seen rain in almost a month. The crops were dying.

Cows had stopped giving milk. The creeks and streams were long gone 

back into the earth. It was a dry season that would bankrupt several farmers 

before it was through. 

Every day, my husband and his brothers would go about the arduous process

of trying to get water to the fields. Lately this process had involved taking a 

truck to the local water rendering plant and filling it up with water.


But severe rationing had cut everyone off. If we 

didn’t see some rain soon...we would lose everything.


It was on this day that I learned the true lesson of sharing 

and witnessed the only miracle I have seen with my own eyes.


I was in the kitchen making lunch for my husband and his brothers 

when I saw my 

Six-year-old son, Billy, walking toward the woods. 

He wasn't walking with the usual carefree abandon of a youth 

but with a serious purpose.


I could only see his back. He was obviously walking with a great effort ... 

trying to be as still as possible. Minutes after he disappeared into the woods, 

he came running out again, toward the house.


I went back to making sandwiches; thinking that whatever task he had been 

doing was completed. Moments later, however, he was once again 

walking in that slow purposeful stride toward the woods. 

This activity went on for an hour: walking carefully to the woods, 

running back to the house. 


Finally I couldn't take it any longer and I crept out of the house and 

followed him on his journey (being very careful not to be seen...

as he was obviously doing important work and didn't need 

his Mommy checking up on him).


He was cupping both hands in front of him as he walked, 

being very careful not to spill the water he held in them ... 

maybe two or three tablespoons were held in his tiny hands. 

I sneaked close as he went into the woods. 

Branches and thorns slapped his little face, but he did not try to avoid them. 

He had a much higher purpose. As I leaned in to spy on him, 

I saw the most amazing site. 


Several large deer loomed in front of him. Billy walked right up to them. 

I almost screamed for him to get away.

A huge buck with elaborate antlers was dangerously close. 

But the buck did not threaten him...he didn't even move as Billy knelt down.


And I saw a tiny fawn lying on the ground; 

obviously suffering from dehydration and heat exhaustion, 

lift its head with great effort to lap up the water cupped in my beautiful boy's hand. 

When the water was gone, Billy jumped up to run back to the house and I hid behind a tree. 

I followed him back to the house to a spigot to which we had shut off the water. 

Billy opened it all the way up and a small trickle began to creep out. 

He knelt there, letting the drip, drip slowly fill up his makeshift "cup," 

as the sun beat down on his little back.


And it came clear to me: The trouble he had gotten into for playing with the hose 

the week before. The lecture he had received about the importance of not wasting water. 

The reason he didn't ask me to help him. It took almost twenty minutes 

for the drops to fill his hands. When he stood up and began the trek back, 

I was there in front of him. 


His little eyes just filled with tears. "I'm not wasting," was all he said. 

As he began his walk, I joined him...with a small pot of water from the kitchen. 

I let him tend to the fawn.


I stayed away. It was his job. I stood on the edge of the woods watching the most 

beautiful heart I have ever known working so hard to save another life. 

As the tears that rolled down my face began to hit the ground, other drops...

and more drops...and more suddenly joined them. I looked up at the sky.


It was as if God, himself, was weeping with pride.


Some will probably say that this was all just a huge coincidence. 

Those miracles don't really exist. That it was bound to rain sometime. 

And I can't argue with that... I'm not going to try. 

All I can say is that the rain that came that day saved our farm...

just like the actions of one little boy saved another. 

I don't know if anyone will read this...but I had to send it out. 

To honor the memory of my beautiful Billy, who was taken from me much too soon... 

But not before showing me the true face of God, in a little, sunburned body.



I ,__________________, being of sound mind and body, do not wish to be kept alive indefinitely by artificial means.


Under no circumstances should my fate be put in the hands of pinhead politicians who couldn't pass ninth grade biology 

if their lives depended on it, or lawyers/doctors interested in simply running up the bills.


If a reasonable amount of time passes and I fail to ask for at least one of the following:


Glass of wine





Cold Beer


Chicken fried steak

Cream gravy


Mexican food


French fries




Ice cream

Cup of tea






It should be presumed that I won't ever get better. 

When such a determination is reached, I hereby instruct my appointed person

 and attending physicians to pull the plug, reel in the tubes, 

let the 'fat lady sing,' and call it a day!


Let's have a Drink IT'S 5 O'CLOCK SOMEWHERE


I went to a dinner party last night, where I and other guests enjoyed

copious amounts of alcohol. I awoke this morning not feeling well, with what

could be described as flu-like symptoms; headache, nausea, chills, sore eyes etc.


From the results of some initial testing, I have unfortunately tested

positive for what experts are now calling Wine Flu. This debilitating condition

is very serious and it appears this is not an isolated case.


Reports are flooding in from all around the neighbourhood of others

diagnosed with Wine Flu.


To anyone that starts to exhibit the aforementioned tell-tale signs,

experts are recommending a cup of tea and a bit of a lie down.


However, should your condition worsen, you should immediately hire a DVD

and take some Nurofen [Nurofen seems to be the only drug available that has

been proven to help combat this unusual type of flu]. Others are reporting a

McDonald's Happy Meal can also help in some cases.


Wine Flu does not need to be life threatening, and if treated early can

be iradicated within a 24-48 hour period. If not, then further application

of the original liquid in similar quantities to the original dose has been

shown to do the trick.

Good luck,

Read it all the way through! It's a good laugh! AND really quite true!

A good  laugh for people in the over 60 group!


When I  bought my Blackberry, I thought about the 

30-year business I ran  with 1800 employees, all without a cell phone that plays music, 

 takes videos, pictures and communicates with Facebook and  Twitter. 

 I signed up under duress for Twitter and Facebook, so  my seven kids, 

their spouses, my 13 grand kids and 2 great grand  kids could communicate

 with me in the modern way.  I figured I  could handle something as simple as 

Twitter with only 140 characters  of spaces


My  phone was beeping every three minutes with the 

details of  everything except the bowel movements of the entire next  generation. 

 I am not ready to live like this. I keep my cell  phone in the garage in my golf bag.


The  kids bought me a GPS for my last birthday because they say I get  lost

 every now and then going over to the grocery store or  library. 

I keep that in a box under my tool bench with the  Blue tooth [it's red] phone

 I am supposed to use when I drive.   I wore it once and was standing in line at

 Barnes and Noble talking  to my wife and everyone in the nearest 50 yards

 was glaring at  me.  I had to take my hearing aid out to use it, and I got a  little loud.


I mean  the GPS looked pretty smart on my dash board, but the lady inside 

 that gadget was the most annoying, rudest person I had run into in a  long time.

 Every 10 minutes, she would sarcastically say,  "Re-calc-u-lating." 

 You would think that she could be nicer.  It was like she could barely tolerate me. 

 She would let go  with a deep sigh and then tell me to make a U-turn at the next  light.

  Then if I made a right turn instead.  Well, it was  not a good relationship...


When I  get really lost now, I call my wife and tell 

her the name of the  cross streets and while she is starting to develop the same tone

 as  Gypsy, the GPS lady, at least she loves me.


To be  perfectly frank, I am still trying to learn how 

to use the  cordless phones in our house.  We have had them for 4 years

 but I still haven't figured out how I lose three phones all at once 

 and have to run around digging under chair cushions, checking  bathrooms,

 and the dirty laundry baskets when the phone  rings.




One day God was looking down at Earth and saw all of the rascally behavior that 

was going on. So he sent an angel to Earth for a time.

When the angel returned, he told God, 'Yes, it's bad on Earth; 95% are misbehaving 

and only 5% are not. 

God thought for a moment and said, 'Maybe I'd better send down a 2nd angel

 to get another opinion.' So God called another angel and sent him to Earth for a time. 

When the angel returned, he said to God, 'Yes, it's true. The 

Earth is in decline; 95% are misbehaving, but 5% are being good.' God wasn't pleased. 

So He decided to e-mail the 5% that were good because he wanted to encourage them 

and give them something to help them keep going. 

Do you know what the e-mail said? 







Okay; I was just wondering because I didn't get one either. 

FIFTY SHADES OF GREY - (a husband's point of view)

By Pam Ayres of course..
FIFTY SHADES OF GREY - (a husband's point of view)
The missus bought a Paperback,
down Shepton Mallet way,
I had a look inside her bag;
... T'was "Fifty Shades of Grey".
Well I just left her to it,
And at ten I went to bed.
An hour later she appeared;
The sight filled me with dread...
In her left she held a rope;
And in her right a whip!
She threw them down upon the floor,
And then began to strip.
Well fifty years or so ago;
I might have had a peek;
But Mabel hasn't weathered well;
She's eighty four next week!!
Watching Mabel bump and grind;
Could not have been much grimmer.
And things then went from bad to worse;
She toppled off her Zimmer!
She struggled back upon her feet;
A couple minutes later;
She put her teeth back in and said
I am a dominater !!
Now if you knew our Mabel,
You'd see just why I spluttered,
I'd spent two months in traction
For the last complaint I'd uttered.
She stood there nude and naked
Bent forward just a bit
I went to hold her, sensual like
and stood on her left ti t!
Mabel screamed, her teeth shot out;
My God what had I done!?
She moaned and groaned then shouted out:
"Step on the other one!!
Well readers, I can tell no more;
Of what occurred that day.
Suffice to say my jet black hair,
Turned fifty shades of grey.

Noah's Ark :

Everything I need to know,

 I learned from Noah's Ark ..


ONE:      Don't miss the boat. 

TWO:     Remember that we are all in the same boat! 

THREE : Plan ahead. It wasn't raining when Noah built the Ark.  

FOUR:    Stay fit. When you're 60 years old, someone may ask

              you to do something really big.

FIVE:     Don't listen to critics; just get on with

              the job that needs to be done.  

SIX:       Build your future on high ground. 

SEVEN:  For safety's sake, travel in pairs. 

EIGHT:    Speed isn't always an advantage. 

              The snails were on board with the cheetahs.  

NINE:      When you're stressed, float awhile.  

TEN:       Remember, the Ark was built by amateurs; the Titanic by professionals. 

ELEVEN: No matter the storm,  there's always a rainbow waiting. 


1-20 of 116 Blogs   

Previous Posts
A TRUE STORY by Catherine Moore, posted February 19th, 2015, 2 comments
THE CAB RIDE, posted September 8th, 2014, 2 comments
This is a wonderful Please read to the end and make your day., posted September 5th, 2014, 2 comments
Summary of Life, posted August 5th, 2014, 2 comments
New way of STEALING..., posted July 24th, 2014
WHEN A SOLDIER COMES HOME, posted July 19th, 2014
HOW OLD IS GRANDMA, posted June 10th, 2014, 2 comments
THE SANDPIPER, posted June 6th, 2014, 2 comments
THE GIRL WITH THE APPLE, posted May 26th, 2014
IMPOSSIBILITIES IN THE WORLD;, posted May 6th, 2014, 1 comment
This is very scary - so please be on guard at all times!!, posted April 3rd, 2014
THIS IS LIFE, posted March 21st, 2014, 2 comments
An Outback Story......, posted December 13th, 2013
LAST WILL!!, posted December 10th, 2013, 1 comment
WINE FLU, posted December 10th, 2013
Read it all the way through! It's a good laugh! AND really quite true!, posted December 3rd, 2013
E-MAIL FROM GOD, posted December 3rd, 2013
FIFTY SHADES OF GREY - (a husband's point of view), posted September 26th, 2013
Noah's Ark :, posted September 6th, 2013
A Man's Age -- as Determined by a Trip to Bunnings, posted January 21st, 2013
This is beautiful please read, posted January 19th, 2013, 2 comments
Difference between http and https, posted December 17th, 2012, 2 comments
FIFTY SHADES OF GREY!!!, posted November 9th, 2012
The Blue Rose, posted September 21st, 2012
Put me in charge . . . Written by a 21 year old female, posted March 30th, 2012
a point well made., posted February 12th, 2012, 2 comments
An Aussie out-house!!!, posted February 10th, 2012
We didn't have the green thing back in our day., posted January 27th, 2012
Very Important ....especially for those who love to cook and eat ONIONS!!!!!! (by author unknown ), posted June 30th, 2011, 1 comment
Bring back any memories?, posted November 28th, 2010, 1 comment
If it's true, great stuff!!!!!, posted November 6th, 2010
When you thought I wasn't looking, posted September 28th, 2010, 5 comments
The Divorced Barbie Doll, posted September 16th, 2010, 9 comments
Doctor Appointments....., posted September 2nd, 2010, 3 comments
A BED FOR THE NIGHT....., posted August 1st, 2010, 1 comment
MY WISH LIST...., posted July 18th, 2010, 3 comments
PLEASE EXCUSE THE PUN, posted July 18th, 2010, 2 comments
This information will only take a few minutes to share might prevent the senseless death of other pets., posted July 15th, 2010
WHO'S THE GREATEST?, posted July 14th, 2010
No Matter What Happens...., posted July 13th, 2010
DID YOU KNOW...part2, posted July 11th, 2010
DID YOU KNOW...[ part1], posted July 9th, 2010, 4 comments
4th JULY, posted July 4th, 2010, 1 comment
KOSI BAY or BUST: South Africa, posted June 27th, 2010
To my friends who enjoy a glass of wine..., posted June 18th, 2010
To the Memory of Two Australian Soldiers who lost their Lifes for the World., posted June 8th, 2010
ROSES & HANGING BASKETS, posted June 2nd, 2010
STROKE IDENTIFICATION:, posted May 27th, 2010, 3 comments
Jessica comes HOME, posted May 14th, 2010
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