Tuesday, July 28, 2009

ENTRY # NINETY FIVE

Good morning.

This was to long for my regular blog, so I am showing it over here.


Two Choices

At a fund-raising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question: 'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does, is done with perfection.Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is the natural order of things in my son?' The audience was stilled by the query.The father continued. 'I believe that when a child like Shay, who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.'Then he told the following story:

Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playingbaseball. Shay asked, 'Do you think they'll let me play?' I knew that mostof the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a fatherI also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him amuch-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, 'We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.'Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart.The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted.In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the rightfield. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands.In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but mpossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, muchless connect with the ball.However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed.The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towardsShay.As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ballright back to the pitcher.The game would now be over.The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown theball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head,out of reach of all team mates.Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run tofirst! Run to first!'Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base.He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!'Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and sruggling to make it to the base.By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball. The smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head.Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay'Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him byturning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, 'Run to third! Shay, run to third!'As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!'Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team.'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face,'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world'.Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

AND NOW A LITTLE FOOT NOTE TO THIS STORY:

We all send thousands of jokes through the e-mail without a second thought,but when it comes to sending messages about life choices, people hesitate.The crude, vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, butpublic discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our schools andworkplaces.If you're thinking about forwarding this message, chances are that you'reprobably sorting out the people in your address book who aren't the'appropriate' ones to receive this type of message. Well, the person whosent you this believes that we all can make a difference.We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the'natural order of things.'So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with achoice:Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up those opportunities and leave the world a little bit colder in the process?A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it's leastfortunate amongst them.


Thursday, July 09, 2009

ENTRY # NINETY FOUR

Hi.
Here is something else that I want to show you but it is to large for my regular blog. Helen sent this and I want to give credit to her and the author. Thanks to you both. DAD.
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BEN AND JAKE
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by Debra Easterling
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Ben and Jake were inseparable. Sure, Ben loved me. We had been married thirty years or more. But there was a bond between him and that Retriever tighter than a three-ply cattle rope.
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Every night like clockwork, my husband, Ben, would come home at 6pm, shake off his boots, and hang up his coat while Jake danced back and forth. He'd always be rewarded for his performance as Ben stooped to rub his ears. The grateful dog would then immediately run to our room, pick up Ben's slippers as if they were as fragile as egg shells, and then he would bring them to Ben's big easy chair.

Once the fuzzy slippers were snug on Ben's feet, Jake would walk around in circles until he found just the right spot beside Ben's chair. It was always the same spot, but the dog relentlessly made a ritual of settling down.

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After the evening news, Jake would take his place beside Ben at the dinner table. He didn't beg for food, like other dogs. He merely rested his golden head on Ben's lap until my husband was through with his meal. With the dishes washed and dried, Ben would stagger into the hallway and find Jake waiting beside the chair, leash in his mouth, waiting for their nightly walk.
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Without fail, Ben would say sweet terms of endearment to his buddy as he again donned his coat and boots. No matter what the weather, the two of them would head out to embrace the elements together.

. Last year about this time, a drunk driver drove his truck into Ben's path. My husband did his best to veer the bus out of the way, but there wasn't enough time. Ben and three passengers went to live with Jesus that night. I lost the only man I ever loved and his passing was extremely hard. I was grateful we had no children to break the news to, but there was Jake.

.The poor thing couldn't understand why Ben didn't come home. He waited at the door every night at 6pm for a month. Ben never came in to rub his ears. There was no one to dance for. I walked him every night, but he only sat at edge of the property, waiting and watching. Jake barely touched his food. He never joined me at the table. I tried to make him feel better every once in a while by placing some of Ben's clothes by his old chair, but Jake preferred to sleep now by the door. Jake spent many evenings with his big yellow nose poised on the doorstop, whimpering in his sleep. I thought my heart would break. Last night was the one year anniversary of Ben's passing. I didn't bother to cook a meal. Food had little appeal. Even with Jake by my side, I felt so alone.
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Then suddenly, promptly at 6pm, Jake jumped to his feet and ran to the door. He danced back and forth wagging his tail, whining like a puppy, full of glee. He dipped his head, and then he bounded to the top of the stairs, grabbed the slippers, and raced down to gently lay them at Ben's chair. Jake then walked in circles, over and over again, until he found the right spot, and laid himself down. Naturally, I thought the poor old dog had finally lost it. His grief caused him to recreate his nightly ritual. I bent down to pet sweet Jake with the intention of whispering comforting words into his floppy ears. As I did, I found that my darling Ben had come back for his faithful friend . The two of them went for a final walk to embrace the elements together. -

- Debra Easterling
merry1621@aol.commerry1621@gmail.com

"When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them gently."

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I like that Thanks for coming over. DAD.

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Wednesday, July 01, 2009

Entry # Ninety Three

Good Morning.

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Here is another one that is too long for my regular blog.



The History of 'APRONS' !! I don't think our kids know ,
what an apron is.




The principal use of Grandma's apron was to protect the dress underneath,because she only had a few,it was easier to wash aprons than dresses and they used less material, but along with that, it served as a potholder for removing hot pans from the oven.

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It was wonderful for drying children's tears, and on occasion was even used for cleaning out dirty ears.

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From the chicken coop, the apron was used for carrying eggs, fussy chicks, and sometimes half-hatched eggs to be finished in the warming oven.

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When company came, those aprons were ideal hiding places for shy kids. And when the weather was cold, grandma wrapped it around her arms.

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Those big old aprons wiped many a perspiring brow, bent over the hot wood stove. Chips and kindling wood were brought into the kitchen in that apron.

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From the garden, it carried all sorts of vegetables. After the peas had been shelled, it carried out the hulls. In the fall, the apron was used to bring in apples that had fallen from the trees.

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When unexpected company drove up the road, it was surprising how much furniture that old apron could dust in a matter of seconds.

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When dinner was ready, Grandma walked out onto the porch, waved her apron, and the men knew it was time to come in from the fields to dinner.

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It will be a long time before someone invents something that will replace that 'old-time apron' that served so many purposes.

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Send this to those who would know (and love) the story about Grandma's aprons.

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REMEMBER: Grandma used to set her hot baked apple pies
on the window sill to cool.


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Her granddaughters set theirs
on the window sill to thaw.




They would go crazy now trying to figure
out how many germs were on that apron. * I don't think I ever caught anything from an apron !!!! *