SO, HOW DID YOU BREAK YOUR ARM?
Even if you aren't a skier, you'll be able to appreciate the humor of the slopes as written by a New Orleans paper: A friend just got back from a holiday skiing trip to Utah with the kind of story that warms the cockles of anybody's heart.
Conditions were perfect.. .12 below, no feeling in the toes, basic numbness all over...the "Tell me when we're having fun" kind of day.
One of the women in the group complained to her husband that she was in dire need of a rest room. He told her not to worry that he was sure there was relief waiting at the top of the lift in the form of a powder room for female skiers in distress. He was wrong, of course, and the pain did not go away. If you've ever had nature hit its panic button in you, then you know that a temperature of 12 below doesn't help matters.
With time running out, the woman weighed her options. Her husband, picking up on the intensity of the pain, suggested that since she was wearing an all-white ski outfit, she should go off in the woods and no one would even notice.
He assured her, "The white will provide more than adequate camouflage."
So she headed for the tree line, began lowering her ski pants and proceeded to do her thing.
If you've ever parked on the side of a slope, then you know there is a right way and wrong way to set your skis so you don't move.
Yup, you got it!
She had them positioned the wrong way. Steep slopes are not forgiving, even during the most embarrassing moments. Without warning, the woman found herself skiing backward, out-of-control, racing through the trees, somehow missing all of them and onto another slope. Her derriere and the reverse side were still bare, her pants down around her knees, and she was picking up speed all the while.
She continued backwards, totally out-of-control, creating an unusual vista for the other skiers. The woman skied back under the lift and finally collided violently with a pylon. The bad news was that she broke her arm and was unable to pull up her ski pants. At long last her husband arrived, putting an end to her nudie show, then summoned the ski patrol. They
transported her to a hospital.
While in the emergency room, a man with an obviously broken leg was put in the bed next to hers. "So, how'd you break your leg?" she asked, making small talk.
"It was the stupidest thing you ever saw," he said. "I was riding up this ski lift and suddenly, I couldn't believe my eyes! There was this crazy woman skiing backward, out-of-control, down the mountain, with her bare bottom hanging out of her pants. I leaned over to get a better look and fell out of the lift." "So, how'd you break your arm?"
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
1960
In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket. Their father was gone. The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two. Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared.
Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds.
He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries.
Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either.
If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it. I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress, loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job.
The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town. No luck.
The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince whomever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job.
Still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop. It was called the Big Wheel.
An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids. She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning. She paid 65 cents an hour, and I could start that night.
I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people. I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night. She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep. This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal.
That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers, we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job. And so I started at the Big Wheel.
When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money--fully half of what I averaged every night. As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager wage.
The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air o n the way to work and again every morning before I could go home.
One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires! There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires. Had angels taken up residence in Indiana ? I wondered.
I made a deal with the local service station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office. I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires.
I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough. Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids.
I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old toys. Then hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning. Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.
On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. These were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe.
A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine. The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up.
When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning, to my amazement, my old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the driver's side door, crawled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat.
Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box. Inside was whole>case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10! I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans. Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes. There was candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries.
There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes. There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was hole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items.
And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll.
As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude. And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.
Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop....
THE POWER OF PRAYER. I believe that God only gives three answers to prayer:
1. "Yes!"
2. "Not yet."
3. "I have something better in mind."
God still sits on the throne, the devil is a liar. You maybe going through a tough time right now but God is getting ready to bless you in a way that you cannot imagine.
Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds.
He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries.
Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either.
If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it. I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress, loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job.
The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town. No luck.
The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince whomever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job.
Still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop. It was called the Big Wheel.
An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids. She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning. She paid 65 cents an hour, and I could start that night.
I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people. I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night. She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep. This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal.
That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers, we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job. And so I started at the Big Wheel.
When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money--fully half of what I averaged every night. As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager wage.
The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air o n the way to work and again every morning before I could go home.
One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires! There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires. Had angels taken up residence in Indiana ? I wondered.
I made a deal with the local service station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office. I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires.
I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough. Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids.
I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old toys. Then hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning. Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.
On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. These were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe.
A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine. The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up.
When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning, to my amazement, my old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the driver's side door, crawled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat.
Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box. Inside was whole>case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10! I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans. Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes. There was candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries.
There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes. There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was hole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items.
And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll.
As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude. And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.
Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop....
THE POWER OF PRAYER. I believe that God only gives three answers to prayer:
1. "Yes!"
2. "Not yet."
3. "I have something better in mind."
God still sits on the throne, the devil is a liar. You maybe going through a tough time right now but God is getting ready to bless you in a way that you cannot imagine.
Monday, January 22, 2007
I promise...
I promise you my love
I promise you my heart
I promise you my life
I promise we'll never be apart
I promise not to hurt you
I promise to never make you cry
I promise to always trust you
I promise not to lie
I promise you forever
I promise you tonight
I promise you my respect
I promise to do things right
I promise to always be there
I promise until the end
I promise to always love you
I promise to be your best friend
I promise you my love
I promise you my life
I promise this forever
I promise our friendship is my life
8888888888888888888888888888
8888888888888888888888888888
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8888888____________8888888
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8888888____________8888888
8888888____________8888888
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8888888____________8888888
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_8888888__________88888888_
__8888888888888888888888__
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I promise you my heart
I promise you my life
I promise we'll never be apart
I promise not to hurt you
I promise to never make you cry
I promise to always trust you
I promise not to lie
I promise you forever
I promise you tonight
I promise you my respect
I promise to do things right
I promise to always be there
I promise until the end
I promise to always love you
I promise to be your best friend
I promise you my love
I promise you my life
I promise this forever
I promise our friendship is my life
8888888888888888888888888888
8888888888888888888888888888
8888888888888888888888888888
___________8888888_____________
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8888888888888888888888888888
8888888888888888888888888888
8888888888888888888888888888
______8888888888____________________
____888888888888888_________________
__888888822222228888________________
_88888822222222288888_______________
888888222222222228888822228888______
888882222222222222288222222222888___
8888822222222222222222222222222288__
_8888822222222222222222222222222_88_
__88888222222222222222222222222__888
___888822222222222222222222222___888
____8888222222222222222222222____888
_____8888222222222222222222_____888_
______8882222222222222222_____8888__
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__________88888888888888____________
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____________8888888__________________
_____________88888___________________
______________888____________________
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8888888____________8888888
8888888____________8888888
8888888____________8888888
8888888____________8888888
8888888____________8888888
8888888____________8888888
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8888888____________8888888
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Love Passage for Kids...
If I can speak beautifully and can sing like an angel, but
don't love others, I sound like a child banging on a piano or a
screeching radio.
Love will stand in line and wait its turn.
Love looks for the good in others.
Love doesn't always want=ant what others have, and it doesn't
brag about what it does have.
Love is polite, even when the other person is rude.
Love doesn't always have to be first.
Love doesn't get angry over the small things, and it
doesn't remember one reason after another to be hurt.
Love isn't happy when someone else fails but is happy with
the truth.
Love will always protect others, especially those who
are often picked on or teased.
Love always believes the best about others and is steady and true.
Love never gives up. Preaching will stop someday. So will
speeches. Knowledge will come to an end. Today we only
know part of what there is to know. We can preach and speak
only with a small part of understanding, but when perfection comes then what is imperfect will go away.
I am now young, and so I talk and think and speak like a
child. When I become an adult I will put childish ways behind
me. Now we see only a poor reflection, like in a mirror, then
we will see face-to-face. Now I only know part of what there is
to know; then I will know fully and will be fully known.
And now these three remain:
faith, hope and love.
But the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:13
don't love others, I sound like a child banging on a piano or a
screeching radio.
Love will stand in line and wait its turn.
Love looks for the good in others.
Love doesn't always want=ant what others have, and it doesn't
brag about what it does have.
Love is polite, even when the other person is rude.
Love doesn't always have to be first.
Love doesn't get angry over the small things, and it
doesn't remember one reason after another to be hurt.
Love isn't happy when someone else fails but is happy with
the truth.
Love will always protect others, especially those who
are often picked on or teased.
Love always believes the best about others and is steady and true.
Love never gives up. Preaching will stop someday. So will
speeches. Knowledge will come to an end. Today we only
know part of what there is to know. We can preach and speak
only with a small part of understanding, but when perfection comes then what is imperfect will go away.
I am now young, and so I talk and think and speak like a
child. When I become an adult I will put childish ways behind
me. Now we see only a poor reflection, like in a mirror, then
we will see face-to-face. Now I only know part of what there is
to know; then I will know fully and will be fully known.
And now these three remain:
faith, hope and love.
But the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:13
The 12 Disciples
During Jesus' life on earth
he called twelve special men.
When he said, "come follow me."
they did so there and then.
Invited first to join the group,
Simon Peter came.
Peter's brother followed too---
Andrew was his name.
Several more were called by Jesus
near the Galilean lake.
James and John gave up their nets,
just for Jesus' sake.
Crowds that followed Jesus knew
Philip and Thomas too.
But Thomas had doubts about Jesus
(more than just a few.)
In the group was Matthew,
who wrote of Jesus' life.
His book tells many great stories---
the love, teachings and strife.
Pleased to be a disciple,
James joined the throng.
Thaddeus and Simon
also came along.
Later the one called Judas
would betray his master's name.
Bartholomew (called Nathanael)
was another one who came.
Each of the disciples
went out in the world to preach.
To tell the message of Jesus
to every soul they could reach.
Since we're saved by Jesus,
we must follow too:
So listen to Jesus calling---
calling me and you.
he called twelve special men.
When he said, "come follow me."
they did so there and then.
Invited first to join the group,
Simon Peter came.
Peter's brother followed too---
Andrew was his name.
Several more were called by Jesus
near the Galilean lake.
James and John gave up their nets,
just for Jesus' sake.
Crowds that followed Jesus knew
Philip and Thomas too.
But Thomas had doubts about Jesus
(more than just a few.)
In the group was Matthew,
who wrote of Jesus' life.
His book tells many great stories---
the love, teachings and strife.
Pleased to be a disciple,
James joined the throng.
Thaddeus and Simon
also came along.
Later the one called Judas
would betray his master's name.
Bartholomew (called Nathanael)
was another one who came.
Each of the disciples
went out in the world to preach.
To tell the message of Jesus
to every soul they could reach.
Since we're saved by Jesus,
we must follow too:
So listen to Jesus calling---
calling me and you.
I'm back!
Hi everyone!
I'm back! My dad's computer is back home from the repair shop. I can now use this computer that doesn't block blogger as mch as I want! (Until my dad gets home)!!
I have a lot of school to do but first let me show you a picture of my new violin.
cya! Lyssa
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
December
I know I haven't posted anything on this blog in a like forever ..
lo siento mucho :( December is almost over . My Thanksgiving was ok, Christmas is in five days . My last day of school at BMA is tomorrow then I have off till January 8. Which is when I start the second semester so im virtually half done eleventh grade already and I still look like a freshman and don't know what I'll do after high school or if I'm even going back to BMA next year. Life goes by so fast sometimes.
welll bye for now Merry Christmas . Feliz Navidad! ~KmC~
lo siento mucho :( December is almost over . My Thanksgiving was ok, Christmas is in five days . My last day of school at BMA is tomorrow then I have off till January 8. Which is when I start the second semester so im virtually half done eleventh grade already and I still look like a freshman and don't know what I'll do after high school or if I'm even going back to BMA next year. Life goes by so fast sometimes.
welll bye for now Merry Christmas . Feliz Navidad! ~KmC~
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Taylor's Writing this for me!
Sorry I haven't been on here in a while. Hopefully my computer will not block blogger forever. That's all for now.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Do you realize how many ancestors you have?
I've got at least...
4 grandparents
8 g grandparents
16 gg grandparents
32 ggg grandparents
64 gggg grandparents
...and so on. Just multiply by two.
4 grandparents
8 g grandparents
16 gg grandparents
32 ggg grandparents
64 gggg grandparents
...and so on. Just multiply by two.
Help comes from God
Many times I've sought help in the wrong places,
Looking for help in Man's words and smiling faces.
To my distress what I looked for wasn't there.
I cried out to man, "Listen to me, help me, just care!"
That wasen't enough; I needed comfort and peace within.
What I reached for comes from God, not men.
Looking for help in Man's words and smiling faces.
To my distress what I looked for wasn't there.
I cried out to man, "Listen to me, help me, just care!"
That wasen't enough; I needed comfort and peace within.
What I reached for comes from God, not men.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Goldfish
According to some people, the memory of a goldfish is poorer than that of an average creature. Supposedly, a goldfish like me has a smaller forebrain than other kinds of fish. Paradise fish, for example, recall meeting another fish from one day to the next, and the Arctic char can pick out its brothers and sisters from other ocean life. A goldfish, however, with its minute mental capacity, loses track of things between a swim from one end of the fish tank to the other.
As if that cruel accusation does not hurt enough, the inside of my tank causes me more pain. Strewn together carelessly, the interior decorations include a little plastic treasure chest, a floating pirate ship, a bizarre plastic castle, and a ridiculous clam that sprays bubbles onto my body each time I pass by, consistently irritating me. I have officially decided—I hate that little clam!
My living neighbors include Einstein, an aloof angelfish, and her equally snooty confidante, Curie, a neon tetra with an iridescent band of blue and green around her eyes. Those two flit back and forth all day, churning the water without so much as a smile in my direction. Whitney, the algae eater, never stops to make conversation, choosing instead to meander along the bottom of the tank and keep things clean. Two hermit crabs, Franklin and Joyner, keep to themselves and switch shells so often that I find it difficult to keep track of which one I just had a conversation with. They never treat me kindly either; Franklin—or Joyner, perhaps—always rolls his bulgy eyes when I swim by, turning his large claw toward my face in a menacing way. I do not recall ever disrespecting them, but in this tank, it feels as though a coalition has been formed, and I have yet to be invited to join.
At feeding times, when the sky rains flakes upon us and the meal starts to submerge, I move out from behind my little treasure chest, avoid the clam, and grab at the flakes before they reach the bottom where Whitney selfishly hoards them for himself. Then I just go about my business, making fish faces, feeling genuinely miserable and discontented. Occasionally, dirty faces press themselves against the glass and chubby little fingers twirl the water, but on an especially bad day, we are put into glasses and watch as giants clean our tank and change the rocks to a different color.
I can bet you feel tired after hearing about my day, and I am tired from just sharing it, so I will allow you to leave. Keep in mind, however, that although research insists goldfish have poor memories, we are actually quite…Hey! Where in the world did that brightly colored fish and her neon counterpart come from? You did see them flutter by, of course.
"Hello ladies, how have you found your way into my aquarium today?"
"Every single day," the neon colored fish grumbles, "every five minutes, the same thing. 'Hello ladies.' When do you think you will remember meeting us, Goldie?"
"Goldie?" I answer, perplexed. "And who would that be?"
As if that cruel accusation does not hurt enough, the inside of my tank causes me more pain. Strewn together carelessly, the interior decorations include a little plastic treasure chest, a floating pirate ship, a bizarre plastic castle, and a ridiculous clam that sprays bubbles onto my body each time I pass by, consistently irritating me. I have officially decided—I hate that little clam!
My living neighbors include Einstein, an aloof angelfish, and her equally snooty confidante, Curie, a neon tetra with an iridescent band of blue and green around her eyes. Those two flit back and forth all day, churning the water without so much as a smile in my direction. Whitney, the algae eater, never stops to make conversation, choosing instead to meander along the bottom of the tank and keep things clean. Two hermit crabs, Franklin and Joyner, keep to themselves and switch shells so often that I find it difficult to keep track of which one I just had a conversation with. They never treat me kindly either; Franklin—or Joyner, perhaps—always rolls his bulgy eyes when I swim by, turning his large claw toward my face in a menacing way. I do not recall ever disrespecting them, but in this tank, it feels as though a coalition has been formed, and I have yet to be invited to join.
At feeding times, when the sky rains flakes upon us and the meal starts to submerge, I move out from behind my little treasure chest, avoid the clam, and grab at the flakes before they reach the bottom where Whitney selfishly hoards them for himself. Then I just go about my business, making fish faces, feeling genuinely miserable and discontented. Occasionally, dirty faces press themselves against the glass and chubby little fingers twirl the water, but on an especially bad day, we are put into glasses and watch as giants clean our tank and change the rocks to a different color.
I can bet you feel tired after hearing about my day, and I am tired from just sharing it, so I will allow you to leave. Keep in mind, however, that although research insists goldfish have poor memories, we are actually quite…Hey! Where in the world did that brightly colored fish and her neon counterpart come from? You did see them flutter by, of course.
"Hello ladies, how have you found your way into my aquarium today?"
"Every single day," the neon colored fish grumbles, "every five minutes, the same thing. 'Hello ladies.' When do you think you will remember meeting us, Goldie?"
"Goldie?" I answer, perplexed. "And who would that be?"
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Friday, November 03, 2006
From Taylor
Hi
Taylor playing her violin
He's Able
Refiner's Fire
Hello from Taylor
You can send me your own voice messages!
Taylor playing her violin
He's Able
Refiner's Fire
Hello from Taylor
You can send me your own voice messages!
Food for thought
If the population of the Earth was reduced to that of a small town with
100 people, it would look something like this.
57 Asians
21 Europeans
14 Americans(northern and southern)
8 Africans
52 women
48 men
70 coloured-skins
30 caucasians
6 people would own 59% of the whole world wealth and all of them would be from the United States of America
80 would have bad living conditions
70 would be uneducated
50 underfed
1 would die
2 would be born
1 would have a computer
1 (only one) will have higher education
When you look at the world from this point of view, you can see there
is a real need for understanding, patience and education.
Also think about the following...
This morning, if you woke up healthy, then you are happier than the
1 million people that will not survive next week.
If you never suffered a war, the loneliness of the jail cell, the agony of torture,
or hunger, you are happier than 500 million people in the world.
If you can enter into a church (mosque) without fear of jail or
death, you are happier than 3 million people i n the world.
If there is a food in your fridge,
you have shoes and clothes,
you have bed and a roof,
you are richer then 75% of the people in th e world.
If you have bank account, money in your wallet and some coins in the money-box, you belong to the 8% of the people on the world, who are well-to-do.
As somebody once said:
"- work as if you don't need money,
- love as if you've never been hurt,
- dance, as if nobody can see you,
- sing, as if no one can hear,
- live, as if the Earth was a heaven."
If you read this you are four times blessed because:
1. You don't belong to the 200 million people that cannot read.
2. You have a computer!
3. and... if you just heard me reading this you have speakers on your computer and have the blessing of the sense of hearing!
Friday, October 27, 2006
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
!!!Family Tree!!!
I just found out today that I'm probably related to my friend Taylor Temple. She still has to do some more research to find out exactly how we're related, but she is pretty sure that she's related to Arthur Lewis James Saunders, who is my Grandma's (on my dad's side) father. Also, Taylor and I can both trace our anscesters back to the Mayflower! This is so exciting! Here is a picture of my family tree that I made for Pathfinders. If you are related to any of these people, please tell me! I want to know if I'm related to anyone else. =]
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