CathyCanada
<font color=teal>The <b>Fluffy</b> Former Webmaste
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2000
- Messages
- 8,264
I was away last week on a training cruise (anyone notice I was gone?? LOL) and am struggling to play catchup with my Dreams work. I got this in my email today and of course, you folks were the first ones I thought of to share it.
Enjoy and I hope to be around more later in the week!!
CC
Some things you keep. Like good teeth. Warm coats.
Bald husbands. They're good for you, reliable and practical
and so sublime that to throw them away would make the
garbage man a thief. So you hang on, because something
old is sometimes better than something new, and what
you know is often better than a stranger.
These are my thoughts, they make me sound old, old and
tame, and dull at a time when everybody else is risky and
racy and flashing all that's new and improved in their lives.
New careers, new thighs, new lips, new cars. The world
is dizzy with trade-ins. I could keep track, but I don't think
I want to.
I grew up in the fifties with practical parents - a mother, God
bless her, who washed aluminum foil after she cooked in it,
then reused it - and still does. A father who was happier
getting old shoes fixed than buying new ones.
They weren't poor, my parents, they were just satisfied. Their
marriage was good, their dreams focused. Their best friends
lived barely a wave away. I can see them now, Dad in
trousers and tee shirt and Mom in a house dress, lawn mower
in one hand, dishtowel in the other. It was a time for fixing
things - a curtain rod, the kitchen radio, screen door, the oven
door, the hem in a dress.
Things you keep. It was a way of life, and sometimes it
made me crazy. All that re-fixing, reheating, renewing, I
wanted just once to be wasteful. Waste meant affluence.
Throwing things away meant there'd always be more.
But then my father died, and on that clear autumn night, in
the chill of the hospital room, I was struck with the pain of
learning that sometimes there isn't any 'more.' Sometimes
what you care about most gets all used up and goes away,
never to return.
So, while you have it, it's best to love it and care for it and
fix it when it's broken and heal it when it's sick. That's true
for marriage and old cars and children with bad report cards
and dogs with bad hips and aging parents. You keep them
because they're worth it, because you're worth it.
Some things you keep. Like a best friend that moved away
or a classmate you grew up with, there's just some things
that make life important...people you know are special...and
you KEEP them close!
Author unknown
Enjoy and I hope to be around more later in the week!!
CC
Some things you keep. Like good teeth. Warm coats.
Bald husbands. They're good for you, reliable and practical
and so sublime that to throw them away would make the
garbage man a thief. So you hang on, because something
old is sometimes better than something new, and what
you know is often better than a stranger.
These are my thoughts, they make me sound old, old and
tame, and dull at a time when everybody else is risky and
racy and flashing all that's new and improved in their lives.
New careers, new thighs, new lips, new cars. The world
is dizzy with trade-ins. I could keep track, but I don't think
I want to.
I grew up in the fifties with practical parents - a mother, God
bless her, who washed aluminum foil after she cooked in it,
then reused it - and still does. A father who was happier
getting old shoes fixed than buying new ones.
They weren't poor, my parents, they were just satisfied. Their
marriage was good, their dreams focused. Their best friends
lived barely a wave away. I can see them now, Dad in
trousers and tee shirt and Mom in a house dress, lawn mower
in one hand, dishtowel in the other. It was a time for fixing
things - a curtain rod, the kitchen radio, screen door, the oven
door, the hem in a dress.
Things you keep. It was a way of life, and sometimes it
made me crazy. All that re-fixing, reheating, renewing, I
wanted just once to be wasteful. Waste meant affluence.
Throwing things away meant there'd always be more.
But then my father died, and on that clear autumn night, in
the chill of the hospital room, I was struck with the pain of
learning that sometimes there isn't any 'more.' Sometimes
what you care about most gets all used up and goes away,
never to return.
So, while you have it, it's best to love it and care for it and
fix it when it's broken and heal it when it's sick. That's true
for marriage and old cars and children with bad report cards
and dogs with bad hips and aging parents. You keep them
because they're worth it, because you're worth it.
Some things you keep. Like a best friend that moved away
or a classmate you grew up with, there's just some things
that make life important...people you know are special...and
you KEEP them close!
Author unknown
, I figured I had either drove you to the asylum or you were away somewhere.
Welcome back, Cathy.
