Happy Birthday, Dear!

Today my husband is celebrating birthday #76.
Here’s a poem in honor of the occasion.

BD cake--one candle.jpgA HAPPY OLD AGE

A little more tired at the close of the day,
a little less anxious to have our own way.
A little less care for gain or gold,
a little more zest for the days of old.
A broader view and a saner mind,
a little more thought for all mankind.
A little more love for the friends of youth,
a little more zeal for established truth.
A little more charity in our views,
a little less thirst for the latest news.
A little more leisure to sit and dream,
a little more real those things unseen.

—Author unknown to me.

Short Time to Travel Together

One day a young girl on her way home boarded a city bus and took a seat. Mary enjoyed the ride for the first few blocks, but then a large lady sat down beside her, taking up most of the seat and squashing Mary up against the window.

Worse yet, the woman was hanging onto several big packages; these bumped Mary in the face whenever the bus jounced or the woman shifted in her seat. She was thankful when the woman finally reached her destination and got off.

Later she told her brother about her ride home and he became indignant on her behalf. “Why didn’t you just tell her she should move over and stop crowding you. After all, you were in the seat first.”

“Oh, well,” Mary replied. “We had such a little way to travel together. I thought I could bear it for that short while.”

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At times we feel we can hardly put up with certain people, co-workers or relatives. Their attitudes or behavior just grates on us. We’re all into the moment and think this will never end. Then in a short while they’re gone from our lives and we carry on, a bit relieved. Later we may even look back and appreciate some aspect of their personalities, or some lesson we learned from them. If we adopt Mary’s attitude, the ride can be less irritating.

In the end we’ll see that we had such a short distance to go together.

“Our understanding of how to live with one another is still far behind our knowledge of how to destroy one another.” – Lyndon B Johnson

André’s Blue Steak

“What is so Rare as a Steak Fried Blue?”
or “What to Do When Diners Linger at the Table”

André Gauvreau was in his 50s and on disability pension because of heart trouble and diabetes when we met him, so he had lots of time and he loved to visit. Through the years he’d worked at various cooking jobs across Canada and had quite the tales to tell.

In one of his accounts he was the head cook at a certain mining camp in northern Alberta and part of his job was to wash the dining room floor after dinner. But sometimes he had trouble getting the fellows out of the dining hall after the meal was over; they were inclined to sit for a lengthy gab-fest after the dishes were cleared away.

Then André discovered an effective method of clearing the dining room. Being French Canadian, he liked his steaks “blue”: charred on both sides and very rare inside. So after the other men had eaten he’d take a raw steak and throw it on the grill to singe it, then flip it over and singe the other side. Next he’d fork it onto his plate, take his utensils and go sit in the midst of the loiterers to have his meal.

He’d slice into the steak and blood would ooze out all over the plate. With great relish he’d start chowing down. The other guys took one look at his plate and remembered they had things to do elsewhere. He said it worked every time.

I’m sure our Aunt Helen would have said the same thing to him that she said to Uncle Henry one day when he’d fried himself a very rare steak. He asked her if she wanted part of it and she told him, “No. I can still hear that calf bawling!”

The Heart Mender

First posted Dec 7, 2014:

I just read a terrific book and would like to tell you about it, in case you’re searching for a great read. It’s called The Heart Mender, written by Andy Andrews, a NY Times Best-Selling Author.

What happens when an old cape myrtle tree dies on the Alabama coast? Well, the owner of the property, writer Andy Andrews, chops it down because the tree is next to his house and its wood contains highly flammable oils. Then when he chops it down, his wife urges him to dig it up. And when his shovel hits something metallic — a gallon-size can — nestled among the tree roots…

Who could have buried it there? And how long ago? He opens it up and finds a couple of pictures, some ID.

One of the greatest joys a writer can have is to uncover something amazing, something perturbing, something that points to a story. Something he just can’t leave alone; he has to find out the facts. In the case of this particular writer, he digs and digs until he uncovers the whole amazing account.

What happens when a bitter young widow whose husband was killed in a Luftwaffe bombing raid in England stumbles onto a wounded German submarine officer on the beach in Alabama? She punches him in the face. Doesn’t matter if he’s been shot and is now half-dead. She punches him again and again, until she’s exhausted.

And thus begins a fascinating tale of healing, forgiveness and second chances.  (Triple-ply tissue alert.)

Impressions

I was inspired by this quote from Country singer Tim McGraw. Hope you will be, too.

Butterfly---Tim Mc Quote.jpg

I’m very thankful for the wisdom my readers and fellow bloggers share, all your posts, comments, and critiques that help me to a better understanding of life’s issues. Now if only I  can retain all these insights. 🙂