I watched a wonderful Nova program this week. It told me most of my calories go to my BRAIN!
This is my idea; I will eat a dozen doughnuts while I try to read a physics book! I imagine I’ll even LOSE weight!
My friend would ask his son; “What do you want for Christmas?”, later, “What do you want for your birthday?”, and, “When is your next wrestling match?” For the longest time the young man had only one answer, “I don’t know.”
When Christmas rolled around again my friend nailed together a strange and useless contraption, wrapped it up, and put it under the tree. The family made sure this strange thing was unwrapped last. The young man opened it, was greatly puzzled, pulled and pushed at it, and finally asked, “What is it?” The entire family answered with the stale term, “I don’t know!”
My friend then encouraged a group of us to set a goal, LISTEN for messages as we worked on it, next to follow through on the messages, and lastly to record the experience.
By doing this we would not, at the end of the day or week, say, “What did I do with my life?” and answer, “I don’t know!”
I’ve been encouraged to journal for years… because my children will want to read it. I’m guessing- probably not.
A friend mentioned to journal because I would learn of myself. That I can see happening.
About three and a half years ago God and I played. Over and over I had been thinking, “It’s not of great importance, but I would like to lose a little weight only three or four pounds. This was simply a thought and not verbalized for weeks then another though occurred to me, “Go ahead and say it out loud.”
So I did. I explained in prayer losing a little weight had been on my mind (and of course He knew that), and I didn’t consider it to be of high importance.
Within a week I was diagnosed with cancer. “Yea!” I thought, “That will do it!” A strong thought also came that I would be completely all right. The thought was so strong I had no doubts: unusual for me.
The diagnoses and reassurance may have been the most important part, but maybe not. I still laugh out loud to have committed myself verbally and received an answer so quickly!
I’ve worked under leaders whose goals were to constantly invent more to do and to point out a lack in performance.
On the other hand, one leader met with me regularly with two questions: what went well, and what would you improve? I NOTICED my actions good and weak. The result: I modified my skills into improvements, and I stretched creatively and sometimes with trepidation. It was exciting- exhilarating!
Another leader became my servant with all her questions and actions leading to only one goal- to help me become sucessful.
Last year I was mature therefore wise. This year I’ve grown overly mature and far beyond wise into a new world of forgetfulness.
I leave notes on the floor to remind myself of jobs to be done and events to see to, but my cat Formica Dinette Patrice Foxford Mauerman is a neat freak. She hates items left where they should not be and points by nodding her head at things left out of place, or not picked up.
As I grow further beyond wise, I’m very glad for my cat’s house keeping skills. I’m maturing into forgetting I’ve even put notes on the floor! Thank goodness I have a bobble headed cat.
I read Shakespeare plays, King Arthur by Sir Thomas Malory and other classics to my two children starting when they were six and three. No they did not sit still mesmerized into silence. I read to them while they were eating.
One story told of a knight who approached a bridge guarded by, if I remember correctly, monsters. A shield used as a sign explained to prevent monsters from attacking as you crossed the bridge a person was to strike the shield which would call a knight. If the knight who owned the bridge was beaten in battle the bridge could safely be used.
This was a lunch story and as the day continued I noticed my son and our dog, Cardinal Wolsey, were glued to the couch and constantly staring out our picture window. As time passed and my son was still stationed at the window, I asked him about this. He pointed to the back of a board outside and in front of our house. I went outside and found it was a large sign hand printed in a child’s hand but clear to be read. It was prominently placed, and pointing at anyone passing by. It read, “Whoever hiteth this shield will getteth what he deserveth” My son waited all day but no one hiteth his sign.
Get well Amys. No that is not a spelling error; Two of my Amys need get well prayers right now.
A couple of years ago my sewing group contained five ladies named Amy, and five Annettes and few others. One evening we were all chattering away but mostly focusing on our sewing projects when someone opened the door and called, “Amy?” Without looking up about half the group answered, “Yes?” Then we all looked up startled…and laughed.
I’m feeling insignificant and without purpose. This used to happen to people of middle age; the solution was to buy a sports car.
We’re taught in school to evaluate ourselves as discontent; the solution is two fold.
To cure discontent we need to discover to what extent and to the greatest extent possible how much a victim we are. I, myself, am somewhat important because I’m a female, I’m a victim because I’ve been abussed in my family and by men in the work place, and one of my foremothers was a native American. Also, I’m an artist. I spend all day every day making things to look at that no one wants to see. There should be a law! My neighbors spend a great deal of money on music but none on art. A lack of cultural appreciation makes me a victim. People should be forced to by my art!
There are many in my communitee that can count up so many more points of victimhood; they are so much more important than I!
I also need a purpose in life! The solution is to complain and be offended! I’ll make a long list of offences in every direction, and to really find satisfaction I’ll go on a protest march and distroy something! Ah, I feel so much better!
It smelled more like beer mixed with dead dog than bread! After a wonderfully fun and long phone call I walked into my kitchen and found disaster. My bread dough had risen out of its bowl, onto the counter, dripped off the counter, and grew across the floor! It was odorizing half my house with a pungent, awful mix of smells.
I was raised not to waste anything, especially food, if in this case you could label it as such. Twice on similar occasions I’d baked the “bread” anyway but baking hadn’t improved it one wit! I couldn’t eat it, so this time I scooped the nasty stuff up, hauled it to the backyard and buried it as fertilizer.
I was satisfied that in the spring my garden would thrive with so much soil conditioner. Spring came and I put on my rock hounding boots, took up my shovel, and headed for the backyard to turn over the soil.
I was delighted! I was thrilled! My backyard was full of mole mounds. I still love those mounds of fluffy dirt!
I jumped in the air high as I could and landed, not in a glory of soft soil but in odorous goo! Yes, the dough I’d buried in many places had continued to RISE and mix with mud and had grown four fold! I pulled myself out and beat the stuff down with my shovel. It exhaled giant, terrible poofs of stink!
My neighbors complained about the mysterious smell and so did the garbage men the next year. For that full year I reasoned that the “dough” surely must have run out of sugars to eat and would surely DIE but it never did! My yard got bigger and higher all that year as I refused to waste “food?” I never could plant a garden.
When a garbage dump is full people flatten it and plant a housing tract on top. To this day, I watch the news in dread hoping not to see ‘An Odorous Mystery; why did this neighborhood rise up ten feet and put off a terrible smell?’