Monday, May 29, 2017

Remembering what this day means

Sunday, May 14, 2017

Senior Smarts

A Florida couple, both well into their 80s, go to a sex therapist's office.

The doctor asks, 'What can I do for you?'

The man says, 'Will you watch us have sexual intercourse?'

The doctor raises both eyebrows,

but he is so amazed that such an elderly couple is asking for sexual advice that he agrees.

When the couple finishes, the doctor says,

'There's absolutely nothing wrong with the way you have intercourse.'


He thanks them for coming, he wishes them good luck,

he charges them $50 and he says good bye.


The next week, the same couple returns and asks the sex therapist to watch again.

The sex therapist is a bit puzzled, but agrees.

This happens several weeks in a row.

The couple makes an appointment , has intercourse with no problems, pays the doctor, then leave..


Finally, after 3 months of this routine, the doctor says, 'I'm sorry, but I have to ask.

Just what are you trying to find out?'

The man says, 'We're not trying to find out anything.

She's married; so we can't go to her house.

I'm married; and we can't go to my house.

The Holiday Inn charges $98.

The Hilton charges $139.

We do it here for $50, and

Medicare pays $43 of it, leaving my net cost of $7.


SHAME ON YOU FOR LAUGHING AT THAT

Sunday, May 07, 2017

Three Trees and Woodpecker

   It is hard to find a joke today without a dirty word or two in it, but here is one:

    Two tall trees, a birch and a beech, are growing in the woods.  A small tree begins to grow between them, and the beech says to the birch, 'Is that a son of a beech or a son of a birch?'

    The birch replys that he cannot tell, but just then a woodpecker lands on the sapling.

    The birch says, 'Woodpecker, you are a tree expert.  Can you tell if that is a son of a beech or a son of a birch?'

    The woodpecker takes a taste of the small tree and replies, 'It is neither a son of a beech nor a son of a birch.  It is, however, the best piece of ash I have ever poked my pecker into.'

Now wipe that smile off your face, and pass it on.

Saturday, March 04, 2017

IT’S NOT WHAT YOU GATHER,  BUT WHAT YOU SCATTER

I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes.. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. 

Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me. 

'Hello Barry, how are you today?' 

'H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. They sure look good' 

'They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?'  
'Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time.'  
'Good. Anything I can help you with?'  
'No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas.'  
'Would you like to take some home?' asked Mr. Miller. 

'No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with.'

'Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?'

'All I got's my prize marble here.' 

'Is that right? Let me see it', said Miller. 

'Here 'tis. She's a dandy.' 

'I can see that. Hmm mmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?' the store owner asked. 

'Not zackley but almost.'

'Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble'. Mr. Miller told the boy.

'Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.'

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.

With a smile she said, 'There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. 

When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store.' 

I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado, but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles. 

Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one.  Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary, we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. 

Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts...all very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. 

Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one; each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes. 

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her

who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's bartering for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

'Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about.

They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded' them.  Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size....they came to pay their debt.' 

'We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,' she confided, 'but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho ...' 

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband.  Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

The Moral: 
We will not be remembered by our words, but

by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Don’t Blink

Don't let life pass you by.