Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness around the world.

August 10, 2006

Today’s Queue Stories

~**~**~

Forever Amy

Julie Jordan Scott

I loved my parents dearly and felt that I was so fortunate to have the parents that brought me into the world. I lost them both when I was in my thirties.

We have a special Aunt who was there for all of us all of our lives. Auntie Amy showed up when someone was ill as she was a nurse, she came to visit just when we started to miss her too much. My Mom was her sister and their relationship was special. My Dad found her to be a special sister too.

I loved her all my life and admired her for her wonderful ways.

Her sense of humour must have helped pull many a patient through. She would take no nonsense but that resulted in respect for a fine lady.. She was married to a minister which puts additional pressure on a family as the community is always keeping an eagle eye on the clergy. She handled it all but realized that her children were under additional pressure compared to other children in the communities they lived in.

Time passes quickly and soon their children were grown ups with good educations , wonderful marriages and lovely children.

Auntie Amy and Uncle Herman build a beautiful home after living in manses for so many years. It was in a small town with a friendly atmosphere.

They enjoyed their life there and spent happy years in their small community.

Uncle Herman was a well respected minister and loved by the family. Auntie Amy carried on,keeping busy with her garden and her social events.

What a wonderful Aunt. She is one of a kind.

Right now she is on our minds constantly as she is dealing with cancer and she is being a brave soul.

Love will flow from all of us to Auntie Amy forever. Auntie Amy, you are a gift to the world.

Julie Jordan Scott

Julie@5passions.com

~**~**~

 Simple Acts of Love
© 2006
Julie Jordan Scott

"Accustom yourself continually to make many acts of love, for they enkindle and melt the soul."

St. Teresa of Avila

I wasn't sure what made Sam sad, I just knew he was sad. So I picked him up, just as he asked,
and he rested his head on my shoulder. I let his entire almost-fifty-pound being relax into me.

I tried to sit. He moaned, "Get up..... please." So I did.

He wanted to go look around Wal-mart. So together, we went. Our first stop was the fish tanks.

"What is that one's name?" he asked.

"Marvin," I responded, the first name that popped into my mind.

A man walking by burst out laughing as Sam waved into the fish tank, "Hi, Marvin!" We
exhausted the array of tanks and went to look at toys and then sporting goods. We ooohed and
aaaahhhed the tents and sleeping bags.

An employee approached, pushing a wide cart. "Do you need us to move?" I asked.

He nodded. "Let's move over this way, Sam." I said.

The employee pushed his cart through and said, "You're nice. Most people yell at me."

I smiled. "We wouldn't do that."

He moved along. We moved along.

We smelled candles and looked in mirrors. We walked past Televisions and women’s clothes and
came upon a young woman who works in a neighborhood restaurant.

We chatted about children and the ever-present Bakersfield heat. I explained our mission in
the store, to help Sam get through whatever was making him unhappy.

I realized as we went back to our car and drove home that our initial mission looked
like it was about making Sam happy, but what also happened was we enkindled simple acts
of love towards the others we encountered by being kind, by making people feel joy bubble
inside them, by simply being considerate.

We connected soul-to-soul with one another and with those we encountered.

That was what Sam's body melting into my arms said from the beginning of the afternoon. He
was enkindling, starting a fire, in his soul. He knew by connecting to mine, it would happen.

And it did.

Julie Jordan Scott

Julie@5passions.com

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~**~**~

Poetry Section

~**~**~

Footsteps

Robert White

Do you remember that September when our paths first met?

In Royal’s* Baby Ward where a young Audrey Ward

Birthed me and, to the Lord, brought me to beget.

Do you remember that September when two became three?

You held me in your hands, then signed and made new plans

A family Adoption manned, of Daddy, you and me

Do you remember that September two spring times further on?

A baby girl named Sandra, Crying out with candor,

A song with a new stanza, chosen by your son.

Do you remember those Septembers tiny footsteps could be heard?.

A foursome of a family, two children play merrily,

A life loved out daily, made tender by your word.

Do you remember that September after Father passed away?

A sudden shock rebounding, A world in turmoil sounding

A loneliness resounding. How did your faith hold sway?

Do you remember that September a boy became a man?

No more his mother clinging, a new career forth bringing,

His faith in God asinging, A striving to work the Plan.

Do you remember those Septembers as we your children left?

No longer nested, like eagles flying tested

Left alone sequestered, One but not bereft.

I remember each September every step and act of yours.

There’s none I’d rather, Truly, no one other,

Only you, my mother, your footstep wide endures.

·                    Royal Brisbane Hospital, Brisbane, Queensland, Australia   

Robert White

poeticrob@hotmail.com

~**~**~

 Then She Cried

 Dianna Doles Petry

Born premature, so frail and small,

The odds were high that she wouldn't survive.

Lungs too small, jaundice skin, could she even nurse?

I held her and through tear filled eyes whispered,

"Mommy's little girl is here, she's alive."

Then she cried.

The days passed by almost in a blur,

Learning to talk, walk, run and make herself known.

A surgery to correct a gland, another for her ears,

I knew that she had to be so frightened at times,

I told her, "I'm here, I won't leave you alone."

Then she cried.

The first day of school came around,

I think I was more nervous about leaving her there,

Than she was about staying with this group of strangers.

She didn't even notice when I left that day,

That night she told me about her day as I washed her hair.

Then she cried.

Before long, she was a teenager in high school,

The peer pressure was more than she was ready for.

Her self-confidence took a plunge and her grades dropped,

It took a lot of talk and a lot of time spent just listening,

But with a diploma in her hand, she walked through that door.

Then she cried.

She's a married woman now, normally happy, sometimes sad,

Filled with desires to have a better life and career.

She keeps plodding along no matter how bumpy the road becomes,

So I talk to her and make sure that she always knows,

That my love for her never fades and is always near.

Then she cries.

©Dianna Doles Petry

06/07/2006

Written for my daughter,

Just Because.

dianna59@charter.net

http://diannapetry.tripod.com
http://members.tripod.com/~poemsbydianna/PoetryofLife.html
www.womenwithauniquesoul.com

~**~**~

Readers Feedback

Dear Mr. Walker,

How right you are about the new generation's misuse of words. How often have
I wondered about how they manage to communicate at all, if they do not know
the right word to express what they want to communicate?

The problem appears to be particularly acute in the US, but can be observed
throughout the world.
Despite a real good education and parental role models, today's youth
appears to emulate the extravagant role models promoted by the media as
prominent examples of misbehaving humans wallowing in the abundance of the
wealth brought on by the display of their "artistic expression".

The term artistic expression has become a catch-all for just about any
crime, as long as it is committed under the proper amount of bells and
whistles to justify it.

Even your expression "He's Osama bin freaking Laden!" intended to correct
your daughter is an example of the use of a word with an undefined meaning
in the English language.

So there you have it, despite our knowledge, we are not immune to the
detrimental effects of improper word usage. I wish, I knew how to reverse
the trend.

Sincerely,

Andreas

Senior Writers

Chief writer: Sharon Bryant

Chief researcher/historian: Hartson Dowd

Agee, Vance; Apted, Violet; Baker, Kathy; Batt, Al; Berry, Nell; Blaine, Pamela; Boda, Ginger; Booher, Paula; Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.; Costner, Joan Clifton; Cavalera, Robyn; Crider, Mark; Dees, Mary; Deming, Barb; Doherty, Maria;  Dowd, Hartson; Dowd, Helen; Gilbert, Robert, Jr.; Gold, Ron; Goodier, Steve; Grisham, Mary-Ellen; Braun-Haley, Ellie; Harris, Kathy Anne; Henry, Linda Ann; Hunt, Sharlett; Hymes, Christina; Jacobson, Gary; Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Kevin, Tim; Jenkins, Pamela; Liles, Norma; Lily Jodi Flesberg; Lock, Joyce; Marlor, Janice Bumbalough; Mazzella, Joe; Mizrany, Mary Carter; Morris, Deepak; Ojeibge, Georgewaters; Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan; Shiveley, Debra; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Streidel, Saskia; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam; Verhoeff, Jan; Walker, Bill; Walker, Joe; Warner, Gordon, K; Walsh, Sue; Weymouth, Barbara J.; Whirity, Kathy;

Wainland, David; Westerfer, Clara; White Robert;

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