Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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

August 15, 2006

Today’s announcements

Ronni finally made it home.  She's pretty weak, but glad to be out of "that place" as she calls it.  Had several tests done.  CT Scan, MRI, etc, etc.  She was starting to think she had fallen in with a bunch of Vampires, with all the blood tests.  Results this week to see if she has to go back in for surgery.  Thanks for all the warm thoughts and prayers.  Bob & Ronni

caperabbit@semo.net

Now onto the good stuff!

Today’s Queue Stories

~**~**~

The Lucky One

Roger Dean Kiser

I was just about to head out the front door when the telephone rang. I sat down my fishing rod and tackle box and picked up the phone.

"Hello."

"OK," tapping my fingers on the wall.

"I'll be there in a few minutes."

I hung up the telephone and headed out the front door. I watched the traffic very closely as I had to cross a busy highway in order to get to the furniture store, located across the street.

My friend Sherman had telephoned and asked me to help him pick up some used furniture which he had purchased, earlier that morning, at an estate sale in Modesto.

When I arrived he was pulling around the building in his large, white U-haul type truck. I opened the cab door and slid in.

Nothing was said as we drove. He knew I despised his driving and that it irritated me to no end. Sherman was one of those drivers who constantly pushes the gas and then lets off. Pushes the gas pedal again and then lets off. Over and over he does this, and for no logical reason. It never stops. I was at wits-end when we finally arrived at the small apartment building.

The back of the truck was opened and out came the hand-trucks. Around the building we headed until we reached apartment 147. Just as we reached the door it opened and there stood a young woman about 25 years old. As we talked a man walked up behind her. All at once he jumped towards us. Using his legs he tried to block the doorway as the cat was trying to make it outside. The cat, in a state of panic, made a sharp turn and ran back into the apartment.

"I'm going to get that little bastard and put him in the bathroom. After this sale is settled I'm going to knock him in the damn head with a Coco Cola bottle. Then bury him in the damn backyard," said the man, with a very serious look on his face.

I watched as he trapped the cat in the living room corner, carry him to the bathroom, throw him in like a baseball and then close the door.

"What's with the cat?" I asked Sherman.

"It belonged to her mother. She died several weeks ago and I guess they don't want it."

"Why would someone not want to keep something that loved their mother?" I asked.

Sherman just shrugged his shoulders and entered the apartment.

For the next hour we broke down beds and furniture and loaded it into his truck. When all was done he paid the woman and we turned to leave. I stopped in the doorway, turned around and said, "You're going to kill that cat are you?"

The man looked at me and replied, "I don't want the damn thing and I'm going to kill it."

"Can I use your telephone?" I asked the woman.

She pointed toward the kitchen.

I walked into the kitchen, picked up the wall phone receiver and telephoned my wife. I explained the situation and was rather surprised when she firmly rejected the suggestion that we take the animal. Slowly, I hung up the telephone and turned toward the man.

"We'll take the cat," I told him.

I looked at Sherman, who was now shaking his head.

I held the scared cat on my lap until we returned to the furniture store. Carrying the cat against my chest, I jumped out of the truck and walked across the highway. Slowly, I opened the front door of my house and let the cat walk in. I quietly closed the door and walked back across the street to help Sherman unload the furniture. When done, he paid me and I headed back to my house. I opened the front door and hearing nothing, I began to look for the cat. Finally making it to the kitchen I saw my wife sitting at the end of the kitchen table holding, and petting the cat.

"WHERE THE HECK DID THAT COME FROM?" I yelled, acting surprised.

"I don't know. He just was here. He came walking into the bedroom. Isn't he beautiful?" She replied.

"Well, we are not keeping it," I told her.

"If we can't find the owner we are damn well keeping it," she advised me.

"If I could not keep that cat I called you about you are not keeping that animal," I said, in a very stern voice.

"We'll see about that," she said, as she walked out of the kitchen, carrying the cat in her arms.

Well, the cat named "Hema" lived with us until our divorce, seven years later. The judge granted her the cat in the divorce proceeding and he lived with her for another eight years. I don't know if he was the lucky or the unlucky one in this situation. That incident was one of the few secrets I ever kept from my wife

Roger Dean Kiser

trampolineone@earthlink.net

~**~**~

 ValueSpeak

A Weekly Column

By Joseph Walker

valuespeak@msn.com

GIVING BLOOD WITH BROTHER DRACULA

            Dick wasn’t really a vampire.  He just played one on the telephone.  But when it came to collecting blood, he made Count Dracula look absolutely toothless.

            Of course, he didn’t start out as a vampire (few of them do, you know).  He was actually a house painter by profession.  But he had to put his brushes and buckets away when a two-word phrase that he had never even heard before entered his life: Parkinson’s disease.  The illness affected his body in a variety of ways, most notably causing him to tremble uncontrollably.  He was embarrassed by the shaking, and the physical limitations imposed upon him by the disease were frustrating and painful.  But instead of allowing himself to become embittered by the tough hand life had dealt to him, he chose to play it out openly – and with characteristic good humor.

            “The good thing about having Parkinson’s,” he said the first time I talked to him, “is that I can hold your hand and shake your hand at the same time!”

            That’s the way Dick was.  He didn’t defy Parkinson’s, but he didn’t take it all that seriously, either.  Although he allowed some accommodation in his life for the devastating effects of the disease – for example, since he had to spend most of his time in bed his bedroom walls were lined with video copies of his favorite films – he resisted any attempt by well-meaning friends and neighbors to give him excuses for not doing the things that he knew he could still do.

            “Disability is not inability,” he used to tell me.  “Parkinson’s has already taken a lot from me, so I’m going to be pretty protective of what little is left for me.”

            Most of what was left for Dick cam straight from his heart.  He was kind and generous to a fault.  When you visited him you usually came away with a smile on your face and a pack of gum in your pocket.  His greatest desire was to serve others, and when it became too difficult for him to do it physically he tried to do it through his limited financial resources.

            As the lay leader of his church congregation I tried to warn him about frittering away his fixed income on treats for everyone who came to call.  But he would hear none of it from me.

            “Everyone is so good to me, I need to give something back,” he said.  “I need to give.”

            So we tried to find something he could do within the congregation to fulfill his need.  It wasn’t easy.  His limitations were very real; most of the service options we could come up with required more than he was physically able to do.  About the most strenuous thing he could do for any length of time was talk on the telephone.

            Which, it turned out, was exactly what was needed to lead our annual blood drive.  When we asked him to be in charge of the project he accepted with eagerness.  He called every member of our congregation and got more commitments to give blood than we had ever received.  Then he called everyone again the night before the drive to remind them of their appointments.  And if anyone didn’t show up at the appointed time he would call them again to find out why.  Every time he called, his salutation was the same: “This is Brother Dracula.  I vant your blood!”

            And he got it, in record amounts.  A few days after the blood drive someone from the local blood bank called to thank me and to ask what we had done to attract so many participants.  “It’s easy to get blood,” I told him, “when you have a vampire in the congregation.”

            Dick continued to preside over our congregational blood-lettings for several years.  When we moved out of the area I found myself missing his regular inquiries as to the condition of my corpuscles.  Even now, whenever I have blood drawn I think about Brother Dracula and how he refused to allow disability to limit his ability to give – and to get others to give.

            Even if he wasn’t REALLY a vampire.

~**~**~

 How To Know If You're a Redneck

Sharlett F. Hunt

  You know you are a redneck if.....you are watching the Beverly Hillbillies and listening to George Jones at the same time.

  You know you are a redneck if....your cats sit on command and thinks it is a dog.

  You own a bird that has learned how to whistle for the cat.

  You own two television sets and the one that isn't working serves as a table for the other.

  And the real reason you start thinking you are a possible redneck is because your cat had a cat party and some of them tore a huge hole in the screen so you are using your ironing board to cover the hole.  Just hope it doesn't rain. 

  There are rednecks all over this nation, from each and every country we have.  They come in all colors, shapes and sizes.  I believe we all have a heart and an ability to laugh at ourselves.  So we are not all perfect.  Guess what?  You just might be a redneck.

Sharlett Hunt

Sharlette863@aol.con

~**~**~

Poetry Section

~**~**~

Writing

Dianna Doles Petry

I want to fling my mighty pen to the ground,

Stepping on it to allow the ink to flow away,

Like the blood that beats in my very heart,

Will allow me to die if it stops flowing someday.

For so long it's had a power that consumes me,

Enticing me, luring me to express myself each day,

But I realize now that it only matters to me,

If only I could toss this nagging need away.

I want to toss away the feelings that I have,

Becoming neutral and expressionless now,

To keep my thoughts and emotions to myself,

I want to do this but I don't know how.

I want to free myself of this urge,

This need to record my life on a journal page,

I need to spend my time being useful,

Finding a job with a much higher wage.

I want to feel content and satisfied,

To hold my opinions deep inside of me,

Instead of writing them down on paper,

For the rest of the world to see.

©Dianna Doles Petry

6/2006

 Dianna59@charter.net

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

~**~**~

"Wishes Do Come True"

Paula D. Booher

I asked the Lord for one more sunset

And a talk with you about things,

To settle out old accounts and such

That rattled my mind with ding a lings.

Then out of the blue when I least expected

A call from my past came through loud & clear,

The one I held in great esteem was there

The one I held most dear.

It wasn't as I had imagined

Oh no it was more grand than that,

For what I had in my febble mind

Was merely an idle chat.

My sweet and loving God

Gave me almost an entire year,

To share my heart with my sweet love

To make everything perfectly clear.

And when it was time to say our "Good byes"

The window was drawing to a close,

I knew in my heart that time was short

God prepared me with a rose.

Just before my birthday

The nicest card was sent,

My sweet love spoke the kindest words

Speaking kindness before he went.

As softly as he had entered

As gently as he touched my soul,

Our words were met with completeness

And once again we were whole.

Healing had taken its time to mend

The years of wounds that left scars,

Now have warmed our hearts desire

For the freedom that is ours.

Eternity will be our grand "Hello"

Never to say "Goodbye" again,

For now it's, "I'll be seein' ya"

My faithful loving friend...

When the Word says Abundant

God wasn't messin' around,

I prayed for a small measure of time

And ended up with a giant pound.

My heart is light and his burdens gone

My love is in peace and happy now,

I prayed his wishes all came true

God honored that wish with a Wow!

copyright 5:48 a.m.

Paula Deann (Roe) Honeycutt Booher

wrappednword@yahoo.com

~**~**~

Readers Feedback

Thank you Carol for your explanation of the circumstances you find yourself in at the moment.  We enjoy your Newsletter very much. 

Kindness is the oil that takes the friction out of life.

HOORAY! Sandi and BJ found their true loves!
Mark Crider, Raffish Raconteur

Hartson mentioned farkleberries. Oh Lord, he knoweth not what he has
stirred, for in the fifties that was a VERY BAD word. Later in the
fifties it evolved into Dingleberries. I won't go there.
Thanks
Mark Crider

Answer from Hart:

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;

Storytime Tapestry Staff

Carol Roach - Founder/publisher

Thelma Hartselle - Co-Founder, Moderator

Clara Westerfer – moderator

Bob Johnston - moderator