Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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

Today’s Queue Stories

Back to Armadillos.

 Mike Fireside

There is an armadillo who has dug a burrow under my front porch. Not that any of their kind are drop dead beautiful, but this one seems to be hurting. I’s tail is broken off near the end and there are vast patches of pink area on its armor that appear to be the result of injury or illness. A friend of mine suggested that I shoot the creature before I wind up with a yard that looks like it’s been bombed, but I cannot. I did not move out into the wilderness to declare war on the wildlife here. Not even an armadillo. This critter has moved in close to a human, either out of stupidity, or I suspect, desperation. It is not a well animal. When I go outside its snuffling around slowing, and flee me at half speed when it finally notices that I am right in front of it. Perhaps it is to the point in armadillo age when dying is all that is left to do. I will not hasten it. I simply can not.

I left some carrots and onions near its burrow and they were gone this morning. Yes, I am feeding an armadillo. Whatever forces there are in the universe, blind perhaps, unintentional, accidental, whatever has brought this animal to live near me, I will offer what protection I can. I have no illusions about what will happen if it strays into the back yard. I have no illusions as to it becoming friends with me. I have no illusions at all as to this changing anything about the creature’s stupidity, or its habits, or how many dead ones like it I will see on the way to work each day.

This place I live is my part of the universe. Two mutts live here, one taken from a dog pound, the other found his way here, near death. There are spiders here too, left to live in my house as insect control. There are rat snakes here, left alone to live their lives as they see fit. There are two feeders for birds, and I leave sunflower seeds out for the squirrels so they will come up on the porch. The quail come to get what sunflowers they can without getting too close to the house, and I scatter some out so they can feel safe while they eat. There is a small herd of deer who eat acorns in the front yard in season. Now there is an old and dying armadillo. It means very little that one of their kind is being kept alive past the point it would otherwise die. But this is my part of the universe, and for whatever it may mean, I will feed the armadillo.

Take Care,

Mike Firesmith

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Poetry Section

~**~**~

"You Never Blamed me for Loving you"

written by

Paula Booher

You words were cross and angry

The last time that we spoke,

Had you known they'd be the last ones

The last chance before in heaven you awoke.

I wonder if you would have been so hasty

To blame me for all your lifes woes,

Every time they left you crying

When it was my shoulder your heart knows.

I know I left you broken long ago

Available and waiting when the world left you crushed,

Our timing was always off it seemed

Now it's too late your life is hushed.

The last one left you yet again

You blamed me for That one too,

I wonder what she saw in your eyes

Reflections of me and you?

I have no regrets for what is pure

I did not lie or deny it,

One day perhaps things will be settled

And put in their proper sight.

There were a few things you may have forgotten

Some things sincere and true,

Time ran out before the words were spoken

You never Blamed me for Loving you.

copyright 8/16/2006

9:49 a.m.

Paula Deann (Roe) Honeycutt Booher

wrappednword@yahoo.com

A present writer for Storytime Tapestry.   As the journey of life progresses and God enlightens us to the better places of our lives...we travel onward.  Other poems may be viewed at poetry.com under Paula Roe and Paula Booher from previous dates.  I am priveleged to enjoy a friendship that I only dreamed of until I met Carol Roach.  My deep appreciation for the world she has opened up for me is hard to express in words other than a Heartfelt "Thank You" from my very soul.  I love you Carol.  God Bless you for a freedom I wasn't expecting yet I do not take for granted.

~**~**~

This one is for my Mom, Have a relaxing week.

"Because of her"

Mary Dees

From Sunflowers to Willow trees,

Tomato plants and their green leaves.

Vines stretching across the room,

Living things keep her heart in bloom.

I think of her,

Making quilts, stitching jeans,

Comfort found with her sewing machine.

Unique threads secure pieces of time,

Old fashion memories with modern designs.

I  see her,

Family pictures wallpaper her place,

Snapshots catch a smiling face.

The soothing role a Mother plays,

Can warm the coldest heart with her gentle ways.

I'm proud of her,

The defining moment that you'll be okay,

Happens all the time when she's not away.

The voice only her children recognize,

The best in show for compromise.

I'm happy for her,

The world in which we live...a tangible ride,

When given a Mother to walk by our side.

Repeating of reasons heard many times before,

But never too many to make her feel sure.

I'm blessed....I'm rich.....I'm valued,

~~~ Because of her. ~~~

By Mary M. Dees

marlena7694@yahoo.com

~**~**~

~~~ 10 Years~~~

Mary Dees

For a time he was a stranger,

Handsome, strapping and young.

The father of two boys I knew,

That are my brothers and his sons.

I was told he lived on a hill,

With his family far away.

And I just knew if I would be good,

He might take me there some day.

I ate my vegetables for 10 years,

I even remembered to pray.

Then Mommy woke me up one morning,

Saying "You'll be meeting your daddy today."

"Mommy is it true.I said,"

Is he really comin'?

Yes, she said, My Sunshine flower,

So to the door I went runnin.'

"No, honey he's not here right now,"

We're meeting' your granny half way through.

"Then Mommy I said fix my hair"

And make me pretty too!

Before I could say, "Are we there yet?"

My granny said "get in,"

Hush your breath you goofy child,

I will take you straight to him.

I closed my eyes until the burning was piercing,

I was so afraid to open them up.

For what if this was only a dream,

Cause I never believed in luck?

But then, blinding like a beacon,

~ Stood my brothers father.~

Weakness took over my young knees,

At last, "Would I be his daughter?"

Standing beside his buddy's car,

Three men leaning in a row.

"Granny which one is my daddy?"

I'm afraid that I don't know.

"Mary must I tell you?"

Her eye's scorning my small frame.

"The one with the hairiest legs,” she said,

That gave you the Dees name.

I was ready for this day, I practiced.

But my heart filled up with lead.

What if he still didn't like me?

Ruthless thoughts consumed my head.

I took one step and then I felt,

My feet lighten....then I flew.

Into the arms of this stranger,

That my big brothers always knew.

"Girl you are so purdy," he said,

"I see your mother in your eyes so blue"

I said surely you can love me then,

Cause she still feels love for you.

Daddy your face, I have seen in pictures,

Or maybe fleeting out of our drive.

My memory of you is disappointing,

But Mommy helped me keep yours alive.

She said some day ..you would come for me,

With arrows broken off in your chest.

So the pain it took for you to get to me,

I'll try not to second guess.

I fell asleep in my Daddy's lap,

While he took me to visit on his hill.

But my heart strings pulled me back to her,

My dear Mommy.........worried still.

For she dabbed the sweat from my headache,

With a washcloth drenched in tears.

"Baby I know your daddy will come for you",

She said........... "Even if it takes ten years"

By Mary M. Dees

marlena7694@yahoo.com

Readers Feedback

Dear Carol,
Hope you and your son are OK! I just wanted to let you know that I am praying for God to help those caught in the college shooting today in Montreal. May God comfort and heal those who were injured, and may they have the sense of His presence. In Jesus' all-powerful Name I pray, Amen. In His great love, Frances

A very happy Anniversary to Bob and his wife...  Many happy returns of the day!

Barbara Weymouth

weymouth@surewest.net

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