Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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

September 29, 2006

Today’s announcements

A wonderful Happy Birthday is required for our beloved inspirational writers, Joe Mazzella: joecool@wirefire.com ; and Helen Dowd: hmdowd@telus.net

My niece, Kay, is having a catscan on Monday to rule out cancer.  From what we know now, she has had a mri and the dr wants this test to confirm his concerns.  She is 67 yrs old and has two herniated disks.  We are very concerned as she is in constant pain.  Thanking you in advance for your  prayers!  I will update you as I know more.  This niece is very dear to my heart. Normie: hoopla214@yahoo.com 

Now onto the good stuff!

Today’s Queue Stories

~**~**~

Hope Beyond Hope

Michael T. Smith

            I moved to the USA in 1999 and settled in Ohio, where I worked as a project

manager in the telecommunications industry. The USA seemed the same as Canada to

me. Their was little difference, except the money was all one color and it wasn’t home,

until 9/11. On that day I learned what it felt like to have my country attacked.

            I played those words in my head - My Country. They were true. I still felt

Canadian, but on 9/11, the USA became my country. I lived here and “WE” were

attacked.

            I was at work when the news came to us. Everyone got on the internet to read

what was happening. There was a lot of misconceptions and confusion before the

country and the world realized we were under attack. Work stopped. People stood

in their cubicles wondering what to do.

            I had a client who had offices in Midtown Manhattan. I called them, “Janessa, we

just heard a plane struck one of the towers. Is it true?”

            “Yes! It’s true. We can see the tower burning from our windows.” A few minutes

later, we learned another plane struck the second tower and a third plane slammed into

the Pentagon. Several minutes later, as we watched people leaping to their death, the

towers collapsed into a pile of rubble.

            The towers were major communication centers for Manhattan. Across the street

were the offices of Verizon, one of the largest telecommunication providers on the east

coast. Their offices were so badly damaged, five years later, they still stand empty.

            Most of our customers in Manhattan lost their communication lines. One client

called me, “Mike,” she choked back tears, “Can you help us. We need to set up

emergency network connections.”

            I remembered their main office was located in one of the towers. “Are you OK?”

I asked. “Have you heard anything from your staff.”

            “No,” she began to cry. I felt helpless. There was nothing I could do but say I was

sorry and would do what could to get their network up. They lost most of their employees

that day. 

            Word came down from our head office, “This is an extreme emergency. All staff

are to stay on duty until further notice..” Our managers called a meeting. We were told

plans were underway to restore services to the New York area. Several hours later, hours

I wanted to be home and holding my wife, we were told to go home and keep our phones

open in case our services were needed.

            I stood in front of my house with my neighbors, wondering what would happen.

We stared at the empty skies. Planes approached the Port Columbus over our homes. On

9/11 the skies were empty. The planes were grounded.

            “I’m a Canadian,” I said to my neighbors, “Tonight, I’m American. I’m happy

here. Whoever did this, took on a world of people who believe in freedom. If I’m called

to service, I’ll go.”

            A year later, I moved to New Jersey. My first weekend here, I visited the site, and

stood at the edge of the hole where the towers once stood. Two years before I’d spent an

evening on the 107th floor. Our client treated us to dinner at the “Windows of the World”

restaurant. I looked up at the blue sky and remembered staring down at The Statue of

Liberty. It looked like a tiny toy floating at the entrance to the Hudson River.

            The towers were no more. Plywood walls still protected the area. Laminated

flyers were still stapled to the rotting wood. The pictures of faded loved ones fluttered in

the breeze. “Have you seen this person?” they asked - hope beyond hope.

            I cried.

            I entered the little church a half block away. Surprisingly, it was not damaged.

It served as headquarters for the rescue operations. Inside were letters and cards to the

firefighters and their families. They came from school children all over the world. My

tears began to flow again. The pictures and letters grew blurry. I sat, waited until my

emotions were under control, and weakly walked out.

            A year later, I talked to a new co-worker. She lived in Manhattan on 9/11. “Mike,

I was walking my dog along the Hudson River and saw the second plane strike. I sat in

the grass, held my dog and cried.

            “Mike, my boyfriend was a New York City fireman. He died in the towers.

            “For weeks, I refused to accept the fact he was dead. A close friend took my

hand one day. He was working with the rescuers, clearing out debris. He gave me a

safety suit and mask, and snuck me into the ruins where he worked.

            “He pointed to the buildings around us, ‘Ruth, look at those buildings. Picture

one of them collapsing. Ruth, he’s dead.’ and then I cried. It took a friend to make me

face reality, Mike.”

            Ruth had been like those who posted pictures on the plywood walls. She didn’t

want to believe her loved one was gone. There was no trace of them, so in their mind, they had to be alive somewhere.

            Like all of us, there are times when we find it hard to believe what is happening in

our life. We hold on to hope - hope beyond hope.

Michael T. Smith

mtsmith@qwestonline.com

To read my stories or to sign up
to receive my weekly story, go to:
http://archives.zinester.com/86758/

~**~**~

Blazing Seven

Louise Nomani:

> He comes in the morning with stamping foot, swishing tail and hard

> glinty eyes that bespeak his impatience with the slow foot and slow

> hand with the grain pail.  He is eager, over eager -greedy for that

> molasses sweet blend of oats and corn and bran and extruded pellets.

> He has no liking for the big yellow dog that tries to sneak in on the

> edges and steal the droppings from his mouth.  I worry for I have seen

> Seven strikes like a snake; and his legs are long, and his hooves are hard

> Like gray stone.  I send the dog away loving him too much to leave him

> In such danger. The dog sulks, and does not like me for the rescue.

> There is much contradiction in this pony’s eyes.  I feel them on me;

> and the eyes are soft and deep like cool water, dark and full of

> unknown knowledge. Then, in an instant ,  there comes an eagle, and the eye

> glints and flashes like lightening.  I wonder what pin has

> prickled this colt’s manner.

>

>      I lay my hand on his neck and stroke the muscles and rub the hard

> muscle that directs the snake in him.  He leans and then comes around

> me, and his warm check is against mine, and the warm nose is in my

> pocket.  Seven removes the gloves from my pocket. He takes the rain bonnet from my head and drops it in the corner.  He is in my shirt now and pulling at buttons and pulling on the zipper.  Oh, he is soft and gentle, but I look at him, and the light in his eye is pure mischief.  What a man!

>

Louise Nomani

> windmill@tdstelme.net

~**~**~

Poetry Section

~**~**~

'OUT OF THE ASHES'

C. J. Wylie

The book not written

in words understood

from journeys past

Forgotten tales given birth

of truths misspelled

To forge a nation of peace

out of the ashs of war.

C.J.Wylie  2006

artjwca@yahoo.ca

~**~**~

 'WITHIN'

C.J. Wylie

You crash

shipwrecked

on a virgin shore

Wondering where you are

The vastness

yet unconquered

You set your sites

on a far away place

to build a world

that washes your dream

in silken thread

to become reality

Your paradise within.

C.J.Wylie  2006

artjwca@yahoo.ca

~**~**~

 'OF TODAY' (re-visited)

C.J. Wylie

Watching in joyful speak

of creations beauty

Captivating your senses

in Divine purity

Given to you the wholeness

from freedoms ease

Erasing the yesterdays

and open the door

of today.

C.J.Wylie  2006

artjwca@yahoo.ca

There are a few more for you my friend.

So that you know I do have poetry folders for sale with some of my poetry writings, which some are a lot longer in verse. They are water proof and each one comes signed and dated by me and there is a gold Masters Pebble seal on the front cover. The cost of them is 22.00 dollars plus shipping.

I made it easy for interested persons to pay. They can simply pay through my PayPal account. The email for it is: moneyflowstome@yahoo.ca

Once they have made payment they can send me their mailing info. and once I verify their payment so that I send it to the right place they will receive very shortly a very unique rare poetry folder signed by me. Of course it will be signed in my pen name.

It is okay to let people know my email address so that then can send me their mailing info.

Thank you very much my friend and I shall get some more poetry off to you as soon as I can.

Jeff

THE SECRET Unveiled 
  http://thesecretpays.com?233

My Home- Masters Pebble-The Humanitarian People

Come for a visit and sign my guest book.

http://myweb.ecomplanet.com/MAPE9783/

In Much Gratitude and Love 

Readers Feedback

Response to Mike Firesmith – All Grown Up Now - In reply to Mike: You might have told them about the love of Jesus and that sleeping around is sinning against God; that we are told in the Bible that that is fornication to have sex outside the bonds of marriage. But that might have been too big of a truth to tell them.

Blessings,

Nell

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; Meeks, Carol; Mizrany, Mary Carter; Morris, Deepak; Ojeibge, Georgewaters; Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan; Shiveley, Debra; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Smith; Michael; 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