Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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

Jan 24, 2007

Today’s Announcements

Prayers are needed for our members

Well Carol, this is the third day in a row that the high temperature has been way below zero with the bitter cold wind.  I'm literally freezing to death in slow motion with no heat and using just these ceramic heaters.  One minute I'm so cold I'm shaking and the next I'm having a profuse cold sweat.  If this goes on much longer, I may not have to worry about anything anymore.  Every time I try to get some help I hit a wall.  I've gone to every organization and church I can find and although they do a "great lip service" and continually pat themselves on the back for helping people in my situation, they really haven't been able to help me.  They sent a box of food Friday that had no meat, no protein whatsoever, no potatoes or onions, no tuna, no tomato sauce, no milk, no eggs, no fruit juice, no pasta, no cheese, no veggies or fruit (fresh, canned or dried).  I was astounded....still am!   And, can't believe they hand this stuff out as food.  I wanted to tell them to take it back! 

I know that I should be thankful, but it was basically a box of crap, old stale doughnuts, cookies, stale bread, high calorie non-nutritional, processed stuff, just more garbage for me to worry about getting rid of.  Now I ask you, why wouldn't they think that I desperately NEED good, real food?? And send that? 

It boggles the mind!   

I'm sooooo cold and depressed and hungry that I can't even stand to be on here, but wanted to respond to your email.

Keep your chin up lady. 

Better days are coming. 

And, I hope I survive this to see it!    

Lori: ladybounty2000@yahoo.com

Hi Carol,

Thank you so much for the info at this time. I have not been able to get back to you as daddy has not been doing so well but I am believing GOD for a miracle at this time and I know God does miracles as I am one of them. Thank you again and please keep praying for me dad....

Sandy

sandylh@cox.net

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Today’s Stories

~**~**~

The story about the Christmas card mystery brought back a memory for me tonight.

Here's what happened:

WHO'S GRAMPS?

Sharon Bryant

Four years ago, during the month of December when the Christmas cards were coming in, I picked up my mail at the post office that day.  There were several pieces of junk mail, some bills, and a lot of Christmas cards.  I put the load in my van and drove home. 

Once home, I went through each card, laughing at the cute ones, marveling at some of the beauty of some, and then I saw THAT one.  It was addressed to a Mr. and Mrs. H. Bryant.  My husband's name is Jody, (nickname for Joseph) so I knew it wasn't OUR card, though it did have our address on it.

I didn't open the card but drove back to the post office and handed it to the postal lady and told her it was put in our box by mistake.

"It can't be a mistake," she said.  "You and your husband are the only Bryant's in this area.  No one else has the last name of Bryant."

"Well, H. is not our first names," I told her. 

"There's no return address on the envelope, and we couldn't see the postmark, so I guess you might as well take it home," she said.

I returned home with the card.

I always hung the cards on the door frame for the Holiday each year.  Each night after work, my husband would open the front of the new cards for the day to see who dropped us a line, etc. 

I opened the card with no return address.  It had a pretty verse inside and was signed, "Love Gramps."

Now I REALLY felt bad.  Here someone's grandpa had sent his grandchild a card and they'd never see it.  So the next morning I and the card went back to the post office.  I showed the postal lady the card and told her I felt really bad that this grandpa had mailed this card and the grandchild was never going to know their grandpa was thinking of them.

She again informed me there was no one else in our town with the same last name and I could either toss it in the trash can or keep the card.  I brought it back home and hung it on the door frame with all the other cards.

That night when hubby came home from work, he saw more cards on the wall so he walked up to the wall and was reading who sent the cards and what they wrote.  Knowing neither of us had our grandparents living, he came to the card from GRAMPS.

"What's this?  Who's Gramps?" he asked.  I told him I didn't know.  He started laughing and said, "You sent this as a joke, right?"  I informed him that no, I had not sent it to our address, that it came to our post office box.  I then showed him the envelope it came in.

"That's not us," he said when he saw the H. Bryant.  I told him the postal lady said there was no other people in our area with the same last name so she told me to keep it.  And then he started laughing.  "Are we so short of friends, we've got to steal someone else's Christmas card?" he asked.  I laughed and said, "Hey, what should I do with it, toss it out or hang it on the wall with the others?"  He laughed and said, "Leave it on the wall, maybe we'll hear of someone with our last name before Christmas gets here and we can give them their card."

We never have heard of anyone else in our town with the same last name as ours.  But many nights before Christmas that year, we'd look at that card and laugh over it.  Especially when my son was looking at the inside of the cards, saw it and said, "Who's Gramps?"

Sharon Bryant

1946@bellsouth.net

~**~**~

Sparkling Stillness

 Robin Lee

Snow

The first slight snow that kisses our wind-reddened cheeks each winter carries the same message that frosts have conveyed since time immemorial. This message is dualistic in character; on one hand, winter’s growing chill compels us to rest and restore ourselves indoors, and on the other, snow, the most wondrous attribute of the winter season, beckons us outside to play and to reflect. Upon indulging this natural impulse, we emerge from our homes into the quietude created by a mantle of snow that blankets the ground, and find a scene painted in broad strokes of crystalline whiteness, embellished with bright highlights of silver and blue. The stillness envelopes us as the magical quality of the surreal landscape awakens profound feelings of peace within our souls.

Mother Nature’s perfect artistry is seldom more evident than in the magnificently balanced structure of the lovely and delicate six-sided flakes that cascade from the heavens. To walk through falling snow is to immerse one’s self in life’s never-ending rhythms. We understand and accept that the snow beneath our feet, while tangible and powerful, is only one aspect of a larger cycle of world-altering weather events. The fluffy snowflake that floats to earth and joins its siblings brings the transient joy of leisurely days off and smiling snowmen, yet will one day experience a transformation in purpose. Without hesitation, as the weather grows warmer, each beautiful flake melts and becomes one with trickling rivulets, singing streams, and swiftly running rivers. Whereas, at the start of its existence, the snow serves to drape the world in beauty, it ends its season on earth by nourishing the land.

A Zen proverb states that no snowflake ever falls in the wrong spot. Whether you celebrate the snow by tossing snowballs, or losing yourself in the meditative serenity of the silently drifting flakes, take a moment to contemplate how much like the snow each of us is. We are born pure, but later take on the footprints of those we encounter. Akin to each snowflake, we are unique, and yet we function as part of a larger whole—forever in the right spot at the right time. And like the snow itself, our lives and the roles we play are impermanent, yet imminently valuable.

Robin Lee

onespiritx3@yahoo.com

~**~**~

Miracles Abound!                                                                                                          

1/9/2007

by: Sharlett F. Hunt

  I believe my entire life has been a miracle!  Born in abject poverty in an old shack in Troy, Alabama my life was to be a struggle from the beginning.  I was birthed by a midwife, a black lady named Josephine helped my mother bring her fourth child, a daughter, into the world.  In later years my brother would say a black woman brought me in a suitcase and I would cry, thinking I didn't really belong to this family. 

  As a baby my dad tells me that it was impossible to take my bottle away.  I was five years old and knew the formula for making my own "carnation bottle".  I remember it today.  It was half canned Carnation evaporated milk, half water and lots of sugar.  I learned how to make it myself and would sneak a bottle even when I knew I was too old.  I thought I would be able to take it to school and have a bottle for recess. 

  So much had happened to me before the age of five.  I had been molested and didn't know then that it would mar me for life. 

  I started reading and doing math at around four years old as I had older siblings who taught me as a joke to show their friends.  They thought it was funny that their little sister could do fractions. 

   I never got over the love of reading and no matter how it came about, it has been a very important part of my life since I quit school at age fifteen due to circumstances beyond my control.  I did go on to get my GED and managed to attend a community college for a couple semesters but I have always craved learning.

  My mother had left me in Virginia when I was twelve years old, taking my three younger sisters and returning to Florida.    My mom was in and out of mental institutions most of my life.  She suffered from an alcohol and prescription drug addiction that I knew nothing about until later in life.  That's when my nightmare began. 

  I moved in with a family in Norton, Virginia and had stepped into white slavery.  I was beaten with a belt at the slightest provocation and also brutally sexually abused.  I went to school with welts showing on my legs and arms and back then nobody noticed, except to wonder why I cried all the time.  I cried if anyone spoke to me and mourned for my mother and sisters at night.  The social worker came one day and wanted to take me away and put me into a mental institution but these people I lived with said all the right words, I guess, and I was allowed to remain with them. 

  I tried to run away at age fourteen.  I had finally gotten the courage to leave.  I had a friend, I thought, in a city a couple hours away, by bus, so I really thought he would help me.  He called the police as he didn't know the circumstances or what I was going through so I was taken back home.  I felt so rejected, first my mother, then my friend.  The beatings and molestation continued.

  I started sneaking drinks from bottles that were around the house.  This made me feel better.  I didn't have to think about the Hell I was living in.  Escape remained utmost in my mind.  I knew I had to leave. 

  It was cold and snowing the night I decided to go.  I was in my pajamas and  waited to all was very quiet.  I was shaking so hard, I just knew someone would awaken but I managed to put pants on over my nightclothes, no shoes.  I ran through the snow to the tiny police station in the small town where we lived.  By this time, some of the people I knew where starting to have a pretty good idea about what was going on.  The captain of the police departments's daughter was a friend of mine and one of the only people I had let in my life.  I wasn't allowed to associate with people but I seemed to have a need for friendship.

  My friend's dad was there and took me in and found me a place to live with a mother and her daughter.  No charges were filed.  I would never have told the entire truth about what had been happening to me.  Sexual abuse was a four letter word.  Nobody talked about it.  I was seventeen years old and few would have believe all this anyway, or so I thought at the time.  I was just so happy to be out of it! 

  I was working in a furniture factory at the time and had been since age fifteen.  I had my own money and soon rented a room in a rooming house ran by a nice gentleman who eventually helped me get into the Army.   I continued to get drunk daily and pass out at night , up bright and early the next morning ready to go to work. 

  I joined the Women's Army Corps, got married, had three beautiful children and didn't drink much for a few years.  My husband and I separated and I began living in a series of abusive situations.  I had men and we drank and we fought.  My kids just felt like they were in the way and I guess they were.  They were the brunt of all the fighting and I said I would never put my kids through what I went through but guess what?  They might have gone through worse than I did.  I spent lots of time in the emergency room getting sewn up, etc. Black eyes were a common thing and I got so I never looked in the mirror.  I had run ins with the law.  I developed a habit of wanting to drive when I drank.   I had completely lost respect for myself and had no self esteem.  I had no friends or family that would help me.  I ended up living from place to place or on the street, sleeping outside.  I had lost my most precious possession, my kids. 

  I was out of control.  I knew this somewhere in the back of my mind but just didn't know what to do to change.  I wish I could say the change happened overnight but it didn't and I am not sure I could fathom the wonder of it all had it happened so quickly. 

  God became known slowly to me.  I had gotten so far down that I was agnostic.  I really didn't believe in anything and at times seemed not to care.  We always seem to remember God when we are sick or in trouble.  I was both when I called out to Him for help.  That is all I could say, "Please help me."  And He did.

  The real miracle in all this is that I now can see where my life went just the way it was supposed to.  God was always there, I just didn't know it.  I guess it is like being blind and one day starting to see just a little light, then it becomes brighter and brighter till images form.  There is a reason for everything that happened to me.

  My life is so quiet and peaceful now.  I passed the age of fifty with flying colors though I always said I would never live that long.  I still have some of the battle scars both mentally and physically but it doesn't bother me today.  I catch myself going back and rehashing the life I once lived and when that happens, I give it back to God.  I know I am not capable of handling everything but He is.  I focus on what is happening this day.  I know there is another miracle just around the corner! 

Sharlett Hunt

Sharlette863@aol.com

Poetry Corner

~**~**~

Snowmen Passeth Away

Carol Meeks


We stroked pile-lined snow-boots across
a three-inch drift and slush pavement
during our daily morning walks.
Mist rained down
and left our town
blanketed, in a cold white covering.

The yards where young ones resided
had sprung-up snowmen.
In pairs, they were tailored and strided.

Their personalities cloned their makers
with scarves and hats. Some hugged with twig arms.
Some wore glasses with carrot noses.
One had a saddle and rein
like horses in my dad's barns.

As days passed
the sun smiled with a wide grin.
Our walks not as cold
as we watched them thaw.
They disappeared, these snowmen.

We watched them bow
as the sun's smile grew.
They slumped, they poured out
winter's white majesty clout.

One morning an Eureka,
the ground took them in;
only scattered hats, scarves, and twigs
with the reins and saddle,
time's test left them without a paddle.

©  Carol Dee Meeks
c_pmeeks@hotmail.com

~**~**~

Winds of Change

Carol Meeks


We start as tots,
happy; carefree.
Maturing hurts,
at times we flee.

Then we have tots,
parents are we.
Protect offspring.
O Lord! We plea.

Life's experiences
start anew,
fresh young faces
and different shoes.

As time changes,
wisdom grabs hold.
We comb gray hair.
Become too bold.

The cycle continues.
Lives are retakes:
wealth and health
blessings, mistakes.

But per King Solomon
"It's all in vain,
rich or poor,
death ends our fame.

Our experience path,
our winds of change,
determines our outcome
infinity range."

© 2005 Carol Dee Meeks

c_pmeeks@hotmail.com

Readers Feedback

Ref  True story for horse lovers.  Thank you Barbra.  Marvelous story!  I am always delighted and entertained when one of my horses tears after a dog or cat or other intruder into his space.  I think he enjoys the game for the horse will chase the dog and dog in turn will chase the horse.  I am always afraid the smaller ones will get hurt but none ever has.  I would love to have seen this little competition with wee piggie.                      Louise

   Thank you Bill for this thoughtful discussion of religions and faith and their parts and evolution amidst developing societies. There are so many answers that elude us.  “There is a great deal of dust that asks to be hidden under the carpet of faith”

 I am not encouraged but my understanding is greater.                                                   Louise

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Here is our Storytime Tapestry Angels: Also, I would like to thank those of you who chose to be a silent angel and gave an anonymous donation to keep Storytime Tapestry up and running.

Clara Westerfer, Mark Crider, Rosanne Catalano, Paula Booher, Kay Seefeldt

Mary Ellen Grisham, Louise Nomani, Sharon Bryant, Angela Walker

Hart and Helen Dowd, Keith Ready, Ginger Morgenstern, Ellie Braun-Haley

Surinder Jandu

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; Groopman, Cynthia, 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; Pringle, Sandra Lewis; 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