Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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

June 10, 2007

Today’s Announcements

Please make welcome Conrad S. Cardinal, writer # 418 to Storytime Tapestry.  We hope that Conrad will grace us with his wonderful work for years to come.

Hi Carol and All!

Just a quick report re: various!
I have not had time to write!

Our genius Chinese writer, Jastine, aka Kun Leng, and I have been battling with the negative forces of life and higher education LOL in order to ensure her coming to America this summer and to attend college for degrees in international business. When she first wrote for Storytime, I contacted her about her amazing English, learned of a HUGE list of achievements and talents and her sincere desire to study in the U.S. and offered to serve as her mentor for America. (I am now back to learning Chinese and even have started to learn Kanji characters.)

We are both still living. Jastine appears actually to have been accepted by a college in Buffalo, NY.

Jastine is the most outstanding student whom I have ever known, after over 30 years in education (teaching: college and university adjunct; NYS public and private school, and 25 years as an asst. prin. 6-12). Jastine, however, is not wealthy. I will share the incredible barriers to and rejection of a 5'3" totally determined 18-year-old genius and humanitarian. My lack of respect for the incompetence and hypocrisy of Ivy-League and so-called "christian" education is now immense. May Christ rebuke them all! NYS SUNY schools have NO financial aid for non-wealthy international students! Other fancy, well-known, or even church-sponsored colleges have zero interest in bringing poor or middle class students into America. So much for their support for "diversity" and bringing all together!

I worked with both the Embassy of the People's Republic of China (for a teacher at one school district) and the "reactionary" President of Belarus for a Rotary project to help the blind kindergarten in Minsk, Belarus. Text: NBD!

Now I am trying to help Jastine get final assurance of acceptance. I would also like to find a job not in a "call center". Carol and I have both struggled with job issues.

I extend an invitation for any friends who would like to become part of an informal group of persons and organizations and churches which I have started: "Friends of Jastine". Our main goal is to welcome her to North America and to offer her our friendship. The goal now is not fund-raising, but some could, perhaps, invite her to visit their home area or help with adjusting to us Westerners! If interested, please contact Vance Agee: vgagee@roadrunner.com about "Friends of Jastine".

Georgewaters will be pleased to hear that Jesus and I had another storm battle Friday. We won.
Vance

~**~**~

Oh Chet, At Last

Bill Walker

Missourisage@yahoo.com

This is a story about a poor man, a man in my family tree, a great uncle. Uncle Frank. I don't remember much about the man, never seen him but a couple or three times in my life best I recall. About all I know is what my mother told me. He was her uncle, I never heard her say much about him, but she always would say Uncle Frank.

Uncle Frank had two sisters and a brother. The brother was the older of the lot. They lived out on a little rock tree farm down in the heart of Arkansas,  miles out from no where one might say. Mother and father died leaving them all alone.  Chester tried his best to keep it all together, but things was tough. One day Chester told them he was going to go to a nearby relative of some kind to see if there was any help to be had, he was at wits end as what else to do.  No one ever seen or heard of him again.

After few days some of the relations did show up. The kids was taken in by one or the other, but split up, each was taken away to different families.  I don't recall who got any of them.  One girl was lucky, the relations that took her in gave her a good home, she even got to go to college a bit. The other girl was made a slave of. This I know, she never got any schooling at all, I have tried to read her letters to my mother,  looked like chicken scratches to me.  Uncle Frank was in the same boat, he never received any schooling.

The one to escape her rough life, was married at an early age to an old man.  She escaped one bad deal to have another, she brought forth 7 kids for this man. He died at the age of 75 leaving her a farm and 7 kids. She had no schooling remember, and the sharks moved in.  In less then a couple months she was evicted from the farm, stone broke. They moved into town.

She took in washing, and did house work for the snobs of town,  making a dime here and there to keep the tribe together. The oldest boy now about 16, did some work with the two horses, hauling freight, plowing and anything where the horses could work at.  As each kid got past the eighth grade, they dropped out and went to work in the hotel and cafe.

Every summer about blackberry time Uncle Frank would show up. Uncle Frank liked blackberry pie and sister Mae would make the pies.  He gave each kid a nickel, that was something you know, a nickel! The kids was sent out to find and pick the wild berries.   This was before, when all but the older brother was still in the house, and not working at some slave job.  Uncle Frank would stop off to see the other sister, and her daughter Goldie. Goldie got a quarter. Well there was just one of her, and there is 7 of you kids.  I don't think Homer got a nickel, after all he was out making a dime here or there.  Goldie's mother had married well, they lived out on a farm a few miles out of town.

Every Saturday Goldie's people would hitch up and come to town, bring the eggs and such to town and sell. Sister Mae would supply the dinner, at no cost to them, that was the thing.  

Uncle Frank worked odd jobs for people, also he would get a part-timer on the railroads, now and then.  He was a right good cook at fixing for the work crews a noon meal.  Some how he just made enough to live and that was about it.

Around 1943, Uncle Frank took sick, was laid up, and whatever he had took his life. His dying words was.  "Oh Chet, at last I found you."   No one in the room seen a thing, but Uncle Frank seen Chester. 

Uncle Frank is buried out in a little country cemetery off the beaten path, all by himself.  I know the place, I stop every time I am that way, down on my way to Myrtle, Missouri.  I say "Hi, Uncle Frank, I see the flowers my dad planted years ago bloomed for you.".  Then I go on to Myrtle, to see about my grandmother, and grandfather  and another poor man's grave. Uncle Homer.  Dad said he was a Prince of a fellow.  Those graves also have flowers planted by my dad. 

Tinker and Poo; The Boys Write

http://www.iuniverse.com/bookstore/book_detail.asp?&isbn=0-595-35741-5

~**~**~

 Jeannie Nelson

jeanbug.blogsource.com

THE WRONG WAY DRIVERS
Jeannie Nelson

My daughter and I went to church the other morning, and took our usual route
home down Protest Hill. Protest Hill is a steep, slightly curved boulevard
and one of the primary routes from the upper "bench" into the river valley.
It's rather well traveled except on Sunday mornings, when the traffic is
light.

We were rather startled then, to hear frantic honking coming from behind us.
People were tootling their horns as a blue car sped past us down the hill.
"Mom," gasped Annie. "Those people are in the wrong lane!"

The car was straddling lanes on the wrong side, weaving like its driver had
lost control. I caught a glimpse of the occupants, a Bantu family and
recognized them from a ministry we coordinated last summer.
"He's confused!" I called out to Annie. "He probably thinks this is a one
way street, and doesn't understand why people are honking at him."

As the car continued the descent, his wife turned around and looked at us.
She recognized me and waved. I waved back and made several motions to 'move
the car into this lane.'
She turned to her husband and tapped him on the shoulder. He swung into the
proper lane; turned and waved a "thank you" as he continued speeding down
the boulevard.
"Well, at least they are in the right lane, now, " I said.
"Yeah!" Annie exclaimed, "And lucky for them, you knew how to speak
Somalian!"

~**~**~

Poetry Corner

~**~**~

Light To The World

Conrad S. Cardinal

Some say we're not to mention "God" today.

God has no place in our life they say.

If we don't separate church and state,

America will come to terminal fate.

If thoughts like these are allowed to proceed,

life as we know it will cease to succeed.

America was built on an ethic, proceeded

from the mouth of God.

Not on foolish thoughts of people who are odd.

God has blessed America in many different ways.

We are a symbol to the world of bright and

successful days.

It is said that we are a light for those who have lost

their way.

If God is allowed to die in America, the light will go

out that day.

Conrad S. Cardinal

Cconseth@aol.com

~**~**~

 Tears

Conrad S. Cardinal

Some men grow up believing they should never

show a tear.

They believe it's a sign of weakness or perhaps

a sign of fear.

Many go through life never showing what it is they feel.

Controlling their emotions rarely allowing themselves

to be real.

When I was young, I also believed that men didn't cry.

All that changed the day I saw my dad with a tear in

his eye.

Now I've come to realize, tears have a special place.

They bring our sadness to the surface , then wash

it off our face.

Without the tears to float our hurt and dislodge it from our heart,

we may never be able to heal our wounds and make a

brand new start.

Conrad S. Cardinal

Cconseth@aol.com

~**~**~

We Are Never Too Old
Cynthia Groopman

We are never too old to sing and dance,
And to wear our finery and flare with exquisite elegance.
We are never too old to shout and laugh with glee,
And to go to summer camp in the country.
We are never too old to frolic and run,
And to enjoy ourselves creating sand castles in the sun.
We are never too old to play and make lots of noise,
And to marvel at Christmas scenes, Santa and a sleigh full of surprises and toys.
We are never too old to make a snowman,
Or to  desire a visit from the sandman.
We are never too old to embrace and to caress a loved one,
And to thank God in prayerful song, at bedtime when our daytime is done.
We are never too old to go to school and to learn,
And to enjoy the Ferris Wheel as it happily turns.
For there is no age limit or restriction to what we can do each day,
And as long as God gives us the strength and health, we must enjoy each and every hour of our life in an exciting and pleasurable way.


Cynthia Groopman
Cynthia.Groopman@verizon.net
Copyright ©2004 Cynthia L. Groopman

Readers Feedback

Rosanne certainly had a rough time with her fall.

That is one strong lady

Jene

Marilyn,

This story really touched my heart.  I volunteer at a nursing home and a lot of the residents are like this.  Some can't even say their name, or even where they are.  I've had quite a few residents tell me to "take them to Brooklyn" which confused me at first, but then I realized that is where they grew up and maybe somehow, they think I can magically transport them there.  (This nursing home is in Long Island, quite a distance from Brooklyn).  I've found visiting the ones who are open to it helps.  I read them my poetry, watch television with them, talk with them, or just keep them company since many don't have families or their families don't stay long enough.  I could go on and on, but Carol has only so much space for feedback...

Sincerely,

David Fox 

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