Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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

December 18, 2007

?

?

Today?s Announcement

Christmas is just around the corner and most of you have already started to think about Christmas gifts for this season.? Why not help out Storytime Tapestry with its ongoing commitment to provide you with free wonderful stories and poems daily by purchasing the publisher?s newest book for someone special on your holiday gift giving list this year.? Angels Watching Over Me can be published through lulu press in both hard copy and e-book.? Just click on the link: ?Angels Watching Over Me

?

?Important notice: Storytime Tapestry is a free e-zine, however donations are always needed to help with the operating expenses of running the newsletter and to keep Storytime Tapestry the quality newsletter you are so accustomed to.? ?You can make your donations to paypal at: winterose@videotron.ca, or if you would prefer to use the mail system contact the publisher at the same email address: winterose@videotron.ca

?

?

?

Today?s Stories

~**~**~

OLD AGE AIN'T FOR SISSIES

?

Sharon Bryant

?

I'm used to hard physical work.? So is my husband.? All our lives we've worked in the food industry and put in long hours daily.? Sure, our backs were tired when we got off.? And there were times we swore we'd find something else to get into.? But I always said we needed to stay in something that a robot wouldn't replace in our lifetime.

?

Tuesday we decided to try something else.? I am convinced now that we've both lost our minds.

We should have taken something into consideration before we began our new project, but we're both antsy and wanted to do this job, do it right.?

?

We decided to put our own patio in.?

Off to Lowe's where I fell in love with the large pieces of irregular shaped cement slabs.? I looked at the pattern on the wall and thought, "Gee, we can do that."

We came back home, measured the area we wanted to put the patio in, then back to the store and purchased the slabs.

?

Remember this sentence:? As a kid, I loved to work jigsaw puzzles.? I guess hubby never worked on them much.?

?

First we had to level the ground.? That where we made our first mistake.? Not thinking of how hard the ground was.? A shovel wouldn't even put a dent in the drought hardened ground.? Hubby ran back to Lowe's and came back with this tool that I just looked at and laughed my head off.? I knew it wasn't going to put a dent into the hard ground.? It had claws about 5 inches long.? You rolled it and it was supposed to dig up the dirt.? Yeah right!

Back to town, and this time he rented a machine that was guaranteed to dig up the dirt.? I wish the guy would have sold my husband a strap so he'd be able to stay with the machine when it was running.

?

I stood and watched my husband run this machine.? It was all he could do to hang on to the handles let alone dig up the dirt.? The machine had a mind of its own and pulled hubby.?

Don't get me wrong, my hubby is no wimp.? But it was all he could do to hang on to that contraption.

The angle of his body as he was trying to hold on was something I now wish I'd ran inside and got the video camera out and got a shot of him.? Arms outstretched, butt up in the air, trying to hold on as the machine pulled him.

?

The machine wouldn't let him stay in one spot.? I had a path marked out to where I wanted the dirt dug up.

The machine didn't like my path.? It wanted to go the other way.? It wouldn't go in reverse.? Hubby was hanging on and I was yelling, "You're going the wrong way!"? He was yelling back, "You want to try this contraption?"? I'm yelling, "You're tearing the whole yard up!"?

?

I wanted the patio to curve.? The machine didn't want to curve.

I guess it didn't like the hard ground.? Though it brought up rocks the size of a soup bowl that I never knew was right under the surface.? I was looking for arrow heads as the large claws chewed up the ground, bit by bit.?

?

We figured this job would take about five hours to do.? After two days, digging our way half to China, fighting with the machine that did its own thing, we got the ground leveled out.? Then came the fun part.

Laying the cement slabs down and forming a pattern.?

That's were my jigsaw education came in.? I stood on the porch so I could eyeball the pattern and called out to hubby where to put what piece and how to turn it.? He's just not good at things like that.

?

It took us two days to complete the job.? Our backs are stiff as nails right now.? I never knew how heavy those slabs were until I began carrying them.? Not to mention how many pounds of sand and gravel we had to haul to put between the cracks of the cement slabs.

?

We saved ourselves a lot of money by doing the job.? We laugh now at the machine that had a mind of its own.? But I look out my window and see the patio I've waited fifteen years to get.

?

Oh one last thing:? We're waiting for it to rain if it ever will rain here again!? We know the gravel and sand will sink between the slabs.? We know we've got one more job when we have to top off the space between the slab.

The neighbor thinks we're nuts, though she thinks everything looks pretty.

"You guys shouldn't be doing that kind of work at your age," she said.

"Old age ain't for sissies," I replied.

?

Sharon Bryan

1946@Bellsouth.net

?

~**~**~

?A HOLE IN SACRED GROUND

?

By David Wainland

?

?

We scampered down the ship?s gangway, slipped through security and boarded the bus waiting for us. I had swallowed a quick breakfast and swilled three cups of dark coffee. With my water bottle in hand, my wife and I picked out a pair of seats just in time to hear a handsome Frenchman introduce himself as our guide. The motor rumbled on and he smiled and spoke with that charming accent that drives some women to swoons.

?Relax while I tell you bit about my country. The ride will be a little over an hour.?

All I heard was, ?The ride will be a little over an hour,? as the coffee in my stomach swished gently with each turn of the coach.

Do you know how long an hour can feel after you determine that you might have had a bit too much liquid and there is no chance for even the briefest of stops? For me it was an agony of dragging minutes and crawling seconds. To complicate matters I have Crone?s disease, which is akin to colitis or an irritated bowel.

We finally pulled into the quaint French town of Arles. The bus squeezed through medieval streets clattering over centuries old cobblestones and came to a halt in a large square. May years ago, that area that held a thriving market and was now a principal tourist site.

As we clambered off the bus our guide called us into a circle and gave a brief description of the square, pointing out the city hall on one end, a third century church to the right and a twelfth century church on the left. In the middle of the square stood a pedestal holding an Egyptian obelisk, perhaps brought back by Napoleon?s hoards.

I glanced left, looked at the newer of the two churches, and suddenly realized that many of my fellow travelers were standing in a line in front of an iron door set deep into the stone block wall. Over the lintel read a sign, carved into the rock, ?Toilette.?

I broke from the guide and almost ran to the queue; even then, I wound up in the final third. The line progressed slowly and I began to fear an embarrassing accident.

Suddenly a cry rose from the front, nearest the door.

?There is no toilet paper.? My heart sank as I watched a small pocket packet of Kleenex work its way backward through the throng, each of us dutifully removing one gossamer sheet so that others might partake.

When all hope seemed to be vanishing, I quite suddenly found myself at the head of the line. I stepped through the door and identified two small cabinets. Neither one was marked so I chose the first to open.

That is when I had my first taste of a custom peculiar to this continent. The room was empty save for a round hole in the center of the floor surrounded by a square of tiles and two porcelain blocks indicating the spots for your feet, No? white tank, vinyl seat or sturdy bowl, just a dark smelly hole in the ground.

I will not trouble you with the details, though a year or two of yoga lessons might have helped.

I did make a series of promises that I kept throughout the remains of our trip.

1. One cup of coffee in the morning.

2. A visit to my stateroom lavatory before I left the ship.

3. And finally, never, ever again use a twelfth century church, ?Toilette.?

David Wainland

David@ davidwainland.com

?

~**~**~

Ranbow Bridge Gang. Samantha
Tinker, Poo and the Gang
tinkerpoo2000@yahoo.com

We were sitting about the camp fire tonight telling old war stories.
It is a change from the movies you know, munching on weenies, and pop
corn, sipping some of the cool water from the brook. When up the lane
came this lovely little Pug. We woofed her over to our gang, and
found out this is Samantha. Let's see now, she makes at least two
Pugs. There is Butter Cup, you remember her, she belonged to that lovely
lady in Florida. Samantha said she had family here somewhere, name is
Maggie. Well we went to work and found Maggie. Maggie was down by
the brook watching the fish play in the water. We really think she
was there making sure the cats wasn't trying their luck at fishing.
Guess we now have? more then two Pugs in the group here.
Samantha said her family knew she was very sick, and rushed her to the
doctor. And was with her right to the end. We know that people
that love us will stick to the very end. We also know we are not
forgotten when the time comes.
Now we got her fixed right up with her own bowls, blanket, and bed.
Well Maggie got Samantha moved right next to her. We guess they will
talk half the night about old times and people they knew.
So Lynne, and family, never fear, Samantha is here, happy, and well once
again. She is sad for sure, having to leave you, but some day, you
too will come up the lane, Samantha, Maggie, and others are watching,
and waiting for that day. Your Little People are alive and well in
the land of no more pain. Think of us once in a while, and we will
return from time to time in your dreams, to check to see if all is well
there. Remember the curtain between us and you is very thin.
Oh Samantha, said, be sure and take good care of Ed, and Missy. She kind
of grinned on that, she said that would be no problem, as you sure took
good care of her.
Tinker and Poo; The Boys Write
http://www.iuniverse.com/bookstore/book_detail.asp?&isbn=0-595-35741-5

?

~**~**~

Fire

Dr. Harmander Singh

He was going on the road. It was his thought that the roads do not reach anywhere but these are lying down with the full surrender to the walker and the vehicle. He kept on walking. He thought that the road is just a mean for traveling. Therefore, he kept on walking without any appreciation of the roads. The road was not finished but there was a signboard saying, "Danger ahead, please do not go ahead of this point,? he read it and said that the road was going beyond the signboard.

??????????? He sat there and started to look at the road.

?How are these going beyond this point leaving a signboard warning me not to go? Why not me?? his thoughts reflected to the road.

"You do not have the fire in you, mate. You just think about yourself. You do not know why I go beyond this danger point. I'm sorry for your self-indulgence,? the road reflected back his thought.

"Fire, What Fire! You're breaking the rules of this sign board, is not it?? he asked.

"Dear Mate! I go beyond the signboard but it is not true as you reflect. I go from the point of danger to save while surrendering myself as a path of safety. I've the fire to save those who need to cross this danger point,? it said and was silent because someone ran away from the danger zone with his feet burn and took some relief after crossing the signboard.

??????????? The fire of the road and the heat that burn the feet also burn the apathetic coldness of his eyes. It melted the ice and two tears of warmth fell on the road.

Daily Moral Insight for a Peaceful Night

Is not it a great irony that a road of life leads thoughts to its ends but we have to walk before we enjoy the tender touch of the end?

Is not it an art to appreciate the guidelines to avoid disharmony?

Are not we having such a great blessings that we have the wise ones and wisdom to tell us the stories beyond the limitations of our capacity to face risks and dangers?

Is not it an art to see a situation from different angles?

Is not it warmth of human relations that it creates a fire of wisdom to melt hardness of our eyes?

?

Dr. Harmander Singh

bhagouauty@gmail.com

?

Readers Feedback

~**~**~

??

Dear Normie? I so often have thought of you? I will pray all comes out good for you and yours and that your precious daughter will be blessed with strength and comforted by our dear Lord and Savior.? God bless you? Leona?your fan

?

Carol,

Please tell Normie that I am praying for her and my email pals are doing the same. God will be with her and she will be fine.

Also, thanks for publishing my stories. I wish you a healthy and happy new year of 2008 and it is one year already that I am on storytime.With good wishes, Warmly,Cynthia

?

?

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, Mariane Holbrook, Mary Ellen Grisham, Louise Nomani, Sharon Bryant, Angela Walker, Hart and Helen Dowd, Keith Ready, Ginger Morgenstern, Ellie Braun-Haley, Surinder Jandu, Bob Shaw, Carol Meeks, Charlotte Hilliard, Maria Keller

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?

?