Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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

January 22, 2008

Today’s Announcement

Happy Birthday wishes for our prolific and wonderful chief writer Sharon Bryant: 1946@bellsouth.net

 Don’t forget to order your copy of Angels Watching Over Me, the story of an ordinary woman facing less than ordinary challenges.  Angels Watching Over Me is a story of family love, sacrifices, poverty and an undying faith that makes heroes out of all of us. Here is the link in case you have forgotten it: http://www.lulu.com/content/964306

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

  ~**~**~

Turning Pro

Bill Walker
missourisage@yahoo.com

I been watching the college teams a bit more this year then past years. After all my team was rated number one for a week, that is the Mizzou Tigers. I still say they could have beaten either LSU, or Ohio State, heck put both of them together, Mizzou would have won. Now that I got most every one upset with that, lets think about things.

I been reading about this one or that one or a whole bunch of young men thinking about the playing days of NFL. They can go to some big named Pro team, play the game for a few years, and become rich doing so.

I was thinking and wondering about the many that try, and that is about the size of it, they tried. I also wonder what happened to so many who were great in college.  One would think they would have made the grade in the Pros, but for some reason didn’t. I remember the Nebraska team of 1997. It was loaded with great football players. I can't think of any that made it to the Pros. Maybe one or two did, I just don't recall any. I remember the game for the National Title. I remember the great quarterback for Florida. I would have thought some Pro team would have grabbed him, he was so good. Good at picking him
self up off the ground with the look of what hit me.? Where did that wrecking crew come from? It might have been then he figured he didn't fit in the Pros.

I remember some years back there was a young fellow from this town of Beatrice, made the Pros. He had been a great something or other in high school, good at Nebraska, turned Pro. I was talking to him one time, he was home between seasons, working a job here. He said he was fighting to hang on in the Pros, if he could last another couple years, he was going to hang football up, it is a battle every year, and the body sure takes a beating. He would have a pension from the Pros, and might be able to make it if he could find a job and hang onto that. I don't know if he did or not, can't remember seeing him after that.

I also remember an ex Pro football player here in Beatrice. His playing days was long over with, he was a old timer. He played in the days of just making a pay check. He saved up some money, came back here, bought a soda pop bottling plant. He would be on the truck making the rounds. Dad and this fellow had something in common, football, Dad was a player in high school, They talked football. Vic said Pros is a tough racket, sure a lot different, then school, these guys are fighting to stay alive, and a pay check.

Back in Vic's days of the Pros, if you stopped playing the game, the pay check was done. He had been smart, and saved up his money.  I think those coming out of college, were football players, some will turn Pro. Not many are going to find a paying job on some big named Pro football team. They may have been great in college, but the Pros are sure not college, or fun. Pros is an all together different game. It is fighting to stay pn top a few years and a big pay check. Some big names comes out and goes on to make more money, while one or two ends up in jail. Right Mr.Vick, Mr. Simpson???? Poor Simpson, he seems to like the jail house. He sure had a dumb look on his face, when that Lady Judge laid it on the line, and nearly told him he was just plan stupid.
Tinker and Poo; The Boys Write
http://www.iuniverse.com/bookstore/book_detail.asp?&isbn=0-595-35741-5
*

~**~**~

Confessions of a 50 Year Old Chameleon

Cheryl Williams

Turning 50 is scary. Incredibly scary. Despite all of the self talk in which I try to convince myself that I am “fine like wine and better with age”, I find myself talking a big lie.

Who am I trying to convince and the bigger question is “Why?" Why do I care about what anyone thinks about me? That is the stuff made for the minds of teenage girls who starve themselves and paint their faces to look like twenty year olds. Yet I find myself, after all of these years, riding the conformity train with my wrinkle creams and hair coloring as I write poems about truth and being genuine. I revel in comments such as “You look like you’re in your thirties”. (Yes…hiding gray hair does that). What if someone said “You look to be around 50 or so”? Would I feel insulted? Is being 50 such an embarrassment?

I’ve got so much wisdom and experience packed into these 50 year old bones. I could write a book on that alone, but would anyone read it? How about a book called “Accepting Your Age”, or “Dancing with the Gray” or “Ravishing With Wrinkles”? These titles make even me cringe because they are a reminder of something that we are taught to believe is a negative happening.

We grow up either looking back or hoping for better. We cover up and hide who we are. Rarely do we relish the moment. As a Southern girl, I was taught to be sweet, don’t make waves, quietly submit, do what I must to fit in and be liked…and I have over and over again. I’ve been a chameleon most of my life. Being a quick change artist has taken me to some lofty places as well as straight into the gutter, and at the end of the day, I had no idea who the real me was.

We talk about being modern, liberated women at the same time we botox and work our butts off for “stuff” that serve no purpose other than to make us feel like we have value. We rationalize all that we do to improve ourselves by telling ourselves it is fine if it makes us feel better about ourselves.

But is it fine? Is it really? Because if we’re to be totally honest with ourselves, we would realize that when we color and cr?me, have plastic surgery, and live for materialism, all we’re doing is admitting that we are not quite good enough as we are. It’s a desperate plea to the world, saying “See me. Notice me. Love me.” Scarier than that is that when we look in the mirror, we are making a desperate plea to ourselves, trying to convince ourselves we are worthy.

So here’s a bit of honesty from me and this is scary to admit. I’m 50 years old. If I look to be in my 30’s, it is because I color my hair every 2 or 3 weeks. My roots are gray, so if I decided to not color my hair, I would be all gray as soon as it grows out. I’m even plucking gray eyebrows. WOW…just writing that brought tears to my eyes, but it is freeing. My eyes are not so good these days. I wear reading glasses to read, bi-focals when on the computer, and regular glasses most other times. I’m overweight and have been since I was 11 or 12 years old, so chances are I’m never going to be slim or svelte. (Trying for 40 years with limited success has convinced me of that).

I am pre-menopausal and I get moody and have those dreaded hot flashes. Every ache and pain I imagine to be cancer from all of the second hand smoke I have had to endure over the years. I worry more about getting sick and dying than I do about the latest skin rejuvenation product. I worry about what kind of legacy I will leave my children…because even with them, I wear a mask of conformity. Taking it off is scary, and a part of me wants to protect them by not looking my age. To them, gray hair is synonymous with “old age” and old age is synonymous with death. I don’t want them to worry about losing me.

I don’t care much about money or material things, and I never have. But my lack of it causes me to shut out those who do…for fear of what they will think. Not only that, I pretend to ride the money train rather than admit I just don’t really care. All I want is enough to get by. My idea of perfection is a little house with some flowers in the yard….nothing fancy. I’m a plain and simple kind of person.

Some days I want to keep on fooling myself and the world. I want to hang with the 30 year olds, party like a college student, and live with reckless abandon. Other days, I want to embrace 50. I want to enjoy where I am…as I am…and not worry what anybody else thinks. I want to slow down and relish the things that I truly enjoy…a good book, a sunset, a piece of music, solitude, a walk in nature, the sounds of my children laughing. And yes, the real me has a reckless, adventuresome streak as well. I just need to exercise it doing what I want to do.

My grandmother knew how to age gracefully. She was smart and sassy and didn’t care what people thought. She spoke her mind. She was lovely and graceful, not given to conformity. I never saw her put on a pair of slacks in her life…despite the fact all of the other woman were wearing them. She loved wearing her dresses and her costume jewelry, and she didn’t care who liked it or who didn’t. She did not color her hair, but did go to the salon once a week to have it styled and to have a silver rinse put on her hair to enhance her gray (which was beautiful). She was flirtatious until the day she died, and would giggle like a schoolgirl. She took up smoking at age 70 just to see if she liked it…and she did. She embraced her age and did not let it hold her back from anything that she wanted to do. At the same time, the things she did were things she wanted to do…not things she felt she had to do as a means to fit in.

I can almost see her looking down from Heaven saying, “Oh my. What are you doing? Who are you trying to impress? Where’s my granddaughter?”

Well, I’m here, Grandma…trying to be find myself at 50...trying to be me.

Cheryl Williams

Politicalgirl04@aol.com

  ~**~**~

Poetry Corner

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 Where did the snow go?

Cynthia Groopman

Where did the snow go?

I certainly would love to know.

We had pouring rain,

Pounding and pinging incessantly upon the window pain.

All I wanted to know when I awoke early in the morning,

Was if snow were on the ground as the day was dawning.

When I dashed to the window and looked outside,

In my heart, joy and smiles did dance and reside.

For as I looked out at the ground,

Not a snowflake was found.

The weather forecasters were certainly wrong,

All sang a happy song.

Again, from a huge storm, we were spared,

As all praised God in grateful prayer.

 Copyright ©2007  Cynthia  L. Groopman

cynthia.Groopman@verizon.net

~**~**~

 As The Snow Comes Pouring Down

Cynthia Groopman

As The Snow Comes Pouring Down

 The gray sky is clad with cloudy doleful frowns,

As the snow begin to rhythmically pour down.

A swishing noise they begin to make,

As their journey from the sky to the ground they quickly take.

Hitting against the window pane,

Are some mixed in drops of rain.

Tomorrow morning, when we look at the ground,

A fresh fluffy blanket of white will be found.

I cannot believe that it was only a week ago,

Springtime bathed us regally in the sweet warmth of her sunshine golden glow.

It is very strange,

That within a week, the season should rapidly change.

 
Cynthia Groopman
cynthia.Groopman@verizon.net
 

~**~**~

 It Is About To Snow

 Cynthia Groopman 

The sky lacks the sunshine's smiling golden glow,

For tonight we will have three to six inches of snow.

Dark storm clouds lower and thicken overhead,

As forecasters predict a storm full of hostility and dread.

Plows and trucks are getting ready to perform their tasks,

In a state of depressing winter gloom, we begin to bask.

Boots are being pulled out for us to wear,

Like a protective army, they will march on the snowy streets with power and flare

Children are hoping that they will not their school class,

Every minute questions about the weather, they will incessantly ask.

For in a state of uncertainty, they bask.

Just think in 2 more months and 10 days, springtime will dance and sing lightening our hearts,

Winter gloom will say goodbye and depart.

Cynthia Groopman

cynthia.Groopman@verizon.net

Story Feedback

 Carol, I am so sorry to hear that Matt's Mom is still suffering. I hope that she is able to get the help she needs soon. I will be keeping her in my prayers my friend. Thanks for running my article today and Bill's article about my dog Ody.  It is always a joy being in Storytime.
Wishing you every joy, Joe

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