Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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

May 3, 2008

 Today’s Announcement

Call for submissions:  Storytime Tapestry is in need of more stories, please keep them coming in.

Help support the continued running of Storytime Tapestry join me on mylot and get paid while we talk to each other and others all over the world:  http://www.mylot.com/?ref=winterose  if the link doesn’t work just cut and paste

From my son Steven Roach:

I was thinking you should advertise the link regularly in your newsletter if the link doesn’t work just cut and paste

 
http://greenhorse.com/join_now.ghc?r=177952857
 
tell them it would help support the newsletter and they can earn money from it. They need to sign up and install it but they don't need to do anything else. They just do what they normally would anyways on the net and they earn money while it’s on. In other words they just keep it running while they are online. It’s small doesn't take up much system resources and they can earn more if they advertise their own link and get people under them as well. Let them know some people make 5-10$ a day on it and its been open since 2002. 

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

 ~**~**~

    Remembering Sam

Louise Nomani

There are too many moments in our lives when forces gather and in instant, crevices are drawn on our foreheads and around our eyes.  It is an invisible hand that does the drawing, and there are evenings when I reach for the hand; but I can never catch it, and I know the game that hand plays is fixed.  It does ugly work.

The phone rings at 10 P M.  For many a call at that time is perhaps not unusual.  In my home, spirit and energy are quickly fading at that hour.  A phone call though sets the adrenalin rushing, and my catalogue of possible disasters flies open searching for a page.  It takes a lifetime to make that catalogue, but there is no comfort in that knowledge and no comfort to be found in that book.

“Louise, the phone is ringing.”  I hear my husband’s voice from a far end of the house.  “‘yes,” I answer, I’ll get it.”  My heart is pounding. The adrenalin has set the blood coursing through my body. We are scarred by our history.  It is a daughter’s voice. She sounds calm. My near panic retreats.  “I saw the lights and knew you were up she says.” Can you take care of Max tomorrow?”   I want to go to Portland and meet a friend.”

I relax.  Max is her dog, a joyous creature of love and energy, and hubby and I are good dog sitters.  “Yes of course.” I answer and settle back into my chair.  I remember another dog of love and boundless energy.  He has left me here on earth.  He has crossed the bridge that forms that pathway that bleeds our hearts and spirits.  Gee I miss him!

There are times when I know that the animals in our lives define the decades.  It is sad to remember those creatures that we have loved and lost, but many times the memories bring a smile to our faces and make us warm as we reach out a hand and stroke the soft fur of a four footed one that warms our feet or lap.

For each of us though, I think though there must be at least one of those lost friends that has torn a huge piece heart from our chests when we are left without him. There is no recovery from their loss.  My Sam dog was one of those, and I fear that I will never have another like him.   I will love others and take what I can of their spirit and devotion.  Loving them is healing; it is strength giving, but I miss that Sam dog.

Sam was a throw-away.  He was brought home by a daughter in a moment of desperate grief---just for a good weekend.  The daughter never had any serious thoughts of adopting a large black four footed friend that would consume huge amounts of resource and energy.  The black dog was scheduled to be euthanized. The daughter brought him home just for the holiday, but He never returned to the shelter. I think Sam dog was a gift from God at a time when a vacuum of loss almost consumed us.  My daughter’s boyfriend of many years, a friend who sustained her and loved her through college and law school was killed when the rescue helicopter he was in went down over the ocean on a very stormy night.  Prayers and hopes did not bring back that gentle, caring man.  .  The dark waters of the bay kept his secrets and his body.  His death left a vacuum without dimensions.  It was beyond definition. 

I still remember the hysterical phone call that night. It was raining; the wind was howling and rattling shingles.  I remember the desperate sobbing of a daughter in unbearable pain. The memory continues to feed my panic of late night phone calls.   The ugly hand that draws the crevices on our faces etched deep lines that night, lines of grief and horror. There was no relief for the pain. The lines remain.   I held the daughter tight that night, but I felt her slipping in the days that followed and was fearful of losing her too.  There are times when one feels powerless even in their loving.  That is a dreaded feeling, and it spreads a gloom that colors the nights and days.

The daughter in her search for relief from the pain that weighed her down visited the local animal shelter.  Our Lord works in mysterious ways.  The young black dog lying on a small piece of rug in the far corner of the kennel showed the same despondency she was feeling. He had given up; His spirit was broken.  Love had eluded him.  Hands always reached for the adorable ones kenneled near him, and he knew his fate. He had heard the talk, and the pain and fear gleamed from his knowledge consumed him.  If you looked, you could see the tears that flooded his eyes.  He didn’t raise his head as the girl with dark hair and pale face passed;   but, she spoke to him, and the music of her voice resonated through his spirit.  It roused him; it propelled him to rush the gate. He cocked his head to see her better.  He smiled at her, and in that moment he forgot his own sadness.   “What do you call him?” the daughter asked.  “Sam” a voice answered, “We just call him Sam”

 Sam dog’s huge heart of love and loyalty and fun sustained this daughter.  .I knew it as the months passed and the years passed. The knife like pain of her loss subsided, and the love of this dog helped to heal her heart that was so badly broken.   One does not easily survive some losses; she survived.

Sam’s love and devotion was big enough for two.  I was so ill, and I remember the fear and fatigue of the illness.   Sam guarded my bed day and night barely leaving my side to go out and relieve himself.  He directed my recovery as he led me to warm grass, sunshine and an oasis of peace.  What a gift was that dog Sam.  What a love!  Thank you Lord!

Oh Sam dog I miss you for my fingers cannot find their way into your soft fur, and I cannot see the bright eye that was the light of my life.  You treated me as if I were your sun, your moon and the stars that gave glitter to your life.  We cried together, but you would always lead me back to the sunshine.  I felt so loved!

You walked with me to the barn and through my morning chores and my evening chores.  You surveyed with me the perimeter of my gardens and assisted me with the pick up of fallen branches, flower pots and lost balls.  In our games of run and fetch, you would run and run gleefully at top speed whizzing by me and to me and sometimes over me in your enthusiasm.  Of course, many times you would forget to return the prize, and we would have to walk together to that forgotten ball.  You would remind me of my place in the hierarchy of our friendship as you directed me to retrieve the forgotten.

I remember the days of sunshine when I cantered on my pony through the fields that were freshly mowed and richly fragrant.  You would always be too close to my pony’s heels, and the Shawdow would kick out urging you to respect space.  You would run circles about us and were often a nuisance with your barking and teasing. I would admonish you to no avail and shorten my reins hoping to keep a secure seat. That was sometimes a challenge for the Shawdow loved the game you played and was easily caught up in the excitement.

I don’t think he ever nicked your ribs with his big hooves for he knew the game, and it was his place to remember the part that you assigned. We gathered purple Violets in the spring, we picked four leaf clover.  We gathered bouquets of Black eyed Susan’s, Queen Ann’s Lace, Goldenrod and Yarrow and sampled the fruit of the land, the apples, blueberries and strawberries that were so abundant. We inspected woodchuck holes and celebrated the beauty of turkey and deer and the black and white cows on the far side of the fence.  They all knew us like family and barely paused in their feeding as we passed.

Oh Sam, We watched the sun rise and the sun set.  The seasons passed, but I didn’t see the gray coming into your coat.  The slowing of your pace matched my own.  I didn’t notice.  Your eyes never dulled.  Dear Sam, my heart still aches for you.  My eyes still search for you bounding after rabbit or cat or pony.  Till we meet again.

Short story by

Louise Nomani 

 windmill@tdstelme.net

Poetry Corner

~**~**~

Emotional Garbage Can

Conrad S. Cardinal

When things go bad, you become distraught.
Disappointed , you become over wrought.

Emotions, are a two edged sword, cutting
up or down.
They can put a smile on your face or serve to
make you frown.

For each the trigger may be different, the results
the same.
Depression, anger, or a temper you can't tame.

Emotions not handled , stored  in a secret place.
So  disturbing, you’ re afraid to show your face.

Our emotional garbage can, where we store our woes.
How fast it fills up, depends on how it goes.

When full, the top blows, things come out.
You need to unload, you holler and shout.

Your mind says stop, get a grip.
Your computer says, let it rip.

Do something before you explode.

 
Find someone to talk to, take time to unload.
 
                               
                            Conrad
                            cconseth@aol.com

~**~**~

  Mailbox

 Carol,
    You are such a blessing my friend.  Thanks for sharing
this with the storytime family so quickly.  May you always
feel God's warm love all around you.  Wishing you every joy,
Joe

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, Marilyn Sink, Victor Buhagiar, Clarice Hinson, Conrad