Today's Queue Stories
~**~**~**~

ValueSpeak
A Weekly Column
By Joseph Walker


APRIL FOOLS!
It probably won't surprise you to learn that we're not altogether certain
about how April Fool's Day came about.  We just know it was scheduled for
April. And that it is . . . you know . . . foolish.

According to my crack research staff (uh, that would be me with a little
bit too much time on my hands), the best guess on how the tradition started
dates back to the late 1500's when the Gregorian calendar was adopted. 
Prior to this time folks celebrated New Year's during a big festival held
from March 25 through April 1.  But the new calendar required that New
Year's festivities be moved to January 1.  As near as I can tell, most folks
made the shift to the new date pretty easily - parade-planners, bowl game
sponsors, Guy Lombardo, Dick Clark, everyone - except for a few obstinate
Frenchmen who refused to abandon their spring celebration.
I know - it's difficult to imagine stubborn, obstinate Frenchmen.  But this
is history. You know - facts.

And history (or at least the "history" on the web sites I checked) clearly
indicates that the stubborn, obstinate Frenchmen who refused to move their
New Year's Eve parties to Dec. 31 were roundly criticized for being
"foolish."

Now, you have to remember that this was a different time.  Today we would
find room on the calendar to accommodate all New Year's celebrations, and it
would be considered politically incorrect to ridicule anyone who chose
celebrate New Year's Day in the middle of the year (unless, of course, you
had religious reasons for the choice, in which case it would be considered
politically incorrect NOT to ridicule you - especially on TV and in the
movies).

But this was back in the days of public pillories, drawing and quartering,
being burned at the stake and that old French favorite, the guillotine. 
Being teased and taunted and called a fool was the medieval equivalent of
singing "I Love You, You Love Me" with Barney the Dinosaur.

Only without the purple felt.

Over time, the teasing and name-calling evolved into a tradition of playing
pranks and practical jokes on April 1st - and not just on the French. 
According to Mark Twain,

"The first of April is the day we remember what we
are the other 364 days of the year."

I don't know about that.  But I do know that I've never really liked the
whole notion of April Fool's Day.  And not just because I was always the guy
who spent the entire day at school looking foolish because I had a "Kick Me"
sign taped to my back.  And it's not because my Mom once made me look
foolish when she took the sugar out of the sugar bowl and filled it with
salt (but I got her back when that big, heaping spoonful of salty Corn
Flakes made me throw up on the kitchen table).  Nor is it because my wife,
Anita, once made our children and me look foolish with some April Fool's Day
pancakes into which she had cooked a nice, round piece of cloth (you'll
never guess who was the last one to figure out that we weren't really
supposed to eat them.  Yeah, that's right - the big guy with cloth still
wedged between his teeth).

So, OK - I'm gullible.  I admit it.  I want to believe, to trust, to rely,
to accept.  It's my nature.  Heaven knows, life naturally gives us enough
reasons for doubt and mistrust.   I don't want to spend even one day of my
life looking for ulterior motives in every person, every situation, every
Corn Flake and every pancake.

Either that, or I'm just . . . you know . . . foolish.  Like those
stubborn, obstinate Frenchmen.  In which case I must once again cite Twain:
"Let us be thankful for the fools," he said.  "But for them the rest of us
could not succeed."

Even if I'm one of "them," instead of one of "us."

Joseph Walker

Valuespeak @msn.com

~**~**~

Spring - Sneakers and Paint
Michael Smith

The snow is gone and green grass can be seen growing close to
the sunny side of homes. The birds in the back yard are singing

and fluttering in the old  bush. Spring is here, and with it comes

memories of the smell of paint, new sneakers, and longer days.

As a kid, I knew spring had arrived, when I walked into the
house after school and smelled paint. The first warm day would

cause my mum to go into "redecorate" mode. She would throw

open the windows; let the fresh air in; pop the top off a can of
paint; and put a fresh coat on the walls of a room or two or even three.

Spring was also the time to change footwear. In Nova Scotia, we
had snow on the ground almost continuously from late December until

late March. We spent all of our time outside wearing our heavy winter

boots. To run in them was like having a ball and chain locked to our ankles.

In late April or early May, when the ground finally soaked up
the last of the water from the melting snow, mum would take us to the

city to be fitted with a new pair of "Dash" sneakers. I still remember the

rubber circle, with their trademark imprinted on it. It was sewn onto the

black fabric right over the ankle area. After a month or two, small hand's

would have it ripped off, leaving a circle, darker than the faded material

around it.

Later, when we returned home, my brothers and I would put on our
new sneakers. The door would slam behind us as we rushed out, causing

a shout of anger from my dad, as we took off across the fields. The weight

of the boots was gone. It felt  like we were floating on air and could jump

thirty feet with the ease of a kangaroo. The feeling of freedom, the thoughts

of summer's approach, and the wind rushing past our uncovered ears was

exhilarating.

            Spring! It's wonderful.

It makes me wonder. When life gets us down; when everything seems as

bleak and cold as winter; why don't we put on a new coat of paint, pull on

a new pair of sneakers, and just run like it was spring.

Michael Smith
mtsmith @qwestonline.

~**~**~

Hidden Treasure
Michael Smith

I knew spring arrived, when my mum would say, "Michael, let's
take a walk up the back road."

The "back road", as we called it, was an old dirt road, which
only a few cars in that day could navigate. It was a place full of mystery

to a young boy. There were ditches to explore, trees to climb, birds to

watch, small animals to admire, and best of all, ponds and swamps with

frogs to catch. Once I slipped and fell head-first into a swamp and came
out covered in mud and moss. I was afraid my friends would see me and

laugh, so my mum led me along back paths, so no one would see me. If

I remember correctly, I cried all the way home, while my feet made

squishing noises inside my mud-caked "Dash" sneakers.

Except for that one mud bath, those were the things I enjoyed, but what

my mum enjoyed in May was something else - Mayflowers. The Mayflower,

or ground laurel, is one of the best-loved American wildflowers, said by

Whittier, was first blossom seen on the shores by the Pilgrims.

It blooms in early spring. The creeping stems bear clusters of fragrant pink

or white flowers that are sometimes hidden by the hairy evergreen leaves. It

is difficult to cultivate and is endangered by the zeal of flower pickers. It seems

to prefer the acidic soil of pinewoods in the eastern part of North America. It

is the provincial flower of Nova Scotia and the state flower of Massachusetts,
where a law protects the plant.

Mum would lead me off the road, into the woods and, teach me the
art of finding and picking her precious treasure. With a keen eye, she'd spot

their green leaves, partially covered by the dead foliage, and drop to her knees.

"Michael," she would instruct,

"Sweep away the dead leaves and find the vine. Trace it back to the root,
and carefully pinch it off a few inches from the ground. If you pull it up, you'll kill
the plant, and next year there won't be any flowers."

I would do as instructed and then hold the flowers to my nose for the first real
scent of spring. We would take only a small handful. When we arrived home,
we put them in a glass of water. That small hand-full was all that was needed to
fill the house with their heavenly scent.

Years later I had my own house. One day I walked into the back yard and into

the bushes, and there to my excitement was a cluster of Mayflowers, hidden under
some leaves. I picked a few, wrapped them in a wet paper towel and took a scent
of spring to my wife, who has since passed away. She was in the hospital waiting

for our first child to be born. Years later, I taught my kids how to find and pick

those tiny treasures of spring.

I was telling my new wife this story the other day, and it occurred to me, many of
life's little treasures are just like the Mayflower. They lay hidden and are hard to find.
You have to look carefully for them. When you find them, you have to take
care not to destroy them. Don't pull your treasure up by the roots, because they will
come no more.

We have to learn to protect our treasures, and teach our children how to protect their
treasures.

What's your treasure? I hope you treat it like the precious Mayflower.

Michael Smith
mtsmith @qwestonline.com 
 

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Poetry Section

~**~**~

 My Son's Pain

Gordon K. Warner

I asked my Son to talk with me, to speak what's on his mind

we could learn together and a mutual friendship find.

It startled me when he opened up and I found a man inside

someone who is struggling with fear and even more with pride.

I must admit how proud I was as he measured to the test

and I realized how hard it was to surpass all the rest.

He's always been a quiet boy, his feelings run so deep

and I know now that it has never been an easy thing to keep.

He's struggled hard with friendships and there have been so very few

Its been so hard a friend to gain that it often leaves him blue.

He wants so much to be a part of the happy times in life

but for him it isn't easy so he just sits alone and whittles with his knife.

I've watched him and it hurts me to see him act this way

but he's quick to reassure me that things will change someday.

To me he's always been so special but it's given me such great pain

to see the way he treated by the so called that he has tried to claim.

I know now, how it has bothered him cause he's tried like all the rest

to prove how much it meant to us to know that he has tried his very best.

He never was a quitter and he wants to stay that way

cause he feels that in the very end of things they'll have better things to say.

He's told me of all his future plans and just what he wants to do

and I pray with all my heart each day that his plans will all come true.

Yet to him it's not all that important and he takes life in full stride

but I know of his persistence to show that his planning will not be denied.

Gorden K. Warner Sr.

gkwppw1963 @cox.net 

~**~**~

THE CROSS

 Gorden K. Warner

When you look up to the alter and you see that gnarled tree

don't think of where they hung Him just be grateful as can be.

It's so much more important that we learn more from our past

and open up our hearts and show Him that we have a faith that lasts.

Don't look at it as symbolism, please don't give that a second thought

you must be forever grateful for everything that it bought.

A Crucifix is important and it has a special place

to wear one is an honor and it saves us from disgrace.

Jesus died for all of us, for everyone now and then

think of where we'd be today if His death had never been!

Gorden K. Warner Sr.

gkwppw1963 @cox.net 

~**~**~

TRUE LOVE IS

Gorden K. Warner

If I were to share a memory of someone special in my life

I'd harken back to the time when first I met my wife.

I'd speak of our times together that fill all the years we've shared

how our hearts have bonded together and how you've really cared.

Of our early morning kisses as you sent me on my way

all the times you said I LOVE YOU that brightened up my day.

I'd have to speak of the comfort you gave when my Mother passed away

and I'd also have to tell you how your loving smile brightened up my days.

I'd have to recite all the ways you have always tried to show

how earnestly you worked so hard to make our true love grow.

You've always been so very special and you truly own my heart

what a comfort it is for me to know that we will never part.

There's so much I want to say to show the feelings deep inside

the many thousand reasons why you should not be denied.

It seems strange but I can't offer more, what else could I say

except to wish you in a special way the Happiest Valentines day.

Gorden K. Warner Sr.

gkwppw1963 @cox.net 

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Writers Feedback

Being a parrot Mama, I can  relate to Bob and Ronnie and their
household. Right now I am being serenaded with a few kisses being
thrown into the mix of happy sounds. Great job, Bob!!  --K> (Kay
Seefeldt)

All I can say when I finished with your story, "My Inspiration" was "WOW!"  So well written! The words you wrote spoke right to my heart, the heart of another who loves to write.  This story is truly an inspiration to me! 

Blessings, Sharlett

She Died Today ??“ Carol Roach I mourn with you Carol??¦ May her soul rest in peace AMEN!

GeorgeWaters Ojeibge

Carol,

   What a beautiful tribute to such a courageous soul.  I think God that there are people like her and you in this world.  God bless you always.  Wishing you every joy, Joe

 This is a wonderful tribute to so many women unnamed who have made many differences in society with their crusades against the unnecessary deaths of our children. My hat is off to those who have the courage to do so.

Nathalie Symonds

Carol, how sad but God used this wonderful woman to serve her country well.

Thanks to you for using your wonderful web site to share this with me.

Sandy

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Announcements

I am pleased to announce that Gorden K. Warner, writer # 115, has now made the

ranks of senior writer for Storytime Tapestry.  Gorden has been blessing us with his

wonderful poetry since May 27,2005.  Please continue to encourage him to write more.

Talent should never be wasted!

Carol Roach

Thelma Hartselle

Clara Westerfer

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Prayer Requests

My daughter, Cheryl Schneider.  there is a concern that she may have a thyroid condition plus it

has been noticable that she has something which looks like it could be a goiter extending from the

collar bone area.   She is being scheduled for blood draws to check this out.  please pray!

2. My son-in-law, Earl Schneider  pain is getting worse from the traction therapy that he is

receiving to help his pinched nerve   this is a necessity but prayer does help in all things!

again,  please pray.

3. My friend, Ruth (90yrs of age), a lonely widow with no family has possible cancer which

the doctors first thought were shingles; were not, then thought it was an infection but meds

did not help - now the concern is possible cancer - she is scheduled on Apr 4 to see a dermotolgist.  again, please pray.