STORYTIME TAPESTRY

The Newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world

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Aug 16, 2005? 

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Again, today I welcome another new writer to Storytime Tapestry.?  Bernice Becker is writer # 233, and is the mother of our Storytime Tapestry writer and psychologist, Barbara Holstein.?  Drop them a line to tell them just how much you appreciated Mrs. Becker work.

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Now on to the good stuff.......... 

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Animal awareness series endorsed by Shiloh and Hank our mascots; all stories must receive their approval.

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One More Little Cat

Pamela Jenkins

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The old gentleman walked slowly into the veterinary examining room and laid the small bundle on the table.?  He drew back a cloth fold to show me the tiny, lifeless body hidden inside.

"I got here as quickly as I could," he said sadly. "I found it in the ditch in front of my apartment building.?  It was still breathing when I picked it up, but I don't know now...I think it died on the car ride over here."?  The man's chin trembled as he studied the kitten.

"You know, I always liked cats. Can't have one where I live now. I just couldn't leave it there to die alone.?  I really don't know what I was thinking when I picked it up, I just felt sorry for it. I can't afford to take care of it, and my landlord has a no pets policy."

I know the feeling all too well. Sometimes being a Good Samaritan to our animal friends can be a costly and disheartening experience despite our best intentions. If the kitten had lived, it would not have had a home after its recovery. The best I could do for the old man was to assure him that he had done his best. It was a small comfort to offer.

I said that I would take care of burying the little patient for him, and he seemed relieved. When he asked how much he owed, I waved a hand and told him, "Not a thing. We're just sorry we couldn't do something for it." Normally there is a burial fee, but I felt that we could ignore it this time. This gentleman didn't seem to have funds to spare, and it was such a tiny little thing to bury, anyway. He shook my hand and turned away sadly. After he left, I realized he hadn't even told me his name.

I turned back to the kitten lying on the table and felt a regret that its young life had been cut short.?  It was a black and white kitten, not even old enough to be weaned. Its frail body was very thin. As I touched it, I could feel the delicate skeletal structure. Its eyes and nose were matted. It probably had a respiratory infection that it couldn't overcome.

Then it gasped.

I stared in surprise for a moment, then hurried to alert the veterinarian. He laid his stethoscope across the rib cage and listened, then murmured, "This kitten's not dead yet. We still have a chance." The room was suddenly alive with a flurry of movement. Everyone was busy at once, setting up a recovery room and working on the limp patient. It was wrapped in warm towels from the dryer. Injections were given and fluids started.

Several times that day I went back to the intensive care cage and checked on the tiny patient. It seemed to be at death's door. The breathing was rough and ragged, and it lay on its side without movement. But leaning over it, I could hear a faint purr as I stroked its head.

Unable to sleep that night, I thought about the tiny kitten. Would it survive? What would become of it??  Who would pay the mounting veterinary bill in the end? One thing I knew for sure -- trying to save it was the right thing to do.

Anxious to know the kitten's fate, I hurried to work the next morning. I peered into the recovery cage to see two small eyes staring back at me. The kitten stood up took a few baby steps towards me.? 

"Hey there, sweetie! You're looking much brighter today!" My heart swelled with relief and happiness.?  My little friend just might make it, after all. I rushed to open a can of the special diet we keep for invalid animals and waved a spoonful under its nose. The kitten attacked the food with gusto. Finally, with its rounded tummy full, it curled up for a nap.

The veterinarian checked the patient during his rounds, and pronounced it much improved over the day before. He also told me that my new cat was a little female.

"Oh, no, I can't keep her," I said sadly. "I already have four cats and that's really too many for me. But I think I can find her a good home." But can I really, I wondered? Not just any home would do.

Over the next few days the kitten continued to improve. Her matted eyes turned a clear green color. A flea bath made her hair coat shiny and soft. The special diet was changed to kitten food and she began to put on weight. It wasn't long before her recovery cage was full of catnip toys and a stuffed puppy, all courtesy of my checkbook. I began to think of names, and finally decided on Paige. A small voice in my head whispered, "You know what they say? If you name them, they're yours. And you know you want her."

I tried not to listen.

Often during the day, I would stop by for a snuggle. Paige would work her way up under my chin and purr, happy and content to be held and loved. That insistent little voice said, "Four cats aren't too many. And besides, this is such a tiny one. How much trouble could one more little cat be? You know you can make it work."

One day I opened her door, and Paige sprang through the air and landed in my arms. The purring was loud as she snuggled close. The vet tech said with a smile, "You know, I think she's chosen you. You just got yourself a new cat." I turned around to protest, then stopped. I had to be honest. I very much wanted this precious kitten. And obviously, she wanted me, too. With a sense of relief, I admitted that Paige now had a home.

And that stubborn small voice whispered, "Told you so!"

by Pamela Jenkins

bunnies-n-birds @ juno. com
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Pamela Jenkins lives in Oklahoma with her husband of twenty-three years and their four children.?  She is the office manager of a veterinary clinic and enjoys writing in her spare time.?  She is a contributing author to such books as Chicken Soup for the Grandparent's Soul, Chicken Soup for the Fisherman's Soul and Chocolate for a Woman's Dreams.

?© 2004 Pamela Jenkins

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Today's Queue Stories
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Coming of Age

by Bernice Becker

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The year that stands out in my mind was when I was a twelve-year-old adolescent??”almost a teenager. I was tall for my age and blossoming, but I needed to lose some weight. I fantasized how I might look if I dropped eight pounds. I thought, I??™ll have some boyfriends and my girlfriends may be jealous.

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One of my good friends lived next door to me. She was about my size. I would have a small snack after school, but Roz had a grandmother waiting for her with a big sandwich??”two large thick slices of home-baked Challah bread. Sizzling on the stove were crisp home fries, which were used as sandwich filling after the bread was spread with chicken fat. Wouldn??™t you think that eating that almost every day would cause her to gain weight? Well, she didn??™t! Why couldn??™t I be that way?

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There were two other girls I was friendly with who needed to lose some weight also. We outlined a plan that could work for us if we were willing to try. Whenever one of us weakened, she would call the others to get help from our support group. They would usually talk us out of cheating with our diet, which consisted of chicken, fish, red meat, fruits, and vegetables. The milk, without Hershey syrup, was hard to force down. To be expected, candy, cake, cookies, and junk food were taboo. In addition, for exercise we took long walks, which we learned to enjoy.

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As weeks passed, I noticed my clothes seemed looser. Better yet, my baby fat was lessening and my waist was smaller. More thoughts of the opposite sex were stirring in my mind, especially, ???What is sex all about anyway????

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My family never discussed sex, but an older friend told me a few things that quite surprised and even scared me. She mentioned she knew a girl who kissed the boys so much she became pregnant. I was frightened, because I had let a boy kiss me several times at a party. He was such a good kisser. I couldn??™t sleep well, worrying that I might be pregnant.

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My brother took me to our compassionate and caring family doctor, and within five minutes, he made me feel sure that I had not been impregnated and had no reason to worry. I would not have to drop out of school and disgrace my family. What relief I felt.

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When I arrived home in good spirits, I stood in front of my bedroom mirror, pulled in my tummy, stood erect, and pushed out my developing chest. I told myself, ???See Bernice, you did it: eight pounds gone and you are looking good.??? My friends lost some weight also. We celebrated by purchasing lipstick proper for our age, and it made us feel more attractive.

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As I looked at my face carefully, I noticed the scar over my lips. Oh, that scar over my lips! Oh, why do I have to have this scar? How can boys like me? I focused on that. I explained to my mother and dad how upset I was.

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Mom and Dad did some inquiring and received information about a wonderful plastic surgeon who had treated many celebrities in Hollywood, where he lived at the time, and they had been very pleased with the results. Now he was located in a fine hospital in Boston, not far from where we lived in Roxbury. We were given an appointment, and Dr. Cazangion encouraged me to have the procedure done as soon as possible, saying there would be a big change for the better. Two weeks later, I was in a hospital room where surgery was being performed and I was the patient. I heard the doctor say to his nurse, ???Darn it, my hand just slipped.???

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Those were not words I wanted to hear.

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I remained in the hospital for two days, and I was checked both days. My doctor told my parents and me that he would be glad to do the procedure again at no charge. Actually, the scar looked good compared to the original one. I felt it would be less obvious as time went by, so I decided not to go through surgery again.

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My friends visited me often while I was healing. They brought me some books that I enjoyed reading. Every day they came to play cards or work on puzzles or just talk and joke around. I felt important, getting so much attention. The only problem was I had been told I mustn??™t laugh or talk much because of the stitches. I did my best to keep my mouth shut.

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Two weeks later I was able to walk outside near my house. Boys who previously had ignored me were now whistling and calling my name. That helped my ego. I knew I never again would be called ???Chief Running Nose???. Soon I forgot about the scar because it looked better.

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As I strolled along the street one sunny afternoon, a boy stopped me and said, ???Is that really you, Bernice. You look so pretty.???

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I smiled and said, ???How kind of you??? in a smooth manner. I had handled that well.

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The young man, who had not been interested in me before, said, ???I??™ll be in touch with you.???

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When I arrived home, I was upbeat. I thanked my parents for helping me in my coming of age. With increased self-esteem and feeling good about myself, I was actually looking forward to my teen years.

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Bernice Becker is a 84 years young author? of her new book "Feel Good Stories". Indeed her tales prove that feeling good knows no age. Reading the stories narrate foibles and adventures of growing up, marriage, teaching, and retirement, you'll find yourself laughing, crying, and delighting in the adventures of being alive. Visit her website at http://www.storiestofeelgood.com? to buy? the book and? get started on your own journey to feeling good!

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The Awful Noise

Gwen Tweedy

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By Gwen? Tweedy

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As far back as I? can remember, loud bangs have terrified me. I can recall one particular day when I?  attended the School for the blind that always brings now the wash of dread into my mind even to this day.

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We were having relay races where you had to pop balloons by sitting on them.

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???Oh please god not this. Pluck my eyebrows, rip surgical tape off or poor alcohol into an open scratch,

but please don't make me pop that?  balloon!???

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Usually I wouldn't do it and I would save a balloon so long that it became leaky with air.

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Sometimes this is how it is with our walk with Jesus. We start out well. The balloon of life is inflated and nothing can burst it. But then those nagging doubts come or someone pops our balloon and we are angered because they weren't suppose to do it.

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Or it was unexpected or just not the right time?

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But all things work together for good; both good and bad alike.

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Too much ice cream you are sick.

Too much sun you become? dehydrated with heat.

And so it is with God.

Each things combined together makes that wonderful recipe YOU!

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The End

gtweedy2@cox.net

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My name is Gwen Tweedy.

I reside in mid America? Wichita, Kansas to be exact.

I grew up as a pastor's daughter

and I am 52 years of age.

I have one grown daughter Melissa.

She has Cystic Fibrosis and Diabetes

so each new day with her family is measured as priceless.

She is now 25 years old.

My husband's name is Bob

and because of some disabling factors is at home.

I presently work at? Envision a shop for? blind of which I am one,

and visually impaired as a power sewing machine operator.

I enjoy writing encouraging letters from the president on down

and have many I talk, pray for and help as Jesus gives me words and strength.

I enjoy reading and I play piano for my Sunday school class at the Immanuel Baptist church here in the city.

My Email address is:

gtweedy2@cox.net

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Poetry Section

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In this Moment

Saskia Nienna Streidel

In this moment? 

I feel my dreams pulsing the blood through my vanes.

In this moment? 

I feel the sunlight burn through my skin to the real world below.

In this moment

I feel the power of life running through my nerves like a pulse of joy.

In this moment

I feel the magic of love kissing my darkest secret to be part of my world.

Saskia Nienna Streidel

saskiaofthewoods@yahoo.de

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Love is

Saskia Nienna Streidel

In you

In me

In our hearts

Hands

And minds

Love is a feeling,

A hope,

A dream.

And a creation of future.

Love is

A baby,

A smile,

A touch.

And my hand in yours.

Love is

My family,

My home,

My writing

And a night of dreams.

Love is so much more then a feeling

It grows in you,

In me ,

And in the earth.

Love is in the world

And the world is love.

Love is

EVERYTHING!

Saskia Nienna Streidel

saskiaofthewoods@yahoo.de

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Dedicated to David Scott Brown

Saskia Nienna Streidel

Love feels

like the wind, playing with my hair.

Or like your hand on my back.

Love looks

like a mother ??s smile.

Or like your sleeping face.

Love smells

like our home in winters time.

Or like your kiss on my body.

Love tastes

like vanilla and pepper.

Or like the salt of your skin.

Love is

like a prayer for joy.

Or like your hand holding mine.

Saskia Nienna Streidel

saskiaofthewoods@yahoo.de

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My name is Saskia Steidel, I am born the? 17.10.1981 in Germany. I live in a small?  village in the middle of the woods and love to write. Right now I study learn therapy and music therapy and I just quit my job as a ticket manager in the administration of an soccer club, to have more time to study and to write and to work as a Nanny, what I really love. So far I published poems and some other pieces in different books and published one book called "Am Ende der Nebel". Right now I am writing on a children??™s book.

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Writers Feedback

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What a beautiful poem, At the Setting Sun, by Amy Hollesley.?  She is an inspiration to all.?  Thanks.? God bless, Sharlett Hunt

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Loved the poem by Saskia Nienna Streidel, I Grow.?  Wonderful!?  God bless, Sharlett Hunt

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Tonight's Story time of the fried green tomatoes.?  Boy are they good.?  Do they have a restaurant near you called the Potato Patch.?  Best fried green tomatoes you can get, Debra.?  Hope you get a chance to try them Carol.

Laura

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Announcements

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To All,

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?  As First Cut host I would like to extend an invite to you to listen to my show www.artistfirst.com airs every Monday at 7pm est! Tonight's guest Nancy Gilliam multi talent she is working with Chicken Soup For The African American Soul listen to her talk about her work and her talents.

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Regards,

Nicole M. Stevenson

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? SENIOR WRITERS

Chief Writer: Sharon Bryant

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? Agee, Vance;?  Apted, Violet;?  Baker, Kathy;?  Batt, Al;?  Berry, Nell;

Boda, Ginger;? ?  Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.;?  Cavalera, Robyn; Crider, Mark;? 

Deming, Barb; Goodier, Steve;?  Harris, Kathy Anne;? Hunt, Sharlette;? 

Jacobson, Gary;?  Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Jenkins, Pamela;

Liles, Norma;?  Mazzella, Joe;? Ojeigbe, Georgewaters;

?  Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan;?  Shiveley, Debra; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam; Verhoeff, Jan

Walker, Bill;?  Walker, Joe;? Warner, Gorden K;

Whirity, Kathy;?  White, Robert;

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STORYTIME TAPESTRY STAFF

Publisher: Carol Roach-founder

Moderator: Thelma Hartselle-co founder

Moderator: Clara Westerfer

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