Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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

May 5, 2006

 Today’s Announcements:

From the Editor:

I don't know if you remember that in the beginning of the session, I had a dream about failing the oral, the teacher asked me the first question and I blocked and ran out of the classroom therefore failing the course.

Well it happened in reverse today, I get ready to go to school and I couldn't find my bus pass, it caused me to panic as if I wasn't worried already and I missed the pass, I had to take a taxi to school which meant I ran to school rather than away from it.

in the exam, I made mistakes so I don't know what my mark is, next is the written exams and that is all day tomorrow.  I am a total vegetable.

Happy Birthday goes out to our writer Terry Ploeckelmann

A message from Chris Shiveley, our birthday boy:

Christopher would like for me to extend to all of you who sent him the lovely birthday wishes a sincere "Thank you!"  (That's how he said it: with an exclamation point!)  He was very pleased to be recognized by you all.

We are working on his "article" about his birthday.  A high volume of homework has kept him busy but we will soon have a nice birthday essay for you.

Debra Shiveley

merribuck@aol.com

A Special Graduation:

Would you let my Storytime friends know that my daughter, Cheryl Schneider will be receiving her degree in Bachelors of Science degree in nursing early next month.  The pinning is May 5, 2006 and the graduation ceremonies will be May 6, 2006.  Thank you so much!  This has been a tough semester and she has one test to take this coming Thursday.  Strange as it seems, though, classes will extend until Aug 3, 2006.        Love Mom Norma xo   p.s her email address for personal or virtual greetings is

frecklefacern@yahoo.com

Today’s Queue Stories

~**~**~

QUIET DREAMING

BY David Wainland

As I grow older and my past flows deeper into the abyss of lost consciousness I find myself longing to return to the times of my youth.

My childhood was a simple time in a less threatening world, a place where I could awaken in a small bedroom and find my brother next to me in the same bed and my sister just feet away asleep, as only a baby can, in her crib. Our apartment is tiny by today’s standards and consists of that one bedroom, a living room and kitchen. There is a hallway that you pass though to move into the rooms, but it is inconsequential and holds only my mother’s sewing machine, a telephone table equipped with a black Bakelite rotary phone and a dumbwaiter. (A small door in the wall behind which is a rope-held platform that rises and falls six stories and used for lowering garbage to the basement.)

My parents sleep in the living room on a high-rise that serves as a couch in the day and a bed at night and our home life circulates around a console radio between the fire escape windows that look down onto Walton Avenue.

We are a poor family, but as a child I am totally unaware of this and exist on love and nurturing.

I can go outside on the street without fear, ride subways at ten years old and hustle sodas for the big guys who have a never-ending stickball game going on in the schoolyard across the street. My brother, five years my junior tags along behind me and on occasions I split my take with him, two cents on a coke and five cents on the larger bottles. When we have accumulated twenty eight pennies we have enough for two admissions to the Jerome Avenue movie theater and if we can scrounge up another dime we can get two Hershey bars.

It is a wonderful time in the Bronx for kids. We live on the sidewalks and in the gutters where we play a myriad of games lost in time to the generation that exists today, marbles, pitching pennies, Potsy, Johnny on the pony and the king of all games, Ring-a-levio.

All of this long before I lost a brother, lost my parents and lost a son.

In shallow sleep I dream of those days with a quiet yearning.

David Wainland

David @ DavidWainland.com

About Me:

I am a professional artist and metal sculptor known as Sculptoons and I’m the creator of custom tabletop items. I paint as well as cartoon. My work is displayed at art festivals in Florida.

My passion is writing and I have completed two novels, Matecumbe Key ©, about the 1935 Labor Day Hurricane and Red Absinthe ©, a murder mystery set in 1926 New Orleans. When I am not working on my art I write stories, poetry and essays about life.

I’m married and the father of two. My son passed away in July of 2003 and left behind a beautiful daughter. Just one of my three grandchildren. My daughter and her family live in New Jersey

~**~**~

Think About It

 Joyce C. Lock

    My mother has the gift of teaching and, when growing up, that included us girls.  We could be doing almost anything and, suddenly, she would present a hypothetical question.

    On the first occasion, I recall asking her a question in return.  Only, mom's response was, "No, I'm not going to answer.  I want to hear your answer.  Think about it.  God gave you a brain and I expect you to learn how to use it.  It's important.  All through life, there will be someone telling you what to believe, you'll run across strange religions, and such ~ and you need to be able to reason for yourself, and 'know' what you believe.  So, think about it and give me your answer."

    And, I did.  Though, immediately, it became obvious that my answer would not suffice without an explanation of how I had reached that conclusion.  Next, mom made suggestion as to further considerations and, soon, the expectation, within these lessons, was well known.  Often, these questions were deep and tricky, and I have been using the brain God gave me ever since.

    Though, as a result of a couple generations of thinkers, it has made our family well aware that other children never received these lessons.  Not only do we realize that we think differently from much of the world, but also that most are not thinking at all.  In all honestly, offended or not, it appears as if people believe whatever they are told to believe; regardless of how educated they have become.

    From infancy, we were taught to obey parents, listen to teachers, and follow leadership.  While each of these ideals have scriptural base and merit, somewhere along the way, we began to think there was another path to righteousness and, often, that path was religion (whether our god became the shepherd, the congregation, or the law itself).

    Obedience is not something we are born with and it is certainly not something that can be achieved under the law; Hebrews 7:19.  It is a tool of survival that is 'learned' in the valley of hard knocks, Hebrews 5:8-9.

    In the spirit world, there are only two forces.  One is good; the other is evil.  There is no third option.  I repeat, there is no third option.  Obeying God results in blessings and all else results in a curse, Deuteronomy 11:26.  Every choice comes with a consequence, be it positive or negative, Galatians 6:7.

    Obedience is a conscious and deliberate choice to stop dead in one's tracks for the purpose of, immediately, seeking God's direction, then to follow it; as that is the only path Satan cannot defeat.  Then, once we begin to see the benefits, we finally actually get it and obedience truly becomes our choice.  (God is not a dictator.  He is our protector.)  Only then do we begin to grow into spiritual maturity as we, finally, realize it is a joy to obey and we choose to seek God more; for protection in everything!

© 2004 by Joyce C. Lock
http://our.homewithgod.com/heavenlyinspirations/

~**~**~

Poetry Section

~**~**~

A Borrowed Father

Linda Ann Henry

An angel came to me

She whispered in my ear

I am going to send you a father

Who is going to be very dear

He will have everything you need

He was made for you especially

Given with God's love

He has much to offer you

This father can give you love

You see, he was borrowed

His blood is not your own

Yet he sees with wisdom

Beyond the world unknown

Tell him he is wanted

Give him your heart and soul

It takes a special father

To love a daughter he barely knows

Linda Ann Henry

linda11231949@aol.com

Do you remember me

The people's poet

~**~**~

GOD'S MASTERPIECE

Linda Ann Henry

If ever you are lonely

Or feel you do not have a friend

Remember God is beside you,

Until the very end.

You see God made us His masterpiece

One I give thanks for

He made the miracle of life

To go on forevermore.

There were times I would sit and wonder

Why we all were born

I thought of the beauty a new born baby gives

And knew God had a plan for us

In this universe of His

It may not seem so at the time

But this masterpiece of God

Is His miracle of love

That He calls mankind

A mother feels it in her baby

Or some feel it in their heart

Yet no matter how it happens

It is where a mother

Plays a special part

We think of a lonely couple

Who pray to God each night

Talking to there baby

As they feel it is their right

Then there is a mother

About to have her first

"As she cries...Dear God

Thank you for the miracle of this birth"

All of us as people, come with just one goal

To make a masterpiece of what God has fortold.

So when you wonder at the stars each night

How God blessed ever one

Realize you to are a promise

And God's work in you will be done

Linda Ann Henry

linda11231949@aol.com

Do you remember me

The people's poet

The greatest masterpiece is the family. The family grows the flowers, which are God's children.

~**~**~

Baby Of Mine

A Poem Of Adoption

There is not much time,

To hold you close

I will remember you my baby,

I love the most.

You have my hair and eyes

I hope you can realize,

Baby of mine

I made you with love

I must give you your wings

So you can fly through the sky

Into the arms of another mother

One who will keep you safe from harm

Please do not cry.

As I let you go
Baby of mine

I need you so

In your heart you will stay

You will never be far away

Linda Ann Henry

linda11231949@aol.com

Do you remember me

The people's poet

Some gifts are held in your heart long after your arms can no longer feel them.

Senior Writers

Chief writer: Sharon Bryant

                                     Chief researcher/historian: Hartson Dowd

Agee, Vance; Apted, Violet; Baker, Kathy; Batt, Al; Berry, Nell; Blaine, Pamela; Boda, Ginger; Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.; Cavalera, Robyn; Crider, Mark; Deming, Barb; Doherty, Maria; Gilbert, Robert, Jr.; Goodier, Steve; Braun-Haley, Ellie; Harris, Kathy Anne; Hunt, Sharlett; Hymes, Christina; Jacobson, Gary; Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Kevin, Tim; Jenkins, Pamela; Liles, Norma; Lily Jodi Flesberg; Lock, Joyce; Marlor, Janice Bumbalough; Mazzella, Joe; Morris, Deepak; Ojeibge, Georgewaters; Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan; Shiveley, Debra; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Streidel, Saskia; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam; Verhoeff, Jan; Walker, Bill; Walker, Joe; Warner, Gordon, K; Walsh, Sue; Weymouth, Barbara J.; Whirity, Kathy;

Wainland, David; Westerfer, Clara; White Robert;

Storytime Tapestry Staff

Carol Roach - Founder/publisher

Thelma Hartselle - Co-Founder, Moderator

Clara Westerfer – moderator

Bob Johnston - moderator