The Importance of Walking
>> Friday, March 30, 2012
Walking can add minutes to your life. This enables you at 85 years old to spend an additional 5 months in a nursing home at $3,000 per month.


Walking can add minutes to your life. This enables you at 85 years old to spend an additional 5 months in a nursing home at $3,000 per month.


As I read Robin Lee Hatcher’s blog this morning - http://blog.robinleehatcher.com/ - my mind traveled back over my life and my love of books. As a child … not allowed to do anything … reading was my entertainment and escape. In my first marriage I again turned to reading to bring any comfort to my life.
That’s why it was extremely difficult to sort through and give away so many books two years ago when we moved to our new home. For many of the books on my shelves today, I can remember where I purchased them … and perhaps where I sat as I enjoyed reading.
Robin’s blog this morning gave a name to that pile of books … the TBR pile … to be read. Looking at my pile of unread books gives me warm fuzzies … safe and secure in the fact I will not run out of reading material.
As I thought about the TBR acronym, I realized I need to see people as unopened books … ready for reading. I can remember where I met my friends and conversations we’ve had. I would never be able to sort through them and give some away; so many wonderful memories of places and conversations.
I was told a story about a lady in the hospital who was near death when an area Chaplain came to visit her. This Chaplain was a very young female with long blond hair. She listened to the lady who was ill and then left her a small gift for comfort. It was a tiny ceramic frog.

I learned to sew as a child … on a treadle sewing machine. Thanks to a rescue by my brother, Tony, that machine now resides in my guest bedroom. We had no money for patterns, so I designed my own clothes … at first using material from flour sacks. As a teenager, my wedding dress was sewn on that treadle machine.
But my dream of a spot designed for sewing never left me. I still have things to learn … like how to use a serger … and make quilts. And so … tomorrow … that dream will be realized. Cabinets, shelves and a sewing table will be installed. We had a long wooden pole (clothes pole) that was used to push the clotheslines up so that longer items (sheets/pants/etc.) didn’t brush the ground and get dirty. You have to be a “certain age” to appreciate this one…..
I didn’t realize I was infected. In over six decades of living, no one mentioned earworms to me … and the affect they had on my life. A few nights ago, my husband played a video for me … describing exactly what occurs in my life … and I discovered I was not the only living human being with earworms.

It’s disquieting to watch the demise of a grand idea.
Robert Schuller had a dream … of a new way to worship … with a positive message. In 1955, he became pastor of a community church in
Bankrupt … the church building has been sold to the Roman Catholic Diocese … and they have three years to find a new home. Robert Schuller has retired … leaving first his son and then his daughter as senior pastor. Last Sunday the daughter announced she was leaving to start her own church. Three other family members have been fired from the ministry by the Board of Directors. As I've aged, I've become kinder to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend. I have seen too many dear friends leave this world, too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.
Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter how legitimate my excuse, I always get the feeling that my boss thinks I'm lying.
On one recent occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway, because the truth was just too darned humiliating. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury, and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I reasoned, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on the top of my head.
I tried to care … I really did. Twice I pushed myself out of my cocoon of pillows and covers and walked to my desk … sat at the keyboard … and stared. Guilt washed over me. I had made a promise … of when I would write … and now I was reneging on that. No words were flowing from my fingers … because no words were available in my brain.

If only dogs could talk:
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