True Words to Ponder

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.  

Whose business is it, if I choose to read, or play, on the computer, until 4 AM, or sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 50, 60 &70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love, I will. I will walk the beach, in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves, with abandon, if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set.  

They, too, will get old.  

I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And, I eventually remember the important things.  

Sure, over the years, my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break, when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But, broken hearts are what give us strength, understanding and compassion.  

A heart never broken, is pristine, and sterile, and will never know the joy of being imperfect.  

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.  

As you get older, it is easier to be positive.  

You care less about what other people think.  

I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong. 

So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become.  

I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be.  

And I shall eat dessert every single day (if I feel like it).  

(Author Unknown)  

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The Truth ... Just Too Humiliating

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.  

The accident occurred mainly because I had given in to my wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty. Initially, the new acquisition was no problem. Then one morning, I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen.

'Honey! The garbage disposal is dead again. Please come reset it.'

'You know where the button is,' I protested through the shower pitter-patter and steam. 'Reset it yourself!'

'But I'm scared!' she persisted. 'What if it starts going and sucks me in?'

There was a meaningful pause and then, 'C'mon, it'll only take you a second.'

So out I came, dripping wet and butt naked, hoping that my silent outraged nudity would make a statement about how I perceived her behavior as extremely cowardly. Sighing loudly, I squatted down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. It is the last action I remember performing.

It struck without warning, and without any respect to my circumstances. No, it wasn't the hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was our new kitty, who discovered the fascinating dangling objects she spied hanging between my legs. She had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I reached under the sink. And, at the precise moment when I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws. I lost all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements, blindly rising at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a kitten hanging from my masculine region.

Wild animals are sometimes faced with a 'fight or flight' syndrome. Men, in this predicament, choose only the 'flight' option. I know this from experience. I was fleeing straight up into the air when the sink and cabinet bluntly and forcefully impeded my ascent. The impact knocked me out cold.

When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me.

Now there are not many things in this life worse than finding oneself lying on the kitchen floor butt naked in front of a group of 'been-there, done-that' paramedics. Even worse, having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics were all snorting loudly as they tried to conduct their work, all the while trying to suppress their hysterical laughter … and not succeeding.

Somehow I lived through it all. A few days later I finally made it back in to the office, where colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me about my head injury. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about, which it was.

'What's the matter?' They all asked, 'Cat got your tongue?' If they only knew!

(Author Unknown)

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A Promise Broken

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.  

I was sick.  

For over a week now, my world has been a blur. Three of those days I needed to go to work. The energy I expelled in arising … sitting … showering … sitting … dressing … sitting … and then driving to my place of employment … exhausted me as though I had run a marathon.  

Weakling.  

And the nights. Coughing so hard I literally saw flashes of light in my closed eyes. Wondering if my husband was getting any sleep. In the spaces between coughing fits, I slept so hard I never knew when he showered and left for work. My daily exercise routine was cast aside.  

I know you’ve been there. It’s no fun.  

And now I’m in the recovering stage. As my mind begins to function again (scary thought) I think of those who have no recovery phase. Those injured in Iraq … who made promises to return to loved ones … and they have. But for some of them, they will never see again … never take their children for Sunday drive … or even have the ability to think clearly.  

They live with a promise broken … but for the rest of their lives.  

And so I’m grateful … for being able to breathe again … eat food that doesn’t taste like cardboard … and to know that I will recover. My heart goes out to those who deal with the broken promises … due to broken bodies or minds.  

May they feel God’s arms around them as they grasp a new way of living.

“…Should we accept only good things from the hand of God and never anything bad?” Job 2:10b (NLT)

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Ten Peeves that Dogs have about Humans

If only dogs could talk:  

1. Blaming your farts on me … not funny … not funny at all!! 
2. Yelling at me for barking.  I’m a DOG!!
3. Taking me for a walk, and then not letting me check stuff out. Whose walk is it anyway? 
4. Any trick that involves balancing food on my nose. Stop it!
5. Any haircut that involves bows or ribbons. Now you know why we chew your stuff up when you’re not home. 
6. The sleight of hand, fake fetch throw. You fooled a dog. WhooooHoooo. What a proud moment for the top of the food chain. 
7. Taking me to the vet for the “big snip”, then acting surprised when I freak out every time we go back. 
8. Getting upset when I sniff the crotches of your guests. Sorry, but I haven’t quite mastered the handshake thing yet. 
9. Dog sweaters. Hello??? Haven’t you noticed the fur? 
10. How you act disgusted when I lick myself. You’re just jealous. 

Now lay off me on some of these things. We both know who is boss here. You don’t see me picking up your poop do you?  

(Author Unknown)

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