tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.comments2023-05-25T01:42:04.605-07:00The Mia StoryLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15457075273242951126noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-13143976571886166042011-10-11T05:21:06.482-07:002011-10-11T05:21:06.482-07:00Sounds like a great start to an interesting short ...Sounds like a great start to an interesting short story. Hope you carry forward with it!Lisahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15457075273242951126noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-78798061603588746962011-10-10T18:19:50.824-07:002011-10-10T18:19:50.824-07:00The anthropologist dropped his slipper as he sat c...The anthropologist dropped his slipper as he sat cross legged in the terminal away from the exhaust fumes fingering the peso in the pocket of his best polyester suit.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-91107114607765196542011-09-15T12:38:44.367-07:002011-09-15T12:38:44.367-07:00I agree. Such a great book, and I just heard last ...I agree. Such a great book, and I just heard last week that there is a movie coming out based on this inspiring work.Nana Janhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06337136128063093364noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-10298353182672673342011-08-09T06:57:30.405-07:002011-08-09T06:57:30.405-07:00That was fun!That was fun!Carlahttp://crbh-ruminations.blogspot.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-56411426225811798952011-08-04T14:00:43.601-07:002011-08-04T14:00:43.601-07:00Our book club just finished, "Same Kind of Di...Our book club just finished, "Same Kind of Different as Me". True story. Wonderful characters. So many details for discussion. Makes you really think.Nancy Simpsonnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-47948677181051525842011-04-04T06:50:29.568-07:002011-04-04T06:50:29.568-07:00While in college, I spent three of my summer break...While in college, I spent three of my summer breaks working as an intern at a rescue mission in Kansas City, Missouri. We were paid $25.00 a week and we lived in the homeless shelter with families and single women. I fell asleep listening to Mothers trying to soothe their children to sleep and awoke the sounds of children playing ball in the crowded hallways. <br /><br />Since this experience, I have always been grateful for a bed to sleep in. And God made it clear that my life's calling was to always make sure that homeless Mothers and their Children had a safe place to lay their head. <br /><br />So today, I don't mind the children playing in the hallway of Lindsey House. And when a donor asks if they can donate their old sheets instead of new ones for an apartment, I smile and say, "gently used is fine but remember just how nice it is to crawl into fresh, new sheets after a long, hard day."<br /><br />KarenKarenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13966512810137011777noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-76480642976880697142011-03-28T17:55:59.717-07:002011-03-28T17:55:59.717-07:00I'm hoping that my own children don't hold...I'm hoping that my own children don't hold their hairstyles against me too much. My son grumbles about his two year-old haircut. I wouldn't dare put up a photo of it, but it does sort of look like a bowl cut.Lisahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15457075273242951126noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-11646377514816352522011-03-28T15:46:43.102-07:002011-03-28T15:46:43.102-07:00You are so not alone, lol. My 'mom-styled'...You are so not alone, lol. My 'mom-styled' pictures are from the late 60'. My son recently was looking at old pictures of me and had a really good laugh about them.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-28676398908609745752011-03-23T05:51:20.626-07:002011-03-23T05:51:20.626-07:00I think being grateful is the best medicine for me...I think being grateful is the best medicine for mental health. My list is far longer than seven days worth, so I may keep going!Lisahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15457075273242951126noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-41656227925402462462011-03-22T12:35:58.524-07:002011-03-22T12:35:58.524-07:00I think this is a great writing prompt--thanks for...I think this is a great writing prompt--thanks for posting it and getting me going this week!Courtneyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15454611865480258715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-21738111337614753842011-03-13T11:42:35.996-07:002011-03-13T11:42:35.996-07:00And handing down those stories to the generations ...And handing down those stories to the generations is SO important. I like to picture my kids sitting around the table with their children and grandchildren. I do believe it strengthens family structure more than we can imagine.Lisahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15457075273242951126noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-60771707690704279052011-03-12T12:34:42.663-08:002011-03-12T12:34:42.663-08:00Lingering at the dinner table, re-telling familiar...Lingering at the dinner table, re-telling familiar stories, is a family tradition of ours. As each of our children brought home a prospective mate, we felt it was our duty to initiate them by letting them in on the family stories. How they reacted told us a great deal about how they would fit in our crazy mix. Key words could set off an explanation that would take hours to unfold. We've begun a list of those words because we never want to forget the stories. Someday we'll be able to elaborate to our grandchildren the true meaning of "Salt!", "Welcome to motherhood!", and "Her forehead smells good!" And along the way, we'll continue to add to our list as life offers things we don't want to forget. Story telling is not only good for our physical health but for maintaing the emotional health of a family.Janhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16852614741773767558noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-43547744608044555892011-03-12T12:21:56.115-08:002011-03-12T12:21:56.115-08:00Stories, family history, memories (some I learned ...Stories, family history, memories (some I learned later had been substantially embellished for the sake of interest) – were all passed along to us while sitting around the family dinner table after Saturday night's supper. There I was seated along side my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. My grandfather was a preacher so holding court at the head of the table came naturally. He took control of the room, control of the subject and control of our attention.<br /><br />After the meal was over and things were dying down, he'd pull out his pipe and start tamping down the tobacco residue from his last indulgence. Once fully packed, he'd open the tightly sealed bag of new, fresh, sweet smelling tobacco and filled his pipe. We all watched and waited until that too was tamped down then carefully lit with a long wooden match. The match burned atop the bowl of the pipe until it almost touched his fingers. With one fierce flip of his wrist, the flame would be gone. He'd puff – several times – pulling in long deep draws of air to fully light the mix. Its aroma filled the room. Wisps of white smoke swirled above his curly salt and pepper hair. He'd tilt his head back and exhale loudly. Then the stories started. We listened for hours. No radio in the background. No television blaring. Just the sound of his weekly "sermon" all geared to inform his little table of a congregation about his nickname, Dynamite Dal, or how my aunt was dropped on her head. Another of my grandfather’s favorite stories was how he met my grandmother. He often referred to her as his rose. We listened. We didn't interrupt. We didn't move. We didn't want to. <br /><br />We still linger around the table when our extended family gathers. And although there is no sermon, we tell the stories again. And we embellish them a little more. And we giggle and we laugh and we interrupt each other. There are always new relatives who haven’t heard the stories. That’s how they will learn about our family.Linahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10504546079017186306noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-74339064487400609822011-03-08T09:31:37.956-08:002011-03-08T09:31:37.956-08:00We are shaped by the pain of our past. Jessica, th...We are shaped by the pain of our past. Jessica, this is a reminder that instead of running from it, we can embrace it.Lisahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15457075273242951126noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-5740134109172758642011-03-08T08:51:13.079-08:002011-03-08T08:51:13.079-08:00The box stares at me. The lid is worn and tattere...The box stares at me. The lid is worn and tattered and dog eared corners speak of usage filled with both love and hate. I know it does not have eyes or lips, but it stares and it speaks. The contents contain memories of life long ago. Photographs, letters, drawings, notes, clippings and mementos of someone I used to be. A girl lost in friends, fun, parties and mindless flirtation. A girl longing for more. I would never choose to go back to that life and the box is a constant reminder. Though there were momentous highs there was also pain and tears. Too much pain to count. And even though I will never go back, I keep the box and occasionally look through it. I remember that girl and how I left her behind, moving forward into this new life that completely fulfills me. Without that girl, I would never have made it here.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-5773708568355318232011-03-07T19:13:56.833-08:002011-03-07T19:13:56.833-08:00What a list! I can picture the box of little boy m...What a list! I can picture the box of little boy mementos...and nail clippers! Don't kids always love these? And why? They never use them to clip their nails. Great story. Thanks for sharing.Lisahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15457075273242951126noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-13711630331477360602011-03-07T15:54:14.095-08:002011-03-07T15:54:14.095-08:00Sam’s Box
Sam’s Box, a cardboard box the size of ...Sam’s Box<br /><br />Sam’s Box, a cardboard box the size of an old fashioned pencil box, with KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF stamped on the front. It was a box that came from his home at Melville Ave in San Anselmo.<br />This box landed up at Sam’s 12 by 18 foot cell at Frank’s studio..The “Keep Your Hands Off” stamp was a new addition to a cardboard box that had held Sam’s treasures since kindergarten.<br />It was in his room here at Annie’s house. The room that is his for the trips home between semesters of college in San Diego. Annie found the box cleaning, the familiar hand stamps of Frank’s extensive ink stamp collection on the cheap little card board box. Although it had sat there for five years, she had never looked inside. <br />Frantic phone calls from Frank, 1996, that “they” were busy cleaning out the room for Sam that had not been used in over a year and he needed to come and pick up “the rest of his stuff.” Urgent tone, strident voice, harsh reality to Annie’s ear. Now, now and more now. <br />Sam, busy with life as a junior in high school, a girlfriend, soccer, working part time and Lavin Basketball Camp. He was not easily available to the whims of his fathers’ demands. Annie at work, Pam looking at her when she took the calls, “Its for you, again... Annie picked up the receiver, “Hello?”<br />“Annie its Frank.” I really need Sam to come by and pick up that stuff. Annie, “Of course I have, Frank. He is quite busy and it is the last thing on his mind.”<br />Heavy sigh from Frank, and then, “Well he really needs to come up here and pick up the rest of his things from that room so its completely cleaned out. <br />Annie, “it can’t be that much, Frank.” <br />What could you possibly still have up there?”<br />Frank, “Annie, just tell him to call me.” CLICK<br />Well, Sam finally did go, and this was what was so urgent for him to pick up:<br />The one cardboard box stamped, “KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF.”<br />The following is what was inside the box:<br /><br />an empty Turquoise Eagle drawing pen holder<br />a papergrip dynamite lead pencil<br />paperclips<br />assortment of broken colored pencils<br />two inch sized cube blocks, red and blue<br />a round red plastic holder of black and white round erasers from a gum machine<br />a Chinese tin fish rattle from Chinatown<br />a deck of puzzle cards<br />a satin ribbon bow<br />a sizzler mint<br />a pair of nail clippers<br />a silly putty enclosed cork for a handmade eraser with pencil holes<br />two tiny lego men<br />a few rubber bands<br /><br />Frank would never have cared that Sam pick this box up. He would save it for him. <br />yet “she” wanted it out of there... Every trace of of Franks past life, complete with wife and a child...Why would such a little reminder have set off her fury for Frank to call Annie repeatedly at work and incite Annie.<br />Nothing in that box left a clue about Sam’s emerging self, but it was full of the past. Miniature momentos to Sam as a little boy.Patty Wellshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11439848722980037366noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-89141121329855353942011-03-07T15:52:52.192-08:002011-03-07T15:52:52.192-08:00Sam’s Box
Sam’s Box, a cardboard box the size of ...Sam’s Box<br /><br />Sam’s Box, a cardboard box the size of an old fashioned pencil box, with KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF stamped on the front. It was a box that came from his home at Melville Ave in San Anselmo.<br />This box landed up at Sam’s 12 by 18 foot cell at Frank’s studio..The “Keep Your Hands Off” stamp was a new addition to a cardboard box that had held Sam’s treasures since kindergarten.<br />It was in his room here at Annie’s house. The room that is his for the trips home between semesters of college in San Diego. Annie found the box cleaning, the familiar hand stamps of Frank’s extensive ink stamp collection on the cheap little card board box. Although it had sat there for five years, she had never looked inside. <br />Frantic phone calls from Frank, 1996, that “they” were busy cleaning out the room for Sam that had not been used in over a year and he needed to come and pick up “the rest of his stuff.” Urgent tone, strident voice, harsh reality to Annie’s ear. Now, now and more now. <br />Sam, busy with life as a junior in high school, a girlfriend, soccer, working part time and Lavin Basketball Camp. He was not easily available to the whims of his fathers’ demands. Annie at work, Pam looking at her when she took the calls, “Its for you, again... Annie picked up the receiver, “Hello?”<br />“Annie its Frank.” I really need Sam to come by and pick up that stuff. Annie, “Of course I have, Frank. He is quite busy and it is the last thing on his mind.”<br />Heavy sigh from Frank, and then, “Well he really needs to come up here and pick up the rest of his things from that room so its completely cleaned out. <br />Annie, “it can’t be that much, Frank.” <br />What could you possibly still have up there?”<br />Frank, “Annie, just tell him to call me.” CLICK<br />Well, Sam finally did go, and this was what was so urgent for him to pick up:<br />The one cardboard box stamped, “KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF.”<br />The following is what was inside the box:<br /><br />an empty Turquoise Eagle drawing pen holder<br />a papergrip dynamite lead pencil<br />paperclips<br />assortment of broken colored pencils<br />two inch sized cube blocks, red and blue<br />a round red plastic holder of black and white round erasers from a gum machine<br />a Chinese tin fish rattle from Chinatown<br />a deck of puzzle cards<br />a satin ribbon bow<br />a sizzler mint<br />a pair of nail clippers<br />a silly putty enclosed cork for a handmade eraser with pencil holes<br />two tiny lego men<br />a few rubber bands<br /><br />Frank would never have cared that Sam pick this box up. He would save it for him. <br />yet “she” wanted it out of there... Every trace of of Franks past life, complete with wife and a child...Why would such a little reminder have set off her fury for Frank to call Annie repeatedly at work and incite Annie.<br />Nothing in that box left a clue about Sam’s emerging self, but it was full of the past. Miniature momentos to Sam as a little boy.<br />Patty WellsPatty Wellshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11439848722980037366noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-14841279951428459502011-03-07T15:27:19.713-08:002011-03-07T15:27:19.713-08:00Beautiful, Lina. Thank you.Beautiful, Lina. Thank you.Lisahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15457075273242951126noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-33062209174555214122011-03-07T09:00:27.749-08:002011-03-07T09:00:27.749-08:00It's a big box - filled with memories of his 4...It's a big box - filled with memories of his 46-year life. His tee-shirts. His ties. His wallet - stuffed with expired credit cards and an ATM card. There are cuff links, his key club pen from high school minus the back clip. And the original "Mondo Keyhole" - just a spiral notebook filled with stuff high school boys wrote about in the 60s. I read a few entries and laugh out loud. There are Father's Day cards from the boys. Lots of them. "You're the best dad I ever had." There are some notes from a meeting. Bible study discoveries and Sunday School lessons often prepared on Sunday afternoons for the following Sunday. Seeing his handwriting tugs. I swallow hard. Tears well up. I try to choke them back even though I'm home alone. <br /><br />I open that box periodically. I'm drawn to it. I touch the pictures, run my fingers along the entire length of his terry cloth bathrobe sash. I lean over and sniff it.. But the essence of him is no longer there. I know it won't be. But I try anyway. That's all I have of him.Linahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10504546079017186306noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-58563908766501138012011-03-04T09:30:33.281-08:002011-03-04T09:30:33.281-08:00OKAY! I snore too.
I'm a dog - and snoring is...OKAY! I snore too. <br />I'm a dog - and snoring is one of the highlights of my oh-so peaceful day. The humans with whom I share this space snap their fingers; sometimes they shout my name, "Cream!" with a most distasteful tone. They think I will stop making so much noise. I roll over - more times than not - pretending to quiet down. I'm old. I sleep. I snore. I'm entitled. I've earned the luxury of noisily napping in the middle of that sweet spot on the cool tile floor. They love me and I know it.Linahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10504546079017186306noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-34779461204292775962011-03-04T04:43:01.973-08:002011-03-04T04:43:01.973-08:00This is really a great concept. Helping people hel...This is really a great concept. Helping people help themselves and providing support and making them know what accountability is. What a great place.Yogi♪♪♪https://www.blogger.com/profile/00411274031147372579noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-66342951752672966172011-03-03T15:15:45.895-08:002011-03-03T15:15:45.895-08:00It's amazing how quickly a crisis can leave a ...It's amazing how quickly a crisis can leave a woman without a home. Homeless should never be thought of as someone else's condition. In many ways it is a condition that belongs to all of us, and affects all of us whether we realize it or not.Lisahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15457075273242951126noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-42677906154699957472011-03-03T14:34:24.454-08:002011-03-03T14:34:24.454-08:00Goosebumps! Love this concept. Accountability, f...Goosebumps! Love this concept. Accountability, faith in action, and tools for success. In these times, tragedy could literally happen to anyone and leave them homeless. I am thankful every day for what I have, even though I don't have much, because I know it could be gone anytime. I think this is a fabulous idea.daisyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03168831819807523569noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4087539897946561056.post-50516170092735432422011-03-01T04:46:24.839-08:002011-03-01T04:46:24.839-08:00Love that name...Rufus!
Here is Snowball's st...Love that name...Rufus!<br /><br />Here is Snowball's story:<br />"They invade my sleeping space all day long. The tall people move that enormous, loud machine in and out. The little people sit at the back and wave at me through the window as they leave. A few times my tail has almost been crushed by the four round things that help it go forward and backward. But every now and then, when the sun is bright and high in the sky above, they let me hop into that back seat with my little people and we go for a ride. We land in a place where there are millions of other dogs (at least it seems that way - I'm so excited I forget to count!), and new smells that put my senses on overload. I love those days. In fact, I think those are the best days. Who am I kidding? I'm a dog. Every day is the best day!Lisahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15457075273242951126noreply@blogger.com