Don't Throw It Out - Freecycle It!
Have something you would normally throw out or donate? Another option is to Freecycle it. Visit the web site for more information. There is probably a local Freecycle group where you live. I've given away lots of stuff that I would normally have thrown out or I couldn't sell at a garage sale. Makes you feel good that somebody is getting some use out of it and it's not just more garbage. I've also gotten good stuff (especially baby stuff) that was useful and in great condition that someone else simply "didn't want".
The Plumber
As seen on Rondout:
A plumber was hired to restore an old farmhouse. He had a tiring day at work as a flat tire made him lose an hour of work at job, his electric drill quit, his old truck refused to start. As I drove him back home in the evening he sat in stony silence.
On reaching his home he invited me to meet his family. As we walked towards the front door, he paused briefly at a small tree, touching the tips of the branches with both hands. I could see, he had undergone an amazing transformation. Now there was smile on his face and he looked cheerful. Upon opening the door, he hugged his two small children and his wife.
After some time, he came to see me off. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do at the little tree.
“Oh, that’s my trouble tree,” he replied “I know I can’t help having troubles at the job, but one thing’s for sure, those troubles don’t belong in the house with my wife and the children. So I just hang them up on the tree every night when I come home & ask God to take care of them. Then in the morning I pick them up again. Funny thing is,” he smiled, “ when I come out in the morning to pick them up, there aren’t nearly as many as I remember hanging them up the night before.”
MORAL OF THE STORY
We have to learn the art of living.
When we take our troubles from one place to another place, we are spoiling the pleasure at home & atmosphere at work.
It is our presence that brings meaning to life of people around us. It is the way we touch our loved one’s heart gives life beautiful meaning.
author unknown
From – Prose ‘n Poems
prosenpoems-subscribe@yahoo.com
A plumber was hired to restore an old farmhouse. He had a tiring day at work as a flat tire made him lose an hour of work at job, his electric drill quit, his old truck refused to start. As I drove him back home in the evening he sat in stony silence.
On reaching his home he invited me to meet his family. As we walked towards the front door, he paused briefly at a small tree, touching the tips of the branches with both hands. I could see, he had undergone an amazing transformation. Now there was smile on his face and he looked cheerful. Upon opening the door, he hugged his two small children and his wife.
After some time, he came to see me off. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do at the little tree.
“Oh, that’s my trouble tree,” he replied “I know I can’t help having troubles at the job, but one thing’s for sure, those troubles don’t belong in the house with my wife and the children. So I just hang them up on the tree every night when I come home & ask God to take care of them. Then in the morning I pick them up again. Funny thing is,” he smiled, “ when I come out in the morning to pick them up, there aren’t nearly as many as I remember hanging them up the night before.”
MORAL OF THE STORY
We have to learn the art of living.
When we take our troubles from one place to another place, we are spoiling the pleasure at home & atmosphere at work.
It is our presence that brings meaning to life of people around us. It is the way we touch our loved one’s heart gives life beautiful meaning.
author unknown
From – Prose ‘n Poems
prosenpoems-subscribe@yahoo.com
To See a Volcano
Reprinted from the 6/10/2005 issue of Rondout (a most excellent e-zine):
To See a Volcano
By April MacNeil
My son sits across the aisle from me, his whole body beaming with
anticipation. Playfully he puts on the headphones handed to him by the
stewardess. He turns to me and signs, "I didn't know there were movies
on planes."
I just smile, wanting to laugh - and cry.
Kevin is a handsome, blond, blue-eyed fourteen-year-old who has
been deaf since birth. But throughout his life, I have tried to teach
him not to give up. And he hasn't, excelling in both academics and
sports.
In the fall of 1997, I received a phone call from his teacher. She
suspected that Kevin was having problems with his vision. We took him
to the doctor and they told us that he had Usher's syndrome. His
peripheral vision will get narrower and narrower until, eventually, he
will be completely blind.
"How? This can't be true," I cried. How could my dear, sweet son
be both deaf and blind? It was incomprehensible to me.
When I was finally able to muster up enough courage, the counseling
staff at his school helped me break the news to Kevin. He sat quietly,
paying close attention to this diagnosis - a deaf person's worst fear.
He is a brave young man, but from his body language, I knew that he
wanted to cry. However, he made sure the tears waited. With all of his
strength and smile he simply asked, "Can I please go back to class now?"
Kevin's world was closing in on him, and I struggled against the
rage and injustice of it all. A short time later, after putting some of
my anger and fears of the future aside, I asked Kevin, "Before things
really change, what one thing do you want to see more than anything
else?"
He thought for quite a while and then said, "A volcano . . . I want
to see a volcano in Hawaii."
I choked back my tears and responded simply, "I'll see what I can
do," all the while knowing that short of a miracle, there was no way I
could take him to Hawaii.
I spoke to everyone and asked everywhere, and just when I was about
to give up on Kevin's dream, I heard about an organization that works to
fulfill the wishes of chronically and critically ill children. So with
great hope, I crossed my fingers and phoned them.
In a couple of weeks, we were interviewed, and three months later
we were sitting on the plane bound for Honolulu.
On the morning of the big day, we climbed into a helicopter and
headed toward the volcano. We were all excited. While hovering over
the cinder cone, we could see the vibrant red, yellow and orange colors
sluggishly moving around. We could feel the immense heat on our faces.
We could smell the pungent stench of sulfur seeping in. As we hovered,
I was struck not only by the volcano's raw beauty but also by its
strength, and I thought of Kevin's strength.
Looking over at my son, there was a peaceful glow about him. I
tapped him on his shoulder. I wanted him to look back so I could sign
and ask him what he was feeling. He signed back, "Not now...if I look
away, I'll miss it." He was right. He needed to see all he could see -
now.
Kevin had an offering for Pele, the fire goddess. It was made of
tea leaves, her favorite, and a symbol of good luck. He stuck out his
hand and dropped his gift. Then he bowed his head and signed, "I wish
she can be strong for an eruption."
As we watched the leaves fall into the lava, the most amazing thing
happened. The sluggish mixture began swirling around and started
popping - a tiny eruption began before our very eyes - Pele's gift to
Kevin.
With permission from the gods, we brought some lava rock home.
Every now and then, I catch Kevin sitting with the same peaceful glow he
exuded in the helicopter that day. When I look a little closer, I
notice the small piece of lava rock in his hand.
I pray that our journey will last forever in his mind's eye,
especially when the disease finally consumes Kevin's eyesight. Then
I'll know that my son still sees the swirling hues of red, yellow and
orange, and not just blackness.
from Chicken Soup for the Soul - 6/6/05
Forwarded from Barb D
Post-note: Sadly, the Rondout e-zine is no more since the original author passed away in 2007...
To See a Volcano
By April MacNeil
My son sits across the aisle from me, his whole body beaming with
anticipation. Playfully he puts on the headphones handed to him by the
stewardess. He turns to me and signs, "I didn't know there were movies
on planes."
I just smile, wanting to laugh - and cry.
Kevin is a handsome, blond, blue-eyed fourteen-year-old who has
been deaf since birth. But throughout his life, I have tried to teach
him not to give up. And he hasn't, excelling in both academics and
sports.
In the fall of 1997, I received a phone call from his teacher. She
suspected that Kevin was having problems with his vision. We took him
to the doctor and they told us that he had Usher's syndrome. His
peripheral vision will get narrower and narrower until, eventually, he
will be completely blind.
"How? This can't be true," I cried. How could my dear, sweet son
be both deaf and blind? It was incomprehensible to me.
When I was finally able to muster up enough courage, the counseling
staff at his school helped me break the news to Kevin. He sat quietly,
paying close attention to this diagnosis - a deaf person's worst fear.
He is a brave young man, but from his body language, I knew that he
wanted to cry. However, he made sure the tears waited. With all of his
strength and smile he simply asked, "Can I please go back to class now?"
Kevin's world was closing in on him, and I struggled against the
rage and injustice of it all. A short time later, after putting some of
my anger and fears of the future aside, I asked Kevin, "Before things
really change, what one thing do you want to see more than anything
else?"
He thought for quite a while and then said, "A volcano . . . I want
to see a volcano in Hawaii."
I choked back my tears and responded simply, "I'll see what I can
do," all the while knowing that short of a miracle, there was no way I
could take him to Hawaii.
I spoke to everyone and asked everywhere, and just when I was about
to give up on Kevin's dream, I heard about an organization that works to
fulfill the wishes of chronically and critically ill children. So with
great hope, I crossed my fingers and phoned them.
In a couple of weeks, we were interviewed, and three months later
we were sitting on the plane bound for Honolulu.
On the morning of the big day, we climbed into a helicopter and
headed toward the volcano. We were all excited. While hovering over
the cinder cone, we could see the vibrant red, yellow and orange colors
sluggishly moving around. We could feel the immense heat on our faces.
We could smell the pungent stench of sulfur seeping in. As we hovered,
I was struck not only by the volcano's raw beauty but also by its
strength, and I thought of Kevin's strength.
Looking over at my son, there was a peaceful glow about him. I
tapped him on his shoulder. I wanted him to look back so I could sign
and ask him what he was feeling. He signed back, "Not now...if I look
away, I'll miss it." He was right. He needed to see all he could see -
now.
Kevin had an offering for Pele, the fire goddess. It was made of
tea leaves, her favorite, and a symbol of good luck. He stuck out his
hand and dropped his gift. Then he bowed his head and signed, "I wish
she can be strong for an eruption."
As we watched the leaves fall into the lava, the most amazing thing
happened. The sluggish mixture began swirling around and started
popping - a tiny eruption began before our very eyes - Pele's gift to
Kevin.
With permission from the gods, we brought some lava rock home.
Every now and then, I catch Kevin sitting with the same peaceful glow he
exuded in the helicopter that day. When I look a little closer, I
notice the small piece of lava rock in his hand.
I pray that our journey will last forever in his mind's eye,
especially when the disease finally consumes Kevin's eyesight. Then
I'll know that my son still sees the swirling hues of red, yellow and
orange, and not just blackness.
from Chicken Soup for the Soul - 6/6/05
Forwarded from Barb D
Post-note: Sadly, the Rondout e-zine is no more since the original author passed away in 2007...
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