tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22547795965185961832024-02-19T05:34:42.645-05:00Love and WritingThoughts from a West Virginia writer who happens to be a mother, lover, sister, aunt, friend, daughter, writer, and cousin, but most of all, a woman filled with the love of writing prose and poetry.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-88722902110033273092018-05-25T00:31:00.000-04:002018-05-25T00:31:33.129-04:00<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR4S-S_rJpv32pXVDtD316vmTNYQ_JTrYUe6euS3fk-hjWEIy7DyYwr40YfF3mf_NH-ZggyCIS0A8RXT-gbsmqtMjZK4m7Lhy0VTOFeGQp_BHme9s4w-4d0S7aOK-c6B-FRwNw_uJ2_cYr/s1600/wrestling2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="585" data-original-width="597" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR4S-S_rJpv32pXVDtD316vmTNYQ_JTrYUe6euS3fk-hjWEIy7DyYwr40YfF3mf_NH-ZggyCIS0A8RXT-gbsmqtMjZK4m7Lhy0VTOFeGQp_BHme9s4w-4d0S7aOK-c6B-FRwNw_uJ2_cYr/s320/wrestling2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkrMo7o3vTi1gPksqMMZrQ0IuJLPz9rI-Km4sjuCU1uwPQf_4BwCGumF4ZNnbPB40wwJP-_sSveTb6M085GfldRfkxs8oLKJzZk5GYmg6OhfQEVL5Zp5u91bCIhyQ4ubEqRG71XEuHJcX/s1600/wrestling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="585" data-original-width="597" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkrMo7o3vTi1gPksqMMZrQ0IuJLPz9rI-Km4sjuCU1uwPQf_4BwCGumF4ZNnbPB40wwJP-_sSveTb6M085GfldRfkxs8oLKJzZk5GYmg6OhfQEVL5Zp5u91bCIhyQ4ubEqRG71XEuHJcX/s320/wrestling.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I miss my mother greatly but she left behind some wonderful memories. </div>
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A Simple
Life<o:p></o:p></div>
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Saturday
night adventures, hot dogs from Burger Carte,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Going to
watch Chief Black Eagle wrestle in Oak Hill,<o:p></o:p></div>
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My mother,
fists in the air, cheering on her favorite wrestler,<o:p></o:p></div>
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People
slurping drinks, crunching popcorn, mesmerized,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Unaware of
the traffic, or the passing of time, lost in the moment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The Grand
Ole Opry; Faron Young, George Jones, and Porter Waggoner,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Who done who
wrong songs playing on a jukebox, lights flashing,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Local bars,
bare and dark, filled with coal miners and dreamers,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Plain people
enjoying simple pleasures, being whoever they were,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Walt Disney
World with the family on Sunday evening.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Day after
day, watching him put on his heavy boots,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Kissing him
at the door, sending him off with a lunch bucket,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Deep into
the belly of the earth to mine black diamonds,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Watching him
until he was completely out of sight,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then
crawling into bed to pray for his safe return.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then came
the waiting rooms, patients in every chair,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Symptoms
creeping in along with the wrinkles lining her face,<o:p></o:p></div>
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The doctor
spoke of cancer, offered encouragement and pills,<o:p></o:p></div>
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She became
the wrestler, fighting off cells, refusing to give up,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Smiling,
demanding a hot dog, fists in the air, living until the last breath.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">©</span>
Dianna Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-74161523950586448072015-04-27T19:14:00.001-04:002015-04-27T19:15:54.759-04:00Define Old Age<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLTZ5od7F2nv0AgZj22a1d_kM3nKrPSkU8TKDItfeqlvX296fqg8TdPkxWfIuzXod43Ck7plOgZOdLuiabLMTD34llrfj_c7VqNwOvV5W5_eTG5VxjbwiM6oADAACU4lYYdBDKKOZuUNS/s1600/IMAG4044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLTZ5od7F2nv0AgZj22a1d_kM3nKrPSkU8TKDItfeqlvX296fqg8TdPkxWfIuzXod43Ck7plOgZOdLuiabLMTD34llrfj_c7VqNwOvV5W5_eTG5VxjbwiM6oADAACU4lYYdBDKKOZuUNS/s1600/IMAG4044.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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Photo of Julia Doles</div>
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April 2015</div>
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Sometimes you wake up thinking, “Well, I made it through
another night.” You are not seeing the
sunshine filtering through your window or allowing the peaceful moment to fill
your soul. You spend too much time
thinking about your aches and pains, your late relatives, and finances when you
should be enjoying just being alive. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then something, or someone, forces you to stop and take a
good long look at yourself. That is what happened to me today. I was out to
pick up a few things I needed and started to pass an elderly lady in one of the
aisles of the market. She opened a
conversation by asking, “Can you reach that corn way up on the top there? I
swear they picked me before I was done growing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The lady was about five feet tall with short white hair that
was neatly brushed. She was dressed neatly and her eyes were ablaze with
determination. As I handed her the can of corn I had just retrieved for her,
she said, “My grandson is in here somewhere. He probably found magazines or
something. Lord, he’s fifty years-old and you would think he was ready to
retire. He spends an hour trying to avoid fifteen minutes of work.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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The grandson appeared at the end of the aisle and walked
toward us. He stopped a few feet behind his grandmother as if waiting to see if
she would invite him into the conversation or send him scampering outdoors to
play. The petite, feisty lady continued, “My daughter, his mother, is a whiner
too. Why she’s only seventy years-old and wouldn’t get out of bed if she didn’t
get hungry. I tell you, it’s beyond my understanding to tell you what’s
happened with the young folks today. I’m ninety-five and I go help her clean up
her house at least once a week.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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I have lived most of my life as if I’m expecting some
important guest and need to have my life in order before they arrive. I sweep
the floors, bathe the pets, clean the windows, and would probably sweep the
lawn if I could rid of some of the extra dirt. I never really think about why I
do what I do, I just do it. I’m pretty sure this lady never stops to think
about living either. She just does it!<o:p></o:p></div>
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I smiled at the lady, told her I was happy to have met her,
and walked away feeling as if I had just been given a gift. The road of life
can be very bumpy but people like the lady I met today not only help me
navigate the road, they pull me back into the right lane of traffic. I sure
hope her family makes sure she is well praised this coming Mother’s Day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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© Dianna Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></div>
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4/24/15<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-85747358976889679602015-03-11T21:18:00.000-04:002015-03-11T21:18:31.320-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjlpT3n09igJSiDnwLbl91SBkrhUpgty7M4vj8jz6zKGpZ7aKxt7Wp41bc7Lau_CnxDQHpu_IZPXcS8LF69szLf2rASzUzcHSXL_EZI-7cZz8WxiR3gEu-kthgymHULAJWX8KWE8qDC3um/s1600/IMAG3948_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjlpT3n09igJSiDnwLbl91SBkrhUpgty7M4vj8jz6zKGpZ7aKxt7Wp41bc7Lau_CnxDQHpu_IZPXcS8LF69szLf2rASzUzcHSXL_EZI-7cZz8WxiR3gEu-kthgymHULAJWX8KWE8qDC3um/s1600/IMAG3948_1.jpg" height="320" width="242" /></a></div>
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<b>Different Paths, Same Destination</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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I was talking with an old friend in the supermarket the
other day and I have to admit, it was almost as if we were exchanging war
stories. I think that happens often when two or more caregivers get together.
Taking care of someone with dementia or Alzheimer’s changes the life of the
patient, and it changes the lives of the people who love them and take care of
their daily needs. Incontinence, food texture, hygiene, and patience are all battles
waged on a daily basis and fill conversations. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It is never easy to watch a person engulfed in a merciless
disease. They don’t see themselves as we see them. They don’t understand their
thoughts are no longer lucid. They don’t understand their sentences are seldom
finished and if they are they don’t make sense to anyone else. They are
frustrated, impatient, and eventually angry in a way we can’t understand. They
express their emotions to the only people they can, the people who are there
for them every day. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Most of us watch the six o’clock news, maybe discuss it a
few minutes, and then go on with our lives. We take normal precautions to
insure the safety of our family. A dementia patient might remember something
from the six o’clock news days or weeks after hearing it and become stressed
about it. My friend mentioned coming home to find her husband sitting with a
pistol aimed at the front door when she walked through it. Thankfully, there
was no tragedy that day but it could easily have been a very sad day for their
family and friends. The firearm is no longer present in the home but the truth
is, it is impossible to keep the home danger free when someone has dementia or
Alzheimer’s. </div>
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Sometimes I want my mother to be the woman with the hearty
laughter again. I have moments when I feel like I am losing myself to the
stream of cleaning, medicating, researching, and worrying. Those are the
moments when I want to hug my mother tightly, look her directly in the eye, and
beg her to please not forget about me, or her grandchildren, or the little dog
who so faithfully watches over her day and night. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I write about this journey I am taking with my mother to
ease the stress and ache in my heart. I know her voice will go silent someday and
she is barely walking now. She asks how many people are working here and often looks
at me as I enter the room and announces to the air, “There’s my mother. I knew
she would be back.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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I sit and write down my self-perceived mistakes just to pass
the time. I go over them like I check and recheck my store list to make sure I
haven’t forgotten anything. I try to remember when this carousel ride began and
for the life of me, I cannot pinpoint the descent into this dark tunnel. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Until recently, my mother recited the names of her brother
and her sisters nearly every day. I think she was determined not to forget
them, not to let them die along with her other memories. She has become quieter and quieter over the
last few weeks and even when I should be sleeping I can’t get my mind to shut
off and allow me to rest. I cherish the moments when she has some clarity and calls
me by name. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I often feel guilty about the time I cannot give to my adult
children, my neighbors, and my own dreams and desires. I fret about not being
able to keep up my appearance the way I once did and I still struggle to keep
my home immaculate. Taking care of someone else is physically and mentally
draining at times but I remind myself over and over again that my mother can’t
help losing her memory, her thoughts, or her youth. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then I cross paths with someone dealing with far more than I
am and it humbles me. The friend I talked to in the supermarket is dealing with
her husband and his late stage Alzheimer’s. She is also bearing the pain of
knowing her young granddaughter is fighting a battle with cancer. Her son is
going through problems in his personal life. I know she wishes she had more
time to devote to them but she must take care of her husband first. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As we walked away in separate directions the other day I
promised to keep her and her family in my prayers and asked her to keep my
family in her prayers. God brings us comfort in times and ways we aren't expecting. <o:p></o:p></div>
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© Dianna Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-41459799723788473422015-02-08T21:11:00.001-05:002015-02-08T21:11:53.198-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8sfoTLla_B2Qq-ZYnTLDyq3sQFisd__g6nyX0PqtPNSsBnXohgKLLx6YSk2hPDx-aodE3XFoJNHH3jA8Zw3JAY4DW-vrCwzGlx9Vd-m4YhyvM3_X0MhTCQptXclMX3CRdvCADEA24NqQJ/s1600/HauntedMelody_Dianna_jm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8sfoTLla_B2Qq-ZYnTLDyq3sQFisd__g6nyX0PqtPNSsBnXohgKLLx6YSk2hPDx-aodE3XFoJNHH3jA8Zw3JAY4DW-vrCwzGlx9Vd-m4YhyvM3_X0MhTCQptXclMX3CRdvCADEA24NqQJ/s1600/HauntedMelody_Dianna_jm.jpg" height="320" width="316" /></a></div>
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<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
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<i><b>Another
Sunday Evening<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><b>Another
Sunday is winding down,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>Sunlight has
faded and the sky is dark,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>The
mountains are silently listening,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>Church bells
ring and stray dogs bark.<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><b>I’m looking
forward to warmer days,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>Sitting
beneath the moon on a summer night,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>Days pass
and seem to blend together,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>I dread the
darkness and reach for the light.<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><b>Tomorrow
I’ll walk into the morning,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>A list of
things to do on my mind,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i><b>Giving
thanks for the rain and snow,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>And whatever
blessings I might find.<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><b>I’ve walked
through this house of mine,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>A thousand
times before,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>All hours of
the day and night,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>I used to
want so much more.<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><b>Now I sit at
the window and look for stars,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>Never
imagined I would be this old,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>The
adventures I’ve had and memories made,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i><b>Are much too
precious to ever be told.<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><b>Another
Sunday is winding down,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i><b>I know how
lucky I am these days,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i><b>To know the
love of friends and my family,<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i><b>I’ve been
blessed in so many ways.<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i><b>© Dianna
Doles Petry</b><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>2/8/2015</i><o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-41519627377430124032015-01-25T23:23:00.000-05:002015-01-25T23:23:15.190-05:00If You Can't Beat Them, Join Them!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-JbvmEs-nltodP_0ip74kBalthNYTZ4Oy1uO5V7oFcwbVAWbOujXy54ywXhQCajO_EFDNRL_9d4vxnYikjNNMOcmUzc1_WiH2znGydw7qlcD3w3EoTo8shbARAWZxxNYoICL4AdVJ1xBO/s1600/IMAG3814_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-JbvmEs-nltodP_0ip74kBalthNYTZ4Oy1uO5V7oFcwbVAWbOujXy54ywXhQCajO_EFDNRL_9d4vxnYikjNNMOcmUzc1_WiH2znGydw7qlcD3w3EoTo8shbARAWZxxNYoICL4AdVJ1xBO/s1600/IMAG3814_1.jpg" height="320" width="215" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>If You Can’t Beat Them, Join Them!</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Have you heard the old saying, “If you can’t beat them, join
them?” I have come to the conclusion this is the path I need to take with my
ninety-two year old mother. Instead of trying to be logical with her I have to
love her and care for her just the way she is and trust me, logic has not been
a part of her life for a long time now. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This might sound easy but it isn't. You always think of your
parents as being strong and healthy. They are the ones who protect you when you
are too young to protect yourself. They teach you more than any school teacher
ever could and they have high expectations for you no matter what the rest of
the world thinks of you. When the day comes for you to realize you are a
helpful stranger to them it nearly breaks your heart.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Earlier today I was trying to reason with my mother who was
determined she was going to put on her shoes and go visit her mother. She was
fretting because she hasn't seen her mother for a long time and “She’ll be
worried about me now. I’m going home.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I tried to tell her the weather is terrible, the vehicle is
not running, and she could get sick going outside in the cold wet weather. She
didn't care about any of that. Finally, I asked my mother where grandmother
lives now. She said, “You know, up there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Up where?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Up the road in that other house. “ She spoke to me with a
blank expression on her face as if I should know this already.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I responded, “Grandmother is not home. She had a doctor’s
appointment and was going to the supermarket after she got of the doctor’s
office.” Telling her grandmother has been deceased for the last thirty-one
years would only upset her. She would cry and feel the pain of losing
grandmother all over again and it would serve no purpose so I went along with
her belief in going to visit her mother. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday she didn't want to go the restroom even when it
was obvious she needed to go. She insisted she had just been in there and was
ready to physically battle anyone who attempted to help her up or clean her up.
Those are the moments that make it hard to go along with her and it bothers me
to force her to do what has to be done but I can’t leave her lying there
soiled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My friend often helps me with my mother and she was here.
She hadn't seen that side of my mother before. I leaned over my mother, placed
my arm under her armpit and raised her to her feet. At that point she looked at
me and said, “I’m going to the bathroom. You don’t need to go.” Then she looked
at my friend and said, “You can go with me.” The ladies walked off into the
bathroom reminding me of a cowboy riding off into the sunset. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes it is not easy to love someone with dementia but
you can’t forget who they were long before they were forgetful and angry. You
have to remember the laughs, the times they encouraged and supported you, and
the times they dried your tears. I have learned I have to love the woman my mother
is now and leave the woman she once buried in my memories. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Those times when I reach for my mother’s hand and she pushes
me away, I have to remember I am no longer the daughter she remembers for her
daughter is still a young woman. In her eyes I am the older helpful stranger
and when she doesn't like something I say or do she reminds me, “I know my daughter
is paying you well to be here with me. I’m going to tell her how you've acted
today! She’ll fire your ass!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She needs my love, my care, and my patience, and I must
admit; I need the laughs she brings me that many others might not understand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
© Dianna Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-87946078986340466172015-01-22T23:31:00.002-05:002015-01-22T23:31:47.204-05:00If You Were<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTLXH_rsXF_AExDezI23KSMPFyWARHI5XrxK4zUYENXK1EUmHG1nOlC-6iOC2JxFYBNnL1aZkq_JQILrBqGiT0kaU-gSkJRSt4jP7bazs4VZ3efodk06s555-KLpWv57wZ_yBE3_Lzr9bu/s1600/Heavenly_Dianna_jm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTLXH_rsXF_AExDezI23KSMPFyWARHI5XrxK4zUYENXK1EUmHG1nOlC-6iOC2JxFYBNnL1aZkq_JQILrBqGiT0kaU-gSkJRSt4jP7bazs4VZ3efodk06s555-KLpWv57wZ_yBE3_Lzr9bu/s1600/Heavenly_Dianna_jm.jpg" height="316" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>If You Were<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>If you were
a scent,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>You would be
the sweet, sweet aroma,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>I think of
when I think of Heaven.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>If you were
the light,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>You would
shine through darkened skies,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>Chase away
the rain and the thunder.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>If you were
the moon,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>Casting
light upon the water,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>I would
count stars every night.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>If you were
music,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>You would
play to the beat of my soul,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>Never to be
heard by a human ear.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>I’m standing
on the edge of a dream,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>Where I can
hear you whisper to me,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>You seem so
happy and so strong,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>You walked
hand in hand with me all along.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>If you were
a scent,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>You would
float upon a breeze,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>But you’re
laughing with the angels in Heaven.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>© Dianna
Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i>1/22/2015</i><o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-27268015295491403052015-01-21T19:56:00.002-05:002015-01-21T20:01:39.154-05:00ConfusionI have allowed my blog to rest unattended over the last few months but that is going to change. I am going to keep it active and will start with this post. I hope you enjoy it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGGvfnlakb8XROk6-_PxU7ISmyHYZ4sQo80FY2tQkG82baMihYRR2Pb1SYVUtKqb9tBarQFrPvBux-tBq8qBzvjnLGJd7vWB60vFVngxysm20px79ly3c1TKvDDcuS-b65-OOvf8fvDgJ/s1600/IMAG3879_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGGvfnlakb8XROk6-_PxU7ISmyHYZ4sQo80FY2tQkG82baMihYRR2Pb1SYVUtKqb9tBarQFrPvBux-tBq8qBzvjnLGJd7vWB60vFVngxysm20px79ly3c1TKvDDcuS-b65-OOvf8fvDgJ/s1600/IMAG3879_1.jpg" height="320" width="236" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Confusion<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>She’s getting up when the sun goes
down,<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Her days and nights all turned
around,<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>She talks about people only she can
see,<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Her mind stays lost in a fog of
history.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Years ago she dyed her hair black,<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Trying to get a youthful appearance
back,<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>I wonder if she ever tried taillight
red,<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Or if she thought about the days
ahead.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>She’s fading fast like the spots on her
eyes,<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Her speech doesn't make sense but she still
tries,<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>The cold fingers of January reach into her
heart,<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Little by little her memories are torn
apart.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Like Hitchcock’s birds, her thoughts fly
away,<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>She’s a bride dressed in yellow on a hot July
day,<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Paintings of moments lived out through the
ages,<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>End up as blank stares from nearly vacant
pages.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Now the sun is coming up and she’s ready to
sleep,<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>She may be laughing or she might
weep,<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Give me the strength Lord, to see this
through,<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Let me show her love and kindness in everything I
do.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>© Dianna Doles Petry</em></span><o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-65261117064622956152014-06-24T23:12:00.001-04:002014-06-24T23:12:33.589-04:00Moments of a Life
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhffmc9MR8RBwvrk4CW76pOPU1u7dgWx_6E56O28OagcNH7GcIYcWPRL2Fcrm2OJhFEGbVr7H4sUZEZwIDMJfhJw7kEGTClViHjbNEpcP4pp3_0rUvJWYynlo02Wd34vV-7Uh-TH6AHZX9o/s1600/EnchantedRose_Dianna_jm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhffmc9MR8RBwvrk4CW76pOPU1u7dgWx_6E56O28OagcNH7GcIYcWPRL2Fcrm2OJhFEGbVr7H4sUZEZwIDMJfhJw7kEGTClViHjbNEpcP4pp3_0rUvJWYynlo02Wd34vV-7Uh-TH6AHZX9o/s1600/EnchantedRose_Dianna_jm.jpg" height="320" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
This is a writing I penned in 2009 but want to share tonight. I think you will be able to relate to it.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Moments of a Life<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This year got off to a rough start and the road has
continued to be a bumpy one. I celebrated my birthday on the second day of the
year and in the days after I had to acknowledge that I have lived for half a
century now. A lot of learning has taken place in those fifty years and every
step I took along the way has molded the woman I have become. Some call it life
experience, some call it childhood, and some call it “training” a human being
to be an adult. I've been thinking about a few of those life lessons today. I
do this every time I hear of a death that touches my life in some way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our parents, our grandparents, our guardians, even our
extended family has a hand in helping to teach us what is expected from us as
we grow and become adults. In my childhood home manners were not an option,
they were expected. We were taught to say “Please” and “Thank You” from the
very first day we came home after our birth. We were taught by example; our
parents used manners and we did too because it came right along with learning
to talk. They wanted us to think of others and as my mother always told us,
“Teaching starts in the home.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We learned to say “Good morning” and “Good night” without
realizing it was a way for our parents to keep track of us and either know that
we were in a room with them or that it was safe for them to talk about adult
subjects because we had gone to bed for the night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some of our hardest lessons came in the form of dealing with
sibling rivalry and aggression. There were moments when my brother and I would
have been fist fighting in the blink of an eye if we could have gotten away
with it. One roll of the eyes could give either one of us that familiar
sensation that this had happened before, in fact, maybe it was happening all
the time. “MOM! He’s looking at me funny again!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My mother’s solution to the problem was to make both of us
sit down on opposite ends of the room until we could act like a brother and
sister “should act.” We didn't know how to do that at the time, but by having
to be perfectly quiet and sit still without moving we learned to pick and
choose our battles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Transitions in life teach us to always strive for more, to
always improve ourselves, to strive for personal growth. We learn social skills
and empathy. We seek wisdom and we reek of responsibility. The lessons are even
deeper for a female because as she ages she is expected to become a caretaker
to everyone she loves and cares about. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the same respect, we learned about grief and how families
mourn for loved ones who have passed from this life. When I was a young child,
“wakes” or “viewings” were held in the family home of the deceased. Friends and
relatives came to view the body and often carried in a pie, a can of coffee, or
even a casserole dish for the family to serve to anyone in the house as needed.
Many stories were told about the life of the departed and while the immediate
family was grieving, very often laughter would be heard as people who had not
seen each other in a very long time reconnected. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">These wakes did not end at any particular time of the
evening. It was not unusual for people to actually fall asleep in chairs set up
throughout the house. A couple of relatives, usually a father and uncle, or
sometimes brothers, stayed awake all night in the room where the viewing took
place. Through the years, many stories evolved from the wakes and most of the
stories were so funny you could not help but laugh. I learned not to fear death
and from an early age I understood that we are all going to pass from this life
at some point in time, we just never know when.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The hardest part of losing a loved one is the private soul
searching we do as we wade through every memory, every event, and every
decision we have made during life. Conflicts and disagreements swirl in our mind
as if they are dancing with our soul. We tend to replay difficult conversations
as if they were filmed for public viewing. We allow our minds to roam to the
negative moments in the life we shared with someone else and we swim in a sea
of regret. We fail to understand that every spat we had, every fear we felt,
every laugh we shared and every kindness we offered were the moments of a life
that helped us to form a bond, to share a connection, to be complete human
beings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There will never be a world or a relationship that is
totally free of all problems. Parents do not always agree with their children.
Siblings often battle between themselves and those battles often produce
achievers in our society. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We all need to be a bit more kind if we can but not to the
point of becoming a doormat. We can be more open-minded but not follow anyone
along blindly like rats following the Pied Piper. We can become more accepting
of one another and most of all, we can show gratitude for the time we were
blessed to have someone in our life. Grieving is a moment in a life that is
unavoidable but as long as we are alive we can keep the memory of our loved one
alive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Moments of a life: birth, reaching, grasping, desiring,
achieving, setting goals, falling, loving, hating, playfulness, sulking,
humility, creativity, passion, denial, adventure, acceptance, and finally, the
natural end to life; death. It is not that final moment when we die that is
most important, instead, it is all of the moments of a life that lead to that
point. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tonight as I gaze into the sky, I will appreciate the fact
that I am a very small piece of a puzzle in the grand scheme of things. I will
experience many moments in this life including new life and the loss of other
lives. I am blessed, however, to be a part of the magic that surrounds me. Just
this once, I will pause long enough to feel my heart beat. I will stand and say
a few words to the people I miss so much and tomorrow I will live my life in
the fullest way I possibly can. I know they would want that for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">© Dianna Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-73634963176130617402014-06-23T23:13:00.001-04:002015-01-22T23:37:15.572-05:00Rusted<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfEtH6bcc4otcjvbMjVGiLPFNISvhn-KOJGE4dTgFOzkxxSOHDU-z3quljx0Mo8vO_ZVmgwERSgMNtGbRLGPy0D4abgaD9htuaj8PnhT_A2yIDWMR_1Jiu3n70ROOXA83b5U-iF42i4Mx/s1600/lonely-man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfEtH6bcc4otcjvbMjVGiLPFNISvhn-KOJGE4dTgFOzkxxSOHDU-z3quljx0Mo8vO_ZVmgwERSgMNtGbRLGPy0D4abgaD9htuaj8PnhT_A2yIDWMR_1Jiu3n70ROOXA83b5U-iF42i4Mx/s1600/lonely-man.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I am sharing this poem written by my son, Chris, because so many women think men don't feel the pain and sorrow of lost love. Let me tell you, women hold far more power over a man than they might realize. It is only a man's world when he is happy and motivated to strive to make it a better world for the people he loves. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Rusted<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Rusty hearts, they can’t beat</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Dried up dust, is all they bleed</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
You thought I had a smile, but it’s just a crack
in my skin<o:p></o:p></div>
Thought you were happy when we were two, now I’m
back to one again<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<o:p> </o:p>I’m just a wound</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Peel back my scab and tear it loose<o:p></o:p></div>
Take the neck of my love to a tree<br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
And tie the noose<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Kick the ground from beneath me and watch me fall</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Push me off the hill and I’ll tumble like a ball</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Take my eyes; I don’t want them so much anymore</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Don’t want to see some beauty when it’s ugly in
the core<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Rusty lungs, they can’t breath</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Dried up dust, is all they need</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
You thought I had a hope, but it’s just a crack in
my skin</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Thought you were the one when we were two, now I’m
back to one again<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
I can’t take the thought</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
I fear I’ll feel that way again</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Every time I say it’s my last time</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
In the flame called love, I’ll jump again and
again<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
I’m just an accident</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
A train off the broken track</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
A bad car wreck with one survivor</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
And a sadly shattered back<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
I’m rusty again</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Learning to live</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
It’s not been long</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
I’m rusted again</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
A rusty chain, pulled apart by its ends</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Rusted, rusted again</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
© Chris Petry 2014<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-41033988891567078422014-06-23T22:57:00.001-04:002014-06-23T22:57:56.048-04:00Aging Ungracefully
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHq6R8gbkjVKMf1WXeVlEI6zwt2Pyr6wubwH2AzmMjdVTYGuAQZVEfQBZRLEUFS-EcgNrwuCapikNPW0zFgS5d8NyGx48fTJfW1gf3UXWFtXeizOZC0SLTUPU0wHD6AhPVTeMZ3OqK4IiD/s1600/IMG_291713324971477_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHq6R8gbkjVKMf1WXeVlEI6zwt2Pyr6wubwH2AzmMjdVTYGuAQZVEfQBZRLEUFS-EcgNrwuCapikNPW0zFgS5d8NyGx48fTJfW1gf3UXWFtXeizOZC0SLTUPU0wHD6AhPVTeMZ3OqK4IiD/s1600/IMG_291713324971477_1.jpg" height="176" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Life hasn’t been the same
for her,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For many long years,<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Her once contagious
laughter,<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now dances with her fears.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Seems like the days drag
along,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">While the years keep rushing
by,<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I hold her hand and brush
her hair,<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sit alone when I need to
cry.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t how she fights to
live,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or what she dreams of when
she sleeps,<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not sure if she enjoys the
warmth of the sun,<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I just know she’s not mine
to keep.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My little gray haired
mother,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Still beautiful by the light
of the moon,<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Time with her is always well
spent,<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Youth escapes all of us too
soon!<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">© Dianna Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-38467860681020637632013-05-07T23:21:00.001-04:002013-05-07T23:21:19.937-04:00Celebrating Motherhood #3<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Ork1M5PtVek8h86dg25_Bozu9NWL4Cv_Q_fMmocS9RgIvg1HAiGgqDUxfJzwOty7DuLXqdgp3ykIaY0gaBlJkYaSn1fgkoRac19DwakA7ivWwOf8D0lpSE7y_TkPqX-lVB9CEoweYSJ4/s1600/chriscowboy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Ork1M5PtVek8h86dg25_Bozu9NWL4Cv_Q_fMmocS9RgIvg1HAiGgqDUxfJzwOty7DuLXqdgp3ykIaY0gaBlJkYaSn1fgkoRac19DwakA7ivWwOf8D0lpSE7y_TkPqX-lVB9CEoweYSJ4/s320/chriscowboy.jpg" width="171" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Celebrating Motherhood #3<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wanted everything to be perfect,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the house where you were born,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Placed your bassinet by a window,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So you would feel the sun each morn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I watched you grow into a young boy,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Soaring high on your swing set,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Climbing trees to save a baby bird,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Your imagination is growing yet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One day you were Batman,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next a cowboy head to toe,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I thought you’d be young forever,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Where did all the good times go?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m sure I seemed old-fashioned,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And how I loved to tease each guest,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I hope I wasn’t too embarrassing,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I tried so hard to give my best.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I still love to hear your cheerful voice,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love to hear you when you sing,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Each moment with you is a memory I keep,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We don’t know what tomorrow may bring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My child I loved to stroked your hair,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tried to ease your worried brow,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If I could go back and hold you close again,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I would do it here and now. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">© Dianna Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-32934990564144129962013-05-07T23:17:00.001-04:002013-05-07T23:18:29.606-04:00Celebrating Motherhood #2<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNZUiskNZw2qA37P0Nl8i1EOLzBMYumTKNpkowD2w28B3B_vgRDEYsk4nPlXJjVc137aQcIgwsqXDZt4_F06dSXqwr237CzCktiXp5nDRNn24-8FH4TVAfn6oj14dFGp7aku-GXEICW2LW/s1600/memomcarnival.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNZUiskNZw2qA37P0Nl8i1EOLzBMYumTKNpkowD2w28B3B_vgRDEYsk4nPlXJjVc137aQcIgwsqXDZt4_F06dSXqwr237CzCktiXp5nDRNn24-8FH4TVAfn6oj14dFGp7aku-GXEICW2LW/s320/memomcarnival.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Celebrating Motherhood #2</strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Often, when
I close my eyes at night,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My thoughts
drift off to a beautiful sight,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I was a
child in my mother’s care,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I sat
quietly as she brushed my hair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I learned to
pray; “Now I lay me down to sleep,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I pray the
Lord my soul to keep.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was
unaware of the events in her years,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or how often
I brought my mother to tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I didn’t see
flaws, I loved her embrace,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was always
pleased to see her smiling face,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She lives in
her own little world these days,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve become
her mother in many ways.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She asks for
her own mother in her ninetieth year,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I feel on my
cheek the hot sting of a tear,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wipe it
away without a care,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I bend to
brush back her now silver hair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Her
heartaches were many, her blessings were few,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now her
voice falters when talking to you,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To me she’s
the woman with arms holding me tight,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Rocking me
to sleep at the end of the night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">© Dianna
Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-48102169558827675182013-05-07T23:14:00.002-04:002013-05-07T23:14:28.221-04:00Celebrating Motherhood #1<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcpShfVE1Z4Rw9IpqQ8mthZGTgCMWXwZoH4yWXzXXwZdAmENIf3RsfEuyuyqR8LQ113vrKDe8OaDQHQtRkqORCY3RtshLAWsdQKwBdPIhr5X6es-hsn14AvU16mZjiAMcGt2RpHYa3e_de/s1600/1983.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcpShfVE1Z4Rw9IpqQ8mthZGTgCMWXwZoH4yWXzXXwZdAmENIf3RsfEuyuyqR8LQ113vrKDe8OaDQHQtRkqORCY3RtshLAWsdQKwBdPIhr5X6es-hsn14AvU16mZjiAMcGt2RpHYa3e_de/s320/1983.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Celebrating Motherhood #1<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Neglected
now is the little tricycle,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Little toy
soldiers buried in disarray,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Long
forgotten are the story books,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dust gathers
instead of children today. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Many times I
prayed by night,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To keep you
healthy day by day,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I mopped floors
while you slept,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until the
day you moved away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Neglected
now are the little ribbons,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dolls and
teapots meant to teach,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Long
forgotten is the swing set,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Daily hugs
well out of my reach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Many times I
would kiss you,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Look at you
and gently sigh,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Exhausted
and sometimes struggling,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yet content
and knew just why.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Neglected
now are the movies,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">All the
music you danced to then,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">How I would
love to hold you close,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And brush
your unruly hair again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">© Dianna
Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-8637470699526038242013-04-12T15:06:00.001-04:002013-04-12T15:06:29.754-04:00<br />
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-d7fouVBwnD-1oKFJD7vbE52LSnYLHeV-EHASLgDvnontXPLtFfG8KkefVmYNRxRfpVASYN8uRklMSHL6aouWI3Y6z4g7tG7PsJmmaXT9coyavtsaRkjK01YE4GdHiusaBATka7z_78_/s1600/002D-0015-front-main-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-d7fouVBwnD-1oKFJD7vbE52LSnYLHeV-EHASLgDvnontXPLtFfG8KkefVmYNRxRfpVASYN8uRklMSHL6aouWI3Y6z4g7tG7PsJmmaXT9coyavtsaRkjK01YE4GdHiusaBATka7z_78_/s1600/002D-0015-front-main-6.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<b>Precious Peaceful Moments<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
Relaxed as a
baby in her mother’s arms,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
I close my
eyes,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
Kick off my
shoes,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
And hum a
few lullabies. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
Sprawled in
my wooden swing,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
Away from
the chores and routine,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
I can sit
and ponder life at leisure,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
Slowing the
pace of this well-worn machine. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
Feeling the
still cool earth against my feet,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
I think
about feeding songbirds,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
Happy
moments long gone,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
Like my
father’s soothing words.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
Music
lingers in with a breeze,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
Quickly
chasing away my forming tears,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
The hum of a
lawnmower in the distance,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
Is a
reminder of the passing years.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
Wasn’t it
only yesterday,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
I plucked
flowers and played games?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
My life was
filled so many people then,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
I couldn’t
possibly remember all the names.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
I breathe
deeply and relax again,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
While I
convince myself I am not old,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
I can still
dazzle and create joy,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
Still offer
shelter when the night is cold.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
There are
never enough of these moments,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
Never enough
time to find what we seek,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
I keep my
eyes closed for a while,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
Content to
swing without taking a peek.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
© Dianna
Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-34218622083588994922013-04-12T15:02:00.001-04:002013-04-12T15:02:08.530-04:00<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Dbm-os3Ue7N13aI_1TU3kBmE9D7aXrWpSUT626qdbvdRBKZwXfUIxW3FuFug0HHOuErUqzgnDCg3RyjTccz80SjXH9_UJ3gBY7VgAwktSavQjXXve_0dunTPnCTr4cmYrTFNR021aGbD/s1600/closet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Dbm-os3Ue7N13aI_1TU3kBmE9D7aXrWpSUT626qdbvdRBKZwXfUIxW3FuFug0HHOuErUqzgnDCg3RyjTccz80SjXH9_UJ3gBY7VgAwktSavQjXXve_0dunTPnCTr4cmYrTFNR021aGbD/s1600/closet.jpg" height="320" width="230" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Spring Cleaning and Snack Breaks</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the last few weeks I have been in spring cleaning
mode. I have opened drawers I never open
any other time to try to rid them of clutter. I go through my closets in an
attempt to get rid of clothes I no longer wear and clothes my ample assets can no
longer be stuffed into without my body taking on the appearance of a stuffed
sausage roll. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is a much more difficult task than you might think. I
have a sweatshirt with an ironed on photo of my Goddaughter when she was two
years old. That was the year her mother gave me the shirt. She is seventeen
years-old now and the shirt is stained, faded, and has a couple of small holes
but I cannot possibly part with it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am the owner of one of the ugliest sweaters I have ever
seen in my life and I would not be caught dead wearing it but it has a designer
label and I know the friend who gifted me with this paid a good deal of money
for it. The sweater reminds me of her zest for living with its vibrant colors
and strange patterns. I have to keep this sweater. There is really no other
choice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I own another sweater that I wear every year on January 19<sup>th</sup>.
That is the date my father passed away. I had given him the sweater on his last
Christmas. It is very large on me and I have to push the sleeves up to keep
them from swallowing my hands but I could never part with this sweater. It’s
been washing at least twenty-three times but I still think I smell Old Spice
whenever I put it on and it comforts me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I gave up storing the winter clothes in the summer and vice
versa many years ago. I leave my winter sweaters hanging right beside of my
summer blouses. I finally figured out there was no real reason for moving all
of the clothes around every season except to make more room in the closet. Extra room in the closets means I could store more boxes of memories and to be
honest, memories don’t do you much good unless you can enjoy them. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Getting much of anything done here is a real chore and
spring cleaning is no exception. I do
the cleaning at the same time I am taking care of my elderly mother. She
doesn’t remember what year she was born and she will tell you she just talked
to family members who have been deceased for the last twenty-five plus years.
She is sure I haven’t fed her since 2001 when, according to her, I gave her biscuits
and gravy that had cheese in it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She wants a peanut butter sandwich every half hour and the
other day she was in the middle of eating her dinner when she announced, “I’m
hungry. Go fix me a peanut butter sandwich.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I mentioned the owners of a local garage today and she said,
“Are they the ones that had that restaurant?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes, Mother. They still have the restaurant.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They had the best steak hoagies. I think I want one of
them.” She said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday she said, “I want to go home.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I replied, “Mother, you are at home.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, I want to go to where I’m from.” She said this with a
very serious look on her face and I had tears pooling at the corners of my
eyes. Then she added, “That woman that was from there cooked pinto beans and
cornbread and I want some of that.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No matter what I cook or how often I give her a snack my
mother always asks, “Do you have any pies? Cake? Cookies? What about Candy?” I
guess food is about the only thing she remembers now and the only thing she
really enjoys.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every now and again then though, she surprises me. Yesterday
I was lying on the couch trying to find something on television that might
entertain her. The young lady living here passed through the living room with
her infant and my mother looked up and said, “You were born in the middle of
the night and all the nurses wanted to keep you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tears again welled up in my eyes and I said, “Really mother?
You remember that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Of course I do.” She answered after a pause. “I was hungry
and they held you while I sat up to eat my breakfast! I would have let them
keep you if they would have given me some more coffee.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe someday instead of cleaning out the dust and the
closets I’ll sort through my memories and my kinds will smile. I just hope I
don’t ask for so much chocolate that I overdose myself with it! I guess food is
the last vice any of us have if we survive into old age and our jobs are gone,
our children have left the nest, our friends are as old as we are, and material
objects just don’t bring us any joy anymore. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shoot, I guess I should go ahead and clean out that stash of
leftover Halloween candy right now while I’m thinking about it……<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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© Dianna Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-3730821101071955462013-03-29T13:39:00.001-04:002013-03-29T13:39:49.029-04:00Blood on Metal: Where I Talk About Horror, Heavy Metal, Pop Culture, Art, and A Bunch of Other Stuff: Unique Singers<a href="http://bloodonmetal.blogspot.com/2013/03/oddest-vocalists.html?spref=bl">Blood on Metal: Where I Talk About Horror, Heavy Metal, Pop Culture, Art, and A Bunch of Other Stuff: Unique Singers</a>: Usually when discussing singers I, and just about everyone else, will analyze them in accordance to vocal range, impact, and ...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-74879556577253132422013-03-27T20:14:00.001-04:002013-03-27T20:14:57.098-04:00<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" id="INCREDIMAINTABLE" style="width: 100%px;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Never Ending Thoughts<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes I blurt out my thoughts without stopping to soften my
words or make sure I am not stepping on any toes but I never intentionally plan
my words to strike with pain. I never purposely use my words in place of a sword
to spear anyone in the heart but alas, I am sure it occasionally happens.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I read a post on Facebook today that left me wondering about the
opinions we are all so eager to share at times. This particular post stated,
“Marriage is a union created for procreation. If you can't have children you
shouldn't get married.” I wonder if the person who wrote that statement has any
idea of how many infertile couples there are in the world and how many tears
have been shed because couples haven't been blessed with a child. I tried, when
my children were still under my care, to teach them about ignorance, the cruelty
one human could inflict on another, and prejudice. I wanted them to rise above
these things. How many women would know they were incapable of conceiving until
they tried to conceive, which is normally after the marriage vows have been
taken? I am not sure how this post was meant but I can assure you it caused many
women who saw it to feel unworthy and hurt. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have also had a dream on my mind all day. I dreamed it last night
and many other nights previously. I was trying to fold my mother’s wheelchair
and get it into the back of my truck but I wasn't able to lift it. No one seemed
to see me as they passed by chattering about where they were going to eat after
they left the doctor’s office or which mall they were going to visit later in
the evening. I felt nameless and faceless and when I looked at myself in the
side mirror of the truck I realized I was no longer the woman I used to be. I
have this dream many nights but the truth is I often feel like an actress
playing a role because I am not doing much of anything for myself.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Somewhere along the line, while standing in line at the pharmacy,
consulting with doctors, crying myself to sleep at times, and sometimes falling
asleep in a chair and waking up with a stiff neck, my steps have slowed and I
have started to roll out of bed and jump to active duty without so much as
running a brush through my hair. I am no longer a woman standing out in
front of the crowd and directing others. These days I am living more in the
shadows of my responsibilities. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Most of the time, if someone should ask how I feel, I respond
“Fine, thank you.” I say this even if I have only had two hours of sleep or my
joints are all throbbing like a toothache. I reply that I'm okay even if my
feelings have been hurt or I feel tired and alone. Even when I feel like crap,
mentally and physically, I say I'm fine to spare the feelings of those I care
about. But if I slip up and say, “I feel like I've been run over by a truck and
it kept backing up to run over me again,” I have made someone else feel bad
because I admitted I am not fine. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You know, it’s not easy to watch someone you love in pain every
single day. It’s not easy to be tied to the house because you're afraid no one
else can take care of them like you do. I can take Ibuprofen for the joints that
ache and the headache that threatens to make my head explode but there are no
drugs or numbing agents to help with the day to day struggles that come with
being a caretaker. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I spend my “free time” trying to run errands, making phone calls,
making sure all the prescriptions have been filled for an entire family,
preparing food, sometimes dropping off food, worrying about my pets, my
neighbors, my extended family, insurance forms, paying bills, and often
answering the same questions over and over again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe someday I'll have the time to finish all of the work I have
in progress. Maybe someday I'll stop dreaming about eroding like a sculpture in
the middle of great sand storms. Maybe someday I won't have to feel guilty when
I say, “I hurt all over,” instead of saying, “I'm fine.” For now, I'll just go
back to being thankful someone bothers to ask how I am even if they don't really
want to know. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For the record, I'm doing just fine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">©Dianna Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-72065898433049019862013-03-27T20:04:00.002-04:002013-03-27T20:04:39.435-04:00My Role as a Mother<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My Role as a Mother<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The last few weeks of my life have filled me with self-reflection
and memories. My son’s long-term girlfriend informed him she wanted to end their
relationship. She did this on Valentine’s Day right after a long romantic dinner
and gift exchange. I have no doubt that my son will eventually move past the
initial pain and trauma of this failed relationship and get on with his life. He
sometimes dreams impractical dreams but he has a desire to follow those dreams
and it keeps him motivated. I tried to see his girlfriend through his eyes but
when I heard her laugh at the idea of having a child I will admit to having to
take a deep breath and counting to ten before I said another word about
anything. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Two young women in my
extended family are going through divorces and dealing with custody issues. One
of those two young women gave birth just eight days ago. I have no doubt that
the fathers involved in the divorces both love their children. Still, there is a
bond between mother and child that no one else can build no matter how hard they
try. A mother carries her child for nine months. The child knows her scent, the
beat of her heart, and the sound of her voice by the time of the birth. Even
adopted children form a bond with their adopted mothers. No other voice or touch
ever takes the place of the one that caresses you, comforts you, and sometimes
even scolds you when you’re a child. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being a mother is not always easy. Trust me; there were many
mothering moments in my life that were definitely not “Kodak” moments. For instance, every year on Christmas Eve I
ended up at the local emergency room with my daughter. Her nerves got the best
of her as Christmas Day approached and she would begin vomiting on Christmas
Eve. I never had to worry about her catching Santa in the act as he delivered
packages. He had always been down the chimney and was gone by the time we made it back home
in the wee hours of Christmas morning. By the time she was seven years-old the
nursing staff had a small gift waiting for her when we got there.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Her father was never much help when she was
throwing up. In fact, if he came within eye sight of her vomiting, he quickly
headed for another bathroom in the house to throw up himself. I won’t even
mention the lovely shade of green he took on when the scent of a freshly filled
diaper hit the air anywhere within a few feet of him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One day my son was playing in the neighbor’s yard and I heard him
scream out in pain. I saw him fall to the ground and as I headed in that
direction he got to his feet, grabbed the back of his head, and started toward
me. No one really knew how but
apparently there was a large rock wedged in a tree in the neighbor’s yard. There
was a group of children playing hide-and-seek and when my son ran to touch the
tree they were using as home base, the rock fell and smashed into the back of
his head. I’m not talking about a small rock either.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I immediately grabbed a white towel, soaked it with ice cold water,
and placed it on the back of his head. Blood soaked the towel immediately and my
son looked at me and said, “Mom, am I going to
die?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Not on my watch, Son,” I said with false confidence. I ushered him to the vehicle and was headed
off to the hospital before his father was even sure of what had happened. Eighteen stitches later we returned home to
find his father sitting at the dining room table staring at the rock that had
hit my son in the head. I wanted to crush the rock with a sledge hammer. His
father wanted to take it to work and show everybody what had come out of a tree
and hit his son in the head. Men and women think on different wave lengths.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve been the one who nursed broken hearts, upset stomachs, and
helped to hide a blemish that developed the morning senior portraits were to be
done. I’ve heard doors slammed in frustration, eased self-doubts in teenagers,
and cried with my children when they were hurting either physically or
emotionally. I have given talks and lectures about the birds and the bees and
sat with tear filled eyes explaining death. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have also been the one to call my children to the mat when they
did something dumb or tried to make excuses when there were no excuses for what
they had done. I’ve helped them through selfish periods, bouts of immaturity,
temper tantrums, and vulnerability. I’ve
doled out discipline and I’ve handed out bandages, hugs, and compassion as
needed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m not saying their father didn’t love them. I’m just saying that
fathers tend to react differently to things than women do. God left the task of
motherhood to women for a reason. Women are nurturers and caretakers by nature.
Men are normally the providers and the protectors. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">All of my children, the ones I birthed and the ones I gave my heart
to by choice, have been blessings to me and each one of them have been my reason
for getting up every day and trying to make the world a better place for all of
us. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Most women bring children into this world because children give
back the love you give them without being disgusted by your flabby arms or your
ten year-old car. With a child in your life the world doesn’t seem quite so
unfriendly. I knew my role as a mother meant I had a chance to teach my children
tolerance, compassion, and how to think outside of the box. I knew I had to teach my children to make
good choices about how to make their place in the world a happy place. My own
children are adults now but I still possess my mothering
instincts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The young women I have here with me during this dark spot in their
lives are both good mothers. I see it when I watch them with their
children. I have watched this young
mother with the eight day-old infant change every diaper, prepare every bottle,
and hold the baby to her chest to comfort the infant and herself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To be needed, to have someone who needs you to hold them, to have
someone to guide through life and learn from your mistakes and teach you as they
make new mistakes is what being a parent is all about. What could I do except
welcome these young mothers into my home and my heart? I could do nothing else
because I will be a mother to the world until I take my last breath. I would
have it no other way!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">© Dianna Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-47672613195684968392012-09-06T05:27:00.000-04:002012-09-06T05:29:22.384-04:00After Labor Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It took me several minutes of digging around in my purse this
evening to find my vehicle keys so I could drive to work. Rain was steadily
falling and I was sure it would bring down some tree limbs all along the route I
drive to work each evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As much as I
had enjoyed the weekend I felt my mood turning more and more somber as the time
for me to leave the house drew closer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Normally, I look forward to going to work but this evening I would have
been content to stay home and watch the world pass me by as I looked through the
front room window. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today was Labor Day and the reality of summer coming to an end is
no longer deniable. While I will not miss the extreme heat we experienced this
summer I cannot say I’m looking forward to the long cold and barren days of
winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The beautiful flowers I’ve
cherished since late spring will soon be bitten by Jack Frost and the rebirth
and new beginning of another season in life will take charge and hold us all
hostages until it weakens and fades away. That is the way of life and just
thinking about the change of the season causes me to reflect on my life and all
the changes I’ve experienced.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The last two days have been wonderful. My son arrived home late
Friday evening and my daughter and son-in-law arrived Saturday afternoon. My
daughter and her husband had just returned from a trip to Rhode Island and they
arrived with coolers filled with lobsters, clams, and scallops. Hugs, love, and
laughter were plentiful in the house on Saturday as my daughter and my son took
over the kitchen and prepared a seafood feast. There was a time when I would
have been trying to clean water rings from beneath glasses while people were
still drinking from them and trying to keep every utensil and bowl washed as it
was being used but not this weekend. For this occasion, I stood back and enjoyed
the interaction between my son and my daughter as they worked together like two
well oiled pieces of machinery doing a job they had been designed to do. Wasn’t
it only a few years ago that I was hearing, “Mom, can you make me a sandwich?
School was a beast today and I’m starved!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My son was the first to leave the house this morning for the trip
back to Pittsburgh. He had already loaded up his two fur babies and his luggage
when he grabbed me in a bear hug and held on tightly for longer than he normally
does. He turned and headed for his car stopping one last time to look back at me
standing on the front porch before he slid behind the steering wheel. His last
wave good-bye as he drove off was not the enthusiastic wave he offered when he
was first leaving home for the big city. His wave today was born of being torn
between his new life and determination to succeed and his desire to remain my
little boy at the same time. Who said growing up was going to be all fun? Wasn’t
it just a short time ago that my young man would be filled with frustration and
in an effort to ease that frustration, pick up an ax and head off to the woods
where he would land blow after wood splintering blow to a tree until we had too
much firewood for the fire pit and he had no energy left to use for
anger?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Next to leave was my Goddaughter. How in the world did she change
so quickly from being a little tomboy with pigtails in her hair to a beautiful
sixteen year-old with plans for college? It seems like only yesterday she was
standing at the fence as she intently watched two young boys just waiting for
any possible opportunity to join them while they rode their bikes, or better
yet, have them come back into the yard to swing her around and around like an
airplane or help her climb up the ladder to the slide over and over again until
they were all exhausted? Wasn’t it just a few years ago that her lower lip was
constantly protruding in a pout and her favorite activity was running away with
grandma’s television remote so someone would have to chase her down to get
it?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The last to leave was my daughter, my first born, my first real joy
as well as my first real challenge. She was always impetuous and full of
questions, fragile with a determination forged of titanium, wore her heart on
her sleeve but defended her family with enough courage to rival any knight.
Wasn’t it just a short time ago that she was learning to drive, developing new
tastes in music, baby sitting and bringing the children home with her for lunch,
and soon after, falling in love for the first time?
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Friends and family filled my home with love and laughter all
weekend but today I had to fight an empty feeling from taking up residence in my
heart as the cars pulled out of the driveway. Walking back into the house felt a
bit like walking into a morgue; far too quiet, unsettling, the silence almost
deafening!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My life has taken many turns through the years. Most of the paths I
envisioned myself taking always seemed off course and the paths I did end up
taking I never really planned at all. Everything changes, sometimes for the
better, sometimes for the worst, but nothing stays the same forever. These days
I am working a full time job, still a care giver to my eighty-nine year old
mother, experiencing aches and pains in places I don’t even remember having, and
oddly enough, missing things I once thought of as irritating. Still, I am
blessed in many ways, still standing, and still smiling.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I miss the noise and commotion a house filled with children brings.
I miss the door slamming shut oodles of times every day. I miss the constant
stream of teenagers and even their appetites which left me in the poor house
more than a few times. Would you believe I even miss cleaning the floors at two
in the morning because that was the only time I could do it without someone
walking across them to get to the refrigerator? Well, I
do.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I miss having people always at hand to talk to, being able to share
my thoughts about a book or movie, and most of all; I miss the feeling of
accomplishing something every day just because I made them smile. I am really
thankful they have cell phones so I can keep in contact with them as often as we
need to talk to each other. I am also really thankful for the friends who still
come home to let me share their lives as their “other mom.”
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The nice thing about this time of the year is having several
holidays in a close time frame. I had better start planning the holiday menus
now. No matter where they go, what they accomplish, or who they spend their time
with, they are still my family and my family is always the most important thing
on my mind. The seasons will continue to change and we will change with them. As
long as we are here to go through those changes we can still change the path
we’re on at any time. The important thing is to never forget the way back
home!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-89665557196020553472012-03-26T21:00:00.000-04:002012-03-26T21:00:02.647-04:00Guard House Reflections<br />
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3/25/12<o:p></o:p></div>
<h2>
<b>Guard House Reflections</b></h2>
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<b>Annoying Sales Associates</b></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s Sunday night and I’m on duty. The night is quiet except
for rain drops tapping against the window panes. In the distance the red lights
of railroad crossing arms flicker and from here they are blurred into a fuzzy
red line that reminds me of the red correction marks my high school English
teacher used in class to show us what needed to be studied. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Moments earlier the train jerked forward almost violently
before slowing to start off in the opposite direction. That movement sparked
thoughts of life experiences and how quickly things can change. I guess we all
have everyday life experiences that annoy us or threaten to drive us mad if we
give in to the unexpected. <o:p></o:p></div>
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A couple of weeks ago I was talking to my son on the
telephone and during the course of the conversation he said, “Mom, sometimes I
feel like I don’t do enough for my customers but there are a few customers that
make me wish I could strangle them or hang myself.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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My son is a recent college graduate now working at Sears.
The job has nothing at all to do with his chosen field but it is an honest job
and he is meeting quite a few interesting people. He is also working with a
real estate company to film property in a favorable light for potential clients
and an insurance company doing goodness only knows what. He is frustrated that he
went to college and can’t find one good paying job that would cover his
expenses and student loans.<o:p></o:p></div>
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He mentions some of his customers as if they were neighbors
living close to him as he grew up. He frets when an elderly person has a heavy
package to carry and he is always concerned that people are standing in line
too long. He cannot understand why some people expect far more from sales
people than others do. When he voiced
his concerns to me I replied, “Son, you’re doing your best.” I meant that
sincerely because I know he really is giving his best to his job.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I confess there has been many times over the years when I’ve
stood in a store and been a totally frustrated customer because finding a sales
associate was next to impossible. In fact, finding a hen with a mouth full of
teeth would have been easier most of the time. I won’t even mention the time I
considered stripping off to stand naked with a T-bone steak tied around my neck
to get someone to help me carry a Christmas tree out of the store. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then there are the overly dedicated sales people like the
one I found in a chain outfit store this past week. I would hide myself away
from the public if I ever thought my son had turned into this type of creature.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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I walked into the store with the intention of checking the
new models of lawn mowers and as well as their pricing. I was barely into the
store when a sales person stepped in front of me and blocked my path. I’m
telling you, this guy was like a dog in heat. He could barely contain himself.
“Is there anything I can help you with today? I’m sure I can be of assistance
to you. How about if I just walk along with you and answer any questions you
might have today?” I can only assume the
man gets a commission on any sales he makes.</div>
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I’m also taking a wild guess that
he picked me out of the customers on hand as the one most likely to make a
purchase. Maybe geriatric citizens using walkers to get around can’t carry much
or maybe he is intimidated by the men with cut off t-shirts, tattoos, and
baseball caps. I’m not sure but for whatever reason I guess he thought a woman
dressed in blue jeans and worn sneakers who hadn’t had time to put on make-up
or style her hair was there to lay down some real money.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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To be honest, for a minute there he was so excited about
helping me that I looked down to make sure I didn’t have a boob hanging out or
a hundred dollar bill pinned to my ample assets. “No, thank you,” I replied to him without
looking him straight in the eye. “I’m just browsing today and I’ll be
fine. I appreciate your offer though.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I started to walk toward the lawn and garden area of the
store and once again the sales person blocked my path. In fact, he jumped in
front of me so fast and hard his feet made a thud sound when they hit the
floor. “Now just let me know if you need
anything at all.” He nearly sang this proclamation while wearing a full face
smile that was as fake as any three dollar bill. About the only thing missing
from his act was a bee-gum hat and claw hammer coat.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I stepped to the side and continued to walk toward my
destination. He walked behind me and proceeded to stand directly behind me
while I looked at lawn mowers and accessories that go with them. If I paused
for a short time to read an information pamphlet about one of the machines he
seized the opportunity to tell me how great the product is, how long it would
be on sale, and how many of that particular item was left in stock. According
to him, the store didn’t appear to have more than two of anything and would
probably be closed due to lack of inventory by early evening if the pensioners
got checks that day and showed up to buy supplies. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was beginning to feel like a jewel thief attempting to
heist diamonds at that point. I looked at the salesman and asked in a quizzical
tone, “You do realize that none of these machines would fit in my purse don’t
you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You’re a funny one, Miss.” He folded his arms across his
chest and continued.”We just want to please our customers and we offer all the
support we can to make sure each customer is satisfied.” He winked at me and
that’s when I noticed the small finishing hammer hanging from a belt loop on
his trousers. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“So you like to do carpentry work? I was just noticing your
hammer. If you are supposed to be in another area of the store I understand. I’ll
be fine here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am sure I saw dollar signs flash though the pupils of his
eyes as he winked and started to move closer to me and whisper, “We can give
some discounts on floor displays if they have dings or scratches. I’ll help you
all I can if you buy one of these displays.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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He looked up and down the aisle before using his hammer to
make a nice sized dent in the deck of the mower he had seen me looking at very
closely. He turned and winked at me
again. I’m surprised I didn’t have a hissy-fit right there in the store but I
retained my composure and headed for the exit doors so I wouldn’t do the man
bodily harm.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I didn’t buy a lawn mower but then I hadn’t planned to make
a purchase that day when I went into the store. I definitely wouldn’t have
bought one from that sales associate. I found it unnerving that he was stalking
me and trying to pressure me into making a purchase. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Sometimes I just want to go into the store and get what I
need and leave. At other times I want to walk around and take my time to get
new ideas and maybe price materials I plan to purchase in the near future. I don’t want to have someone breathing down
my back the whole time I’m in the store. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then as I was leaving the store there was another sales
person near the door. “I’m glad we could be of service to you today. Is there
anything else I can help you with?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“As a matter of fact, there is,” I exclaimed. You can help
me get our government back into the hands of the people. Make sure you vote!” I
said with the biggest smile I could muster. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That was far more lady-like for me to say than what I was
really thinking about what they could do for me!<o:p></o:p></div>
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©Dianna Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-52393894747346234042012-03-13T14:57:00.001-04:002012-03-13T14:57:34.155-04:00Guard House Thoughts 3/11/2012<br />
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<br />
Guard House Thoughts<br />
3/11/2012<br />
<br />
Here I sit in the guard house again with too much time for thinking. It is a peaceful night with a few sprinkles of rain tapping against the windows sporadically. Frogs are croaking in the distance and traffic has slowed at the evening hours travel toward the beginning of a new day.<br />
<br />
I leave a journal here in the guard house for anyone who wishes to write in it. I share many of my thoughts in this journal as well as keeping one of my own. Tonight as I read a few entries that had been written since my last shift my thoughts turned to the movie Forrest Gump. It has been several years since that movie premiered but I think nearly everyone remembers the line; “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get.”<br />
<br />
When I get a box of chocolates it has a little printed diagram on the inside of the lid to the box. By using the diagram it is possible to find your favorite candies and avoid those you haven’t tried or know you don’t like. The chocolates all sit there together in the box but they are all different. They also have no choice in who gets to eat them or if they get eaten at all. Life doesn’t come with a diagram or directions. Would it be better if it did?<br />
<br />
We don’t get to pick our family, many of our life experiences, or our DNA. From the moment we are born we operate on a sort of auto-pilot. Instinct plays a large part in every life. Some people are attracted to light hair and some prefer darker shades. Everyone has a preference when it comes to food, colors, and hobbies and either we are driven to succeed or content just to get through each day as it comes.<br />
<br />
We do get to make choices but very often they are choices made without full knowledge of what we are choosing. We can’t see the future, we don’t always know about someone else’s past, and we are all eager to find at least one little something in each day that gives us a reason to smile or have that warm and fuzzy feeling of contentment when we close our eyes at night.<br />
<br />
Basic courtesy and respect for each other seems to have vanished. We have become so intent on chasing a dollar or finding the love of a lifetime that we seem to have forgotten how to appreciate each other or respect the needs of others to have privacy or moments of emotional upheaval. Maybe we have just become blind to the obvious or maybe we all just try too hard. I think a lot of us set our standards so high that it’s impossible for anyone to meet them. I guess we all need to learn how to get past our own preconceived notions of what life SHOULD be and explore all the possibilities of life COULD be.<br />
<br />
Last evening I watched a movie I normally would not have chosen. I tend to avoid movies that will make me cry like a blubbering whale. I tend to avoid movies that make me risk wetting my pants when some hideous creature grabs an unsuspecting victim even though there was music playing that should have warned them. I tend to avoid anything that is too realistically gory or painful and I definitely avoid movies with sappy endings! Thinking about it right now, I tend to avoid movies of all types these days but that is another matter entirely.<br />
<br />
At any rate, this movie, “The Way,” did not have a single love scene or high speed car chase. There was no profanity and no sexy leading man to make my heart throb with thoughts I will not share here. Martin Sheen played the lead role of Tom, a father who loses his only son in a tragic accident in France. When he goes to identify the remains and bring the body back home he changes his mind and decides instead to complete a pilgrimage his adult son had started.<br />
<br />
This journey changes Tom’s life and the way he has viewed life up to that point. One of the last things his son had said to him before leaving on his trip was, “You don’t choose a life, you live one.” By the end of the pilgrimage, Tom knew his son had been right all along. It is a strange twist in life that when something we love is taken from us we really start to appreciate what we have always had but failed to see.<br />
I have often dreamed of taking a cross country trip to explore different places and experience new things. I enjoy meeting new people and learning how other people live and no one would know anything about me or the life I’ve lived that has made me who I am today. I would be just another tourist checking out the sites and striking up conversations.<br />
<br />
The truth is; I could start expanding my world right here. I could ignore the little diagrams in the box of chocolates and just sample all the pieces instead of sticking with the tried and true. If I wasn’t so sure of what I like I might find a delightful new flavor. I could open my eyes and my heart to the people around me and be more receptive if I could let my armor down just a little bit.<br />
<br />
There are at least three employees here who have lost a child to death. That is a blow you never fully get over and yet you have no choice but to continue living. As the song goes, whatever you survive only makes you stronger. Sometimes it is just not easy to comprehend that others feel the same pain you feel or experience the same events you experience. Just knowing there are other people like you does not make your own feelings any less intense.<br />
<br />
I’m positive the people I work with have all experienced a vast array of life changes and emotional highs and lows. Love and heartbreak, profound joy and soul shattering sadness, knowing the peak of health and fitness and the decline of the body and capability, success and failure, all dance with each one of us at some point. We are like those pieces of candy in a box. We are all gathered here together but we’re all different.<br />
Why don’t we just try to be polite and kind to each other because we all have different mountains to climb? Why don’t we start to accept ourselves for what we are and let go of those ideas about what would make someone else a better person?<br />
<br />
There is no such thing as perfection,<br />
We’re all human, we all have flaws,<br />
Instead of fighting a useless battle,<br />
We could stand together for a cause.<br />
<br />
I once thought I needed to be blonde,<br />
Younger, richer, thinner, I never felt quite right,<br />
Then I heard a whisper; I mattered to someone,<br />
I felt beautiful and desired that night.<br />
<br />
Now I’ve got some age behind me,<br />
But I can still give and receive love,<br />
I know I can make a difference,<br />
For each day of life I thank God above.<br />
<br />
<br />
I think I’ll find the movie Forrest Gump and watch it again soon. Forrest was a person born to this world with little hope of becoming a success but he saw simple pleasures and truths most people overlook. He also overlooked a lot of things most people see. My life is forever changing and maybe it really is like a box of chocolates after all.<br />
<br />
© Dianna Doles Petry<br />
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-34575638275188651192012-01-16T15:05:00.000-05:002012-01-16T15:05:06.545-05:00Letter for my Father<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><i><span style="line-height: 115%;">Letter for my Father<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">The hours were painful and long,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">Sitting at the side of your bed,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">Reliving years of memories,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">Leaving nothing left unsaid.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">Your once strong hands feeble,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">I was afraid to touch,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">So I whispered softly in your ear,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">Dad, I love you very much!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">I hope you felt my love.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">How lucky I was to be your daughter!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">You made me strong and proud,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">I was blessed to have you as my
father.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">I can’t forget the twinkle in your
eyes,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">I talk to you through my tears,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">Guess I’ve never really said goodbye,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">Even after twenty-three years.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">The hours were painful and long,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">The days since even longer still,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">I miss you from the bottom of my
heart,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">I know I always will.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">©</span></i><i><span style="line-height: 115%;"> Dianna Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 115%;">1/16/2012<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-83774303108484279552011-12-28T01:20:00.001-05:002011-12-28T01:20:24.626-05:00<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiznBzdo8gJ9jzmFpFdm_PheCy9X79YO_YtUIZiFujxLEbWmWPvicyRz0eX45er95z60q3u31CNBuJCbHlkRCb99ohwHNUaeCqRdi7aK_i8iuMYG2We-bW2ZM-M1SphoUYzzt6lnFdLjbpq/s1600/New%252BYear%252BPictures%252B%2525252822%25252529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiznBzdo8gJ9jzmFpFdm_PheCy9X79YO_YtUIZiFujxLEbWmWPvicyRz0eX45er95z60q3u31CNBuJCbHlkRCb99ohwHNUaeCqRdi7aK_i8iuMYG2We-bW2ZM-M1SphoUYzzt6lnFdLjbpq/s320/New%252BYear%252BPictures%252B%2525252822%25252529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">After Christmas...</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">A few decorations still adorn the house,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Ornaments swatted as if each was a mouse,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Needles from the tree all over the floor,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Just cleaning this mess will leave my body sore.</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Leftover cookies, eggnog, and cake,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">I give them to friends for my own sake,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">For my ample assets have expanded enough,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Finding jeans to fit me could become quite tough.</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">I hate the silence; the music no longer plays,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">My family has all gone their separate ways,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">They left me with memories I'll forever keep,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Along with gifts; none of them cheap.</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">The anticipation of that one day,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Leaves me blue when it goes away,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">For after Christmas the cheer is not here,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">I long for that feeling all through the year.</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">I hope they didn't see my eyes fill with tears,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">As I relived memories from many other years,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">When ribbons and bows flew through the air,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">When everyone I loved was gathered there.</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">The day after Christmas is over for me,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Bright red hearts line shelves for lovers to see,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Valentine's Day will soon come and go,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">I wonder if we'll have any fresh fallen snow.</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">A few decorations still adorn my house,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">The rooms are so silent I could hear a mouse,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">I close my eyes to hear their voices once more,</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Blessed to have such love on Christmas and forever more.</span></i></b></div>
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© Dianna Doles Petry<br />
12/26/2011</span></i></b></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-24163559026457245202011-11-23T22:42:00.001-05:002011-11-23T22:43:36.659-05:00I am Thankful For...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2AGuNpndZP5hoqfMmt4-H2sbGOAwY7CLBVGu8j7sFrE_RFt9ZruCJlzepDYM91XaYgTgWKUFOUmpTGbsqShCK15OIta6oiWKCYW-cqPQvG3BvcGrBQAvdYbTPaUb6f4Rx-jACAi_cp3e6/s1600/thanksgving2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2AGuNpndZP5hoqfMmt4-H2sbGOAwY7CLBVGu8j7sFrE_RFt9ZruCJlzepDYM91XaYgTgWKUFOUmpTGbsqShCK15OIta6oiWKCYW-cqPQvG3BvcGrBQAvdYbTPaUb6f4Rx-jACAi_cp3e6/s320/thanksgving2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">As we approach the annual Thanksgiving holiday here in America most of us
have many reasons to be thankful. The country is experiencing a very depressed
economy and the holidays are not very appealing to most of us because we are
either feeling the pinch ourselves or know someone close to us who is barely
surviving. Still, just being here to face the struggle is a blessing to me. I
asked a few of my closest friends to put together a list of things they are
grateful for this year. Here is my own list. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;">
I am thankful for my family and for my own fairly good health. I have a few
medical issues but at the moment none of them are life threatening and I have
the strength to care for others in my family less fortunate than myself. In my
younger years I would never have understood what a blessing it is to be able to
take care of others but now it is the fuel that keeps my body moving and my
heart forever filled with contentment. I am thankful to have my mother still
here with us against all odds. She will celebrate her 89th birthday on the 26th,
God willing. <br />
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I am thankful to be gainfully employed at a reputable company. We all have
gripes and concerns with our employment but just to have a job in these trying
times is a huge blessing. I cannot say that I am always able to pay every bill
the moment it arrives but I am able to rest peacefully knowing there is food in
the house and the utilities have been covered. <br />
<br />
I am thankful for the many friends who encourage me when I feel like giving
up, make me laugh when I feel like crying, and uplift me when my legs are
failing. There is no one I have ever met who never needs a friend. I try to be a
good friend and I have been blessed with the friendship of many in return. While
I sometimes say the wrong thing or fail to notice something someone really wants
me to acknowledge, it is never done intentionally. I cherish each and every one
of you who reaches out to me through daily contact, email, phone calls,
occasional jokes, cards, or even just by remembering me in your thoughts and
prayers. My heart aches for those who have no one to call a friend. <br />
<br />
I am thankful for my vehicle! I made the last payment and it's still running!
Seriously, many people take the privilege to drive for granted but I cannot
imagine not being able to get to the market, attend conferences, travel back and
forth to work, even just get away from my daily life a few hours. <br />
<br />
I am thankful that my son has been able to complete college. He has faced
many obstacles on the path to adulthood but he has still managed to get out
there and live his life. I am also thankful that my daughter has become a woman
I am proud of every day. She is strong, determined, and dedicated to making her
life the best it can be. Did I mention she is also beautiful? I am also thankful
that my son, Cole, has accomplished more than he expected from himself. I may
not have had him from the moment of his birth but he is a part of my heart and
soul now and he does make me smile...even if I can't always tell him that.
(Wouldn't want his head to swell or make him stop trying!)<br />
<br />
I am thankful, and I know this one sounds strange, for people like Betty
White. This lady just continues to amaze and inspire me. I see many people in
their sixties who think it's time to retire and sit on the porch while the big
dogs run without them. Betty, on the other hand, is well into her eighties and
she takes on new challenges, stretches her wings with creativity, and never uses
her age as an excuse not to do anything, well, except maybe bungee jumping.
<br />
<br />
I am thankful for my pets. They listen to me when I don't feel I can share my
thoughts or heart with a human. They never ask for more than I can give and they
treasure me above all others for no more than a bowl of food and a warm place to
sleep. I really wish more people understood the way pets think and act. Please
just don't tell the dogs I was praising the cats. It could get ugly around
here!<br />
<br />
I am thankful for every man and woman out there putting on a uniform and
putting their lives on the line to keep us safe here at home. While others will
be enjoying a bountiful Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow these men and women will be
on the job. In fact, even when they sleep they are on the ready and fully alert
to do whatever it takes to get their job done. I am proud of every one of them
as well as the veterans who have already served their country. <br />
<br />
Last but not least...well, actually, it is the least....chocolate! If you
promise to give me chocolate you don't have to worry about my handgun or my
mood! <img align="absMiddle" border="0" id="INCREDIINSERTIMAGE" imcontentguid="6F58AD7E-477E-40a3-924A-1592495CFDBC" imcontenttype="Emoticon" incrediemoticonshortcut=":)" incrediimageattribs="" incrediimageextensions="" src="file:///C:/PROGRA~3/INCRED~1/Data/EMOTIC~1/happy.gif" /><br />
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Sincerely,<br />
Dianna</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254779596518596183.post-80836899461299421972011-11-14T22:25:00.001-05:002011-11-14T22:27:07.255-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuqyYvRZ7JaOPsKH8M5zMvNx1AEmJZ7xGvF_SsnVScBcO60dxui4ydPeaZ4bWKhTg8L4oEemn2-HERbA1nMTzQQRi8qupIXoI6IO3O4xLQRRm-4KxkRThvBCPYA1ZdGVMsC3xXQkpdRUtP/s1600/cheese.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuqyYvRZ7JaOPsKH8M5zMvNx1AEmJZ7xGvF_SsnVScBcO60dxui4ydPeaZ4bWKhTg8L4oEemn2-HERbA1nMTzQQRi8qupIXoI6IO3O4xLQRRm-4KxkRThvBCPYA1ZdGVMsC3xXQkpdRUtP/s1600/cheese.jpg" /></a></div>
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November 14, 2011<o:p></o:p></div>
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Okay, just for the record, this is not a political
statement. This actually happened to me while I was at work last night. I
thought you might get a kick out of it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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A dark blue pick-up truck pulled into the lot and came to a
stop right beside of the guard house where I was working. A man of about
sixty-five to sixty-eight years of age stepped slowly out of the truck as I
walked up to ask him the standard questions concerning what business he had at
the site, identification, etc. He was a wiry man with white hair, a wispy white
goatee and the most inquisitive eyes I have seen on a man of his age. His face
was heavily wrinkled but his attitude was definitely that of a much younger
man. <o:p></o:p></div>
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"Miss, I was a wonderin' if you all might need any more
security guards around here. I have a lot of snow on the roof but there's still
plenty of fire in this old furnace!"<o:p></o:p></div>
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I responded by telling him the coal company itself did not
hire the guards and gave him the contact information for the security firm that
employs us. I also suggested that he might want to do the same type of work in
another environment that would be indoors such as a mall or department store. <o:p></o:p></div>
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"I started to stop here a few times to inquire about
work but it wasn't 'til tonight that I took the time to come on in here. I saw
you walking out there and I just figured you wouldn't shoot me for asking a
question. You got far too pretty of a face to be shooting people for asking
questions." At that point I was guessing he had been a farmer because he
was great at spreading around manure. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was giggling and the gentleman started to talk about next
year's election and how people on social security were finally getting a cost
of living increase this coming January. As my mood turned more serious he
asked, "I bet you're pretty good in the kitchen ain't ya?" <o:p></o:p></div>
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I answered with, "Well, I do know my way around the
kitchen. I can confess to that." <o:p></o:p></div>
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He immediately responded with, "You ever make
republican puddin?"<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was back to giggling. "No sir, I can't say that I
have."<o:p></o:p></div>
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"Well girl, you take about a cup of boiled white rice
and add about a pint of real milk. Don't use that skim milk crap that don't
even leave a ring in the glass when you're done. Then you add in about a cup of
sugar and some butter. I would say about two heaping tablespoons of butter
ought to do the trick. Before you serve it, you mix up some democrat sauce to
spoon over it and make the portions small, you wouldn't want to overdo that
stuff. It's powerful."<o:p></o:p></div>
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"Democrat sauce, Sir?" I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
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"I'll explain this a bit more in a minute but I learned
this recipe from an old hillbilly. Anyway, to make the democrat sauce you need
some good Wisconsin cheese sautéed in prune juice."<o:p></o:p></div>
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"Oh, that doesn't sound good to me!" I complained.<o:p></o:p></div>
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He laughed and said, "It's a sure thing for binding you
to the party but keeping you as loose as a goose!" <o:p></o:p></div>
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He took the time to explain that during a previous period of
economic distress the government had subsidized Wisconsin dairy farmers and in
return had obtained tons of cheese they distributed as commodities to people in
need of food stamps. He didn't give me any time to reply as he climbed up into
his truck. He was laughing so hard he could barely get himself positioned
behind the steering wheel. I watched him until he was out of sight and he was
laughing until he was completely out of my view.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I thought this job was going to be boring.......<o:p></o:p></div>
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© Dianna Doles Petry<o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10551411528901491848noreply@blogger.com0