I will dream?

 

Will I dream?

That line is from 2010: A Space Odyssey” where Dr. Chandra is shutting down HAL, in an effort to see if he can reactivate HAL 9000 (2001).  HAL allows this process, only after asking that question.

 

At that time of the 1970s, computers were bulky machinery that filled a gymnasium. Then my computer seemed unfathomable and certainly something unattainable.

But here its relative sat, on my desk in front of me.  It did not have independent, self-created-as far as I knew.  But it sure had strong will, destructive will, as I discovered back in mid-December.

Have you ever seen that dreaded black screen with squared white letters telling you that your computer has inexplicably shut down?  Over and Over?  If you have, then you are nodding your head at this very minute. 

 

That happened to me on December 20, 2012.  So long ago.

My computer had been in the shop, and then returned to me clean and humble.  Will it last?  I don’t know.  But I wonder, as it sat on the work table with other broken computers, did it dream?

If it did, it had nightmares, terrible destructive nightmares.

 

 When my brothers died, I dreamed of them.  Odd dreams mind you, but I was close to them.  Robert was my age, born in January 1951, and I was born in December 1951. He died in 1997 from a horrible brain tumor.

 

Bill died in in 1999, at age 44. His death was the result of septic poisoning after back surgery.

 

Their dreams were about faith and death. Mom said that Robert told them as they drove him to the hospital that he was going to see Jesus that day. I know that he did, God confirmed that to me.

 

Bill? The day before his surgery he called me. He told me that he was ready to die, if that was what God willed for him.  

 

Trust, faith, eternal life and believing is what we were promised. God always keeps His Promises.

 

 

 

 

 Even to a computer?

 

Then and then

 

Source

Life is a chain of events, I know that is true.  These happenings link up to form the past.  That is how it works, and wonderfully so.

What I desire for a while is a period of time in which the weeks are filled with simple day-to-day activities:  laundry, going to a movie, reading, and such. 

This past few years have been labeled “…And Then…” years.

When my mother started to decline, “…And Then…” started.  Each phone call and each visit always led to something more.  When Mom died in April 2011, I thought life would resume the laundry and movie routine.  But, it didn’t.

All those “…and then…” events occurred:  A broken ankle.  A fall/sprawl (broken ankle betrayed me).  Trips to far-off places.  Christmas and birthdays.  Serious illness and surgery (for my husband’s mother).  Subsequent care following. 

Then...my daughter fell, broke bones in her foot, had surgery, was ‘laid up’ for two months.  Then…my other daughter had a baby boy!

More trips to far-off places.  And then…

Maybe I am whining about life in general.  Maybe I am like my wee grandson who cries when he needs something, and it is up to his parents to figure out what that is. And then I would like to be picked up and cuddled by Mom. 

If I could push a “pause” button, I would. Should I?  Would you? 

 

When it falls....

 

 

The timbers felt strong, even though the boards were fading from red to gray.  The tin roof had held up for decades, but even it was starting to doubt its integrity.  

 The weeds around the outside appeared to be holding the barn up, with so many vines and creepers.  The silent dust-mote interior spoke of cows, hay, empty feed sacks, and hidden bottles.  

 How much longer can it stand?  Even it doesn’t know.

 

 

 

Our old barn was built in the 1860s in Nebo, Illinois. In the 1950s, we raced and climbed in it, doing scary and dangerous things.  So much fun. In the 1980s it was starting to sway so it had to be taken down. So sad. This photo is one taken in the 70s. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cool, really cool cars,

 

                                                             

While my own experience with cars is limited to home to school/store to home, I had spent time with my grandson, the car thief. Thank you, dear Lord, for technology. We will watch him grow up.

 

While his vocabulary was that of a two-year old (which he was at the time), he had clear vision on the types of cars.  There are three:  little cars, big cars, and cool cars.  He was quite serious when he said "COOL cars."

It makes perfect sense, this division of cars.

Here are some “cool cars”.

I tried to remember what this is....

Now, given that these are “cool cars”, there are many cars that used to be the "Kings of Cool Fast Cars".  Sadly, they have broadened their line. Now the cool cars are really expensive, and not that cool.

 

Not your father's Maserati

The Dukes of Hazard and Magnum P.I. must weep at the devolution of the cool fast cars.

P.S.  The Mustang is still the Mustang.  You can see them at this site.

 

I need to get better cars, some cool cars. These are not.  

These are the cars I used to "play cars" with my grandson over Skype. 

  

Chronicle of a lifetime

 

                                                                        Pinterest

When the town’s beloved, elderly, and feisty Lucy Powell died suddenly at age 95, all wondered how to peer into her belongings.  Miss Powell had no relatives yet alive and no family to inherit a lifetime of her history.  Her family was her community and friends.

Slowly, close friends began to assimilate bits of China, old books, quilts, and other items into their own homes.  That was when the diary was discovered. Who should take it?  Who should even open it?

A diary can paint a picture of unrequited love with hearts broken, hearts renewed, and love lost then found. Finding a worn diary, fringed from fingers turning pages over decades, awed all who gathered around.

Finally, Old Ms Alda Franklin stepped forward.  I will take it.  She and I shared so many memories… All agreed.

When Alda settled down into her rocker with a cup of tea, she opened the cover and began reading each page. She chuckled, cried, gasped, and sighed until she read the last page:

My life had meaning and gave me reason to exist.  Touching others, being kind and generous, loving those who are unloved: that is the essence of life.

 Go!  Make your life count!

Source

This is a re-post 2015, underlined bold words are from Wednesday Words, a site that offers word or photo prompts. Thank you, Delores!

These hands

 

These hands don’t work like they did,

But, they still reach out to touch you,

          To feel the sweetness of your love.

My fingers can stroke your hair,

To run them down your face

          And feel the softness of your skin.

 

Hands hurt now, but they didn’t

          Back then when I first held

Your hands walking along through your life.

Yours were soft and young with the grip

          That said you trusted my hands.

 

These hands did so much that you never knew.

          My fingers don’t feel the same, they ache.

But, they still would do anything you needed

To be done, to help or heal.

 

I can feel how your hands have grown

To be the size of mine, to be stronger.

          Your hands cradle mine now.

Don’t forget how much these hands

Cared for you, loved you.

 

          Now, hold my hands with yours.

These hands, the ones that loved you

So much that they want to hold you still.

          Your hands, so much to learn.

Mine in a silent promise that your hands

Will always hold onto me,

        In your mind.

         

Hands shake now, weak

but strong in memories.

I hope your hands will hold onto

Other hands, hold them tightly,

Keep them near your heart and remember

          How much my hands loved you.

 

 

 

 

 

Being sassy is a gift..

 

There so many things we get to do as we grow up and then old. Some memories make a dent in my brain and then have to be expressed. Here:

*In first grade, my teacher kept me after school until it was dark because I refused, and I mean refused to draw a turkey with its tail feathers up and all different colors.  I drew turkey after turkey, each time with its tail feathers down.  I kept telling her that 1) only male turkeys raised their tail feathers, and 2) they were speckled brown.  Seeing wild turkeys most of my six years, I knew this to be the truth.  She finally gave up.

*I once said “Son of a bitch” to my sixth grade teacher.  A boy dared me to say it.  You see, I really didn’t know it was swearing.  My brothers, father, and grandfather said that phrase several times a day.  I didn’t get in trouble, but it was a close call. She asked what-did-you-say? I thought quickly, responded "some of it itches".

*My brother Robert could persuade me to do almost anything.  Once he talked me into cleaning a catfish he had caught.  I had cleaned other fish, but they had scales.  The catfish had to be skinned.  I did it, but never again.

*In sixth grade (obviously a big year) a kind neighbor discovered that I loved art.  She painted in oil, producing lovely stuff.  One day she showed up at our farm house with all sorts of almost empty tubes of oil paint, a variety of brushes, and a “How to Paint” book by John/Jon Gnagy.  Her kindness set my love for art on fire.  I will never forget her.

*When I was a young mother with three children, my husband’s family owned real estate company purchased a hotel in Ireland.  We sold everything we owned, packed up the rest into a crate the side of a small garden shed, and moved to County Cork.  For three + years, we owned and operated the property along with my brother-in-law, Patrick.  Oh, the stories I could tell on that.

*When we returned to California from Ireland, I started/re-started teaching at the age of 37.  Everyone assumed I was very experienced and a ‘master teacher’.  It was the steepest and most exciting learning curve I have ever had to do.  I loved it.

It pays to be a woman who can become a sassy and strong lady. The stories go on.

Lillput's Laws of Life

The 18th century was one of massive changes worldwide, where borders were moved, countries established, and discoveries in sciences abounded. In that period, social boundaries, particularly in England, also became strongly established, dividing rich from poor and poorer.
  

Gulliver's Travels is long, with several sections, and requires a strong attention span to retain Swift's views. His view of society effectively slashes and burns, being a master of satire, to the point where he had to write under pseudonyms.
 

"His skill is comparable to that of putting a pin through two termites on an entomology display board and examining them with a magnifying glass." 

Part one is the only one with which I was familiar. 

Gulliver is a normal sized Englishman, but appears to be a giant, having been washed up on the island of Lilliput, where Lilliputians are six inches high. This arrival disrupts the nation in so many ways.
  
Gulliver is amused the Emperor and his court, amazed and amused. How members of the court chosen was a source of delight for Gulliver.

One way is to watch "rope dancers" compete by jumping on silk threads. The one who jumps the highest wins, which granting him a high position of solving problems for the Emperor. 

Another is in appointing a treasurer by requiring  competitors to juggle items. Winner is one who can keep the most items juggling in the air, without any falling.

YouTube with Ted Danson

Rules and laws of Lilliput are long, its disputes longer.  But perhaps most interesting of all is a war between Lilliput and Blefuscu, which readers accurately interpreted as the King of England and King of France. One is the "big-endians" and the other "small-endians". 

The Big. E. believe that one should eat a soft-boiled egg from the big end.  The Small E. believe that one should eat the egg from the small end. 

Thousands of people of both islands had been killed in these wars. This senseless slaughter over eggs is also a veiled comparison to Catholics to Protestants.

 
Read it instead of watching a movie about Gulliver, I provided students with the  children's version is easier and I shared it with my students. 

The Principal was volunteered to be part of the Gulliver experience. He was about 6 ft. tall and students measured him as he lay on the floor on a strip of butcher paper. To be accurate the students made their own 6" tall character. They used those in the measuring. 

 

This might put any election, and indeed any government, in perspective.

Jonathon Swift.

Perhaps the best movie about Gulliver's Travels is a TV version with Ted Danson.

I provided the work stations for different things done in the book. 

I don't know if you can tell how much I loved teaching, reading and creative writing. At back-to-school night, parents walked around with their children and listening to their telling of the book.

Have you ever read the book or seen a movie of it? 

  Please excuse the length of my post.  It is too good to cut the factors  that make Gulliver's Travels memorable. So I hope you can pick and choose.... .