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My Valentine

February 14, 2015

February 14, 2015

My Valentine was born in Amsterdam, but he was raised in Scotia from the time he was nine months old. I was born in Schenectady and was raised throughout Schenectady County but never in Scotia.
Our lives seemed to follow a parallel path.
He collected old postcards of Scotia, I collected old postcards of Schenectady. He did pysanka, I did pysanka. He did all kinds of crafts and so did I.
He has two daughters, their nicknames being Sissy and Care Bear. I have two daughters their nicknames being Care Bear and Sissy.
His beloved wife who passed away from cancer was born on August 15th. My beloved husband who passed away from cancer was born on August 15th.
His Dad was half Ukrainian and his Mom was Irish. My Dad was all Ukrainian and my Mom was English.
His tragedies happened late in life. He lost a son in 2008, his Dad in 2009 and his wife in 2010. My tragedies were early and late. I was a child when I lost my Mom in 1970, a child still when I lost my Dad in 1971 and my husband in 2008.
I love NASCAR and pulled him into it, he loves NHRA and pulled me into it. We both love hot cars, warm weather and sunshine. He has a very sexy 1998 Corvette that I love to drive, we have a 1993 Bayliner Ciera Sunbridge (a very sexy boat) that he loves to pilot and we’re going to get a seasonal camp.
I am lucky to have my Valentine.

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The Cold Within

March 27, 2012

THE COLD WITHIN

Six humans trapped in happenstance
In dark and bitter cold,
Each one possessed a stick ofwood,
Or so the story’s told.
Their dying fire in need of logs
The first woman held hers back,
For of the faces around the fire,
She noticed one was black.
The next man looking across the way
Saw not one of his church,
And couldn’t bring himself to give
The fire his stick of birch.
The third one sat in tattered clothes
He gave his coat a hitch,
Why should his log be put to use,
To warm the idle rich?
The rich man just sat back and
thought Of the wealth he had in store,
And how to keep what he had earned,
From the lazy, shiftless poor.
The blackman’s face bespoke revenge
As the fire passed from sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was a chance to spite the white.
The last man of this forlorn group
Did naught except for gain,
Giving only to those who gave,
Was how he played the game.
The logs held tight in death’s still hands
Was proof of human sin,
They didn’t die from the cold without,
They died from the cold within.

~ James Patrick Kinney

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May we all be COFFEE

January 29, 2012

Carrots, Eggs & Coffee

A carrot, an egg, and a cup of coffee…You will never look at a cup of coffee the same way again.

A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life and how things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make it and wanted to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling. It seemed as one problem was solved, a new one arose.

Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire. Soon the pots came to boil. In the first she placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she placed ground coffee beans. She let them sit and boil; without saying a word.

In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. Then she ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl. Turning to her daughter, she asked, “tell me what you see.”

“Carrots, eggs, and coffee,” she replied.

Her mother brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did and noted that they were soft. The mother then asked the daughter to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hardboiled egg.

Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee. The daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma. The daughter then asked, “What does it mean, mother?”

Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same adversity: boiling water. Each reacted differently. The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the boiling water, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened. The ground coffee beans were unique, however. After they were in the boiling water, they had changed the water.

“Which are you?” she asked her daughter. “When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg, or a coffee bean?”

Think of this: Which am I? Am I the carrot that seems strong, but with pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength?

Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes with the heat? Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a breakup, a financial hardship or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff? Does my shell look the same, but on the inside am I bitter and tough with a stiff spirit and hardened heart?

Or am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it releases the fragrance and flavor. If you are like the bean, when things are at their worst, you get better and change the situation around you. When the hour is the darkest and trials are their greatest do you elevate yourself to another level? How do you handle adversity? Are you a carrot, an egg, or a coffee bean?

May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human, and enough hope to make you happy.

The happiest of people don’t necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the most of everything that comes along their way. The brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past; you can’t go forward in life until you let go of your past failures and heartaches.

When you were born, you were crying and everyone around you was smiling.

Live your life so at the end, you’re the one who is smiling and everyone around you is crying.

You might want to send this message to those people who mean something to you (I JUST DID); to those who have touched your life in one way or another; to those who make you smile when you really need it; to those who make you see the brighter side of things when you are really down; to those whose friendship you appreciate; to those who are so meaningful in your life.

If you don’t send it, you will just miss out on the opportunity to brighten someone’s day with this message!

May we all be COFFEE!!!!!!

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Touched by God

January 14, 2012

And A Meadow Lark Sang ~ Ravindra Kumar Karnani (This poem was originally written in the Hindi language.)
The child whispered, ‘God, speak to me’ And a meadow lark sang but the child did not hear.
So the child yelled, ‘God, speak to me!’ And the thunder rolled across the sky but the child did not listen.
The child looked around and said, ‘God let me see you.’ And a star shone brightly but the child did not notice.
And the child shouted, ‘God show me a miracle!’ And a life was born but the child did not know.
So the child cried out in despair, ‘Touch me God, and let me know you are here!’ Whereupon God reached down and touched the child. But the child brushed the butterfly away and walked away unknowingly.

– I believe this poem to be written with bias. The child is innocent, his mind an empty canvas that experience paints.   So I take this poem and rewrite it as I understand this life and I pray that the beauty of this life is painted on every child’s empty canvas.

The child whispered, ‘God, speak to me’ And a meadow lark sang and the child marveled at its song.
The man whispered, ‘God, speak to me’ And a meadow lark sang but the man couldn’t hear it above his worries.

And the child yelled, ‘God, speak to me!’ And the thunder rolled across the sky and the child marveled at its loudness.
The man yelled, ‘God, speak to me!’ And the thunder rolled across the sky but the man ran for cover.

The child looked around and said, ‘God let me see you.’ And a star shone brightly and the child sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
The man looked around and said, ‘God let me see you.’ And a star shone brightly but the city lights blocked out its brightness and the man didn’t see.

And the child shouted, ‘God show me a miracle!’ And a life was born and the child wanted to hold it.
The man shouted, ‘God show me a miracle!’ And a life was born but the man worried about the expense.

The child cried out, ‘Touch me God, and let me know you are here!’, whereupon God reached down and touched the child. And the child marveled at the butterfly that landed on his arm.
And the man cried out in despair, ‘Touch me God, and let me know you are here!’, whereupon God reached down and touched the man. But the man brushed the butterfly away and walked away disgusted.

– And because a poem in and of itself is an emotion experience, subject to the same variables as our everyday lives, it may change with each moment …

The child whispered, ‘God, speak to me’ And a meadow lark sang and the child closed his eyes to better hear its song. The man whispered, ‘God, speak to me’ And a meadow lark sang but the man could only hear the constant drone of his everyday life.

And the child yelled, ‘God, speak to me!’ And the thunder rolled across the sky and the child clapped his hands and yelled back at the thunder with glee. The man yelled, ‘God, speak to me!’ And the thunder rolled across the sky but the man turned up his collar and hurried away so he wouldn’t get wet.

The child looked around and said, ‘God let me see you.’ And a star shone brightly and the child closed one eye and pointed to it in the heavens singing “twinkle twinkle little star.” The man looked around and said, ‘God let me see you.’ And a star shone brightly but he was late for the show and hurried along.

And the child shouted, ‘God show me a miracle!’ And a life was born and the child talked softly to it so it wouldn’t be afraid. The man shouted, ‘God show me a miracle!’ And a life was born but the man could only think about how expensive it was to live.

The child cried out, ‘Touch me God, and let me know you are here!’, whereupon God reached down and touched the child. And the child blew softly on the wings of the butterfly that landed on his arm and the butterfly opened them for the child to see. And the man cried out in despair, ‘Touch me God, and let me know you are here!’, whereupon God reached down and touched the man. But the man brushed the butterfly away and walked away in disgust.

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Wintergreen

January 13, 2012

Anyone who has been to my blog previously may be taken back a bit at the lack of entries. Well, I guess just as time changes and the world keeps turning, so goes this blog.

When I need a place to park my worries, this is the place. When I need to vent a little I can do so here and if there comes a time when I just want to go back and reflect, this too should be where.

I would call this my “Wintergreen.”

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