SENTIMENTAL SATURDAY |
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Photograph by Bob Gentry 8/5/99
A Thought for Today
Duty is the stuff of man's existence.
Stargirl writes:
"This came to me
from Jack, who reads your site and the board avidly, though he rarely posts, and is a huge
fan! Jack is also an avid Jimmy Webb fan (that's where I met him) and a Sinatra aficionado
- which kind of makes him special on three counts. (Editors Note: Very Special) I don't
know whether this is a true story or one he got from elsewhere, but the payoff makes the
length of the story worth while... it's really quite lovely."
LOVE STORY
My grandparents were married
for over half a century, and played their own special game from the time they had met each
other. The goal of their game was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place
for the other to find.
They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house, and as soon as one of them
discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more. They dragged "shmily"
with their fingers through the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing
the next meal. They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where my
grandma always fed us warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring. "Shmily"
was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot shower, where it would reappear
bath after bath. At one point, my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper
to leave "shmily" on the very last sheet.
There was no end to the places "shmily" would pop up. Little notes with
"shmily" scribbled hurriedly were found on dashboards and car seats, or taped to
steering wheels. The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows.
"Shmily" was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the
fireplace. This mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparents' house as the
furniture. It took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparents'
game. Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love-one that is pure and enduring.
However, I never doubted my grandparents' relationship.
They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of
life. Their relationship was based on a devotion and passionate affection that not
everyone is lucky enough to experience.
Grandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they could. They stole kisses as they bumped
into each other in their tiny kitchen. They finished each other's sentences and shared the
daily crossword and word jumble. My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa was,
how handsome and old he had grown to be. She claimed that she really knew "how to
pick 'em."
Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a
wonderful family, good fortune, and each other. But there was a dark cloud in my
grandparents' life: my grandmother had breast cancer. The disease had first appeared ten
years earlier. As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way. He comforted her in
their yellow room, painted that way so that she could always be surrounded by sunshine,
even when she was too sick to go outside.
Now the cancer was again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my grandfather's
steady hand, they went to church every morning. But my grandmother grew steadily weaker
until, finally, she could not leave the house anymore. For a while, Grandpa would go to
church alone, praying to GOD to watch over his wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded
finally happened.
Grandma was gone.
"Shmily."
It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother's funeral bouquet. As the
crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins and other
family members came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time. Grandpa stepped up
to my grandmother's casket and taking a shaky breath, he began to sing to her.
Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby. Shaking with my
own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. For I knew that, although I couldn't begin to
fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty.
"S-h-m-i-l-y: See
How Much I Love You."
A MAN WALKS INTO A CHURCH
Nicky Williams' friend Tony sent the following
to her with this statement "Here's one up for the men for a change". Thanks Tony
& Nicky, we needed this.
I'M NOT AFRAID
One bright, beautiful
Sunday morning, the townspeople were in church, listening to the organ play. Suddenly,
Satan appeared at the front of the church. Everyone started screaming and running for the
front entrance, trampling each other in a frantic effort to get away from evil incarnate.
Soon everyone was evacuated from the Church, except for one elderly gentleman who sat
calmly in his pew, not moving, seemingly oblivious to the fact that God's ultimate enemy
was in his presence. Now this confused Satan a bit, so he walked up to the man and said,
"Don't you know who I am?"
The man replied, "Yep, sure do." Satan asked, "Aren't you afraid of
me?" "Nope, sure ain't," said the man. Satan was a little perturbed at this
and queried, "Why aren't you afraid of me?"
The man calmly replied, "Been married to your sister for 48 years!"
DOESN'T PARANOYA ANOY YA?
Our old friend Bill Learning puts it all in
perspective with the
following. Think about it.
WHAT, ME WORRY?
SO, you think your email
is being checked ... Lets say there are 50 million users on the web (there are more) and
that they send 5 emails a day ( before Coffee some of us are saying) which would be
250,000,000 emails to be filtered and processed.
Well a fair computer with a little bit of software could filtering all the mail but what
times would it take? That isn't the real problem the real problem is that it would have to
be all in one place and one format which is not the case.
First, lets figure out how long it would take, lets add .100 of a sec to get the mail
together and 1 sec to convert it. So if we take the 250 million pieces of email per day
and times that by 100th of a second and it would only take 25,000,000 sec's to get the
mail, which is 416666.666666666666666666666666667 minutes which is approximately 6944
hours which equals 289 days. For one days worth of mail not including filtering and
converting.
So if you think THE MAN is checking your EMAIL think again. It would be impossible for
them to keep up with the load.
Lets say that they could convert all email to the same format easily and can do 1000
pieces of mail every minute … we take 250 million divide by 1000 equals 250000
minutes which is 4166.66666666666666666666666666667 hours which equals 173 days. For
converting one day of email, If you look at it at that rate, after a 100 days they would
slip 17100 days behind and they haven't even converted 10 days of email. Only the
government could create 1000 times more work then the amount of stuff they are doing.
Now the filtering is easy, but just as much for calculations, lets say it takes half a
second to scan 7 let also say we are only going to pick up on the odd word (say 80 % of
them) of each mail: the average size of email is 100 words. Some are saying (you wish my
emails only contained 100 words)
So there would be 250,000,000 times 80% 200000 divide that in half because we can do 2
every sec is 100000 seconds or1666. 66666666666666666666666666667 minutes, or 27 hours
… or a little more then a day … so everyday they would get an hour behind and in
25 days would be 1 day behind. Only the Government could get behind constantly at least
one day every month. (Got that, so far?)
So you see, It isn't really possible to check all the email. In fact it isn't possible to
gather the email in one place or for that matter in many locations. It would be almost
impossible to keep abreast of this situation, but maybe that is why Our Government is
doing it.
SO if the government is checking our email … then they are only about 10 years behind
us already … as it has been 30 years since we have been sending it.
Or you could say every day of email they check, gets them 174.5 days behind ... maybe that
is where all the IT people are. You ever see any of them around. No wonder we can't get
any computers fixed.
Or maybe they are just saying they are and are not … WOW what a fake out. LOL I know
what they are doing ... they are just trying to confuse us to death ...OHT, OHT, OHT, I
have a great idea. Lets all increase our emailing by 10 percent ... that would add 17 days
for every day of email.
OHT, OHT, OHT I have a another great Idea: Just for the heck of it say something nasty
about the government in an email today ... because they aren't going to see it for 10
years ... at least.... If you did it today. If you wait till tomorrow ... well they may
never see it while your alive ... and that just wouldn't be funny now would it ... and
what happens if they aren't checking. YIPPPPPPPEEEEE. They will never see it.
OHT, OHT, and OHT I have a yet another great Idea: We could just fake them out like above.
Add a little quip on the subject line. "Here government scanners ... this is the one
you're looking for".
Note to the government scanners.....The government guys who are scanning email wear
Victoria Secret bras on their head.
EDITORS NOTE:
Er, Ah, that comment about you guys wearing
Bras. We don't censor the items that come in. The management of ASPTL does not believe you
wonderful Federal people are into cross-dresser drawers & we will be glad to help you
in any way we can; including but not limited to supplying you with Mr. Learning's current
whereabouts.
K. B. & R. M. on behalf of the management
BREAK OUT THE PAPER HATS
Wes no doubt scouted senior citizens homes
throughout California's BreadBasket, Ventura County, for this contemporary list . . .
TOP 10 OLD FOLKS' PARTY GAMES
10. Musical Recliners
9. Spin the Bottle of Mylanta
8. Hide and Go Sleep
7. Simon Says Something Incoherent
6. Doc, Doc, Goose
5. Red Rover, Red Rover, the Nurse Says "Bend Over"
4. Kick the Bucket
3. 20 Questions Shouted into your Good Ear
2. Pin the Toupee on the Bald Guy
1. Sag - You're It!
MAN BITES DOG!
Now that I have your attention here's a good
one from our buddies "Hugs" & Molly, who always manage to send something a
little out of the ordinary.
BRAGGING RIGHTS
Four men were bragging about
how smart their dogs were. One was an engineer, the second man was an accountant, the
third was a chemist, and the fourth was a government worker.
To show off, the engineer called to his dog, "T-square" do your stuff!"
T-square trotted over to a desk, took out some paper and a pen and promptly drew a square,
circle and triangle.
Everyone agreed that was pretty smart. But, the accountant said his dog could do better.
He called to his dog and said, "Spreadsheet, do your stuff." Spreadsheet went
into the kitchen and returned with a dozen cookies. He then divided them into 4 equal
piles of 3 cookies each.
Everyone agreed that was good. But the chemist said his dog could do better. He called to
his dog and said, "Measure, do your stuff." Measure got up, walked over to the
fridge, took out a quart of milk, got a 10-oz. glass from the cupboard and poured exactly
8 oz. without spilling a drop.
Everyone agreed that was pretty impressive. The three men turned to the government worker
and said, "What can your dog do?" The government worker called to his dog and
said, "Coffee Break, do your stuff." Coffee Break jumped to his feet, ate the
cookies, drank the milk, took a crap on the paper, had sex with the other three dogs,
claimed he injured his back while doing so, filed a grievance report for unsafe working
conditions, put in for worker's compensation and then went home for the rest of the day on
sick leave.
ME TARZAN, YOU JANE?
Sue sent this Shaggy Island Story with the
comment "I'll bet she wasn't a blonde!" 'Nuff said.
DESERT ISLAND DORK
Ed finally decides to
take a vacation. He books himself on a Caribbean cruise and proceeds to have the time of
his life --until the boat sank. He found himself swept up on the shore of an island with
no other people, no supplies ... nothing. Only bananas and coconuts.
After about four months, he is lying on the beach one day when the most gorgeous woman he
has ever seen rows up to him. In disbelief, he asks her, "Where did you come from?
How did you get here?"
"I rowed from the other side of the island," she says. "I landed here when
my cruise ship sank."
"Amazing," he says. "You were really lucky to have a rowboat wash up with
you."
"Oh, this?" replies the woman. "I made the rowboat out of raw material I
found on the island; the oars were whittled from gum tree branches; I wove the bottom from
palm branches; and the sides and stern came from a Eucalyptus tree."
"But-but, that's impossible," stutters Ed. "You had no tools or hardware.
How did you manage?"
"Oh, that was no problem," replies the woman. "On the South side of the
island, there is a very unusual strata of alluvial rock exposed. I found if I fired it to
a certain temperature in my kiln, it melted into forgeable ductile iron. I used that for
tools and used the tools to make the hardware."
Ed is stunned. "Let's row over to my place," she says. After a few minutes of
rowing, she docks the boat at a small wharf.
As Ed looks onto shore, he nearly falls out of the boat. Before him is a stone walk
leading to an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white. While the woman ties up the
rowboat with an expertly woven hemp rope, he could only stare ahead, dumbstruck.
As they walk into the house, she says casually, "It's not much, but I call it home.
Sit down please; would you like to have a drink?"
"No, no thank you," he says, still dazed. "I can't take any more coconut
juice."
"It's not coconut juice," the woman replies. "I have a still. How about a
Pina Colada?"
Trying to hide his continued amazement, he accepts, and they sit down on her couch to
talk. After they have exchanged their stories, the woman announces, "I'm going to
slip into something more comfortable. Would you like to take a shower and shave? There is
a razor upstairs in the cabinet in the bathroom."
No longer questioning anything, Ed goes into the bathroom. There, in the cabinet, is a
razor made from a bone handle. Two shells honed to a hollow ground edge are fastened on to
its end inside of a swivel mechanism. "WOW! This woman is amazing," he muses,
"What next?"
When he returns, she greets him wearing nothing but vines-strategically positioned-and
smelling faintly of gardenias. She beckons for him to sit down next to her.
"Tell me," she begins suggestively, slithering closer to him, "We've been
out here for a really long time. You've been lonely. There's something I'm sure you really
feel like doing right now, something you've been longing for all these months. You
know..."
She stares into his eyes. He can't believe what he's hearing.
"You mean---", he swallows excitedly, "I can check my e-mail from
here?"
I'M OK!, YOU'RE OK!, Y2K!
Here's a sweet collection on thoughts for the
coming year provided by Ellen. The author is unknown but the message is kind and
thoughtful; perfect to start you off on a sentimental Saturday night.
A BLESSING FOR 2000
May you get a clean bill
of health from your dentist, your cardiologist, your gastro-entomologist, your urologist,
your proctologist, your podiatrist, your psychiatrist, your plumber and the IRS.
May your hair, your teeth, your face-lift, your abs and your stocks not fall; and may your
blood pressure, your triglycerides, your cholesterol, your white blood count and your
mortgage interest not rise.
May you find a way to travel from anywhere to anywhere in the rush hour in less than an
hour, and when you get there may you find a parking space.
May Friday evening, December 31, find you together with your beloved family and cherished
friends, ushering in the New Year. You will find the food better, the environment quieter,
the cost much cheaper, and the pleasure much more fulfilling than anything else you might
ordinarily do that night.
May you wake up on January 1st, finding that the world has not come to an end, the lights
work, the water faucets flow, and the sky has not fallen.
May you go to the bank on Monday morning, January 3rd and find your account is in order,
your money is still there and any mistakes are in your favor.
May you ponder on January 4th: how did this ultramodern civilization of ours manage to get
itself traumatized by a possible slip of a blip on a chip made out of sand.
May we relax about the Third Millennium of the Common Era, and realize that we still have
240 years until the dawn of the Sixth Millennium of the Jewish Calendar by which time the
computer is long since obsolete and so are we.
May God give you the strength to go through a year of presidential
campaigning, and may some of the promises made be kept. May you believe at least half of
what the candidates propose, and may those elected fulfill at least half of what they
promise, and the miracle of reducing taxes and balancing budgets happen.
May you be awe struck by God's sense of humor as you wrestle with the possibility that a
professional wrestler could become president of the United States.
May what you see in the mirror delight you, and what others see in you delight them.
May someone love you enough to forgive your faults, be blind to your blemishes, and tell
the world about your virtues.
May the telemarketers wait to make their sales calls until you finish dinner, and may your
check book and your budget balance, and may they include generous amounts for charity.
May you remember to say, "I Love You" at least once a day to your spouse, your
child, your parent; but not to your secretary, your nurse, your masseuse, your hairdresser
or your tennis instructor.
And may we live in a world at peace and the awareness of God's love
in every sunset, every flower's unfolding petals, every baby's smile, every lover's kiss,
and every wonderful, astonishing, miraculous beat of our hearts.
Many thanks to Stargirl, Jack, Nicky, Tony, Bill, Wes, Sue, Ellen, "Hugs" and
Molly for today's contributions. Tomorrow I'll be back with "Some of the Best."
Have a beautiful Saturday night and sleep warm.
- RM 12/3/99 Previously
unpublished. |
