When I was in sixth grade in Springtown, Texas, I memorized this poem for the class “Friday talent show.” For years, my father used the small card it was printed on as a bookmark It was given him by an insurance agent.
Wouldn’t this old world be better
If the folks we meet would say,
“I know something good about you.”
And then treat us just that way?
Wouldn’t your life be sweeter
If each handshake, tried and true,
Held with it this assurance
“I know something good about you.”
--Anonymoous
Friday, April 20, 2007
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
A story Crying to be heard....
When I opened the Internet (http://www.wyattjourney.com/) this morning (April 11, 2007), there was a familiar sight punching me in the arm to share this one. The pictures were of racers running in Juneau. The race in my memory was called the "Governor's Cup Race." As I recall, it began in the street in front of the Capitol Building and ended near the hospital. The two main characters of this tale are the Web Master himself and me, his mother.
Geoffrey must have been about 5 years old when he heard there was going to be a race. He really wanted to run that 5K foot race. (Actually, I think we opted for the shortened 3K version.) However, he was afraid to try it alone. It did not matter at all to him whose body would stick with him so long as it was family. Where his brother or sister would be, I do not recall; they may have even run the race but declared their disdain for being encumbered by "him."
The morning of the race came, and we were there plenty early to collect our tee shirts and find a place in the crowd of runners. Of course there were serious runners -- properly attired, stretching, warming up. As more and more racers joined, Geoffrey and I moved further back. Then the officials stood on the steps of the Capitol and explained the route and rules. At this time, Geoffrey was inching us a little forward, to the back of center.
Ready...aim...fire. We were off. "I always thought the Capitol was at the crest of this hill. This is no time to realize there is quite a climb just from there to the Governor's mansion." About the time I spotted the familiar white columns (about one-half a block from the starting line), I realized I had lost sight of my little boy. "I must force myself to run no matter how it hurts..poor Geoffrey; he must be frantic." About the time the course wound around the neighborhood ABOVE the cemetery, my side began to ache. Never mind that I had been walking the greater majority since rounding the corner by the city library, which was the building just across the street from the Capitol. By this time, I was "running the race" (I do use that term loosely) completely alone.
By now, the main thing was to "Stay the course and hope Geoffrey was not too frightened. " Eventually, I remember seeing the long downhill stretch to the finish line, where a few stragglers from the real race awaited the arrival of us late comers. John walked up to meet me and to encourage me to pick up my feet and run the last little bit. As I recall, my name and age and race time were published in the Juneau Empire followed by three or four other names.
And Geoffrey? Well, he was waiting at the finish line to cheer me on. I see by this morning's photo that he still is talking unsuspecting women into running with him. For those curious if I went out and bought the wardrobe and exercised and got in shape for the next year, the answer is "No." I went back to baking chocolate chip cookies and being roommother, but I never ran another race.
.....and I wore that tee shirt for years, with pride.
Geoffrey must have been about 5 years old when he heard there was going to be a race. He really wanted to run that 5K foot race. (Actually, I think we opted for the shortened 3K version.) However, he was afraid to try it alone. It did not matter at all to him whose body would stick with him so long as it was family. Where his brother or sister would be, I do not recall; they may have even run the race but declared their disdain for being encumbered by "him."
The morning of the race came, and we were there plenty early to collect our tee shirts and find a place in the crowd of runners. Of course there were serious runners -- properly attired, stretching, warming up. As more and more racers joined, Geoffrey and I moved further back. Then the officials stood on the steps of the Capitol and explained the route and rules. At this time, Geoffrey was inching us a little forward, to the back of center.
Ready...aim...fire. We were off. "I always thought the Capitol was at the crest of this hill. This is no time to realize there is quite a climb just from there to the Governor's mansion." About the time I spotted the familiar white columns (about one-half a block from the starting line), I realized I had lost sight of my little boy. "I must force myself to run no matter how it hurts..poor Geoffrey; he must be frantic." About the time the course wound around the neighborhood ABOVE the cemetery, my side began to ache. Never mind that I had been walking the greater majority since rounding the corner by the city library, which was the building just across the street from the Capitol. By this time, I was "running the race" (I do use that term loosely) completely alone.
By now, the main thing was to "Stay the course and hope Geoffrey was not too frightened. " Eventually, I remember seeing the long downhill stretch to the finish line, where a few stragglers from the real race awaited the arrival of us late comers. John walked up to meet me and to encourage me to pick up my feet and run the last little bit. As I recall, my name and age and race time were published in the Juneau Empire followed by three or four other names.
And Geoffrey? Well, he was waiting at the finish line to cheer me on. I see by this morning's photo that he still is talking unsuspecting women into running with him. For those curious if I went out and bought the wardrobe and exercised and got in shape for the next year, the answer is "No." I went back to baking chocolate chip cookies and being roommother, but I never ran another race.
.....and I wore that tee shirt for years, with pride.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
HEROES
All day long I have been thinking about people I consider my heroes, and then John goes and writes a wonderful tribute to one of his heroes, Johnny Hart. My heroes have no fame nor even the desire to be recognized for anything besides being faithful.
FAYE became my hero the first time I walked into her lovely “Country Gentleman” home. I had not taken two steps inside her front door before she said, “Don’t touch the dust. I’m collecting.” She is a craftsman of pithy sayings.
IRENE became my hero when she demonstrated her “green toe.” Anyone visiting her home did not leave without adopting at least one plant and an armful of vegetables from her perfectly groomed garden. When showing us a 40-foot tree that just suddenly appeared in her yard, I told her I would appreciate knowing her secret soil formula and any hints on planting.
She found a seed in her lean-to greenhouse and brought it outside where I stood and said, “Watch this.” Without even bending, she scuffed the grassy area with the big toe of her well-worn oxford. When there was a patch of dirt about 4 inches square, she dropped the seed on the ground, kicked it into the bare spot, and maneuvered with her foot what little loose dirt was available, tapping it lightly with the ball of her foot. Then she looked up into my eyes, and with that permanent smile of hers said, “That’s all there is to it.” And, you know? I think she believes that.
GERALDINE is a painter..an artist kind of painter. She did not know she had the skill until someone talked her into trying it. ERMA is a quilter beyond belief. Her stitches are so perfect that the first thing I saw quilted by her, I really thought she had cheated by using a sewing machine.
My list could go forever. My talent? Don’t you ever forget this. My talent is appreciating others' talents. Don’t kid yourself; that is a very good talent to have.
FAYE became my hero the first time I walked into her lovely “Country Gentleman” home. I had not taken two steps inside her front door before she said, “Don’t touch the dust. I’m collecting.” She is a craftsman of pithy sayings.
IRENE became my hero when she demonstrated her “green toe.” Anyone visiting her home did not leave without adopting at least one plant and an armful of vegetables from her perfectly groomed garden. When showing us a 40-foot tree that just suddenly appeared in her yard, I told her I would appreciate knowing her secret soil formula and any hints on planting.
She found a seed in her lean-to greenhouse and brought it outside where I stood and said, “Watch this.” Without even bending, she scuffed the grassy area with the big toe of her well-worn oxford. When there was a patch of dirt about 4 inches square, she dropped the seed on the ground, kicked it into the bare spot, and maneuvered with her foot what little loose dirt was available, tapping it lightly with the ball of her foot. Then she looked up into my eyes, and with that permanent smile of hers said, “That’s all there is to it.” And, you know? I think she believes that.
GERALDINE is a painter..an artist kind of painter. She did not know she had the skill until someone talked her into trying it. ERMA is a quilter beyond belief. Her stitches are so perfect that the first thing I saw quilted by her, I really thought she had cheated by using a sewing machine.
My list could go forever. My talent? Don’t you ever forget this. My talent is appreciating others' talents. Don’t kid yourself; that is a very good talent to have.
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