Saint Padre Pio, please help my dear friend today.
Please say a quick prayer that Saint Padre Pio look after a very, very dear friend of mine today who desperately needs his help and guidance dealing with an abusive domestic issue. She needs a miracle. She needs him to please give her a sign that she is doing the right thing.
(Actually, it wouldn’t hurt to ask Pope John Paul II and Mother Teresa – and anyone else up there who isn’t too busy – for help either).
I found this as I was looking for something entirely different online…I’m not sure who to thank for it – but it sure made me laugh outloud and I wanted to share!
“A Doctor was addressing a large audience in Tampa . ‘The material we put into our stomachs is enough to have killed most of us sitting here, years ago.. Red meat is awful. Soft drinks corrode your stomach lining. Chinese food is loaded with MSG. High fat diets can be disastrous, and none of us realizes the long-term harm caused by the germs in our drinking water. However, there is one thing that is the most dangerous of all and we all have eaten, or will eat it. Can anyone here tell me what food it is that causes the most grief and suffering for years after eating it?’
After several seconds of quiet, a 75-year-old man in the front row raised his hand, and softly said, ‘Wedding Cake.’”
YEEHAW!!!! It’s one of THOSE weeks Gotta keep reminding myself that this too shall pass. Is yours going ok?
For approximately the last six months, I have tried to live and breathe just about every moment of my spare time studying and working with gemstones – that’s pretty much the reason for the sad crickets on this, my beloved blog. My hands-down favorite art medium to work with is words, and I have been silent MUCH too long.
During this time, however, I have collected delicious morsels of my quirky life and the time has finally arrived for me to again indulge myself in this sweet heaven of sharing my written art with you.
The girls are all still sleeping and I am putting the final touches on my first post of 2013 as well launching my newest site…Victoria’s Tajemnica!
And I was slightly hesitant to move down south because of THEIR storms!
The girls and I are hunkering down, waiting for “Frankenstorm” to shake things up a bit around here. Mostly they we are eyeballing all the junk food and arts and crafts supplies I bought to make things a little fun, since there most likely won’t be any trick-or-treating here in upstate New York this Halloween.
The wind has been gusting lightly for about the last hour or so – shaking the gorgeous leaves off the trees as if we were in a giant snowglobe and gently stirring some forgotten seashells we found at the Cape last month in the backyard.
I’ve been dragging my feet lately regarding our move to either the Cape or Myrtle Beach. And the reason is the weather.
Putting aside the slight drought, it’s been gorgeous just about every single day. Closing your eyes and sipping a cool drink is a lot easier than poring over thousands of houses. Dreaming of running in slow motion on the beach and falling, giggling, in the sand, in the arms of that really good looking guy who jogs around the Myrtle Beach boardwalk in the mornings dressed in blue and white, is a lot more relaxing than thinking about packing and moving trucks and unpacking.
And, I’m not quite done saying my good-byes yet. I haven’t even started. The more I close my eyes as I float in my pool…
Sssshhhh….
There is an old man who lives in the wide expanse of woods behind my house. He committed a hideous crime – it was so bad, I can’t even describe it – and was sent to prison. Life sentences – nine of them. He was a very clever, very shrewd man, and in 1999, the year my oldest daughter was born, through careful planning, he escaped, and ran into the woods behind our house where he has lived ever since. There’s even a lean-to that you can see if you go deep, deep into the brush.
Anyway, that’s the story I made up to tell my girls every time we wander through the beautiful, lush woods…
I am NOT very pleased with the person who taught my youngest to jimmy locked doors.
I am particularly perturbed at that person when I’m in the shower and I never hear the door open – just the whoosh of my pink-on-pink shower curtain before the icy breeze grabs at my exposed body parts (for some reason, I can never remember to turn on the heating lamps).
“Whatcha doin’, Mommy? Can you make me some more chocolate milk?” My three year old’s big blue eyes blink as if she thinks I really am doing nothing.
“I will do it as soon as I get out of the shower, OK Fluffy-Butt?”
She shuffles out, and, as always, leaves the door ajar.
In the scorching heat of the European summer afternoons, after the rain sprinkles it’s last luminous drops of refreshing water, the young people in Poland (at least in the mountain village my mother’s family lives in), grab their baskets and quickly make their way into the woods. To “gather mushrooms”.
At least that’s what they tell their parents…
I can still remember the first time I went “mushroom gathering”. My cousin and I were cooped up playing poker in the bright yellow kitchen (I was losing miserably), and she kept pulling aside the delicate white lace curtains and sighing at the rain. All of a sudden, she grabbed my wrist and yanked me up…
Vicky...the Northern Chicky 