StoriesPoems3

God's Kids

To those of us who have children in our lives, whether
they are our own, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, or
students...here is something to make you chuckle.
Whenever your children are out of control, you can take
comfort from the thought that even God's omnipotence
did not extend to His own children After creating heaven
and earth, God created Adam and Eve. And the first thing
he said was "DON'T!"

"Don't what?" Adam replied.

"Don't eat the forbidden fruit." God said.

"Forbidden fruit? We have forbidden fruit? Hey Eve..we
have forbidden fruit!!!!!"

"No Way!"

"Yes way!"

"Do NOT eat the fruit!" said God.

"Why?"

"Because I am your Father and I said so!" God replied,
wondering why He hadn't stopped creation after making
the elephants. A few minutes later, God saw His children
having an apple break and He was ticked! "Didn't I tell
you not to eat the fruit?" God asked.

"Uh huh," Adam replied.

"Then why did you?" said the Father.

"I don't know," said Eve.

"She started it!" Adam said

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"DID NOT!"

Having had it with the two of them, God's punishment
was that Adam and Eve should have children of their
own. Thus the pattern was set and it has never changed.

BUT THERE IS REASSURANCE IN THE STORY!
If you have persistently and lovingly tried to give children
wisdom and they haven't taken it, don't be hard on
yourself. If God had trouble raising children, what makes
you think it would be a piece of cake for you?

Received by e-mail

A Tribute to Activity
Professionals!

Thank You!

Thank you for all that you do to improve
the quality of life for those who matter the
most, your residents! They appreciate it!

Thank you for all your creativity.
The residents are thankful.

Thank you for the extra effort you
put into each day.

Thank you for helping out in the dining
rooms for meal programs. They need
you! The nursing staff does appreciate it!

Thank you for all the special trips and
community events. They love being a part
of the community.

Thank you for all the effort you put into
your volunteer program, it definitely does
not happen
without you!

Thank you for smiling even
when you don't feel like it.

Thank you for spending time with those
residents who can not come out of their
rooms. They especially appreciate the
pet visits.

Thank you for a great survey. It takes your
entire team and
a dynamic program.

Thank you for giving all of your self.

Thank you for filling the resident's days
with meaningful activities.

Thank you for pushing so hard to get
extra special programs approved. The
extra effort paid off!

Thank you for all the extra hours you put
into planning and implementing
elaborate events. It was appreciated!

Thank you for attending seminars and
association meetings, even when
sometimes you have to use
vacation days.

Thank you for supporting other activity
professionals.

Thank you for taking a chance and trying
something new.

Thank you for dressing up for all those
holidays.

Thank you for all the hugs and love you
give to them.

Thank you for developing all the
children's programs.

Thank you for all the spiritual programs,
because it means more to them at this
point in their life.

But most of all Thank You for dedicating
your life to this very special profession,
Activity Professionals! We can't imagine
any facility without you!

by: Sandra Stimson, Executive Director
Alternative Solutions
in Long Term Care

www.activitytherapy.com/

Used with Permission

I extend a special thanks to
Pennie Bacon of
Activity Directors Network
for finding and sharing
the following...

Activity Professionals:

Conduct more interviews than......
Jay Leno

Do enough exercise to be on ......
Sportsworld

Put on as many specials as.....
Bob Hope

Ad Lib as much as......
Joan Rivers

Play as many games as......
Sesame Street

Know as much trivia as the
contestants on......Jeopardy

Live through as many family
traumas as......Dallas

Deal with as much illness as......
General Hospital

Have as much compassion as......
Little House on the Prairie

Analyze current events like......
The Today Show

And - We are ready to go into reruns..... At
any time

Above and Beyond all This, We must...

Sing like ......Kate Smith

Play the piano like ......Peter Nero

Do stand up comedy like ......
George Burns

M.C. like......Georgie Jessel

Act like......Katherine Hepburn

Edit newspapers like......
William Randolph Hearst

Read like......Orson Wells

and...

And do bulletin boards like......
Norman Rockwell

Adapted from a speech by
Madge Schweinsberg,
Sept. 1981

Morel Madness
By Robert Lucas, Owner/Editor
Newsletter-Express.com
http://www.newsletter-express.com

It is an annual ritual...a sacred rite of Spring...a Hoosier tradition... handed down from
fathers and mothers to daughters and sons. It goes back to the time when the
Indians inhabited the woodlands of Indiana. From mid-April to mid-May both the
males and the females of the Lucas clan become hunter/gatherers once again...
stalking the mysterious morel.

It was warm that early morning in late April...slightly raining...misty...perfect weather
for growing mushrooms. My father rousted me from sleep. It was still dark as we put
on our deep woods clothes...the boots...the light jackets...the paper sacks to carry
home our bounty. Mom was frying bacon and eggs. Their aroma mingled with that of
the coffee and filled the house so heavily I could taste them on my tongue.

I was ten years old and already a veteran mushroom hunter of five years. I was
convinced that my father and my grandfather had hunted the same prey back in the
pioneer days; back when Indiana had been one county...Knox. Of course that wasn’t
true. However, our family did trace back to 1812 in Indiana history. My mother was
always proud of that fact. We were of Hoosier pioneer stock...original land grants and
all.

But this morning belonged to the men of the Lucas clan. We hopped into our cars
and trucks and descended on the woods near my grandfather’s farm. It was dawn.
We attacked the woods in four groups of two...spread out...and would meet at the
natural spring in the south meadow in two hours.

Dad and I carefully combed our section of the woods, turning over every leaf...looking
under every mayflower...searching every rotting log. At first the morels blended with
the ground cover and were hard to spot. But once we found a few it became easier to
recognize even the smallest section of hidden mushrooms.

After a while, I was coming up empty. I couldn’t find a thing. Mostly, I came across
turtles, toads and the occasional snake. I spent a lot of time whacking my walking
stick against the dead branches and weeds. That irritated my father to no end.
Finally he told me to either stop hitting everything and pay attention...or go back to car
and wait for the others.

At that I sat down on an old log and began to wish I had never come. I knew everyone
else would return home with full sacks. Me? I’d be lucky to keep a box turtle.

It was mid-morning and it was hot...it was humid...and I was bored. As I silently
whacked my walking stick on the old log a small chunk of bark flew off and I watched
it fly across the fallen fence row and land in the briar patch. Something about the
raspberry growth attracted my attention and I took a few steps in that direction. There
was a large, yellow sponge mushroom. It was the kind every morel stalker dreams
about...the king of heap...the ultimate trophy of the season.

With renewed excitement I picked the giant morel and plopped it into my paper sack.
Then I remembered what Dad had always said. “When you find a mushroom, look
around. Where there’s one there’s usually another.”

Sure enough, underneath the growth of raspberry briars was the mother load of
mushrooms. There I found nearly two dozen, full grown, giant, yellow morel
mushrooms. Enough to completely fill my sack.

Although several of the fellows found more mushrooms than I did that day...I was the
only one to find the grand prize of all mushrooms...the giant yellow sponge...and I
found a bonanza of them.

Copyright 2005 Newsletter-Express.com
All rights reserved.

Used with permission

I extend a special thanks to
Megan Hill
Activity Director at
Heritage Green Assisted Living
Communities
for finding and sharing
the following...

Activity Pest

by Suzanne Williams

Why do they come to my door and
ask, "Do you want to play Bingo?"
No, I'll pass!
Can't you see I'm trying to sleep?
Now leave quietly, without a peep!

Who is back the very next day?
"Would you like a manicure?"
I say, "Okay."
Or I tell her, "Maybe I will on
another day."

Ah! She's gone - there is quiet - all
right!
Now, its just me and
The Price is Right.

Knock, knock! Can you guess?
Yep! She's back -
the Activity Pest!
"We're having a party. Please
won't you come?"
"If I go this time, will you
leave me alone?"

She tries to get me in the mood
And bribes me with a little food.
So I tag along - to this party I go.
There are people dancing, and
what do you know?
I'm talking and eating and
enjoying the show!

I guess theses activities
aren't so bad.
In fact, the party helped me
forget feeling sad.

So, if you get a knock on
your door
And it is the Pest,
try not to ignore.
Believe it or not, her
intentions are right:
To get us out of our rooms
And into the spotlight.

OUR PARENTS,
OURSELVES
by Marsha Kay Seff

Time for memory test, reality check

August 23, 2003

If a tree falls in the forest and nobody
hears, does it make a sound?
When my dad was alive and plagued by
dementia, I thought a lot about this
question.
If your parent can't remember your visits
or how loving, patient and understanding
you've been, does it pay to keep showing
up, thinking up enjoyable things to do
and talk about?
If your parents don't always recall who
you are, how much should a dutiful child
do?
I think my friend's 15-year-old son, Jacob
Fadden, said it best: "You still know who
they are."
And you still know who you are.
They are the dad who hated picnics but
went anyway, because you loved them.
And the mother who attended all your
grade-school plays, no matter how small
your part. They might even be the father
who didn't pay you much attention and
the mother who drove you nuts.
But you know in your heart that they did
the best they were capable of doing. And
you love them, complete with all their
flaws, as you know in your heart they
loved you.
You couldn't live with yourself if you
deserted them now when they need you
most, even if they can't remember your
name or what you did for them this
morning.
One Thanksgiving, I took my dad from his
skilled-nursing facility to visit my mom in
the assisted-living facility across the
community's lake. It sounds easier than
it was.
First, I had to convince my father that the
trip to see his wife of 50 years was worth
the effort of getting out of bed. Then, I had
to dress and toilet him. Finally, I had to
push his heavy wheelchair up a hill that, I
swear, is a molehill when I'm not
pushing.
Well, the two greeted each other with big
smiles and a kiss. Mom talked and Dad
listened. For about five minutes. Then my
father announced he was tired and
needed to go back to bed.
So I reversed our holiday journey,
undressed him and tucked him in. Then,
completely exhausted, I drove home and
pulled the covers over my own head.
I phoned Dad the next day and asked
him how he had enjoyed the visit. He
didn't have a clue what I was talking
about.
Who cares?
My mother and I continued to visit him.
And because he didn't feel up to talking,
we chatted and laughed and hoped he
enjoyed just being close to us.
When I could cajole him into going, we
took him to ride my friend's horse, as
riding had been his favorite activity for
many years. He was happy astride a
horse.
Even so, he seldom remembered the
outings. Like everything else, they
seemed to float through his brain like
cotton candy.
So I thought a lot about trees – and
babies. The first few years of a baby's life
are said to be the most important. You
give them everything you have, while they
enjoy the moments.
Yet, they don't remember, at least
consciously, the times you cherish, from
wiping their tiny tushies to taking them to
the beach. They don't remember the
happiness and love with their brains, but
I'm certain they remember with their
hearts.
The same must be true of our parents.
Even if they didn't recall a Thanksgiving
when we knocked ourselves out to see
them smile, I bet they feel our love and
hold fast to it during their final days. They
might not be able to name us, but I bet,
deep within, they know us.
Meanwhile, we still know them. And if we
give them our all, we'll have fewer regrets
when they're gone. We won't feel guilty
about what we didn't do to help them
enjoy the moments. For the moments
there were – we remember.

If a tree falls and nobody hears or
remembers, it still makes a noise.

Marsha Kay Seff is a Union-Tribune staff
writer and editor of the San Diego
Eldercare Directory. Write to her at The
San Diego Union-Tribune, 2375
Northside Drive, No. 300, San Diego, CA
92108, or send e-mail to marsha.
seff@uniontrib.com. Please include your
telephone number.

The Car or the Box
A Christmas Story
By Robert Lucas, Owner/Editor
Newsletter-Express.com
http://www.newsletter-express.com

They tell me it was freezing cold on that Christmas day of 1950. The heavy snow was
piled in small mountains and most of the country roads were impassable. My parents
and I were living with my grandparents at that time while my dad was going to school
on the GI bill. I was three. It was only a few months before my Uncle Jim, who was 23,
would be drafted and eventually sent to Korea. He was probably the most excited
person in the small farm house on that chilly morning.

Jim was the second person up that day. My grandmother was always the first. The
coal fired kitchen oven was quickly fighting back the cold while the Ben Franklin was
doing the same in the living room. The smell of fresh brewed coffee filled the little
house as the other adults drifted down the narrow stairs to find their seats at the
large, oaken table. Soon the sound and smell of sizzling bacon and eggs joined the
aroma of the coffee; and someone started making toast.

Everybody was chattering about the Christmas presents under the tree. Jim was
eager for me to wake up and see the present he, Dad and Grandpa had gotten for
me. It was a beautiful, gleaming, gray and red and chrome-plated pedal car (my first
and only convertible). The camera was ready. The present was ready. The adults
were ready. But the kid was still upstairs sound asleep.

They waited and waited.

The kid was still asleep.

They finished breakfast, had some more coffee and shared the newspaper.

The kid was still asleep (I am still a sound sleeper. Ask my wife).

Finally, Jim had enough of the waiting. He bounded up the narrow stairs and burst
into my room. Leaning over me, he gently lifted me into his arms and carried me
down to the family.

We all went into the living room; me riding on Uncle Jim’s shoulders. There was the
largest Christmas present I had ever seen. It was as big as me, covered with
beautiful red and green wrapping paper and ribbon and a giant red bow. Everybody
talked with excited voices. Someone made sure that the old Kodak box camera was
ready to record some historical black and white photographs of the event.

Dad and Jim helped me unwrap the monstrous present. Paper and ribbon flew
everywhere. Suddenly, there was the giant, naked cardboard box. It was really
fascinating…a wonder to behold. But there was more. My dad gave the flaps a sharp
tug and with a crisp ripping sound he opened the top of the box. Then he and Uncle
Jim carefully lifted out the gleaming, super-streamlined pedal car and lowered it to
the floor.

Everybody was impressed with the present. It was absolutely beautiful! They all loved
it. It had been the top-secret project of the year. Dad and Jim had ordered it from the
hardware store in town. When it arrived they carefully stored it away in one of the out-
buildings on the farm. They had all wrapped it up carefully and placed the ribbon and
the bow on it just so. There was pride in every heart. If they could, they all would hop
in and take it for a spin around the little living room.

Me? I favored the box.

They tried to coax me into the pedal car; but I wouldn’t go. I tried to climb into the box.
Finally, Jim picked me up and tried to force me into the car. I screamed and kicked
and threw a tantrum. I didn’t want anything to do with that metal monster. If they would
only let me climb into that huge cardboard box, everything would be just dandy. But,
no; they wanted to take pictures. It was Christmas. Finally, my mother calmed me
down and Dad was able to set me into the convertible. Yes, pictures were taken. But
when all of the hoopla was over, and everybody went about their business, I spent the
rest of the day delightfully playing in my beautiful cardboard box.

When my Dad finished his schooling, we moved to the city. Uncle Jim went off to
Korea and saw Marilyn Monroe (he has pictures). I did play with the pedal car
(although not often). Eventually it found its way back to my grandparents’ farm where
my cousins loved it and played with it for many years. Finally, it lived out its days, worn
and rusted, but loved. When my grandparents retired and moved to town, all of my
cousins had grown up and the little car was left behind. Today that little pedal car is
worth a small fortune to collectors. What happened to the cardboard box? It went up
in flames the day after that Christmas morning. Well…so much for my sense of
financial value.

Copyright 2004 Newsletter-Express.com
All rights reserved.

Used with permission

An Explanation of Life

On the second day God created the
monkey. God said, "Entertain people, do
monkey tricks, make them laugh. I'll give
you a twenty-year life span."

The monkey said, "How boring, monkey
tricks for twenty years? I don't think so. Dog
gave you back ten, so that's what I'll do too,
okay?" And God agreed.

On the third day God created the cow. God
said, "You must go to the field with the
farmer all day long and suffer under the
sun, have calves and give milk to support
the farmer. I will give you a life span of sixty
years."

The cow said, "That's kind of a tough life
you want me to live for sixty years. Let me
have twenty and I'll give back the other
forty." And God agreed again.

On the forth day God created man. God
said, "Eat, sleep, play, marry and enjoy your
life. I'll give you twenty years."

Man said, "What? Only twenty years! Tell
you what, I'll take my twenty, and the forty
the cow gave back and the ten the monkey
gave back and the ten the dog gave back,
that makes eighty, okay?" "Okay," said God,
"You've got a deal."

So that is why the first twenty years we eat,
sleep, play, and enjoy ourselves; for the
next forty years we slave in the sun to
support our family; for the next ten years we
do monkey tricks to entertain the
grandchildren; and for the last ten years we
sit on the front porch and bark at everyone.

Life has now been explained to you

I'M A SENIOR CITIZEN
And proud of it!

I'm the life of the party... even when it
lasts until 8 p.m.

I'm very good at opening childproof caps
with a hammer.

I'm usually interested in going home
before I get to where I am going.

I'm good on a trip for at least an hour
without my aspirin, beano, and antacid.

I'm the first one to find the bathroom
wherever I go.

I'm awake many hours before my body
allows me to get up.

I'm smiling all the time because I can't
hear a word you're saying.

I'm very good at telling stories. Over and
over and over and over.

I'm aware that other people's
grandchildren are not as bright as mine.

I'm so cared for - long term care, eye
care, private care, dental care.

I'm not grouchy, I just don't like traffic,
waiting, crowds, children, politicians.

I'm positive I did housework correctly
before my mate retired.

I'm sure everything I can't find is in a
secure place.

I'm wrinkled, saggy, lumpy, and that's just
my left leg.

I'm having trouble remembering simple
words like...uh???...uh.

I'm now spending more time with my
pillows than with my mate.

I'm realizing that aging is not for sissies.

I'm anti-everything now: anti-fat,
anti-smoke, anti-noise, anti-inflammatory.

I'm walking more (to the bathroom) and
enjoying it less.

I'm going to reveal what goes on behind
closed doors. Absolutely nothing!

If you are what you eat, I'm Shredded
Wheat and All Bran.

I'm sure they are making adults much
younger these days.

I'm in the initial stage of my golden years.
SS, CD's, IRA'S, AARP.

I'm wondering, if you're only as old as you
feel, how could I be alive at 150?

I'm supporting all movements now...by
eating bran, prunes, and raisins.

I'm a walking storeroom of facts, I've just
lost the key to the storeroom.

I'm a SENIOR CITIZEN, and I think I am
having the time of my life!!!!

Redneck
Medical Terms

Artery
The study of paintings.

Benign
What you be after you be eight.

Bacteria
Back door to cafeteria.

Barium
What doctors do when patients die.

Cesarean Section
A neighborhood in Rome.

Catscan
Searching for Kitty.

Cauterize
Made eye contact with her.

Colic
A sheep dog.

Coma
A punctuation mark.

D&C
Where Washington is.

Dilate
To live long.

Enema
Not a friend.

Fester
Quicker than someone else.

Fibula
A small lie.

G.I.Series
World Series of military baseball.

Hangnail
What you hang your coat on.

Impotent
Distinguished, well known.

Labor Pain
Getting hurt at work.

Medical Staff
A Doctor's cane.

Morbid
A higher offer than I bid.

Nitrates
Cheaper than day rates.

Node
I knew it.

Outpatient
A person who has fainted.

Pap Smear
A fatherhood test.

Pelvis
Second cousin to Elvis.

Post Operative
A letter carrier.

Recovery Room
Place to do upholstery.

Rectum
Darn near killed him.

Secretion
Hiding something

Seizure
Roman emperor.

Tablet
A small table.

Terminal Illness
Getting sick at the airport.

Tumor
More than one.

Urine
Opposite of you're out

Varicose
Near by

How Many Christians
Does It Take To
Change A Lightbulb?

Charismatic: Only 1 - Hands are
already in the air.

Pentecostal: 10 - One to change
the bulb, and nine to pray against
the spirit of darkness.

Presbyterians: None - Lights will
go on and off at predestined times.

Roman Catholic: None - Candles
only. (Of guaranteed origin of
course.)

Baptists: At least 15 - One to
change the light bulb, and three
committees to approve the change
and decide who brings the potato
salad and fried chicken.

Episcopalians: 3 - One to call the
electrician, one to mix the drinks,
and one to talk about how much
better
the old one was.

Mormons: 5 - One man to change
the bulb, and four wives to tell him
how to do it.

Unitarians: We choose not to
make a statement either in favor of
or against the need for a light bulb.
However, if in your own journey you
have found that light bulbs work for
you, you are invited to write a poem
or compose a modern dance about
your light bulb for the next Sunday
service, in which we will explore a
number of light bulb traditions,
including incandescent,
fluorescent, 3-way, long-life and
tinted, all of which are equally valid
paths to luminescence.
Methodists: Undetermined -
Whether your light is bright, dull, or
completely out, you are loved. You
can be a light bulb, turnip bulb, or
tulip bulb. Bring a bulb of your
choice to the Sunday lighting
service and > a covered dish to
pass.

Nazarene: 6 - One woman to
replace the bulb while five men
review church lighting policy.

Lutherans: None - Lutherans don't
believe in change.

Amish: What's a light bulb?