Monday, March 29, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
As you know, as a Heritage Makers Consultant, I do in home workshops, where you invite friends and family in your home and I introduce HM to them and you receive free products. This has been a great thing, but has been intimidating for some to take the time, open their home, clean, cook, and HOPE people show up!
Well now I am offering something different….
YOU, ME & TWO!
You find only 2 people that have the same ‘PICTURE PROBLEM’, (they take so many pictures and now do not know what to do with them) I sit down with you three and show you the website and get you signed up with your free account. We will get you started right then and there and you still get FREE products for bringing your friends along!
We can meet at a local coffee shop, your home, my home, anywhere there is a wireless connection. We can even make it a playdate with the kids.
Here are a few dates I have available coming up, I can do daytime appointments and evening.
Monday, March 29th - 11am
Wednesday, March 30th - 6pm
Saturday April 3rd - 10 am, 11am, and 12pm
Let me know a time that will work for you...You will NOT be sorry taking the time to remember your memories!
Saturday, March 20, 2010
When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North Platte , Nebraska. It was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Missouri.
The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.
And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.
Crabby Old Man
What do you see nurses? . . .. .. . What do you see?
What are you thinking . . . . . when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man . . . . . not very wise,
Uncertain of habit . . . . . with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food . . . . . and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . . . . . 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice . . .. . . the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . . . lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . . . The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? . . . . . Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse .. . . . .. you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am. . . . . . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, . . . . . as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten . . . . . with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters . . . . . who love one another.
A young boy of Sixteen . . .. with wings on his feet.
Dreaming that soon now .. . . .. . a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . . .. my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows . . . . .. that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . .. . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . ... . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . . . . With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons . . .. . . have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me .. . . . . to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . . My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . .. . my wife is now dead.
I look at the future . . . . . shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing . . .. . .. young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . . . and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man . . .. . and nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age . . .. . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles . . . .. .. grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . . . . where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass .. . . . . a young guy still dwells,
And now and again . . .. . . my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys . . .. . . I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living . . ... . . life over again.
I think of the years, all too few . . . . . gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact .. . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people .. . . . open and see.
Not a crabby old man .. . . Look closer . . . see ME