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Showing most liked content on 06/13/2018 in all areas

  1. 1 point
    A few years ago one of my sisters shared a story with me about her son's misadventures at work and I thought I'd share the story again. My nephew worked at an office that used sand bags for therapy. In my humble opinion, my nephew is a good-looking young man. He has that "boy next door" handsomeness with a smile that catches and keeps your attention. On this particular day at work the sand bags broke, were needed before replacements could be delivered, so being creative, the employees scooped the sand into zip lock bags and wrapped the bags with duct tape. When they ran out of duct tape my nephew was sent to Wal-Mart to purchase more. The single roll he purchased wasn't enough so he was sent back to Wal-Mart to purchase more tape. This time he purchased two of the largest rolls of duct tape he could find. When it came time to pay for his purchase he happened to go to the same cashier. Now, the following is my interpretation of the conversation between my nephew and the cashier based on my sister's re-telling. We were both laughing and I had to ask her to repeat some parts of her story because I thought it was so funny. Cashier: "Must be a big project to use so much duct tape". Nephew: "I didn't realize it took so much duct tape to kidnap someone". Silence from the cashier. I can picture her staring at him because of what he said while he's standing there smiling back at her. Cashier: "I'll be with you in a moment sir". She turned away from him and reached for the phone by her register. My nephew couldn't hear what she was saying because she kept her voice very low. Nephew: "Is there a problem"? Cashier: "No sir". Nephew: "Could you ring this up please"? Cashier: "Just a minute sir". The store manager walks over at this point and starts questioning my nephew. "What's your name, what do you need the duct tape for, do you have ID". At this point my nephew realized the cashier took his joking comment seriously. He explained to the Store Manager he was only kidding when she asked about the duct tape. Luckily for my nephew, he had a business card with him and he showed this to the Manager while explaining why he was buying the duct tape. Here's another nephew adventure story my sister shared with me. My nephew was having a problem at work with someone messing with his lunches; either eating things or hiding things. Having had enough, one day he packed two sandwiches liberally spreading a liquid laxative on one sandwich. He placed his sandwhiches in the refrigerator at work being careful so he would know which sandwhich was safe to eat. Lunch time came and he saw that "someone" had taken a sandwich. Unfortunately for nephew the "someone" took the safe sandwhich. Nephew ate his sandwhich for lunch but discovered it wasn't the safe one. It was the sandwhich he had liberally laced with the liquid laxative. It was a fast acting laxative. Nephew has a wonderful sense of humor but sometimes, as often happens in life, it can bite you in the ass. All rights reserved. I hope you enjoyed my story but please remember it's my story so no using or copying any content in any manner without the express written permission of the owner.....me.
  2. 1 point
    You have to admire his tenacity.
  3. 1 point
    I haven't written much about our monthly sister meetings since Sister #3, Andrea, died unexpectedly May, 2016. We have continued to get together each month since her passing but it hasn't been the same until recently. I came up with the brilliant idea of getting together monthly with my five sisters and so I hosted our first sister meeting October, 1997. The idea was simple. Starting with the eldest each month we'd take turns hosting. Each sister picked her date and planned how she wanted to do things. Full course meals or simple snacks, totally up to the hostess. No pressure about attending, if you could you did and if not we'd see you the next month. We've been doing this every month for twenty plus years. Andrea's death affected us all deeply and changed the tone of our monthly sister meetings and also how we treat each other. Before Andrea died our meetings were full of laughter, teasing, sarcasam, arguing and sometimes anger. No one censored anything that was said and believe me, plenty was said through out the years. We'd play card and dice games, for money of course, and since some of my sisters are very competetive, it could get down right nasty, especially when losing. It was fun, even when there was an argument because sometimes the sharp, angry words would end in laughter. No matter what, though, we never stayed angry with each other. After Andrea died, our monthly sister meetings were very subdued. Sometimes I got the feeling we were walking on egg shells and tip- toeing around the fact that our lives had changed drastically. Our sister was dead. That first year or so after Andrea's death we were together at our sister meetings but we weren't really there. I can't explain the difference, except to say it was lonely, it was sad, it was painful, it was just horribly different. We were each dealing with her death in our own way, quietly, personally, but not really sharing how we felt with each other. We were just going through the motions, grieving separately, not together. There was no teasing, no arguing, no games, no real life to our sister meetings. We had even discussed stopping our sister meetings because her absence was just so damn hard to accept. I think we were afraid to be as we used to be with each other because we didn't want to do or say anything to hurt or offend someone.....just in case. I'm glad we kept going. Sister #2 hosted our December, 2017 sister meeting. She planned a small dinner and invited our spouses. While the men were gathered in the kitchen, we held our sister meeting in the living room. As in the past, we exchanged small Christmas gifts but what made this sister meeting special was that sister #4 participated without any prompting or chastising about her "humbug" attitude. She's not much on holidays and all the hoopla but she planned for this one. Sitting around the Christmas tree we talked and opened our gifts to each other. Sister #4's gift to each of us was a necklace. A small silver heart that held some of Andrea's ashes and an angel wing. Finally, more than a year and a half later, we cried together, as sisters, acknowledging what we had lost, seeing what we still had, and accepting that it was going to be okay. January, 2018 was sister #4's month but she decided to cancel because, as she said, "she wasn't up for it". December didn't bring a miracle healing, there were and still are good and bad days. We all understood but we also knew she was hurting and needed our support. Sister #5 contacted everyone and said she was bringing donuts, meet at Sister #4's home for coffee early on a Saturday morning. Given Sister #4's temperment, however, there was some trepidation as to how she'd react. Sister #5 and I discussed it and we both agreed there was a real possibility she'd be ticked off and tell us "nice to see you, there's the door" but what's life without taking a chance now and then. I arrived last and perhaps that was a subconscious thing on my part. If my sisters cars were parked in the driveway I knew our unannounced appearance was well received. It wasn't until I showed up last, though, that she caught on to what was happening and that said so much about my sister's state of mind. You can't easily get anything by Sister #4 but we did that day. What was really nice about that sister meeting was that we were able to speak of Andrea. About her, her life, the sometimes stupid but funny stuff she used to do or say. Sister #5 hosted our February, 2018 sister meeting. What struck me about that get together is that it was more like our usual sister meetings. There was teasing, laughter, and even some display of temper and arguing over a game we played. It was a card game, I think called "cards against the world". It was the most obnoxious, rude, insulting game I've ever played and I never laughed so much in my life. It was a good sister meeting. Sister #6 held our March, 2018 sister meeting. At Christmas she had given everyone an Appleby's gift card so we all met there for lunch then went to her home for desert. Again, it was more like our old sister meetings. Which brings me to our sister meeting held on April 28th. We played a card game, for money, and Sister #2 actually got snarky with Sister #5 who won both pots of money. Sister #2 won't admit it but she hates to lose. There was a very loud silence after Sister #2 asked Sister #4 to do something for her and Sister #4 declined. We all knew Sister #2 was angry about the response she received. Her red face said it all. No one said anything, though, as we all just sat there waiting for the angry words we could clearly see she was thinking. She remained quiet and held them in. As I'm writing this I can't help but think maybe it would have been better if the angry words were spoken. They probably would have been doosies and we all know Sister #4 can give better than she gets. Obviously, we're not quite back to normal yet but I can see light at the end of the tunnel; we're getting there. I'm beginning to think a nice argument might be good for us. No more egg shells and tip-toeing around each other. I'll have to see what I can do if the opportunity presents itself at our next sister meeting. Wish me luck.
  4. 1 point
    I started this piece of embroidery early August, 1973. At that time I was a young 19-year-old bride of 7 months living in Iceland with my husband who was stationed at the Naval Base at Grindavek. We did not qualify for base housing so we lived in an apartment in Keflavik. I absolutely loved the whole experience and totally embraced the new adventure of living in a different country. Our apartment was modest but the view from our living room window was priceless; the Atlantic Ocean in all it’s glory and I remember thinking I’d never take that view for granted or forget. I shopped at the local stores, including going to the fish market every day for the catch of the day. Our mail came through the military base but I’d stop at the local Post Office just to visit with any one who was there at the time. Conversation was never a problem once it was apparent I was an American; they were as fascinated about Americans as I was about them. Our neighbors were wonderful, friendly people who always welcomed us into their homes with such hospitality and graciousness. Icelandic was not easy to speak but I did my best and was never made to feel foolish when I inevitably butchered their language. I’d receive smiles from the shop keepers or the person I was speaking with and then they would help with the words and phrasing. Since the winter nights were so long in Iceland you would have many different hobbies to help keep you busy. A neighbor introduced me to the art of embroidery and instead of starting out with something simple as she suggested I picked this ambitious piece. It was so large that I had to use a standing frame to hold the piece. She told me that as I worked my tapestry the back should be as neat as the front so I began working slowly and carefully. When it was time to return to the States I only had a small portion done but I wasn’t worried, I was young and had plenty of time to get it finished. Time, however, had other ideas and before I knew it 5 years had gone by and I hadn’t touched my tapestry. I remember setting up my frame and working on the tapestry, watching my toddlers play as I carefully stitched away. I’d set it aside then return to work on it every so often. Life happens, you get busy, and before I knew it more years passed by so quickly. It was not finished when my Dad died in 1982 at the age of 47. At that time I had just about completed the left half of the tapestry to the lady’s shoulders. I no longer had the heart to work on my tapestry so I packed everything up and put it away in the attic. More years passed so quickly and before I knew it our sons had graduated High School and eventually left home to start their own lives. Sometime during the mid 1990’s I was going through photo albums and came across pictures of our time in Iceland. Seeing those photos reminded me of my tapestry packed away in the attic all those years ago. I found it, set up my frame, and again began working on my tapestry. Watching my needle go in and out, filling each space with colored yarn, I gradually realized that when I was working on my tapestry I didn’t think about anything else. Concentrating on each stitch relaxed my mind. I worked slowly, trying to complete my stitches so that the back of the tapestry was as neat as the front, just as my friend from so long ago advised. I changed jobs during this time period so again work on my tapestry was haphazard at best but I kept it close at hand. Again the years flew by and before I knew it, we had celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary. Our sons married giving us daughters and within a couple of years we were blessed with the arrival of our grandchildren. There were parties, holidays, celebrations and sometimes painful goodbyes to more loved ones. Health scares, happy times, harsh words, not so happy times, tears and laughter. So much simple day-to-day life happened as I worked on my tapestry every now and then, stitch by stitch. By April, 2010, my tapestry was almost finished except for several rows in the upper right hand corner. Mom died April 14th that year, and though I still can’t explain why, this urgency came over me to finish my tapestry. I quickly realized I didn’t have enough of the colored yarn for that section of my tapestry so off to Michaels I went, sample in hand, to try to match the color. I wasn’t able to match it exactly but I did find a color that was close enough. To this day, when I look at my tapestry I can see the color difference in that section and I am always reminded of Mom. When I told my husband it was done and showed him the completed piece he praised my work. While the back wasn’t as neat as my long ago Icelandic friend said it should be, he made me feel as if I were Monet and had completed a masterpiece. He told me we had to have it properly framed and that’s what he did. We took it to a professional framer and I remember how excited the gentleman was to work with such a large piece of embroidery. “You don’t see pieces like this very often these days” he said and recommended the use of conservator glass to protect the colors of my tapestry from fading due to sunlight. It took time to pick out the wooden frame and the colors of the matte finish to compliment the colors in my embroidery. I don’t know why, but I remember shedding some tears on the drive home the day we picked up the finished piece from the framer’s shop. Seven years later my tapestry hangs on our bedroom wall and as I look at it I realize that each stitch, from start to finish, represents 37 years of my life. I’m reminded of our time in Iceland, the early years of our marriage, the births of our children and their growing years. I look at different parts of my tapestry and I’m able to remember certain events in my life both happy and sorrowful. Until I started this story, however, I also realize that I never really saw the beauty of the piece as my husband did. What I saw was failure because it took so many years to complete something that I had started so very long ago. Not any more. My tapestry represents a life….mine. I am as much a part of that tapestry as the colored yarn that makes up the picture because looking at it now, I remember my desire to create something beautiful when I selected this very ambitious piece all those years ago. Viewing it with different eyes, I also see that it contains my hopes and dreams through all those long years. There is heartache, joy and life in my tapestry. Different parts of the picture hold the tears I sometimes cried while working, soaking into the yarn and becoming a permanent part of my tapestry. My tapestry has absorbed all the love shared during those 37 years, and I now see, as my husband always did, something of beauty, something that holds a part of me in each and every stitch. I accomplished my desire of long ago to create something beautiful and despite time I did it…..one stitch at a time.
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