The plumber was digging around in the pipes
and he saw something shine in the muck and it turned out to be
the soul of the last tenant.
He gave it to me and i
said...i wonder how we can return it
and he shrugged and said he found stuff like that all the time.
You'de be amazed what people lose, he said.
_Brian Adams_
I Shall Wear Purple
by: Jenny Joseph
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickles for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We will have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too surprised
When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple.
When I Am An Old Man......
author unknown
When I am an old man
I shall wear my slippers whenever I choose
Have popcorn and pickles while in my armchair
Dance around in my bathrobe, put my false teeth in a jar
Make friends of my enemies, and talk love not war.
I'll eat icecream for breakfast and spend some days abed
Nod off in the sunshine over books I'v not read.
I'll drink milk from the carton, eat peaches from their tin
And throw away my neckties, grow whiskers on my chin.
Make music on an old guitar to chase away the blues,
And scratch where it itches, forget to shine my shoes.
Notice the sunsets and let the dogs come in.
On holidays I'll wear fine shirts, plaid trousers that are loose
And let one of the youngsters carve the turkey and the goose.
But for now we must go to work on time
Save every nickle and dime
Be proper and fit and not complain about it.
But maybe I'll begin doing some of these things now
Like forgetting my manners when I'm eating my chow
So my friends will recognize me on that faraway day
When suddenly I am old and begin acting that way.
As two ships passing in the night, So quietly neath the stars soft light; Our paths cross but now and then Reaching out, seeking one another again. We say hello and then we part, Knowing we've shared a piece of our heart. Some friendships stay and sadly some go. My prayers remain steady hoping ours will grow. I ache when you're hurting, I cry when you're sad. Wanting to comfort and hold you so bad. Know that I'm waiting here, with open arms, To share all your troubles and relish your charms. I have nothing to offer but the soul of a friend, Strong shoulders to lean on that don't easily bend. I offer these freely with no strings attached, For in caring and sharing you'll not meet my match. So on some long and lonely night When nothing seems to go just right Close your eyes and think of me, Under the moon's glow is where I'll be. by Trisha
"After A While"... by Veronica Shoffstall
After a while you learn the
subtle difference
between holding a hand and
sharing a life
and you learn that love doesn't
mean possession
and company doesn't mean security
and loneliness is universal.
And you learn that kisses
aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises
and you begin to accept your
defeats
with your head up and your
eyes open
with the grace of a woman
not the grief of a child.
And you learn to build your
hope on today
as the future has a way of
falling apart in mid-flight
because tomorrow's ground
can be too uncertain for plans
yet, each step taken in a new
direction creates a path
toward the promise of a
brighter dawn.
And you learn that even
sunshine burns
if you get too much
so you plant your own garden
and nourish your own soul
instead of waiting for someone
to bring you flowers.
And you learn that love,
true love,
always has joys and sorrows
seems ever present, yet is
never quite the same
becoming more than love and
less than love
so difficult to define.
And you learn that through it all
you really can endure
that you really are strong
that you do have value
and you learn and grow
with every goodbye
you learn.....
"The Meanest Mother."
Written by Bobbie Pingaro
1967
I had the meanest mother in the whole world. While other kids ate
candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal, eggs or toast. When others had cokes and candy for lunch, I had to eat a sandwich.
As you can guess, my supper was different than the other kids' also. But at least, I wasn't alone in my sufferings.
My sister and two brothers had the same mean mother as I did.
My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were on a chain gang.
She had to know who our friends were and where we were going.
She insisted if we said we'd be gone an hour, that we be gone one hour or less--not one hour and one minute.
I am nearly ashamed to admit it, but she actually struck us.
Not once, but each time we had a mind of our own and did as we pleased. That poor belt was used more on our seats than it was to hold up Daddy's pants.
Can you imagine someone actualy hitting a child just because he disobeyed?
Now you can begin to see how mean she really was.
We had to wear clean clothes and take a bath. The other kids always wore their clothes for days.
We reached the height of insults because she made our clothes herself, just to save money.
Why, oh why, did we have to have a mother who made us feel different from our friends?
The worst is yet to come. We had to be in bed by nine each night and up at eight the next morning.
We couldn't sleep till noon like our friends.
So while they slept-my mother actually had the nerve to break the child-labor law.
She made us work.
We had to wash dishes, make beds, learn to cook and all sorts of cruel things.
I believe she laid awake at night thinking up mean things to do to us.
She always insisted upon us telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth,
even if it killed us- and it nearly did. By the time we were teen-agers, she was much wiser, and our life became even more unbearable.
None of this tooting the horn of a car for us to come running.
She embarrassed us to no end by making our dates and friends come to the door to get us.
If I spent the night with a girlfriend, can you imagine she checked on me to see if I were really there.
I never had the chance to elope to Mexico. That is if I'd had a boyfriend to elope with.
I forgot to mention, while my friends were dating at the mature age of 12 and 13,
my old fashioned mother refused to let me date until the age of 15 and 16.
Fifteen, that is, if you dated only to go to a school function. And that was maybe twice a year.
Through the years, things didn't improve a bit. We could not lie in bed, "sick" like our friends did, and miss school.
If our friends had a toe ache,
a hang nail or serious ailment, they could stay home from school.
Our marks in school had to be up to par. Our friends'
report cards had beautiful colors on them, black for passing, red for failing.
My mother being as different as she was, would settle for
nothing less than ugly black marks.
As the years rolled by, first one and then the other of us was put to shame.
We were graduated from high school. With our mother behind us, talking, hitting and demanding respect,
none of us was allowed the pleasure of being a drop-out.
My mother was a complete failure as a mother. Out of four children,
a couple of us attained some higher
education. None of us have ever been arrested, divorced or beaten his mate.
Each of my brothers served his time in the service of this
country. And whom do we have to blame for the terrible way we turned out?
You're right, our mean mother. Look at the things we missed.
We never got to march in a
protest parade, nor to take part in a riot, burn draft cards, and a
million and one other things that our friends did.
She forced us to grow up into God-fearing, educated, honest adults.
Using this as a background, I am trying to raise my three
children. I stand a little taller and I am filled
with pride when my
children call me mean.
Because, you see, I thank God, He gave me the meanest mother in
the whole world.
written by Bobbie Pingaro at
lpingaro@interconnect.net> (1967)
