End World Hunger

Give, give and then give some more.  In this world of plenty when we choose to give and share some of our plenty, that makes it easy for someone in need to be filled with hope. We give at our parish church by tithing and contributing to the poor box.  We also give to Catholic Charities, which is a great way to provide for others as the funds are dispersed all over the globe.  

For many years now, we have fed hungry, animals, birds. contributed to rescue groups and even when it is a hardship, we remain constant because the recipients are counting on us.  Their next meal is our share of what we have.  It feels good to know they are dealing with being homeless on a full stomach.

We give to the people on the street corners and treat everyone with respect.  We ask that you join us in sharing your wealth with our world citizens and before we know it together we can end world hunger.  If you feel you have nothing to give then try donating some of your time.

The Right To Know

Is is just me or do you feel the same that we have become such an entitled nation of people?  With everything that has recently come to light, you would think it is a good thing that we have been more demanding to know the facts of situations. But … when is the right to know infringing upon the civil rights of individuals?  Whatever happened to privacy?  Or, was that just a word used in order to hoodwink us into false security?  Why is it we have to shred our mail, hide our identity and look over our shoulder whenever we leave our barricaded homes? What the hell happened to us?

Everyday I get phone calls soliciting me for one thing or another.  When I take the time to stay on the line and politely request my phone number be placed on their do not call list, I find the person on the other end of the phone has hung up!  What happened to good customer service?  I ordered some fried chicken a few weeks ago at a Roy Rogers fast food chain.  In the past, I have received freshly prepared food which stood up to the high standards Mr. Rogers put into place.  However, this particular time the chicken was cooked hours ahead and had not only been overcooked but had sat under the heat lamps, only to be thrown back into hot oil to make it appear newly cooked.  I took it back and the manager offered me more of the same stock.  I patiently explained that I wanted fresh, juicy chicken.  He somewhat apologetically informed me that that was how all of the chicken was cooked and replaced the returned piece with another one just like it.  Whatever happened to the customer is always right?

I feel sorry for celebrities who cannot leave their house without a barrage of cameras flashing their every move.  They are hounded and hardly ever left in peace, which is their right under civil law. It has become an ongoing war of … the right to KNOW vs. the right to “NO!”

Seascape Original Art Oil On Canvas

 

 

Seascape Original Art Oil On Canvas, originally uploaded by Theresa111.

Recently, I have figured out that being creative sometimes translates into the original appeal of that particular moment in ones life. Take this painting for example. Even though I painted, it I still love to look at it, admire it. My nephew, Eric wants me to paint him a big one in this theme.

I must confess that I have gone over it in my mind many times but for the life of me I do not recall exactly how it produced this artwork. Therefore this is a true reflection of being in the moment. An original never to be reproduced moment. I remember watching an art instructional show just prior to taking out my paints and expressing myself.

My point is this. Each moment is a new one and we never realize how very important these moments can be. Like the way young lovers feel during intimate moments. Times when the world shakes and everything momentarily melts away.

The moment of creation is very important and we are granted these times all through our time here on Planet Earth. Mother Nature offers her glorious and ever changing self to us and no two moments are ever the same.

Ruffled Feathers

This is exactly the way I feel inside sometimes when I have had my feathers ruffled.  Notice the unapproachable look, almost a daring come on and the very sharp beak.  There is also the affronted admonishment, which can be further described as, “Don’t even try to smooth or soothe me.”  

I can almost feel the warmth being exhaled from the impressively flared nostrils.  There is a sort of hurt glimmering across the set features and the eyes see right down into your soul.

What a fantastic pose this elegant fowl has struck.  A bit of sorrow shadows the eye but the nobility in the posture is unmistakable.  I imagine the talons this bird possesses are long and sharp, and the wingspan must compete with that of an eagle.

This is an incomparable, a non-plus, an elegant bird of prey.  I am drawn to him or her because of the beauty, dignity and for all intents and purposes, the familiar expression captured by the lens.

Magical Ireland

My niece is in Ireland visiting for the first time.  Her name is Rachael and she has long beautiful light red hair with soft browns and blondes cascading through the reds.  

When I saw this photograph it seemed magical and just the sort of road I have imagined belonged to the lovely Irish countryside.  I hope she gets to ride along this little roadway because it looks like a portal where tiny faeries and leprechauns could traipse across at any given minute.

Lately, I have been watching reruns of the series, “Ballykissangel.”  I record the programs and watch each episode twice.  Once for the story and the second time in order to drink in the delightful dialect, accents and the extraordinary scenery.  I believe I could be quite happy living in England and Ireland.  They are so beautiful and green.

I send out good wishes for a safe and very happy journey because my niece really deserves a wonderful vacation.  Hugs and kisses, my sweet girl.

Raiding The Basket

 

Evan’s basket, originally uploaded by mslil65.

Even though I have purchased the makings for my Easter basket, I found even before I have begun to arrange it, I have had to slap my wrist because I have raided the candies a few times already.

I shall have a photo of my basket tomorrow. Happy Easter everyone.

The Easter Bunny

Easter Sunday was always an exciting day, but the week leading up to it was filled with ritual, school for my siblings and coloring or dying eggs on Saturday.  My grandmother, Mama usually helped us.  Daddy would get into the kitchen to ensure things were progressing smoothly and even Mother would decorate an egg or two.  She was more into the actual basket arrangement.  The artificial plastic strands of fake grass along with plastic eggs were as much fun for her as it was for us children.  

I recall the acrid yet tangy odor of vinegar that filled the air.  I would not get to handle the dyes because they were to be mixed with very hot water.  Instead I would be allowed to handle the slotted spoon to gently lower the fresh egg into the colored boiling water. Blue, purple, red, green, orange and yellow were the colors we would have for the eggs.  After the eggs cooled off, we were able to handle them and we would paint or attach decorations on them.

A few hours of this and we would line up our eggs so Mother could decide how to place them inside our baskets.  Most of them would be hidden early the next morning by Daddy, somewhere in the yard or inside if the weather was rainy or too cold.  But the special part was waking on Easter morning to find the Easter Bunny had filled the plastic eggs with candies and chocolates. There were even a few chocolate bunnies. Some were milk chocolate and a few were white chocolate.  I recall sometimes we had solid chocolate bunnies.  I really liked the jelly beans and malted eggs.  Some of them had speckles of decoration on them and I liked how they felt against my tongue.  

Mary and I would trade jelly bean colors and as she didn’t enjoy milk or dark chocolate, I gave her my white chocolate as another barter.  We hunted eggs running madly around the property and other neighborhood children would even join in the antics.  We all had hours of fun.  After we attended Mass and had our breakfast, it was the one day we were allowed to stuff our mouths with these delicious treats.

On Easter Sunday, my parents were still abed when I peeked in to get them up.  To my surprise I saw open bags of candies all over their dresser.  Wow, they were the same type we had in our new baskets.  It didn’t take me long to put two and two together. I distinctly heard myself shrieking, “Mommy and Daddy are the Easter Bunny!”  Mary, who was three and a half years older, had crept up behind me and upon hearing my words allowed enlightenment to cross her face.  She wanted to deny it but the proof was there for her to see.  Then I just had to go on … “They must be Santa Claus, too!”  Mary and I began to cry and our parents consoled us.  The Easter Bunny was gone for good.

I will share this with you.  I kept making an Easter basket for the big guy until I was fourteen.  Then I gave it up.  In my heart I still love him … and Santa.

Disturbing News

Sunday’s biggest story on the front page of The Washington Post was horrific!  Having recently lost some relatives I found myself wondering just how they had been cared for in this last rite of passage.  I can be happy that my Mother was in the upper county of Frederick Maryland when she passed away and that the names of funeral homes listed in todays paper did not include the ones where other loved ones had been taken.

It is disturbing enough to me that one has to undergo embalming and autopsy exploration, amid other unknown rituals after the last breath is drawn.  I for one keep begging my husband to not let them embalm me or dice me up.  I have read too many Kay Scarpetta novels written by best selling author, Patricia Cornwell not to understand the various ways the dead body can be mistreated or taken apart.  I want to have none of it.  Nothing.  There is nothing dignified in the processing of a corpse, no matter how you dress them up.  

My Native American ancestors had it right.  Build a pyre, place the revered or loved one on top and burn the remains. Clean, fast, respectful.   I figured that or the Vikings way … on a small sea craft, whereas a bowman projects fire on the end of his arrow to ignite the tiny craft.  At least everyone knows the end ritual was as it should be.

When I was in the first grade I thought it would be lovely to ascend into Heaven just as Jesus did.  In fact I visualized me being floated upward on the clouds, with my angels flying along beside me, while strumming their harps and cooing soft happy words.  No one wants to believe they are going to be here one minute and poof * gone the next.  I just pray that my remains will remain … well … intact.  That I will be respected and allowed my Vikings Last Request.

For those of you who have by now read the terrible story on todays front page, I too share the revulsion of these dastardly deeds.  According to The Golden Rule, the people who did this must want the same thing to happen to them or their loved ones?  No matter, The Creator knows who, what, when and where.  He might not understand the Why of it, but we can rest assured He will deal their final requests in His own way.