It happens to the best of us...er... women

I am so very sorry....

I am so very sorry

That you’re feeling rather ill

I wonder, yes I wonder

Did you forget to take a pill

You need a dose of TLC

Now you’ve taken to your bed

The formula is guaranteed  

To ease a pounding head

Also you will find enclosed

An additional provision

A hug that I created

To beget a fast remission

I fashioned it with sympathy

Coloured with affection

Adding reassurance

To fight off the infection

I took a crumb of wisdom

To include inside the mixture

To make it known that hereon in

Your cold is not a fixture

So hurry now and get well soon

Your buddy’s very troubled.

It feels as if you’ve gone astray

And missing you has doubled 

If only it was a mere cold that takes Joe away. Yes, he is in hospital again and with everything so upside down I can't get in the blogging mood. An operation is imminent to try and widen the neck of the bladder ... fingers crossed that it works. 

I shall continue to trawl my favourite blogs and will write something as soon as I feel in the mood.

Love you all xx

MORE BITS OF USELESS CHATTER

I’ve seen it all now: 

One woodpigeon in the road, defying me to run over him. I didn’t, but I pushed him to the limit. Eventually he flew off but not soon enough to stop drivers behind me from sounding their horns. 

Tell the truth now, would you have driven on? 

I thought low-slung trousers were going out of fashion? 

After walking behind two young men and having an almost full view of their NAKED butts it seems I was wrong.

There’s a lovely hilly road round the corner from my house, its whole length taken up with overhanging Horse Chestnut trees on either side. The trees make it look good the whole year round but parked cars and traffic lights spoil it, especially when lights are on red.

The problem lies with double yellow lines which in the UK mean no parking at any time. The lines start roughly two car lengths from the lights, on a bend, and then the line of parked cars starts. Cars coming across the lights from the other direction have to negotiate not only the bend but the line of cars as well, because drivers waiting to cross are forced into the middle of the road. It’s hazardous and definitely an accident waiting to happen. No-one is breaking the law but you would imagine motorists would think twice before parking so near the lights.

The last time I went down the hill I had to pull in to let a fire engine go by and I thanked the good Lord that whatever the problem was it wasn’t near the traffic lights!

A good many years ago I wrote to the council asking if the yellow lines could be moved back, stating the reason in full; the reply was that they couldn’t do it because it was a legal matter and to get it changed would be extremely costly. Yellow paint? Moved back one car length? Seems like an easy job to me, but who am I to argue with the law, except I could be the one involved in an accident.

This poem was brought to mind by the memory of the racing fire engine.

MATILDA

WHO TOLD LIES, AND WAS BURNED TO DEATH

Matilda told such Dreadful Lies,

It made one Gasp and Stretch one's Eyes;

Her Aunt, who, from her Earliest Youth,

Had kept a Strict Regard for Truth,

Attempted to Believe Matilda:

The effort very nearly killed her,

And would have done so, had not She

Discovered this Infirmity.

For once, towards the Close of Day,

Matilda, growing tired of play,

And finding she was left alone,

Went tiptoe to the Telephone

And summoned the Immediate Aid

Of London's Noble Fire-Brigade.

Within an hour the Gallant Band

Were pouring in on every hand,

From Putney, Hackney Downs, and Bow.

With Courage high and Hearts a-glow,

They galloped, roaring through the Town,

'Matilda's House is Burning Down!'

Inspired by British Cheers and Loud

Proceeding from the Frenzied Crowd,

They ran their ladders through a score

Of windows on the Ball Room Floor;

And took Peculiar Pains to Souse

The Pictures up and down the House,

Until Matilda's Aunt succeeded

In showing them they were not needed;

And even then she had to pay

To get the Men to go away!

It happened that a few Weeks later

Her Aunt was off to the Theatre

To see that Interesting Play

The Second Mrs. Tanqueray.

She had refused to take her Niece

To hear this Entertaining Piece:

A Deprivation Just and Wise

To Punish her for Telling Lies.

That Night a Fire did break out--

You should have heard Matilda Shout!

You should have heard her Scream and Bawl,

And throw the window up and call

To People passing in the Street--

(The rapidly increasing Heat

Encouraging her to obtain

Their confidence) -- but all in vain!

For every time she shouted 'Fire!'

They only answered 'Little Liar!'

And therefore when her Aunt returned,

Matilda, and the House, were Burned.

( Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953)

Taken from the New Oxford Book of English Verse

NOTE FOR THE DAY is at the top of the sidebar

Investigation into Who wrote it?

I love to Live

Today dear Lord I'm 80, and there's much I haven't done,
I hope dear Lord you'll let me live until I'm 81.
But then if I haven't finished all I want to do
Would you please let me stay awhile until I'm 82?
So many places I want to go - so much I want to see
Do you think you could manage to make it 83?

The world is changing very fast; there is so much in store;
I’d like it very much to could live to 84

And if by then I'm still alive I'd like to stay till 85!
More planes will be up in the air, so I'd really like to stick 
And see what happens to the world when I turn 86.

I know dear Lord, it's much to ask
(and it must be nice in Heaven.)
But I'd really like to stay until I'm 87.
I know by then I won’t be fast and sometimes will be late 
But it would be so pleasant to be around at 88.

I will have seen so many things and had a wonderful time-
So I'm sure that I'll be willing to leave at maybe 89.
Maybe just one more thing I'd like to say
Dear Lord, I thank you kindly
But if it's okay with you, I'd love to live past 90.

oOo

The interesting thing about this poem is that I was given it for The Walmley Bulletin and published it complete with the author’s name as given to me, Paula Laking, but I have seen it on the Net as having been written by a number of people. One was on a forum, when the supposed author asked others to correct it because her grammar wasn’t good. One obliging forum member did just that.

My search revealed that most times the poem appeared as author unknown, but I did find it under a different title:

A PRAYER AT 80

by

Helen Collings

Born March 2 1915

It was posted by Barbara Maddox, of Barbara MaddoxMinistries, who wrote:

“Helen Collings is a precious friend of mine personally and has been a supporter of Barbara Maddox Ministries for many years. Her prayers have been a support that I have held to many times and on any assignment from teaching a Sunday School class to a trip on the mission field,  I knew she would be faithfully praying for God’s will to be done and for many souls to be saved, baptized, filled with the Holy Spirit and then to go forth in their call for the Lord’s work.

Helen is truly one of those rare jewels that God gives to us and we treasure for a life time.”

oOo

The poem was written in yearly segments with her birth date under each one which suggests that she wrote it as the years progressed. It seems, therefore, that the poem was stolen by others and claimed as their own. How easy it is to lie on the Internet. 

LEISURE

My favourite poem, pinned to the notice board near the computer, is a reminder not to overdo things, or should be if I looked at it more often!

Leisure

What is this life if, full of care

We have no time to stand and stare?

No time to stand beneath the boughs,

And stare as long as sheep and cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

(William Henry Davies 1871-1940)

Blame the Scales

Blame the scales, that's what I say!

I guess this is the sort of poem I should read every time I go out to lunch so, since Saturday is eating out day, I've not only read it but I've put it on here for anyone else who has to watch their weight.

Tipping the Scales … by Judy Rose

This morning when I weighed myself, I got an awful fright…

For the weight that came up on the dial was certainly not right.

I’ve really had it with these scales, they’re utterly misleading,

I slid them over to the bath to get a second reading.

Again the weight that registered was ridiculously high,

I moved them back towards the loo to have another try.

The pointer stubbornly remained just under ten stone three…

I raised one foot and then breathed in, but all quite fruitlessly.

My last hope was the carpet, so I moved to softer ground,

Just to suffer more frustration … I’d gained another pound.

I’ll really have to face the fact: these scales have had their day.

They simply can’t deliver me an honest, spot-on weigh.

A brand new, high-tech digital would really be the bizz,

I need top-notch equipment now that tells it like it is.

And passing by the mirror, I catch sight of my reflection,

It’s not a picture that inspires, a more in-depth inspection,

But I am not at all perturbed by the vision that appears,

That mirror distorts everything ... it’s been like that for years.

Get Well Soon

With so many people suffering from 'summer' colds I thought I'd re-post this little poem

I was so very sorry

You were feeling rather ill

I wondered, yes I wondered

Did it help to take a pill

You needed a dose of TLC

Once you’d taken to your bed

The formula was guaranteed  

To ease a pounding head

Also you would find enclosed

An additional provision

A hug that I’d created

To beget a fast remission

I fashioned it with sympathy

Coloured with affection

Adding reassurance

To cope with an injection

I took a crumb of wisdom

To include inside the mixture

To make it known that hereonin

Your illness was not a fixture

So hurry now and get well soon

I’ve been so very troubled.

It felt as if you’d gone astray

And missing you had doubled

~~~~

(Hee, hee, now you know I’m rubbish at this poetry caper)