They are sitting on the table, while she is in the bathroom resting on her computer keyboard. They were pink, and small just like my mom’s small frame that dominated the living-room with her voice and laughter. I stared at them as I reflected on the meaning of these glasses with a smile, and I stood up to make the 40th cup of tea that we going to share, on this visit this early summer.
Dad bought these pretty glasses, because she needed them. She loved to watch TV when she wasn’t playing “her silly farm game.” Dad was tired of telling her what was on TV, cause her eyesight was so bad. She no longer could read the tv guide on her 42 inch flat screen TV. She bugged my father for months to get the new next box from Rogers so that she could read the guide and continue to program her favourite shows days or weeks in advance, so she wouldn’t miss a thing. Dad finally took the drive to Newmarket and picked up the “stupid box”, we hooked it up to only see that the font they used for the new guide was hard to read and way too small. I tried not to laugh at my dad, when I saw the defeated look on his face, but he smiled and shook his head and left the room. I know he was biting his lip but his love for my mom wouldn’t let him. I smiled at the love my dad has for my mom. Read the rest of this entry
I used to keep a journal about the random thoughts in my head that would repeat like loops in my mind. It would and could drive me crazy if it would let it. Things like. I should write that story that have wanted to write, since I was 8 years old. I should draw more, I should look for a job, something I can do from home. That is something I really want, I can do several things. Website Design, Blogging, resumes, and even make graphics. I just don’t know how to market myself. I am not good at selling myself. I have a great desire to help people, but no desire to get paid for it.
These days, I have thought a lot about relationships I have had with men, and people I professed my love to, and still keep close to my heart and love to hear from all the time. When I find myself in love with someone, I usually really love things about that person I wish that I was more like. Examples, things like always happy, love for life, confidence, Intelligence, and a go getter attitude. It never has been about looks, or what they have. It is always about who they are, how many personal beliefs that he lives by and the fact that they know what they are, and accept it fully. Unlike me however, I always think I am willing to change and grow, all the time. I like who I am but I can always improve. It is hard when you are changing habits that have been part of my life for 45 years.
Well, my last relationship was hard to me to realize that it was over, he was always unhappy and complained a lot of my short comings. I listened really hard for the nice things he loved about me and it was so little. I realized that I meant less to him than he did to me. I never tried to waste someone’s time, if I can’t love them with all my heart. Why does he waste mine? So, with the a very heavy heart, I had to let him go. He truly didn’t love me, and I deserve better. I want someone to light up when I call, smile when I am laughing, cry with me, and cheer me up when I am down. To be that one person in the world they can count on. I am looking for someone to love and grow with me. Read the rest of this entry
I have a good friend who I love with all my heart. I still remember the day I first met him. He saw me crying in the hallway and asked me what was wrong.
Who would have known, he would have been a staple in my life, and a long term friend of my children. Ricardo, is a treasure and I love him. I decided to post these pictures of us cause he sent them to me a year ago, and I just cleaned out my email and seen them now. Please enjoy them. Read the rest of this entry
The envelope was worn and the only thing that was legible on it was the return address. I started to open the letter, hoping to find some clue. Then I saw the dateline–1924. The letter had been written almost 60 years ago.
It was written in a beautiful feminine handwriting on powder blue stationery with a little flower in the left-hand corner. It was a “Dear John” letter that told the recipient, whose name appeared to be Michael, that the writer could not see him anymore because her mother forbade it. Even so, she wrote that she would always love him.
It was signed, Hannah.
It was a beautiful letter, but there was no way except for the name Michael, that the owner could be identified. Maybe if I called information, the operator could find a phone listing for the address on the envelope.
“Operator,” I began, “this is an unusual request. I’m trying to find the owner of a wallet that I found. Is there anyway you can tell me if there is a phone number for an address that was on an envelope in the wallet?”
She suggested I speak with her
supervisor, who hesitated for a moment then said, “Well, there is a phone listing at that address, but I can’t give you the
number.” She said, as a courtesy, she would call that number, explain my story and would ask them if they wanted her to connect me.
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