Sand, Bat, Bed

 

From Harold, my tax attorney for over 30 years: Used with his permission.

 

 

The Old Broken Bat

It was just an old, broken bat, but it was mine

The team didn’t want it, but for me, it was fine.

Dad got it from the school, the handle covered with tape.

For a preschool boy, it was in good, usable shape.

Throw it over my shoulder, and it would almost touch the ground.

Try to swing it as hard as I could, and it would almost go around.

I could use it, and imaginary baseball I would play.

Sometimes, in life, we get broken and useless, so it seems.

But there is always enough love to restore those dreams.

In god’s hands you are not ready to be thrown away

He has a purpose for you, as in His love you stay.

Reach out to those who are worn and broken,

And see that kind words of love are spoken.

Sometimes you feel like that “Old Broken bat,” thrown away.

But remember, you still have great value, in your unique way.

Take the old broken bat in your life and swing it proudly,

Let it speak for you, often and loudly.

“I’m here, and I’m useful and not beyond repair.”

Put on that smile and wear it everywhere!

Harold 09/19/14

 

Walking on Sand

Two old codgers walking on the sand.

Shuffling along, hand in hand.

The song of the gull, the roar of the surf, music to their ears,

Sounds that are still the same after all those years.

Stop and reach down for a stone, a shell or a piece of wood,

“The wind’s getting chilly, dear, better pull up your hood.”

A glance, a smile, a twinkle in the eye.

Silently remembering happy days gone by.

“Getting a little tired? Time to go back to the car?”

Turning around, “Oh my, have we come that far?”

What’s this? Amazing how young they feel.

Start back to the car, a new spring in their heel.

Two old codgers walking on the sand.

No more shuffling, but stepping out, hand in hand.

Harold

05/29/04

 

The Bed

She was moved from the hospital to rehab and assigned a bed.

Her mind was fogged with drugs, and every event was faced with dread.

The pain was apparent with every word she spoke that day.

She begged her husband not to go home but to stay.

“I’ll move over, you can share my bed tonight.”

But he had to go and leave that heartbreaking sight.

He returned the next day to spend as much time as was needed.

Remembering the night before, how for him to stay, she pleaded.

Here is the story of an event during the previous night.

How a frightened, lonely lady handled her plight.

She was found on the floor beside that bed.

Blankets pulled around her, pillow under her head.

What are you doing?” Was the question she heard while uncomfortable and cold.

“I’m going to sleep here, so my husband can have the bed!” they were told.

“He’s coming back and needs a place to sleep,” is what she said.

For the sake of her love, she was willing to give up the bed.

The drugs wore off and the pain left over time.

But I’ll never forget the love of that wonderful wife of mine!

Harold

 2011

 

 

In Case You Missed It:

 Rude but funny.

 

You know what the most significant distraction for anyone who works on the computer is don't you? Of course, the Internet.  Yet it's fun to start the day with a chuckle.

 

From Jay Leno's Late night came this from a 100-year-old woman: 

Leno: "I heard you went to Universal Studios yesterday."

 

"Yes," she said, "the wind was blowing and I was wearing a skirt and holding onto my hat. 

 

"A young man came by," she said. He told her, "Lady, you better hold down your skirt. We can see everything you've got."

 

"Honey," she said, "everything I've got is 100 years old. But this is a new hat."

 

 

Here's a challenge:

 

Read the excerpt from the children's book, The Snail with a Right Heart, and not buy it.

 

I couldn't.

 

https://www.themarginalian.org/the-snail-with-the-right-heart/ 

 

 

 

With fascination, I read the lengthy excerpt of Maria Popoya's book printed in The Marginalian--biology, the origin of life, snail reproduction, and Jeremy, the snail with a shell coiled the opposite direction of most every other snail. And with his its internal organs opposite as well.

 

And then came a "but," and the excerpt ended.

 

What?

 

What happens next?

 

It's going to make me cry, I know it. 

 

The book is in the mail.

 

 

★ A Kirkus Best Book of 2021: A Best Informational Picture Book

★ A Marginalian (formerly Brain Pickings) Loveliest Children's Book of 2021

★ A Spirituality & Practice Best Spiritual Book of 2021

 

All of the author's proceeds will go to the Children's Heart Foundation, whose quarter-century devotion to funding research and scientific collaborations is shedding light on congenital heart conditions to help young humans with unusual hearts live longer, wider lives.

 

 

And on the home front--a friend who is cruising into a broken heart.

 

Take a lesson--don't get scammed by a promise of romance with sweet talk and I love you's from a chat room.

 

My husband says romance/money scams are a billion dollar business. And schools to teach the scammers how to prey on hopeful hearts.

 

Here's her story: He is (supposedly) off-shore on an oil drilling rig, and has mortgaged his home to invest in some scheme that will make him 9 million dollars, so he can retire in style.

 

He says he has a Scottish accent and immigrated to America with his father when he was 20. Our friend and he are only texting, no speaking, but have exchanged pictures.

 

He says he is off the shore of Louisiana, which would be in a 3-hour time zone from where she lives, yet their visits are 12 hours apart. Hum. What's wrong with this picture? Many things actually.

 

She's in love with him and thinks they're engaged. Yesterday he sent word was that there was an explosion on board the rig and financial loss. [Plus an Emoji sad face.]

 

The plot thickens.

 

The heart is a lonely hunter, someone said, and wrote a book by that title. Luckily, he's across the globe, and she's here, and she is holding onto her money with an iron fist.

 She could read a novel, but this is more fun.

  

“No man* knows how much he is an optimist, even when he calls himself a pessimist, because he has not really measured the depths of his debt to whatever created him and enabled him to call himself anything. At the back of our brains… [there is] a forgotten blaze or burst of astonishment at our own existence.”—G.K. Chesterton

Is This Your Lucky Day?

This morning I reached into my sock drawer and pulled out two black socks from the pile of black stockings. And by some quirk of fate, I had a pair--they matched. Now, that is as rare as a mouse who while playing on the keyboard, managed to type out a complete sentence.

 

Does that mean this is a lucky day?

 

Do you believe in synchronicity? Or the Muse or that stories are circling in the either and are determined to find a teller? Steven Pressfield tells the story of Liz Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love) meeting a fellow writer and found that the story she began years ago but dismissed was picked up by this new friend who lived miles away from her.

 

My daughter said we should complete a story we began some time ago before someone else picks it up. I’ve heard of this before. The Red Balloon was written by two people almost simultaneously but was printed by the author who ran to the publisher first.

 

Sometimes the world seems magical. Other times it appears determined to pelt us with monkey wrenches.

 

Do you have an answer for that?

 

I could say it’s our mindset or our attitude, but maybe there is something else playing with us. Perhaps the Muse is as fickle as we are. 

 

In Hawaii, there is an ongoing belief in Pele, the goddess of the volcano. They treat her as a living entity who can be appeased with gin. But, so the story goes, she has a fiery temper, and a benevolent side, such as helping drivers on the road. She burns down some people’s houses while stopping short of others, and has been known to make an abrupt turn thus saving a sacred site—of which there are many scattered around the Island. (You probably wouldn’t recognize them for often they are rocks stacked upon rocks.)

 

Oh, I have an explanation: There are magnetic lines in the earth called lei lines, and sacred sites are built at their junctures. Suppose--and this is a big suppose—that the lava followed those lines and turned when they turned. 

 

Prove me wrong.

 

Then, there is the story of Ruth, who, years ago, saved the town of Hilo on the Big Island. When molten flowing lava threatened Hilo someone suggested calling Ruth, who had a reputation for controlling lava flows. She lived in Honolulu and was a large woman, so special arrangements needed to be made to transport her. 

 

Once in Hilo she requested they build a straw hut for her, provide her favorite libation, and then leave her alone. Someone spied and said she just lay down in front of an advancing lava flow and meditated.

 

The following morning, she was alive, and the lava had stopped short of her. 

 

Boy, that’s almost like laying down in front of a freight train and figuring it would stop before it ran over you. 

 

 

I just opened my book The Frog’s Song (about our adventure in Hawaii) to see if I had written about Ruth—I didn’t find that I had, but I found the Signature Tree that I had forgotten about. 

 

There was a tree on the property we bought called a Signature Tree by the owner who showed us the property. The tree was large, like an apple tree, but evergreen with somewhat succulent leaves. It looked like a deciduous tree, that is it didn’t lose its leaves—at least not all at once. If you wrote on a leaf, your writing would last until that leaf was displaced by another.

 

On one of the leaves, we found this note: “Goodbye farm,” signed by the owner’s two little girls.

 

When we left, we signed our names.

 

It’s been eleven years. Our leaves have probably dropped off by now. 

 

 

P.S. I wanted to tell you that my book, The Frog’s Song by Joyce Davis, is on sale. Maybe I should have titled it The Song of Hawaii, but the frogs sang louder, so they got first billing. It was on sale a week ago, but is now back to its regular price. Sorry. I have no control over its price.

  

“The only man I know who behaves sensibly is my tailor; he takes my measurements anew each time he sees me. The rest go on with their old measurements and expect me to fit them.”
​— George Bernard Shaw ​

 

In case you missed it:

Patagonia now has a new Stockholder—THE EARTH

 

Patagonia’s founder Yvon Chouinard gave away his business.

It’s revenue in 2022 reached 1.5 billion.

Here’s how it works: 100% of the company’s voting stock transfers to the Patagonia Purpose Trust, created to protect the company’s values; and 100% of the nonvoting stock had been given to the Holdfast Collective, a nonprofit dedicated to fighting the environmental crisis and defending nature. The funding will come from Patagonia: Each year, the money we make after reinvesting in the business will be distributed as a dividend to help fight the crisis.-Yvon Chouinard

 

 

Buy from Patagonia!

 

Mr. Chouinard doesn’t believe anybody should be a billionaire. I agree, a couple million ought to keep a person for life.

 

Founder: Yvon Chouinard

Headquarters: Ventura, CA

Customer service: 1 (800) 638-6464

CEO: Ryan Gellert (Sep 24, 2020–)

Founded: 1973, Ventura, CA

Revenue: 1.5 billion USD (2022 estimate)

Number of employees: 1,000 (2017)