The Word Cloud

Don't know if this is true or not; brings a tear to your eye!

CRABBY OLD MAN (Priceless)

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Tampa, Florida, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.  Later, when the nurses were going through his meagre possessions, they found a poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital one nurse took her copy to Missouri. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health.  A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.  And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.

 Crabby Old Man

 what do you see nurses? ................. What do you see?
 What are you thinking ......... when you're looking at me?
 A crabby old man, .................................................. not very wise,
 Uncertain of habit ....................................... with faraway eyes?
 Who dribbles his food ............................... and makes no reply.
 When you say in a loud voice........... 'I do wish you'd try!'
 Who seems not to notice ................... the things that you do.
 And forever is losing.................... a sock or shoe?
 Who, resisting or not........... Lets you do as you will,
 With bathing and feeding........... The long day to fill?
 Is that what you're thinking? ...... Is that what you see?
 Then open your eyes, nurse..... You’re not looking at me.
 I'll tell you who I am........... As I sit here so still,
 As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
 I'm a small child of Ten ....... with a father and mother,
 Brothers and sisters ............... who love one another.
 A young boy of Sixteen........... With wings on his feet.
 Dreaming that soon now ............... a lover he'll meet.
 A groom soon at twenty ............ my heart gives a leap.
 Remembering, the vows........... That I promised to keep.
 At Twenty-Five, now.............. I have young of my own.
 Who need me to guide ............ and a secure happy home.
 A man of thirty................. My young now grown fast,
 Bound to each other .......... with ties that should last.
 At Forty, my young sons ......... have grown and are gone,
 But my woman's beside me .......... to see! I don't mourn.
 At Fifty, once more,------ babies play 'round my knee,
 Again, we know children ............. my loved one and me.
 Dark days are upon me ............... my wife is now dead.
 I look at the future............... I shudder with dread.
 For my young are all rearing ......... young of their own.
 And I think of the years ... and the love that I've known.
 I'm now an old man .................. and nature is cruel.
 Tis jest to make old age ............... look like a fool.
 The body, it crumbles........... Grace and vigour, depart.
 There is now a stone ........... where I once had a heart.
 But inside this old carcass.... a young guy still dwells,
 And now and again.............. My battered heart swells.
 I remember the joys................. I remember the pain.
 And I'm loving and living ............... life over again.
 I think of the years.... all too few..... Gone too fast.
 And accept the stark fact ......... that nothing can last.
 So open your eyes, people .................. open and see.
 Not a crabby old man.  Look closer ..... See ............... ME!!

 

 

BOTH TRUE - and worth reading!!!

 

       Many years ago, Al Capone virtually owned Chicago... Capone wasn't famous for anything heroic. He was notorious for enmeshing the windy city in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder.

Capone had a lawyer nicknamed 'Easy Eddie.' He was Capone's lawyer for a good reason. Eddie was very good! In fact, Eddie's skill at legal manoeuvring kept Big Al out of jail for a long time

         To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Not only was the money big, but also, Eddie got special dividends. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day; the estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago City block.

         Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him. 

Eddie did have one soft spot, however. He had a son that he loved dearly.  Eddie saw to it that his young son had clothes, cars, and a good education. Nothing was withheld. Price was no object.  And, despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach him right from wrong.. Eddie wanted his son to be a better man than he was.

         Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things he couldn't give his son; he couldn't pass on a good name or a good example.

         One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. Easy Eddie wanted to rectify wrongs he had done.

         He decided he would go to the authorities and tells the truth about Al; 'Scarface' Capone, cleans up his tarnished name, and offers his son some semblance of integrity. To do this, he would have to testify against The Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great...  So, he testified.

Within the year, Easy Eddie's life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago Street.

         But in his eyes, he had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer, at the greatest price he could ever pay.

 Police removed from his pockets a rosary, a crucifix, a religious medallion, and a poem clipped from a magazine.

The poem read:

'The clock of life is wound but once,

And no man has the power

To tell just when the hands will stop

At late or early hour

Now is the only time you own.

Live, love, toil with a will.

Place no faith in time.

For the clock may soon be still.

 

Story Number Two.

         World War II produced many heroes. One such man was Lieutenant Commander Butch O'Hare.

He was a fighter pilot assigned to the aircraft carrier Lexington in the South Pacific.

         One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission; after he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank; he would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship; his flight leader told him to return to the carrier; reluctantly, he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet.

  As he was returning to the mother ship he saw something that turned his blood cold: a squadron of Japanese aircraft was speeding its way toward the American fleet; the American fighters were gone on a sortie, and the fleet was all but defenceless.

He couldn't reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet; nor could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger; there was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the fleet.

Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes; wing-mounted 50 calibre's blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another; Butch wove in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until all his ammunition was finally spent.

Undaunted, he continued the assault; He dove at the planes, trying to  clip a wing or tail in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible and rendering them unfit to fly; Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction.

Deeply relieved, Butch O'Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier; upon arrival, he reported in and related the event surrounding his return.

The film from the gun-camera mounted on his plane told the tale; it showed the extent of Butches daring attempt to protect his fleet; he had, in fact, destroyed five enemy aircraft.

This all took place on February 20th, 1942; and for that action Butch became the Navy's first Ace of W.W.II; and the first Naval Aviator to win the Congressional Medal of Honour.

A year later Butch was killed in aerial combat at the age of 29.. His home town would not allow the memory of this WW II hero to fade, and today, O'Hare Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great man.

         So What Do These Two Stories Have To Do With Each Other?

Butch O'Hare; was 'Easy Eddie's' son.

         (Pretty cool, huh?)

 

 

 

        

Perception

 

Perception; I think that’s what writing may be all about; someone’s perception of a book/film can differ immensely.

For instance; we are told the importance of letter writing; especially anything that may have a legal consequence; the spelling; and punctuation must be spot on; or the letter may have numerous meanings; due to how it is percept.

We could for instance; get two people to read the same chapter of a book at the same time; in the same room; when they have finished ; ask them both to write down any thoughts they may have about the book; I can guarantee that they will be miles apart; so how can this be?

You have probably in the past put in for promotion at work; and in to days world you have to complete some form that is based on fairness; ethnic; etc; it is then marked using set criteria’s and don’t it make you mad when someone else gets the job and you know you are the right person.

I’m getting a bit lost in all of this; we are told how important the first chapter of a book is; so should our first chapter be written with the readers perception in mind; then once we have them hooked we can write this fantastic story we all have; and hopefully the reader will read the story that we want them to; and see it like we do; the best novel ever.

Now this gets a bit more complicated; our brain is divided into two hemispheres, the right and the left, just as we favour the right or left hand, we also favour the right, or left hemisphere of our brain, the left hemisphere interprets details and reasoning, while the right hemisphere interprets information through visual or creative cues; so; if we can write our book for the majority and not the minority; perhaps we can come up with a best seller; but how difficult and mind bending is that going to be?

 

Just a thought!

 

  

 

This is one of the cleverest
E-mails I've received in awhile.
Someone out there either has too much
spare time or is deadly at Scrabble.
(Wait till you see the last one)!  

DORMITORY:  
When you rearrange the letters:
DIRTY ROOM.

PRESBYTERIAN:  
When you rearrange the letters:
BEST IN PRAYER

ASTRONOMER:  
When you rearrange the letters:
MOON STARER

DESPERATION:
When you rearrange the letters:  
A ROPE ENDS IT

THE EYES:  !
When you rearrange the letters:  
THEY SEE

GEORGE BUSH:  
When you rearrange the letters:  
HE BUGS GORE


THE MORSE CODE:
When you rearrange the letters:  
HERE COME DOTS

SLOT MACHINES:
When you rearrange the letters:
CASH LOST IN ME
 
ANIMOSITY:  
When you rearrange the letters:
IS NO AMITY

ELECTION RESULTS:
When you rearrange the letters:
LIES - LET'S RECOUNT

 SNOOZE ALARMS:
When you rearrange the letters:  
ALAS! NO MORE Z 'S

 A DECIMAL POINT:
When you rearrange the letters:
IM A DOT IN PLACE

 THE EARTHQUAKES:
When you rearrange the letters:
THAT QUEER SHAKE

 ELEVEN PLUS TWO:
When you rearrange the letters:
TWELVE PLUS ONE
 

AND FOR THE GRAND FINALE:

MOTHER-IN-LAW:  
When you rearrange the letters:
WOMAN HITLER  

Yep! Someone with waaaaaaaaaaay
too much time on their hands! (Probably a son-in-law)

 

 

Why Men Don't Write Advice Columns

Dear Walter,
I hope you can help me here. The other day, I set off for work leaving my husband in the house watching the TV as usual. I hadn't driven more than a mile down the road when the engine conked out and the car shuddered to a halt. I walked back home to get my husband's help.
When I got home I couldn't believe my eyes. He was in our bedroom with the neighbour's daughter. I am 41, my husband is 44, and the neighbor's daughter is 22. We have been married for ten years. When I confronted him, he broke down and admitted that they had been having an affair for the past six months. I told him to stop or I would leave him. He was let go from his job six months ago and he says he has been feeling increasingly depressed and worthless. I love him very much, but ever since I gave him the ultimatum he has become increasingly distant. He won't go to counselling and I'm afraid I can't get through to him anymore.
Can you please help?
Sincerely,
Sheila
******************************

Dear Sheila:
A car stalling after being driven a short distance can be caused by a variety of faults with the engine. Start by checking that there is no debris in the fuel line. If it is clear, check the vacuum pipes and hoses on the intake manifold and also check all grounding wires. If none of these approaches solves the problem, it could be that the fuel pump itself is faulty, causing low delivery pressure to the injectors.
I hope this helps,
Walter.

PS; I received this as an email; I did not write it; just thought it was funny.

My son and his lovely girlfriend live about 5 minutes away from me; fortunate or unfortunate; depends how you look at it.
My alarm sounded this morning at 0400; deciding that I needed a precious five more minutes before getting up and collecting my son and his girlfriend as prearranged to take them to the airport; I pressed the snooze button; well I thought I had' until my mobile is ringing; hi dad; are you on your way; yes;yes; of course I am; not wanting to admit to my son that I was still semi conscious in bed; why are you phoning; you are only delaying me; OK dad; we will wait outside for you.
Jumping out of bed and straight to the bathroom for my morning ritual of a pee; that now takes at least three minutes to now been able to pee more than a stallion a run for it's money; dash back into the bedroom and make a hurry ed attempt to dress myself; the main problem been my jeans; why cant I find the zip; because there is no zip; only buttons; that's a story for another day.
My mobile rings as I am locking my front door; Dad! where are you? why do you keep ringing me; we arranged for me to pick you up at 0430; it's only twenty five past; I am getting into the car now; please stop ringing me.
I turn around to see that the wind screen of the car and side windows are heavyily frosted up; this can only be expected as I am in a rush; switching the ignition on and the heat to full blast' I roll my first ciggie of the day; I'm thinking the first one is not the same with out a large mug of strong tea; as I drive to my sons flat with about 20% of vision through the front windscreen of the car; the mobile is ringing again; I can happily ignore it as I am now pulling into the block of flats car park where they are waiting.
I am expected to load there cases into the boot of the car; while they sit there inside; have you been smoking in hear; my son says as i get into the car; before I can reply; you know we have to book in at five; yes; sorry I have been smoking; yes! you will be there; as we pull away they are both asking the other if they have remembered to pack this and that; my son puts his arm around her; reassuring; saying what a great time they are going to have; yes matey I'm thinking; you probably will; then you will marry; she thinking that she can change you; you wont change; she will; into a constant finger pointing fault finder; like your mother; she will tell people that you would have probably ended up drinking yourself to death' or gone to prison' if it hadent been for her; she will plan a life of debt for you to pay; and sex will be at her discretion; she will accuse you of great atrocities and hurl swear words at you; have this holiday then finish with her.
As we arrive at the airport the signs direct us to a drop off car park where you have a free 15 minutes of parking, on the way through it looks like I have to press one of the 3 buttons that will print a ticket and raise the barrier for us to egress into the car park, first attempt; nothing; so I decide to press all of them in turn; a ticket prints and the barrier opens.
I collect there cases from the boot and wish them a great holiday; on returning to the car; roll a ciggie; and then try and read what is printed on the car park ticket; forget it; the print is to small and I have not got my reading glasses, I then follow the rest of the cars to the exit barrier; eventually it is my turn to insert my ticket; the machine decides to keep returning my ticket with an on screen instruction which I am unable to read; I then insert the ticket every possible way; still nothing; now smart arse driver who was behind me in the Que has got out to join me; and informs me in a smug manner that I have  to go to a pay machine to have my ticket processed for payment; he returns to his car shaking his head at the driver of the car behind him then reverses his car to allow me out.
On finding a pay machine; I am thinking what has happend to the so called 15 minute free parking; then the realisation hits me that I have brought no money with me; I try and start to read the instruction on the sign above the pay machine; when I am joined by a lady with the same problem; she speaks in the local derelict ( Brummie ) rip off she shouts at me; like it's some how my fault; I agree and inform her of my predicament; shouting at me again; yam brought nowt with yam; no I say in the hope that she will feel sorry for me and give me a pound; this was the bloody petrol money given me; hear; she passes me a £1 coin and strides off before I can say thank you.
I wait and watch other people to see the order in how they put there ticket into the pay machine; I'm mumbling a short prayer as I put my ticket and then the £1 coin into the machine; success' I make sure to hold the ticket the same way as it came out so that there should be no problem on exiting.
On approaching the exits I can that they are all busy with people with people experiencing the same problem that I'd had; after a long wait it's my turn, I am only now a few seconds away from freedom' only this barrier is separating me from the rest of civilisation; it lifts; and I am a free man, a grumpy one; but free.

I'm fast turning into a grumpy old man; met up with an old friend last night for a drink at my local;after been served with my first pint of guinness that took the child behind the bar about 10 seconds to pull; she put her hand out for payment saying; is that it; while turning her face away to carry on her conversation with one of her creche friends that had been taking place before I had rudely interrupted; I remained silent and then asked my friend what he would like to drink; larger; I then have to repeat to her; larger; wot one she says while looking up to the ceiling; now all 3 of us are looking up; have I missed something; is there some kind of secret larger hidden in the ceiling; Carling cold my friend Say's; she demands payment while the pint is pouring; my change is then returned wet and stained with sticky beer; I say thank-you; she looks back confused; like I have just insulted her or spoken in a foreign language.
We find some where to sit and already I'm moaning about the state of my pint and that we will have the one then move onto the other pub up the road; I dont like going there as the music is to loud and there is always some deluded woman singing on the karaoke with her inbred family applauding every song, now I want a ciggie; I have to apologise to my friend who shakes his head saying; it;s about time I gave up; how hard it was for him giving me a day to day account of how he done it; I cut him short saying I need my ciggie now.
As I make my way out through the pub to the rear garden; the child behind the bar stares at me as if I am leaving with out paying or something; standing out side under a ripped parasol a left over from the summer that never was I am joined by 2 other adult males; while puffing and enjoying every bit of my ciggie I can't help but hear parts of there conversation; I don't want to hear it; I just want to smoke my ciggie; then one of them Say's; are you such and such from school; yes I am; do you remember me; Mick Smith; we were at the same infant school; oh yes I reply; this is a lie as I haven't got a clue who he is; I am then interrogated as to what has happened in my life; he must know every thing; like it's his divine right;he go's on; do you remember her/ him etc, they are now dead and so on; then smiling and shaking his head at me like it's some kind of miracle that we were born' go to school' then become adults and we happen to be in the same pub, my ciggie is long finished, I'm starting to get cold politely nodding my head at him while walking backwards making a retreat back into the pub.
My friend and I sink pint after pint while putting the world to right; and the plan of moving to the other pub is soon forgotten; every time I go out for a ciggie I am further interrogated by a noding' grining Mike Smith.
I arrive home late and feel like I am committing some kind of crime by having a final ciggie before I go to bed in the comfort of my own house.
Next morning I am woken by the sound of the door bell ringing; dashing down stairs in my dressing gown I open the door to find John my regular post man; his shaking his head; complaining about his work load; I see he has a parcel under his arm; could this be the vinyl records I have ordered and paid for from the Amazon; I am bursting for a pee; feeling sick with a thumping headache; I slouch on wall having to listen to John going on and on; why have I got to listen to him; why can't he just give me my parcel and go; then the phone rings; thinking I'm saved I say; sorry John, I have to answer the phone while holding my hand out to take delivery of my parcel; oh' you have to sign for it he says; while gesturing with his hand for me to answer my phone then following me into the living room; on answering the phone there is no one on the other end; hello; hello; then the line go's dead.
Johns shaking his head; saying; get a lot of them now days; call centres you know; please I'm thinking; just let me sign and give me my parcel; what gives you the right to hold it to ramson while I have to listen to your uninteresting dribble; time to be rude, I say where would you like me to sign while making my way to the front door; John falls silent; gives me my parcel and the paper to sign then leaves through the front door looking hurt; looking back at me like I have just killed a member of his family or something; I close the door and run upstairs to the toilet; ah' relief at last; the rest of the day is spent moaning about everything; like why does my toaster only toast half the bread; why has my printer decided to run out of ink; and after replacing it with new ink cartridges the dam thing decides not to work; Why! Why! yes I have turned into that grumpy old man; I admit it.