my care2
make a difference

community & fun

shares

share your passions, stories, inspirations, and more

2 choices
Nov 3, 2006
John is the kind of guy you love to hate. He is always in a good mood and always has something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, "If I were any better, I would be twins!"
He was a natural motivator.
If an employee was having a bad day, John was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation.
Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up and asked him, "I don't get it!
You can't be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?"
He replied, "Each morning I wake up and say to myself, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or ... you can choose to be in a bad mood.
I choose to be in a good mood."
Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or...I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it.
Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or... I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life.
"Yeah, right, it's not that easy," I protested.
"Yes, it is," he said. "Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people affect your mood.
You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It's  your choice how you live your life."
I reflected on what he said. Soon hereafter, I left the Tower Industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it.
Several years later, I heard that he was involved in a serious accident, falling some 60 feet from a communications tower.
After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, he was released from the hospital with rods placed in his back.  
I saw him about six months after the accident.
When I asked him how he was, he replied, "If I were any better, I'd be twins...Wanna see my scars?"
I declined to see his wounds, but I did ask him what had gone through his mind as the accident took place.
"The first thing that went through my mind was the well-being of my soon-to-be born daughter," he replied. "Then, as I lay on the ground, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live or...I could choose to die. I chose to  live."
"Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?" I asked.
He continued, "..the paramedics were great.
They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the ER and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read 'he's a dead man'. I knew I needed to take action."
"What did you do?" I asked.
"Well, there was a big burly nurse shouting questions at me," said John. "She asked if I was allergic to anything. 'Yes, I replied.' The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, 'Gravity'."
Over their laughter, I told them, "I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead."
He lived, thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude... I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully.
Attitude, after all, is everything.
Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." Matthew 6:34.
After all today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.

(0) | () | | send green star | flag as inappropriate
Visibility: Everyone
Tags:
Posted: Nov 3, 2006 11:31am
a womans place
Nov 3, 2006
"A Woman"

              This is written in the Hebrew Talmud, the book
              where all of the sayings and preaching of
              Rabbis are conserved over time:

             "Be very careful if you make a woman
              cry, because God counts her tears. The woman
              came out of a man's rib.
              Not from his feet to be walked on; Not from his
              head to be superior, but from the side to be equal; Under
              the arm to be protected, and next to the heart to be loved."
(0) | () | | send green star | flag as inappropriate
Visibility: Everyone
Tags:
Posted: Nov 3, 2006 11:11am
choices
Nov 3, 2006
What would you do? You make the choice! Don't look for a punch line; There isn't one! Read it anyway. My question to all of you is: Would you have made the same choice?

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves learning disabled children,the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question:

"When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is the natural order of things in my son?"

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued. "I believe,that when a child like Shay, physically and mentally handicapped comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes, in the way other people treat that child."Then he told the following story:

Shay and his father had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked,"Do you think they'll let me play?" Shay's father knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but the father also understood that if his son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

Shay's father approached one of the boys on the field and asked if Shay could play, not expecting much. The boy looked around for guidance and said, "We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning."

Shay struggled over to the team's bench put on a team shirt with a broad smile and his Father had a small tear in his eye and warmth in his heart. The boys saw the father's joy at his son being accepted. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his father waved to him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible 'cause Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing the other team putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least be able to make contact. The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.

The game would now be over, but the pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the head of the first baseman, out of reach of all team mates. Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, "Shay, run to first! Run to first!" Never in his life had Shay ever ran that far but made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, "Run to second, run to second!"
Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to second base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball, the smallest guy on their team, who had a chance to be the hero for his team for the first time. He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions and he too intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head. Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.

All were screaming, "Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay"

Shay reached third base, the opposing shortstop ran to help him and turned him in the direction of third base, and shouted, "Run to third! Shay, run to third" As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams and those watching were on their feet were screaming, "Shay, run home! Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the "grand slam" and won the game for his team.

That day, said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world.

Shay didn't make it to another summer and died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making his Father so happy and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

AND, NOW A LITTLE FOOTNOTE TO THIS STORY: We all send thousands of jokes through the e-mail without a second thought, but when it comes to sending messages about life choices, people think twice about sharing. The crude, vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our schools and workplaces.

If you're thinking about forwarding this message,chances are that you're probably sorting out the people on your address list that aren't the "appropriate" ones to receive this type of message. Well, the person who sent you this believes that we all can make a difference. We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the "natural order of things." So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice: Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up that opportunity to brighten the day of those with us the least able, and leave the world a little bit colder in the process?

A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it's least fortunate amongst them.
(0) | () | | send green star | flag as inappropriate
Visibility: Everyone
Tags:
Posted: Nov 3, 2006 11:06am
Taps
Nov 3, 2006

______

If any of you have ever been to a military funeral in which taps were played; this brings out a new meaning of it.


Here is something Every American should know. Until I read this, I didn't know, but I checked it out and it's true:


We in the United States have all heard the haunting song, "Taps". It's the song that gives us that lump in our throats and usually tears in our eyes.


But, do you know the story behind the song? If not, I think you will be interested to find out about its humble beginnings.


Reportedly, it all began in 1862 during the Civil War, when Union Army Captain Robert Ellicombe was with his men near Harrison 's Landing in Virginia . The Confederate Army was on the other side of the narrow strip of land.


During the night, Captain Ellicombe heard the moans of a soldier who lay severely wounded on the field. Not knowing if it was a Union or Confederate soldier, the Captain decided to risk his life and bring the stricken man back for medical attention. Crawling on his stomach through the gunfire, the Captain reached the stricken soldier and began pulling him toward his encampment.


When the Captain finally reached his own lines, he discovered it was actually a Confederate soldier, but the soldier was dead.


The Captain lit a lantern and suddenly caught his breath and went numb with shock. In the dim light, he saw the face of the soldier. It was his own son. The boy had been studying music in the South when the war broke out. Without telling his father, the boy enlisted in the Confederate Army.


The following morning, heartbroken, the father asked permission of his superiors to give his son a full military burial, despite his enemy status. His request was only partially granted.


The Captain had asked if he could have a group of Army band members play a funeral dirge for his son at the funeral.


The request was turned down since the soldier was a Confederate.


But, out of respect for the father, they did say they could give him only one musician.


The Captain chose a bugler. He asked the bugler to play a series of musical notes he had found on a piece of paper in the pocket of the dead youth's uniform.


This wish was granted.


The haunting melody, we now know as "Taps" ... used at military funerals was born.


The words are :


Day is done..

Gone the sun.

From the lakes.

From the hills.

From the sky.

All is well.

Safely rest.

God is nigh.


Fading light.

Dims the sight.

And a star.

Gems the sky.

Gleaming bright.

From afar.

Drawing nigh.

Falls the night.


Thanks and praise.

For our days.

Neath the sun.

Neath the stars.

Neath the sky.

As we go.

This we know.

God is nigh.


I too have felt the chills while listening to "Taps" but I have never seen all the words to the song until now. I didn't even know there was more than one verse. I also never knew the story behind the song and I didn't know if you had either so I thought I'd pass it along.


I now have an even deeper respect for the song than I did before.


Remember Those Lost and Harmed While Serving Their Country.


And also those presently serving in the Armed Forces.
(0) | () | | send green star | flag as inappropriate
Visibility: Everyone
Tags: , ,
Posted: Nov 3, 2006 11:02am
If I Knew
Nov 3, 2006

This has not been broken since 9/11/01, please keep it going.. This has been kept alive and moving since 9/11. In memory of all thosewho perished this morning; the passengers and the pilots on the UnitedAir and AA flights, the workers in the World Trade Center and the Pentagon,and all the innocent bystanders Our prayers go out to the friends and familiesof the deceased.


IF I KNEW

If I knew it would be the last time That I'd see you fall asleep, I would tuck you in more tightly and pray the Lord, your soul to keep.

If I knew it would be the last time that I see you walk out the door, I would give you a hug and kiss and call you back for one more

If I knew it would be the last time I'd hear your voice lifted up in praise, I would video tape each action and word, so I could play them back day after day.

If I knew it would be the last time,! I could spare an extra minute to stop and say "I love you," instead of assuming you would KNOW I do.

If I knew it would be the last time I would be there to share your day, Well I'm sure you'll have so many more, so I can let just this one slip away.

For surely there's always tomorrow to make up for an oversight, and we always get a second chance to make everything just right.

There will l always be another day to say "I love you," And certainly there's another chance to say our "Anything I can do?"

But just in case I might be wrong, and today is all I get, I'd like to say how much I love you and I hope we never forget.

Tomorrow is not promised to anyone, young or old alike, And today may be the last chance you get to hold your loved one tight.

So if you're waiting for tomorrow, why not do it today? For if tomorrow never comes, you'll surely regret the day,

That you didn! 't take that extra time for a smile, a hug, or a kiss and you were too busy to grant someone, what turned out to be their one last wish.

So hold your loved ones close today, and whisper in their ear, Tell them how much you love them and that you'll always hold them dear

Take time to say "I'm sorry," "Please forgive me," "Thank you," or "It's okay." And if tomorrow never comes, you'll have no regrets about today.
(0) | () | | send green star | flag as inappropriate
Visibility: Everyone
Tags:
Posted: Nov 3, 2006 10:46am
women look
Nov 3, 2006

"Love the animals, love the plants, love everything. If you love everything, you will perceive the Divine mystery in things. Once you perceive it, you will begin to comprehend it better every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an all-embracing love." . Fyodor Dostoyevsky, author.


Subject Bitchology

When I stand up for myself and my beliefs, they call me a bitch.

When I stand up for those I love, they call me a bitch.

When I speak my mind, think my own thoughts or do things my own way, they call me a bitch.

Being a bitch means I won't compromise what's in my heart. It means I live my life MY way. It means I won't allow anyone to step on me.

When I refuse to tolerate injustice and speak against it, I am defined as a bitch.

The same thing happens when I take time for myself instead of being everyone's maid, or when I act a little selfish. It means I have the courage and strength to allow myself to be who I truly am and won't become anyone else's idea of what they think I "should" be. I am outspoken, opinionated and determined. I want what I want and there is nothing wrong with that!

So try to stomp on me, try to douse my inner flame, try to squash every ounce of beauty I hold within me. You won't succeed.

And if that makes me a bitch , so be it. I embrace the title and am proud to bear it.
B - Babe
I - In
T - Total
C - Control of
H - Herself

B = Beautiful I = Intelligent T = Talented C = Charming H = Hell of a Woman

B = Beautiful I = Individual T = That C = Can H = Handle anything

 "If you can't do something right, get a woman to do it."
(0) | () | | send green star | flag as inappropriate
Visibility: Everyone
Tags:
Posted: Nov 3, 2006 10:31am
one minute
Nov 3, 2006

As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn't supposed to ever let you down probably will. You will have your heart broken probably more than once and it's harder every time. You'll break hearts too, so remember how it felt when yours was broken. You'll fight with your best friend. You'll blame a new love for things an old one did. You'll cry because time is passing too fast, and you'll eventually lose someone you love. So take too many pictures, laugh too much, and love like you've never been hurt because every sixty seconds you spend upset is a minute of happiness you'll never get back.
(0) | () | | send green star | flag as inappropriate
Visibility: Everyone
Tags:
Posted: Nov 3, 2006 9:46am
Yellow Shirt
Oct 11, 2006
The baggy yellow shirt had long sleeves, four extra-large pockets trimmed in black thread
and snaps up the front.  It was faded from years of wear, but still in decent shape.  I found it in 1963 when I was home from college on Christmas break, rummaging through bags of clothes Mom intended to give away.  "You're not taking that old thing, are you?" Mom said when she saw me packing the yellow shirt.  "I wore that when I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!"

"It's just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class, Mom.  Thanks!"  I slipped it into my suitcase before she could object. The yellow shirt be came a part of my college wardrobe.  I loved it. After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on Saturday mornings when I cleaned.

The next year, I married.  When I became pregnant, I wore the yellow shirt during big-belly days.  I missed Mom and the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado and they were in Illinois   But that shirt helped.  I smiled, remembering that Mother had worn it when she was pregnant, 15 years earlier.

That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I patched one elbow, wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom.  When Mom wrote to thank me for her "real" gifts, she said the yellow shirt was lovely.  She never mentioned it again.

The next year, my husband, daughter and I stopped at Mom and Dad's to pick up some furniture.  Days later, when we uncrated the kitchen table, I noticed something yellow taped to its bottom.  The shirt! 

And so the pattern was set.

On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and Dad's mattress.  I don't know how long it took for her to find it, but almost two years passed before I discovered it under the base of our living-room floor lamp.  The yellow shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing furniture.  The walnut stains added character.

In 1975 my husband and I divorced.  With my three children, I prepared to move back to Illinois .  As I packed, a deep depression overtook me. I wondered if I could make it on my own.   I wondered if I would find a job.  I paged through the Bible, looking for comfort.  In Ephesians, I read, "So use every piece of God's armor to resist the enemy whenever he attacks, and when it is all over, you will be standing up."

I tried to picture myself wearing God's armor, but all I saw was the stained yellow shirt.  Slowly, it dawned on me.  Wasn't my mother's love a piece of God's armor?  My courage was renewed.

Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to Mother.  The next time I visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer. Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station.  A year later I discovered the yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet. Something new had been added.  Embroidered in bright green across the breast pocket were the words "I BELONG TO PAT."  Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and added an apostrophe and seven more letters.  Now the shirt proudly proclaimed, "I BELONG TO PAT'S MOTHER."  But I didn't stop there.  I zig-zagged all the frayed seams, then had a friend mail the shirt in a fancy box to Mom from Arlington , VA.   We enclosed an official looking letter from "The Institute for the Destitute," announcing that she was the recipient of an award for good deeds.  I would have given anything to see Mom's face when she opened the box.  But, of course, she never mentioned it.


Two years later, in 1978, I remarried.  The day of our wedding, Harold and I put our car in a friend's garage to avoid practical jokers. After the wedding, while my husband drove us to our honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my head.  It felt lumpy.  I unzipped the case and found, wrapped in wedding paper, the yellow shirt.  Inside a pocket was a note:  "Read John 14:27-29.  I love you both, Mother."

That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel room and found the verses:  "I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn't fragile like the peace the world gives.  So don't be troubled or afraid.  Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again.  If you really love me, you will be very happy for me, for now I can go to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these things before they happen so that when they do, you will believe in me."

The shirt was Mother's final gift.  She had known for three months that she had terminal Lou Gehrig's disease.  Mother died the following year at age 57.

I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave.  But I'm glad I didn't, because it is a vivid reminder of the love-filled game she and I played for 16 years.  Besides, my older daughter is in college now, majoring in art.  And every art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.
(0) | () | | send green star | flag as inappropriate
Visibility: Everyone
Tags:
Posted: Oct 11, 2006 9:22am
T.I.M.E.
Sep 20, 2006
In the faint light of the attic, an old man, tall and stooped, bent his great frame and made his way to a stack of boxes that sat near one of the little half-windows.

Brushing aside a wisp of cobwebs, he tilted the top box toward the light and began to carefully lift out one old photograph album after another. Eyes once bright but now dim searched longingly for the source that had
drawn him here.

It began with the fond recollection of the love of his life, long gone, and somewhere in these albums was a photo of her he hoped to rediscover.

Silent as a mouse, he patiently opened the long-buried treasures and soon was lost in a sea of memories. Although his world had not stopped spinning when his wife left it, the past was more alive in his heart than his
present aloneness.

Setting aside one of the dusty albums, he pulled from the box what appeared to be a journal from his grown son’s childhood. He could not recall ever having seen it before, or that his son had ever kept a journal.
Why did Elizabeth always save the children’s old junk? he wondered, shaking his white head.

Opening the yellowed pages, he glanced over a short entry, and his lips curved in an unconscious smile. Even his eyes brightened as he read the words that spoke clear and sweet to his soul.

It was the voice of the little boy who had grown up far too fast in this very house, and whose voice had grown fainter and fainter over the years. In the utter silence of the attic, the words of a guileless six-year-old worked their
magic and carried the old man back to a time almost totally forgotten.

Entry after entry stirred a sentimental hunger in his heart like the longing a gardener feels in the winter for the fragrance of spring flowers. But it was accompanied by the painful memory that his son’s simple recollections of those days were far different from his own. But how different?

Reminded that he had kept a daily journal of his business activities over the years, he closed his son’s journal and turned to leave, having forgotten the cherished photo that originally triggered his search.

Hunched over to keep from bumping his head on the rafters, the old man stepped to the wooden stairway and made his descent, then headed down a carpeted stairway that led to the den.

Opening a glass cabinet door, he reached in and pulled out an old business journal. Turning, he sat down at his desk and placed the two journals beside each other.

His was leather bound and engraved neatly with his name in gold, while his son’s was tattered and the name “Jimmy” had been nearly scuffed from its surface. He ran a long skinny finger over the letters, as though he could
restore what had been worn away with time and use.

As he opened his journal, the old man’s eyes fell upon an inscription that stood out because it was so brief in comparison to other days. In his own neat handwriting were these words:

Wasted the whole day fishing with Jimmy. Didn’t catch a thing.

With a deep sigh and a shaking hand, he took Jimmy’s journal and found the boy’s entry for the same day, June 4. Large scrawling letters pressed deeply in the paper read:

Went fishing with my dad. Best day of my life.

You may have heard it before but it bears repeating. Someone once said, “I’ve never known anyone who, on their deathbed said…I wish I had spent more time at the office.” Our Dash is a fleeting moment in time, and what we do with it is up to us. The quote on the Priorities print from Successories says it all:

“A hundred years from now it will not matter what my bank account was, the sort of house I lived in, or the kind of car I drove…but, the world may be different because I was important in the life of a child.”
(0) | () | | send green star | flag as inappropriate
Visibility: Everyone
Tags:
Posted: Sep 20, 2006 2:26pm
our forces...
Aug 31, 2006
The average age of the military man/wmoan, is 19 years. He/she is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances, is considered by society as half man/woman, half boy/girl. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his/her country. He/she never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his/her own car than wash his father's; but he/she has
never collected unemployment either.

He/she's a recent High School graduate; he/she was probably an average
student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend/boyfriend that either broke up with him/her when he left or swears to be waiting when he/she returns from half a world away.

He/she listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and the sound of a 155mm howitzer.

He/she is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he/she was at home because he/she is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk.

He/she has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him/her, but he/she can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark.

He/she can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he/she must.

He/she digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a
professional.

He/she can march until he/she is told to stop or stop until he/she is told to march.

He/she obeys orders instantly and without hesitation but he/she is not
without spirit or individual dignity. He/she is self-sufficient.

He/she has two sets of fatigues: he/she washes one and wears the other.

He/she keeps his canteens full and his/her feet dry.

He/she sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his/her
rifle.

He/she can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his/her own hurts.

If you're thirsty, he/she'll share his water with you; if you are
hungry, his/her food.

He/she'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle
when you run low.

He/she has learned to use his/her hands like weapons and weapons like they were his/her hands.

He/she can save your life - or take it, because that is his/her job.

He/she will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay
and still find ironic humor in it all.

He/she has seen more suffering and death then he/she should have in his/her
short lifetime.

He/she has stood atop mountains of dead bodies, and helped to create them.

He/she has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed.

He/she feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his/her body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking.

In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he/she defends
their right to be disrespectful. Just as did his Father,Mother Grandfather,Grandmother and Great-grandfather, he/she is paying the price for our freedom.

Beardless or not, he is not a boy,little girl.

He/she is the American Fighting Man/Woman that has kept this country free for over 200 years.

He/she has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and
understanding.

Remember him/her, always, for he/she has earned our respect and admiration with his/her blood.

And now we even have women over there in danger, doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so.

As you go to bed tonight, remember this snapshot.. A short lull, a little shade and a picture of loved ones in their helmets.
(0) | () | | send green star | flag as inappropriate
Visibility: Everyone
Tags: , ,
Posted: Aug 31, 2006 2:07pm

 
 Next >
 
Content and comments expressed here are the opinions of Care2 users and not necessarily that of Care2.com or its affiliates.

Author

Valerie l lurie
female, age 56, single, 2 children
Tilton, NH, USA
Shares by Type:
All (190) | Blog (7) | Photo (4) | Message (179)

Showing shares tagged with: thoughts [show all]
ads keep care2 free
SHARES FROM VALERIE'S NETWORK
Dec
15
by HM S.
(0 comments  |  discussions )
WASHINGTON -- Insisting insulation is "sexy," President Barack Obama called Tuesday for new federal incentives to make millions of homes more energy efficient as a way to create jobs for the unemployed, save money for homeowners and reduce pollution.
by HM S.
(0 comments  |  discussions )
WASHINGTON -- The Washington, D.C., City Council voted Tuesday to legalize gay marriage in the nation's capital, handing supporters a victory after a string of recent defeats in Maine, New York and New Jersey.
by HM S.
(0 comments  |  discussions )
EVERETT, Wash. -- Boeing Co.'s new 787 jetliner finally took to the skies Tuesday, more than two years later than the company had planned.
by HM S.
(0 comments  |  discussions )
WASHINGTON -- The House has voted to level off the abrupt spikes in volume felt by television viewers during commercial breaks.
by HM S.
(0 comments  |  discussions )
CLEVELAND -- Former Seattle and Green Bay coach Mike Holmgren and his agent are spending their second day meeting with the Cleveland Browns about running their football operations.
by HM S.
(0 comments  |  discussions )
ATLANTA -- Hundreds of thousands of swine flu shots for children have been recalled because tests indicate the vaccine doses lost some strength, government health officials said Tuesday.
by Road L.
(0 comments  |  discussions )
Please note Care2 news story by clicking on link below.. Thanks! Overlooked 150 Year Old Household Cleaner a Remedy for Swine Flu Health & Wellness  (tags : healthcare, h ealth, illness,swine flu, prevention,&nb. ..
by HM S.
(0 comments  |  discussions )
CLEVELAND -- The 1970s Swedish pop group ABBA is dancing its way into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, along with Genesis, Jimmy Cliff, The Hollies and The Stooges.
by HM S.
(0 comments  |  discussions )
MANILA, Philippines -- The Philippines' most active volcano oozed lava and shot up plumes of ash Tuesday, forcing thousands of people to evacuate their homes and face the possibility of a bleak Christmas in a shelter.
by HM S.
(0 comments  |  0 discussions )
BEVERLY HILLS, Calif. -- The recession-era tale "Up in the Air" led Golden Globe film contenders Tuesday with six nominations, among them best drama and acting honors for George Clooney, Vera Farmiga and Anna Kendrick.

Copyright © 2009 Care2.com, inc. and its licensors. All rights reserved