Flyer I made for the fundraiser. We'll be selling cookbooks in front of a grocery store this Saturday and at a table in the local Farmer's Market. They have been selling really well. I'm very, very pleased!
As always, I've removed the Center's name because of restrictions on where I'm allowed to place our name.
A desperate need and an excellent cause. You know how they are appreciated by those who receive them. Your generous spirit has enthused others into recognising their own.
With the way in which you run the center, and are always looking for new ways to generate assistance for it and those you serve, you are worth your weight in any amount of cash donations.
I hope you'll continue in your role for many years to come.
I am glad that we could help, even in such a small way, those the Center touches.
Woohoo on the $$.
Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to remain true to ourselves and to recognize when we're doing that and when we're not. You're a writer; of that there is absolutely no doubt. We each have to follow where we find the most truth. When we have truly good friends, they'll allow us the space to move, to shift, to explore and to find what works best for us.
It can be very lonely to find out how many such friends we actually have.
Honestly, not about others. It's me.
It sucks when something you enjoy is still the same but no longer sparkles in your eyes.
I'm reading Silas Marner. I'm surprized at being so choked up. I expected a dry classic that I would just have in my pocket as experience. Instead, I have fallen in love with this story of Marner reawakening to the world around him because though his gold was stolen, Eppie, the orphaned little girl, has been given to him by providence.
"Yes," said Marner, docilely, bringing his eyes very close, that they might be initiated in the mysteries; whereupon Baby seized his head with both her small arms, and put her lips against his face with purring noises.
"See there," said Dolly, with a woman's tender tact, "she's fondest o' you. She wants to go o' your lap, I'll be bound. Go, then: take her, Master Marner; you can put the things on, and then you can say as you've done for her from the first of her coming to you."
Marner took her on his lap, trembling with an emotion mysterious to himself, at something unknown dawning on his life. Thought and feeling were so confused within him, that if he had tried to give them utterance, he could only have said that the child was come instead of the gold, that the gold had turned into the child. He took the garments from Dolly, and put them on under her teaching; interrupted, of course, by Baby's gymnastics."
That is a very thought provoking piece. The beauty of an infant and the various stages of "gymnastics" they are inspired to do as they get older. The depths of emotions they can bring forth with the simplest of sounds they make. Even the hardest soul is brought down by the smile of a child, or the grasp of tiny fingers to a strength filled hand.
Thank you for sharing this passage, it brings back memories of my minions.
I remember the baby pictures of your little ones and how you tenderly called them minions even then :)
Well they are!
I remember the day she held her brother in her arms and announced to the world that he was the Lord Demon and she was the Lady Demoness of our home.
She was 3.
I cried, I was proud.
She tells people freely that she is one of mommys minions.
He tells people that he is a minion of death and dismemberment.
It bonds us as a family, I know its weird but its us.
Besides, a three year old with wavy brown hair and a devilish smile... How could she be anything less?
They grow so fast. :)
I love your interpretation of this classic. Nothing beats a fairy tale ending.
I've been living within the lines of my newly found poet, Machado. Here is a beautiful line that plays and plays in my head for a simplicity that yields forth such vivid imagery:
of ancient evening
in a cold land
more moon than earth!
I need to write.
HUGS! I have just given away HUGS to men just out of jail, getting started on their new lives within a program that finds them housing, counseling, and jobs.
HUGS stands for hats, underwear, gloves, and socks!
Silverbow and her kids actually knitted 100 hats to donate to this program. We focus on the homeless and those in grave need of warm garments in winter, but we distribute the underwear and socks throughout the year.
Today, we served a dozen men starting over. They received food and HUGS :) This is as much about simply encouraging people as it is about their physical need. It even blesses the people who are serving that population when I get to tell them about how people from all over the world care and want to help.
I had a few things left from last year when it all began, under a bridge in New Orleans when I came face to face with the most chronic homeless situation I have ever encountered. Thank you to all of you who helped launch this beautiful way of giving others a hug when they most need it. You are all my heroes!
Gosh, I hope they had pants, shoes and shirts. ;-)
I second that... It could look rather silly :P
What many fail to understand is that in their situation the fact that someone taking faith in their ability to move forward is what can save one or two from going back to the life that went so wrong to begin with. A great program and not just for their physical comfort.
I met you today, dear poet. You lifted my spirit and painted your world before my eyes. I read everything of yours I could find, and I am hungry for more.
IV: ‘Yo eschuco los cantos’
I follow the songs
with age-old rhythms
the children are singing
while they are playing
and showing in song
what their souls are dreaming,
like stone fountains
that show their water:
in monotonous murmurs
of undying laughter
that has in it no joy,
of ancient weeping
that has in it no pain
and speaks of sadness
the sadness of loving
of ancient legends.
In the mouths of children
the singing brings
the tale’s confusion,
pain that’s clear
as that clear water,
brings the message
of ancient love,
that it conceals.
Playing in shadows
of an ancient plaza
the children, singing…
The fountain of stone
poured out its eternal
crystal of legend.
The children were singing
of things that go on
and are never ending:
the story confused
the suffering clear.
The fountain serenely
continued its tale:
erasing the story,
telling the pain.
- Antonio Machado (July 26, 1875 – February 22, 1939)
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