A Story About Getting Even

A good friend sent me this a few years ago:
One December day we found an old straggly cat at our door. She was a sorry sight. Starving, dirty, smelled terrible, skinny, and hair all matted down.
We felt sorry for her so we put her in a carrier and took her to the vet.
We didn't know what to call her so we named her 'Pussycat.'
The vet decided to keep her for a day or so. He said he would let us know when we could come and get her.
My husband (the complainer) said, 'OK, but don't forget to wash her, she stinks.' He reminded the vet that it was his WIFE (me) that wanted the dirty cat, not him.
My husband and my Vet don't see eye to eye. The vet calls my husband 'El-Cheap-O', and my husband calls the vet 'El-Charge-O'. They love to hate each other and constantly 'snipe' at one another, with my husband getting in the last word on this particular occasion.
The next day my husband had an appointment with his doctor, who is located in the same building, next door to the vet.
The MD's waiting room and office was full of people waiting to see the doctor. A side door opened and the vet leaned in - he had obviously seen my husband arrive. He looked straight at my husband and in a loud voice said, 'Your wife's pussy doesn't stink any more. We washed and shaved it, and now she smells like a rose. Oh, and, by the way, I think she's pregnant. God only knows who the father is!' Then he closed the door.
Now THAT, my friends, is getting even!

The Canadian point of view

At Mount Rushmore


I'm sure happy to have friends who provide fodder for this blog

Putting your affairs in order

The doctor, after an examination, sighed and said, 'I've got some bad
news. You have cancer, and you'd best put your affairs in order..'
The woman was shocked, but managed to compose herself and walk into
the waiting room where her daughter had been waiting.

'Well, daughter, we women celebrate when things are good, and we
celebrate when things don't go so well. In this case, things aren't
well. I have cancer. So, let's head to the club and have a martini.'

After 3 or 4 martinis, the two were feeling a little less somber.
There were some laughs and more martinis. They were eventually
approached by some of the woman's old friends, who were curious as to
what the two were celebrating.

The woman told her friends they were drinking to her impending end,
'I've been diagnosed with AIDS.' The friends were aghast, gave the
woman their condolences and beat a hasty retreat.

After the friends left, the woman's daughter leaned over and
whispered, 'Momma, I thought you said you were dying of cancer, and
you just told your friends you were dying of AIDS! Why did you do
that?!'

'Because I don't want any of those bitches sleeping with your
father after I'm gone.'

And THAT, my friends, is what is called, 'Putting Your Affairs In Order.'




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A quote

and a metaphor:
"collapsed like a lawn chair under a Harley owner" - Dave Barry

GOD LIVES UNDER THE BED

Don't start reading this one until you've got a minute to just 'scan' over it. It deserves some time for reflection.


I envy Kevin. My brother, Kevin, thinks God lives under his bed. At least that's what I heard him say one night.
He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped to listen, 'Are you there, God?' he said. 'Where are you? Oh, I see. Under the bed....'
I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room. Kevin's unique perspectives are often a source of amusement. But that night something else lingered long after the humor. I realized for the first time the very different world Kevin lives in.

He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of difficulties during labor. Apart from his size (he's 6-foot-2), there are few ways in which he is an adult.
He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7-year-old, and he always will. He will probably always believe that God lives under his bed, that Santa Clause is the one who fills the space under our tree every Christmas and that airplanes stay up in the sky because angels carry them.
I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different. Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life?

Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for the disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, return to eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.
The only variation in the entire scheme is laundry, when he hovers excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her newborn child.
He does not seem dissatisfied.

He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of simple work.

He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty laundry for his next day's laundry chores.

And Saturdays - oh, the bliss of Saturdays! That's the day my Dad takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside. 'That one's goin' to Chi-car-go! ' Kevin shouts as he claps his hands.

His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights.

And so goes his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips.

He doesn't know what it means to be discontent.

His life is simple.

He will never know the entanglements of wealth of power, and he does not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats. His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one day they may not be.

His hands are diligent. Kevin is never so happy as when he is working. When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his heart is completely in it.

He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave a job until it is finished. But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax.

He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others. His heart is pure.

He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue.
Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry. He is always transparent, always sincere. And he trusts God.
Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he comes as a child. Kevin seems to know God - to really be friends with Him in a way that is difficult for an 'educated' person to grasp. God seems like his closest companion.
In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity, I envy the security Kevin has in his simple faith.
It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine knowledge that rises above my mortal questions.
It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap. I am. My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances - they all become disabilities when I do not trust them to God's care.



Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn? After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, praying after dark and soaking up the goodness and love of God.
And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all amazed at how close God really is to our hearts, I'll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy who believed that God lived under his bed.

Kevin won't be surprised at all!





FRIENDS ARE ANGELS WHO LIFT US TO OUR FEET WHEN OUR WINGS HAVE TROUBLE REMEMBERING HOW TO FLY......

I have no idea who wrote the above

I'm not sure I know what to make of that

Heck! Can't even be sure I want to try.
Seems like every couple of days another tiny head ...or more ...appears. There was even a blogger who emailed me saying that corporate wouldn't allow him to complete the process.
Anyway, I've decided that WHY is none of my business.
I just have to appreciate that I'm offering something that's wanted. Then I have to continue to be whoever I am... today.


Oh, and stir the pot sometimes!!!