Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Life


Going through life is kind of like playing the violin. The longer you do it the better you get. The more you put into it the more you get out of it. If you slack, you fail. It takes skill and the right touch to do it well. You have to know the pace to set and the tune to play. It can be beautiful or ugly; when it's beautiful, you know you're doing it right; when it's ugly, you learn to compensate. You should never settle for second-best. And the farther you get from the beginnging of a piece, the closer you get to the end.



I would put this into a poem form, cuz 'twould be cool, however, I dunno how I would do it. Anyway, the similarities don't end there. Basically, do it for God and he'll bless you; do it for you and he'll knock you down. And don't ever give up, because in the tune we're playing, you never know what comes next until it comes. Stay focused and remember your purpose.

Art again



Here be my drawings. The tunnel-type one is this week's and the barn is last week's. Even though in this picture, the doorway to the left looks tilted, it really isn't when you look at it in real life, don't know what's up with that... Anyway, here they are, enjoy.

Art

Well... I finished my art project tonight...which I was assigned this morning. Mrs G still doesn't believe me... *sniff* If I could find the digital camera I'd prove it.

Monday, January 29, 2007

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

The Simple Story of George Washington

This post is once again drawing for support on Mark Twain's Library of Humor. Some of these are funny, whereas some of these are hilarious, and it's hard to share the funny ones because they are so long. The hilarious ones are of similar length, therefore I find myself sharing the somewhat humorous ones, of which a few are short.



Only yesterday, a lady friend on a shopping excursion left her little tid toddler of five bright summers in our experienced charge, while she pursued the duties which called her down-town. Such a bright boy; so delightful it was to talk to him! We can never forget the blissful half-hour we spent looking that prodigy up in his centennial history
Now listen, Clary,” we said ─his name is Clarence Fitzherbert Alençon de Marchemont Caruthers ─“and learn about George Washington.”
“Who’s he?” inquired Clarence, etc.
“Listen we said; “he was the father of his country.”
“Whose country?”
“Ours, yours and mine ─the confederated union of the American people, cemented with the life blood of the men of ’76, poured out upon the altars of our country as the dearest libation to liberty that her votaries can offer!”
“Who did?” asked Clarence.
There is a peculiar tact in talking to children that very few people possess. Now most people would have grown impatient and lost their temper when little Clarence asked so many irrelevant questions, but we did not. We knew, however careless he might appear at first, that we would soon interest him in the story, and he would be all eyes and ears. So we smiled sweetly ─that same sweet smile which you may have noticed on our photographs, just the faintest ripple of a smile breaking across the face like a ray of sunlight, and checked by lines of tender sadness, just before the two ends of it pass each other at the back of the neck.
And so, smiling, we went on.
“Well, one day George’s father─”
“George who?” asked Clarence.
“George Washington. He was a little boy then, just like you. One day his father─”
“Whose father?” demanded Clarence with an encouraging expression of interest.
“George Washington’s; this great man we were telling you of. One day George Washington’s father gave him a little hatchet for a─”
“gave who a little hatchet?” the dear child interrupted, with a gleam of bewitching intelligence. Most men would have got mad, or betrayed signs of impatience, but we didn’t. We know how to talk to children. So we went on:
“George Washington. His─”
“Who gave him the little hatchet?”
“His father. And his father─”
“Whose father?”
“George Washington’s.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, George Washington. And his father told him─”
“Told who?”
“Told George.”
“Oh yes, George.”
And we went on just as patient and as pleasant as you could imagine. We took up the story right where the boy interrupted, for we could see that he was just crazy to hear the end of it. We said:
“And he told him that─”
“George told him?” queried Clarence.
“No, his father told George─”
“Oh!”
“Yes; with the hatchet, and not cut himself with it, or drop it in the cistern, or leave it out on the grass all night. So George went round cutting everything he could reach with his hatchet. And at last he came to a splendid apple-tree, his father’s favorite, and cut it down, and─”
“Who cut it down?”
“George did.”
“Oh!”
“But his father came home and saw it the first thing, and─”
“Saw the hatchet?”
“No! saw the apple tree. And he said ‘Who has cut down my favorite apple-tree?”
“Whose apple tree?”
“George’s father’s. And everybody said that they didn’t know anything about it, and─”
“Anything about what?”
“The apple-tree.”
“Oh!”
“And George came up and heard them talking about it─”
“Heard who talking about it?”
“Heard the father and the men.”
“What was they talking about?”
“About this apple-tree.”
“What apple tree?”
“The favorite apple tree that George cut down.”
“George who?”
“George Washington.”
“Oh!”
“So George came up, and he said, ‘Father, I cannot tell a lie. It was─’”
“His father couldn’t?”
“Why, no, George couldn’t.”
“Oh! George? Oh yes!”
“‘It was I cut down your apple-tree; I did─’”
“His father did?”
“No, no, no; said he cut down his apple-tree.”
“George’s apple tree?”
“No, his father’s.”
“Oh!”
“He said─”
“His father said?”
“No, no, no; George said ‘Father, I cannot tell a lie. I did it with my little hatchet.’ And his father said: ‘Noble boy, I would rather lose a thousand trees than have you tell a lie.’
“George did?”
“No, his father said that.”
“Said he’d rather have a thousand trees?”
“No, no, no; said he’d rather lose a thousand apple-trees than─”
“Said he’d rather George would?”
“No; said he’d rather he would than have him lie.”
“Oh! George would rather have his father lie?”
We are patient, and we love children, but if Mrs. Caruthers, of Arch Street, hadn’t come and got her prodigy at that critical juncture, we don’t believe all Burlington could have pulled us out of the snarl. And as Clarence Fitzherbert Alençon de Marchemont Caruthers pattered down the stairs, we heard him telling his ma about a boy who had a father named George, and he told him to cut an apple-tree, and he said he’d rather tell a thousand lies than cut down one apple-tree. We do love children, but we don’t believe that either nature or education has fitted us to be a governess.


I thought that mothers of small children would appreciate this one, including my own. I have heard several times a conversation of the following kind, "(name) did this, Now who did it?" "I don't know" "(name) did this, Now who did it?" "I don't know" etc.

Monday, January 22, 2007

Blog

Hey everybody out there! I was just wondering how you like my blog. This is a post where you are supposed to comment your opinion. Do you like my writing? Do I need more serious posts? Do I need to change the background to pink? Anyway, it would be nice to know what I'm doing well on and what needs improving. Thanks.

Sunday, January 21, 2007

Go Colts!!

The colts won. Time for bed.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Tushmaker's Toothpuller


This is a short story by George H Derby, which I would like to share with you.






Dr. Tushmaker was never regularly bred as a physician or surgeon, but he possessed naturally a strong mechanical genius and a fine appetite; and finding his teeth of great service in gratifying the latter propensity, he concluded that he could do more good in the world, and create more real happiness therein, by putting the teeth of its inhabitants in good order, than in any other way; so Tushmaker became a dentist. He was the man that first invented the method of placing small cog-wheels in the back teeth for the more perfect mastication of food, and he claimed to be the original discoverer of that method of filling cavities with a kind of putty, which, becoming hard directly, causes the tooth to ache so grievously that it has to be pulled, thereby giving the dentist two successive fees for the same job. Tushmaker was one day seated in his office, in the city of Boston, Massachusettes, when a stout old fellow, named Byles, presented himself to have a back tooth drawn. The dentist seated his patient in the chair of torture, and, opening his mouth, discovered there an enormous tooth, on the right hand side, about as large, as he afterwards expressed it, "as a small Polyglot Bible." I shall have trouble with this tooth, thought Tushmaker, but he clapped on his heaviest forceps, and pulled. It didn't come. Then he tried the turn-screw, exerting his utmost strength, but the tooth wouldn't stir. "Go away from here," said Tushmaker to Byles, "and return in a week, and I'll draw that tooth for you, or know the reason why." Byles got up, clapped a handkerchief to his jaw, and put forth. Then the dentist went to work, and in three days, he invented an instrument which he was confident would pull anything. It was a combination of the lever, pully, wheel and axle, inclined plane, wedge, and screw. The castings were made, and the machine put up in the office, over an iron chair rendered perfectly stationary by iron rods going down into the foundations of the granite building. In a week old Byles returned; he was clamped into the iron chair, the forceps connected with the machine attached firmly to the tooth, and Tushmaker, stationing himself in the rear, took hold of a lever four feet in length. He turned it slightly. Old Byles gave a groan and lifted his right leg. Another turn; another groan, and up went the right leg again. "What do you raise your leg for?" asked the doctor. " I can't help it," said the patient. "Well," rejoined Tushmaker, "that tooth is bound to come out now."



He turned the lever clear round with a sudden jerk, and snapped old Byles's head clean and clear from his shoulders, leaving a space of four inches between the severed parts! They had a post-mortem examination- the roots of the tooth were found extending down the right side, through the right leg, and turning up in two prongs under the sole of the right foot! "No wonder," said Tushmaker, "he raised his right leg." The jury thought so too, but they found the roots much decayed; and five surgeons swearing that mortification would have ensued in a few months, Tushmaker was cleared on a verdict of "justifiable homicide." He was a little shy of that instrument for some time afterward; but one day an old lady, feeble and flaccid, came in to have a tooth drawn, and thinking it would come out very easy, Tushmaker concluded, just by way of variety, to try the machine. He did so, and at the first turn drew the old lady's skeleton completely and entirely from her body, leaving her a mass of quivering jelly in her chair! Tushmaker took her home in a pillowcase. She lived seven years after that, and they called her the "India-Rubber Woman." She had suffered terribly with the rheumatism, but after this occurence, never had a pain in her bones. The dentist kept them in a glass case. After this, the machine was sold to the contractor of the Boston Custom-House, and it was found that a child of three years of age could, by a single turn of the screw, raise a stone weighing twenty-three tons. Smaller ones were made on the same principle, and sold to the keepers of hotels and restaurants. They were used for boning turkies. There is no moral to this story whatever, and it is possible that the circumstances may have become slightly exaggerated. Of course, there can be no doubt of the truth of the main incidents.






I found this in a book which I received for Christmas, titled "Mark Twain's Library of Humor." It is a very funny selection of short stories by various authors, including Twain himself. I highly reccomend it to those who have warped senses of humor (such as myself).

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Coffee


I recently received this in e-mail form and found it to be interesting.



A group of alumni, highly established in their careers, got
together to visit their old university professor. Conversation soon
turned Into complaints about stress in work and life. Offering his
guests coffee, the professor went to the kitchen and returned with a
large pot of coffee and an assortment of cups - porcelain, plastic,
glass, crystal, some plain looking, some expensive, some exquisite -
telling them to help themselves to the coffee.

When all the students had a cup of coffee in hand, the
professor said: "If you noticed, all the nice looking expensive cups
were taken up, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones. While it is
normal for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is the source
of your problems and stress. Be assured that the cup itself adds no
quality to the coffee. In most cases it is just more expensive and in
some cases, even hides what we drink. What all of you really wanted was
coffee, not the cup, but you consciously went for the best cups... And
then you began eyeing each other's cups.

"Now consider this...
--Life is the coffee
--The jobs, money and position in society are the cups. They
are just tools to hold and contain life, and the type of cup we have
does not define, nor change the quality of Life we live. Sometimes, by
concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee God has
provided us."

God brews the coffee, not the cups..........Enjoy your coffee!

"The happiest people don't have the best of everything. They just make
the best of everything."

Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly. Leave the rest
to GOD.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Music


Hey evvybuddy, I's just wundewwing what kind uv moosic you's be likin'.
Dey's lot's o' types o' moosic dat me likin' so 'tis hard to chooses ones or twoses. I like DC Talk, Newsboys, Postal service (the few songs I've heard), Caedmon's call, Chris Rice, Mozart, Brahms, Switchfoot, Relient K and... yes, David, petra. So anyways, if youses could tell me what you likeses, give suggestionses that me might like, etc, 'twould be great. Sorry for de weerd speekin' but me felt liek it an' yu can't stop mee.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Girls?


Alright, some of you are going to get mad at me, but this is just a joke so don't take it too seriously.



Everybody knows that girls require time and money.

Girls=time*money

We also know that time is money.

time=money

Therefore,

Girls=money^2

If money is the root of all evil (as is often misquoted),

money=evil^1/2 (square root of evil)

(evil^1/2)^2=evil

thus, girls=evil.



By the way, I think this works better when you replace "girls" with "mom". I'm gonna get slapped for that one.