Insane 72-foot Canyon Bike Back Flip

Incredible to watch!!

Mountain Biking down a steep mountain!!

Camera attached to helmet -

this is going to be quite a ride!!

This video is watching the run from the 

spectators point of view

Incredible to watch this way, too!!

Cats Stealing Dog Beds

THINGS TO DO BEFORE YOU GET TOO OLD

I think I'll pass... I'd like to continue getting older.

Cliff camping

Skywalking in the Alps

Portaledge camping at Yosemite

Sitting on the Trolltunga rock in Norway

Climbing Redwoods

Jumping on the Trolltunga rock in Norway

Rock climbing in South Africa

Ice climbing a frozen waterfall

Extreme picnicking

Extreme skiing in Wyoming

Skywalking on Mount Nimbus in Canada

Tree camping in Germany

Just having a look around

Extreme kayaking at Victoria Falls

Diving 30 meters through a rock monolith in Portugal

Climbing Mt. Wellington

Standing on the Edgewalk in Toronto

Cycling in Norway

Sitting around at Yosemite

Walking over a crevice

 Glacierboarding anywhere

Biking on the Cliffs of Moher

Driving in Quebec

Luckily, I am ALREADY too old!

Inspiring and Positive Quotes

I  HOPE  YOU  ENJOYED  THESE   REFLECTIVE  MOMENTS

Four Swans A Surfing!

Surprised swimmers at the Gold Coast in Australia get a fun surprise!

December 2013

The Christmas Scale

Sisters

A  young wife sat on a sofa on a hot humid  day, drinking iced tea and visiting with her mother. As they talked about life, about  marriage, about the responsibilities of  life and the obligations of adulthood, the mother clinked the ice cubes in  her glass thoughtfully and turned a clear, sober glance upon her daughter.

'Don't forget your sisters,' she advised, swirling the tea leaves to the bottom of her glass.  'They'll be more important as you get older.  No matter how much you love your husband, no matter how much you love the  children you may have,  you are still  going to need sisters. Remember to go places with them now and then; do things with them.'

'Remember that  'sisters' means ALL the women - your  girlfriends, your daughters, and all your other women relatives too. 'You'll need other women. Women always  do.'

What a funny piece of  advice!' the young woman thought. Haven't I just gotten married?  Haven't I just joined the couple-world?  I'm now  a married woman, for goodness sake! A  grownup! Surely my husband and the family we may start will be all I need to make  my life worthwhile!'

But she  listened to her mother.  She kept contact with her sisters and made more women friends each year. As the years tumbled by, one after another, she  gradually came to understand that her mother really knew what she was talking about.  As time and nature work, their changes and their mysteries upon a woman, sisters are  the mainstays of her life.

After  more than 50 years of living in this  world, here is what I've  learned:

THIS SAYS IT  ALL:

Time passes.

Life  happens.

Distance  separates.

Children grow up.

Jobs  come and go.

Love waxes and  wanes.

Men don't do what they're supposed  to do.

Hearts break.

Parents  die.

Colleagues forget favours.

Careers  end.

BUT.........

 Sisters  are there, no matter how much time and  how many miles are between you.  A  girl friend is never farther away than needing her can reach.

When you have to walk that lonesome valley and you have to walk it by yourself, the women in your life will be on the valley's rim, cheering you on, praying for you, pulling for you, intervening on your behalf, and waiting with open arms at the valley's end.

Sometimes, they will even break the rules and walk beside  you.....Or come in and carry you  out.

Girlfriends, daughters,  granddaughters, daughters-in-law, sisters, sisters-in-law, Mothers, Grandmothers, aunties, nieces,  cousins, and extended family: all bless  our life!

The world wouldn't be  the same without women, and neither would  I. When we began this adventure  called womanhood, we had no idea of the incredible joys or sorrows that lay ahead. Nor did we know how much we would  need each other.

Every day, we need each other still. 

The Folded Napkin ... A Truckers Story

I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy. Bucht I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my customers would react to Stevie. He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Downs Syndrome.

I wasn't worried about most of my trucker customers because truckers don't generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade. The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded "truck stop germ" the pairs of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks.

I shouldn't have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop mascot. After that, I really didn't care what the rest of the customers thought of him. He was like a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table.

Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met.

Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home. That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work.

He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Downs Syndrome often have heart problems at an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.

A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery, and doing fine. Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news. Bell Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table. Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Belle Ringer a withering look.

He grinned. "OK, Frannie, what was that all about?" he asked.

"We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay."

"I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?"

Frannie quickly told Bell Ringer and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie's surgery, then sighed: "Yeah, I'm glad he is going to be OK," she said. "But I don't know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is." Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables.

Since I hadn't had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn't want to replace him, the girls were busing their own tables that day until we decided what to do. After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face.

"What's up?" I asked.

"I didn't get that table where Bell Ringer and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and Tony Tipper were sitting there when I got back to clean it off," she said. "This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup."

She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed "Something For Stevie.

Pony Pete asked me what that was all about," she said, "so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this." She handed me another paper napkin that had "Something For Stevie" scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds.

Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply: "truckers."

That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work. His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy.

I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back. Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting.

"Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast," I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. "Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate you coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!"

I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room. I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins.

"First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess," I said. I tried to sound stern. Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had "Something for Stevie" printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table.

Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I turned to his mother.

"There's more than $10,000 in cash and checks on table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. "Happy Thanksgiving,"

Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well. But you know what's funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table. Best worker I ever hired.

Plant a seed and watch it grow. At this point, you can bury this inspirational message or forward it fulfilling the need! If you shed a tear, hug yourself, because you are a compassionate person.

January 2013

Crabbit Old Woman and Cranky Old Man

There are two versions of this poem – both beautiful.
One from the women’s perspective and then the man’s
If you’re interested, the origin’s of the poem are at the end.

Crabbit Old Woman

What do you see, nurses what do you see
Are you thinking when you are looking at me
A crabbit old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes,
Who dribbles her 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 for ever is losing a stocking or shoe,
Who unresisting or not, lets you do as you will
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill
Is that what you are thinking, is that what you see,
Then open your eyes, nurses, you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I used at your bidding, as I eat at your will,
I am a small child of ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters who love one another,
A young girl of 16 with wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet;
A bride at 20 -- my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep
At 25 now I have young of my own
Who need me to build a secure, happy home;
A women of 30 my young now grow fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last,
At 40 my young sons have grown and are gone;
But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn;
At 50, once more babies play around my knee.
Again we know children, my loved one me
Dark days are upon me, my husband is 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 an old woman now and nature is cruel
'tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where once was a heart
But inside this old carcass a young girl 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, nurses open and see
Not a crabbit old women look closer - see me.



Cranky Old Man

What do you see nurses? . . .. . .What do you see?
What are you thinking .. . when you're looking at me?
A cranky 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 is 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.
It's 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 man 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 cranky old man .
Look closer . . . . see .. .. . .. .... . ME!!


This touching and thought provoking poem, dubbed "Cranky Old Man", is currently circulating rapidly via social media posts and email. The poem relates life from the perspective of an elderly man whose nurses may just perceive a "cranky old man" who needs constant care rather than the man - and the rich lived life - behind the aged body. The poem is prefixed by a story that claims that the poem was found among the meager possessions of an old man who died in a nursing home in an Australian country town.

However, the story that comes with this version of the poem is fictional. The poem was not found in the belongings of a nursing home resident in rural Australia as claimed. Nor was it found among the possessions of an old man who died in a hospital in Florida, USA or any other US location. In fact, there have been numerous - equally fictional - US based versions of the poem's supposed origin.

The poem itself has a long and somewhat convoluted history. The original version of the poem (included below) featured an old woman rather than an old man and was set in the UK. The poem has been known by several names, including "Crabbit Old Woman", "Kate", "Look Closer Nurse" and "What Do You See". For decades, the poem has been included in various publications in the United Kingdom often accompanied by the claim that the poem was found by nursing staff in the belongings of an old woman named Kate who died in a hospital's geriatric ward. Many versions claim that the hospital was located in Scotland. Others claim the hospital was in England or Wales.

In fact, the provenance of the piece remains somewhat hazy. However, credible reports suggest that the poem may actually have been written by Phyllis McCormack in 1966, who at the time was working as a nurse in a Scottish hospital. In a 2005 report about the poem for 'Perspectives on Dementia Care', 5th Annual Conference on Mental Health and Older, Joanna Bornat notes:

Amongst the responses to a small survey which I carried out in 1998 while
researching attitudes to the poem 3 (Bornat, 2004) was a cutting from the Daily Mail
newspaper in which the son of Phyllis McCormack, whose name is often linked with
the poem as its discoverer, explained:

My mother, Phyllis McCormack, wrote this poem in the early Sixties when
she was a nurse at Sunnyside Hospital in Montrose.
Originally entitled Look Closer Nurse, the poem was written for a small
magazine for Sunnyside only Phyllis was very shy and submitted her work
anonymously.
A copy of the magazine was lent to a patient at Ashludie Hospital, Dundee,
who copied it in her own handwriting and kept it in her bedside locker. When
she died, the copy was found and submitted to the Sunday Post newspaper,
attributed to the Ashludie patient.
Since my mother’s death in 1994 her work has travelled all over the world...
(Daily Mail, 12 March 1998).

Somehow this explanation rings true, though it immediately begs the question of how the origin story was constructed in the first place and whether the poem depends on an apparent myth for its continuing appeal. Encounters have been mixed as responses to
the 1998 survey suggested.

Bible Lesson For The Day

Today's Short Reading From The Bible -

A Reading from the Book of Genesis.

And God promised men that good and obedient 

wives would be found in all corners of the earth.

Then he made the earth round

And he laughed and laughed and laughed.

--

Democracy is two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for lunch.
Liberty is a well-armed lamb contesting the vote.
-Benjamin Franklin

Old friends..........

TODAY IS THE OLDEST YOU'VE EVER BEEN, 

YET THE YOUNGEST YOU'LL EVER BE. 

SO - ENJOY THIS DAY WHILE IT LASTS!

Your kids are becoming you......
but your grandchildren are perfect!

Going out is good....
Coming home is better!

You forget names....
But it's OK because other people
forgot they even knew you!!!

You realize you're never going to be
really good at anything.... especially Golf.

The things you used to care to do,
you no longer care to do,
but you really do care that you don't care
to do them anymore.

You sleep better on a lounge chair
with the TV blaring than in bed.
It's called "pre-sleep".

Don't you miss the days when everything worked
with just an "ON" and "OFF" Switch?

You tend to use more 4 letter words
 ... "what?"..."when?"... ???

Now that you can afford expensive jewelry,
it's not safe to wear it anywhere.

You notice everything they sell in
stores is "sleeveless"?!!!

What used to be freckles are now liver spots.

Everybody whispers.....

You have 3 sizes of clothes in your closet....
2 of which you will never wear.

But Old is good in some things:
Old songs, Old movies, and best of all, OLD FRIENDS!!


"It's Not What You Gather,
But What You Scatter
That Tells What Kind Of Life You Have Lived." 

This Will Make You Laugh!!