ME, A "STYLISH BLOGGER"?...I'LL TAKE IT!

I feel quite fashionable after learning that I have been named a "Stylish Blogger" by Michael and Mary-Louise Langlois on their new and excellent "Youth Sports Site" found by clicking http://takingyoubeyondthegame.blogspot.com.  I would return the compliment but the Langlois have already been nominated for the same honour.

'TIS THE SEASON TO BE RATIONALLY REFLECTIVE

Life consists of a cycle of seasons and we move from one to another with renewed hope, inspiration and energy.  We learn that no one season is permanent and that the bad, like the good, will inevitably pass.  It's called the nature of things.

Most of my adult life has been spent advocating the merits of a positive attitude and embarking on tasks and challenges with enthusiasm, dedication and yes -- a sense of humour.  I've talked and written extensively about  tapping into our endless flow of spiritual abundance.  The written word has been an ally in putting forth thought-provoking forms of inspiration and motivation for others.  It has been a self-driven calling that has admittedly at times bordered on the unorthodox, perhaps even somewhat unconventional by some standards.  Involvement in youth activities, community service, human rights and church outreach have been particular personal passions.  All that, in retrospect, is so much history with questionable impact.

Purveyors of thought live in fear of their work falling on deaf ears and eyes that fail to see.  Nevertheless we persist,  compelled to do what we do in the seasons of our lives.  As short-term memory fails and the mind struggles to process everyday perspective with an annoying, troublesome and persistent haze, I am moved to commend those who are in the enviable position of continuing to give of themselves and their talents for the benefit of fellow man and the world in general.  I have long been an advocate of "giving back" to the society from whence we came.

I may well be alone in this season of my life.  I am weary, I am burdened, I have little left to give of a meaningful nature beyond the necessary and immediate personal subsistence of Rosanne and I.  Forever the athlete, my playing days are long past.  I can no longer answer the umpire's call of "play ball", the referee's opening faceoff whistle or the crack of the starter's pistol.  Intensity has gone the way of creative and physical wherewithal.

As I reach back to pass the baton in the relay race of life, I do not sense a ready grasping hand.  The finish line is immanent and I am assuredly losing the race.  Hail the victor!

I have reluctantly accepted the role of also-ran.  The world is filled with us!  As hard as we try, there are times when our best is simply not good enough.

And, after all, no one ever said we had to win every time out.  I take liberties with an old saying:  "It is better to have played the game than never to have played at all..."

Please excuse me now as I place my pen in the old bat rack of life and play a less active, more selfish game in my twilight seasons.  Veteran players have to learn to pace themselves and to pick their spots.

It's not so bad watching from the press box.  I've been there before.

"HANG" IN THERE GALS!

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Apropos my previous post "Honouring Full-Time House Wives..." below.
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Eleven people were hanging on a rope attached to a helicopter...10 men and one woman.  The rope was not strong enough to hold them all, so they decided that one of them had to let go because otherwise they were all going to plunge to the ground more than a mile below.  They weren't able to choose who that person should be until the woman shouted a very selfless proposal.

She said that she would voluntarily let go of the rope because, as a woman, she was used to giving up everything for her husband and kids or for men in general, and was used to always making sacrifices with little in return.

As soon as she finished her sky-high suggestion, all the men started clapping...

(With thanks to Ada Strong)

HONOURING FULL-TIME HOUSE WIVES WHO RAISED GENERATIONS PAST AND PRESENT

It is pure coincidence that I tackle this post on the 100th anniversary of International Women's Day, a time set aside to honour the suffragist movement and the courage and tenacity of the countless brave women of conviction in this country of ours over the course of the past several hundred years.

Earlier this week I received an interesting email message from Rebecca Beausaert, a PhD candidate in the Department of History at York University.  Her doctoral dissertation is about life in small town/rural Ontario, ca. 1870-1914 and she is focusing on the communities of Dresden, Tillsonburg and Elora with emphasis on the development of social activities for women.  She has conducted extensive research on the subject and expressed disappointment at the dearth of useful information in media and library records in particular; all of which is not too surprising considering that to me the rural, small-town housewife of 100-150 years ago is the most unheralded segment of society in history today.

I promised Rebecca my full support, for what it is worth, and wish her all the best as she continues with this worthy undertaking.  Meantime, she has inspired me to offer the following from the far reaches of my memory.

When considering the period 1870-1914, we are talking about my grandmothers, my mother and my aunts.  I have little documented information, but what I do have are stories passed on to me and memories gleaned from overhearing recollections shared by demonstrative family elders.  Mine was an extremely expressive family and I learned very early to be a good listener.

As a youngster, I came to appreciate the fact that the women in my family and the families of our close acquaintance, came from humble roots and as dedicated full-time housewives (home makers in today's vernacular) utilized skills and tender loving care that was their birthright.  I don't think that it is a far-fetched generalization to suggest that most women in small town Ontario 100-150 years ago were resourceful, true grit, hard workers who invested totally in their homes and families.

These women knew nothing of the luxury of vacuum cleaners, automatic dish washers, automatic
washers and dryers for laundry -- the list goes on.  Even indoor running water and toilet facilities were available only to the very privileged.  We're talking about multi-taskers of the highest order here. Cleaning, care-giving, mending, knitting, quilting, putting "down" of jams and preserves and baking were common ordinary tasks with continuing emphasis on nutritious meal preparation dictated by limited budgets and availability of seasonal foods, much of which came from back yard gardens.

In lieu of any formal health care and out of necessity, mothers of this period had to be their own in-house health practitioners regularly administering  mustard plasters, goose grease rubs and linseed poultices for those in their care.  There was also nothing like good old chicken soup and hot lemon juice and honey for children coming down with the flu or a cold.  Baking soda, apple cider vinegar and cayenne pepper too all came from the kitchen cupboard with special medicinal benefits.

Much of the economy in small town rural centres was agriculture oriented and the contribution of the farm wife who did not hesitate when required to exchange her house keeping apron for a pitch fork or a hoe, was so commonly taken for granted at the time and subsequently overlooked in present-day history.

Social life was pretty much centred around church activities, women's organizations being the catalyst for most fund-raising and mission and outreach work in the community.  With family homes the focal point, card parties, afternoon teas and summer picnics were a popular form of socializing and fellowship.  Quilting and sewing bees, oddly enough, were considered to be change-of-pace activities outside the home.  Music concerts were also a well-attended community family function as were rare productions staged in various town halls by roving theatrical companies.  For most women, however, there was little time in their busy weekly routine for recreational activities.  Generally, more often than not, any spare time was spent reading a good book.

Remember too, that there were no radios, movies theatres or televisions in those days.  Alexander Graham Bell had yet to invent the telephone and all communication was by word of mouth.  Gas-powered carriages instead of horse and buggy?...Don't be silly!

Rosemary Neering in her wonderful book Canadian Housewife, An Affectionate History, writes about the era of the full-time housewife coming to an end by the mid 1900s.  "Major feminist lonnes such as The Femine Mystic, the arrival of the birth control pill, increasing numbers of women going to university and seeking careers, full-time employment outside the home, prosperity, fast food, increasing automation, a reluctance to spend one's life focused mainly on the domestic sphere -- all those things meant major changes in the way women spent their time."

Indeed, times and conditions have changed for women in the last century and a half, and they can be proud of the role they play in all aspects of society today.  But on this occasion, the honour goes to those sisters who diligently and faithfully carried out their roles on the home front when life was so much simpler and less complex.

"A man's work is sun to sun, but women's work is never done," the saying goes.

A debt of gratitude is owed all those grandmothers and moms who lovingly toiled over wood-burning stoves and wringer washers more than a century ago.  We could not have made it without them!  I'm sure I speak for dear old Gramps and Dad too.

ON STAYING AFLOAT IN ROUGH SEAS

On the heels of a most unsettling development last week which will remain undisclosed, I find myself relying on a philosophical nature and a healthy daily dose of Celexa.

Like boats, I think we all want to be firmly anchored when life's seas are rough.  In our efforts to resist the winds of change and worst case scenarios, we often affix ourselves to a deep optimistic belief that we will stay on course.  Sadly, however, there are times when we tie ourselves to ideas that appear to have a firm anchor but are actually very much adrift and in danger of grounding or, worse yet -- sinking.

The upside of this analogy is that there is always a period of calm following a storm and generally a personal acknowledgement that we really do not need as much security as we originally thought.  There is always a new course to navigate with a promising horizon in the distance.

The next port will offer some new challenges and opportunities, maybe even a pot of gold.  At least that is what I keep telling myself.

Here's to smooth sailing for the balance of the cruise!

A SIMPLISTIC LOOK AT CHURCH RELEVANCY

Being of a relatively simple mind, I lack the ability to "intellectualize" when it comes to religious matters.  Generally I have more questions than answers.  I take some solice in the words of Augustine: "If you understand it, it's not God."

Classical theology has acknowledged that we cannot know much about "Our Father who art in Heaven", whose essence is hidden and incomprehensible to mere human intellects.  Blind faith is a hard sell
for many in this day and age of high tech hype when single narrative teaching tends to fall short.  The American writer John Updike said:  "Faith is a force of will whereby a Christian defines himself against the temptations of an age.  Each age presents its own competing philosophies..."

I acknowledge that we live in a postmodern age where attitudes question institutions and their underlying certainties.  One religion writer recently suggested that it is this fundamental questioning about whether truth has any objectivity or universality, that is a contributing factor in people not attending church services today.  The relevancy of God in every day life has all but been lost/ignored for many of those among us.

As too often suggested though, I do not think that there is a wholesale turning away from a belief in a Superior Being (God).  Most Canadians, I am convinced, believe...The question is, however, what do they believe and who do they trust to discuss it with?  Unfortunately, in the majority of cases, it is not in church and not with a priest or minister of The Word and Sacraments.  The end result is that there is a void in many lives today that may not even be recognized, or acknowledged.

To address the demise of church involvement and the public profession of faith, several national general
assemblies have taken on the task of studying what church membership might look like in the future.  Understandably, discussion is bound to involve traditional vs. the previously-mentioned postmodern thinking and this is where there is a problem for me.  I am all for change, but not change that dilutes the intensity of individual faith and long-held traditions and practices.

If we insist on continually revising faith according to the whims of society and our own interests, we will be in danger of cutting ourselves off not only from tradition but the church universal.  I wholeheartedly agree that confession of faith in a secular age is not fundamentalism; it is simply Christian.  Church worship should not be compromised for convenience any more than it should be for entertainment value.  Our churches do not need more, or different membership rules; rather they should focus on creating comfortable conditions where people can encounter the God that has been missing from their lives.  Create a familiar, welcoming church environment conducive to relevancy in a present-day context and they will come.  There is an inherent need in the world today for benevolency and a robust, joyful, holistic kind of faith.

As for this simple father's son, I yearn only to return to the God of my childhood, the God of Abraham and Moses -- the God that at one time I felt that I had outgrown.  I yearn to "cling to the old rugged cross and to exchange it some day for a crown."  Amen. 

The story of unseen things foretold is my heritage.  I pray that church legislators and scholars, do not make it unrecognizable for me.

To be certain, we are individuals in this life but we must recognize that we are united by the Divine membrane of love and forgiveness.  We should not look for, nor expect more than that.  Would that I could better  "intellectualize" it, but perhaps that would be a mistake.

REED WRITES: LAST WORDS TO LIVE BY

There are so many outstanding journalists from my era who literally flew under the celebrity radar in Canada, primarily because they were too busy exercising their craft to become media stars in the present-day context. They diligently and accurately reported the news rather than being the news. Their effective word pictures were painted with fairness, balance, passion and color. 

Jim Reed was one of those special journalists who believed in thorough research and backgrounded analysis. He worked as a researcher, writer, producer, director, reporter and news anchor for CTV, TVO and CBC. He travelled widely and freelanced for The Associated Press, The New York Times, The Globe and Mail and other news organizations. He was also a three-time Gemini Award winner, recipient of the “Gordon Sinclair Award for Excellence in Broadcasting” as well as the B’Nai B’rith Award for Human Rights.

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If you have not already noticed, I am referring to Jim in the past tense. Having fought a form of lung cancer since last fall, he quietly passed away in hospital February 11 at 72 years of age. He was born and raised in Goderich and lived most of his life in the small nearby community of Dungannon where in retirement he regularly contributed to his beloved blog Reed Writes (has a familiar ring to it) and produced monthly editorial columns for The Bruce County Marketplace Magazine.

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According to Marketplace Publisher James Pannell, the always professional veteran wordsmith turned in his last copy only three days before he passed away after choosing to be taken off life support. The column was so poignant and typically Jim that I respectfully reproduce it here. Headed "There really is a light at the end of the tunnel...look for it sooner rather than later", Jim's last written words convey a message for each and every one of us.  The thoughts and phrases do not flow as smoothly as would normally be the case with his writing and you can feel the sickness of a man who had come to terms with his life, taking small pleasure in the satisfaction of it all and the one last opportunity to leave behind small nuggets of advice for his readers. 

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I'm sure he would be happy to be getting a little extra ink with this one.

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*NOTE:  Due to problems with Google, this newsprint clipping cannot be enlarged.  Please zoom in your image to 150% and the print will be easier to read.

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It's my privilege Jim.  We celebrate you!

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MY COUSIN DONNA AND THE LONE RANGER



Me at four-years-of-age with cousin, big sister Donna and new pet puppy Spot.

One of the bonuses of being a member of the Facebook community is that it affords a wonderful opportunity to reconnect with family and old acquaintances.  Due to some of my nostalgic writing, I have recently enjoyed connecting with three second cousins from Michigan and in particular, a couple of third  cousins whom I have never met. 

When I was growing up some 65-70 years ago, I was blessed to be a part of an extremely large family that consisted of my grandparents Harriet and Nelson Perry, five aunts, four uncles (and spouses) and 27 cousins.  My mother Grace was the youngest of the Perry brood and I, the youngest of the cousins.  We were an extremely close-knit family that gathered faithfully for special occasions -- Christmas, Easter, summer reunions, Thanksgiving and numerous times in between.  It would be nothing to have 30-40 of us under one roof at any given time, all hugging, kissing laughing, singing and eating lots of good food.  By contrast, families seem to break up and go their own way today and personally I think that it is a shame. 

 

I was so young and had no brothers and sisters, several of my then teenage cousins just naturally seemed to adopt me as their second little brother, Dickie.  Certainly to me, they were the equivalent of big sisters and brothers in every way possible and I spent a lot of time with them in my formative years.  Sadly, they are all gone now and I am the only one left to savor the happy memories of what used to be.  One of my favorite big sister cousins was Donna Phelps Cox (Reed), then of Detroit; and for the benefit of her daughter Betsy Priest and grandchildren Jennifer and Matt Pleva I pass on a story, the details of which may not be fully known to them.  It is a story that has special significance for me because Donna involved me at one point, helping to forge my lifetime fascination with cowboys of the wild west frontier.



Brace Beemer, shows trusty six-shooter to an admiring fan.

After graduation from school, Donna interestingly enough secured a job as a receptionist with WXYZ Radio Station in Detroit.  It just so happened that at the time WXYZ had come into prominence as the host and creator of the increasingly popular Lone Ranger series.  The star of the show in the 1940s was a strapping fellow by the name of Brace Beemer.   Donna would regale us with stories of how Beemer  would make it a point to stop and talk to her on his way into the studio.  She was a very petite, attractive, personable young lady and the six-foot, three-inch Beemer would loom over her threatening to put her in his vest pocket and take her home with him.  He had a pet name for her which completely escapes me at the time of this writing.


On one of my many Easter visits to my aunt Edith's home on Inverness Ave. in Detroit, Donna took me with her to the radio station on a day off from work.  She had arranged for me to meet Beemer following one of his three-times-a-week broadcasts.  I was spell-bound as Donna took me by the hand and led me into the studio where "The Lone Ranger" himself (minus his mask and dressed in a business suit and white shirt open at the neck) greeted me with an already-signed photograph that included sidekick Tonto (then played by John Todd). 


"Good to meet you, young man," said the radio legend, patting me on the back as he hurriedly made his way out the front door enroute to his farm outside nearby Pontiac, Mich.  It was absolutely one of those special occasions that a young lad never forgets.  It still gives me chills to think that I actually met the elusive Lone Ranger.  No where in the annals of radio history can one find a more popular voice than that of Brace Beemer as he portrayed the Lone Ranger in the 1940s and early 50s. In real life Beemer was known to be an all 'round outdoorsman who was both an expert horse rider and a crack shot, a combination that gave him a rugged and virile charm.  Although it was WXYZ station manager George W. Trendle who created and enhanced the Lone Ranger idea, it was my boyhood hero that carried the radio program so successfuly over the airwaves for more than 21 years. After the Lone Ranger series ended in 1955, he portrayed "Sergeant William Preston of the Yukon" on the television program Challenge of the Yukon, for a brief period.  He died in 1965


A little more about the Lone Ranger

With the stirring notes of the William Tell Overture and a shout of "Hi-yo, Silver!  Away!" The Lone Ranger regularly came into the living room of my home in Dresden just before our 6 o'clock supper time and I was glued too the old floor-model radio that seemed to burst at the seams with the vibrations.


The show, as stated, was the creation of station-owner George Trendle and writer Fern Striker.  Neither Trendle nor Striker had any connections to or experience with the cowboys, Indians, and pioneers of the real West, but that mattered little to them.  The men simply wanted to create an American version of the masked swashbuckler made popular by the silent movie actor Douglas Fairbanks in The Mark of Zorro, arming their hero with a revolver rather than a sword.  Historical authenticity was far less important to the men than fidelity to the strict code of conduct they established for their character.



The Lone Ranger never smoked, swore, or drank alcohol; he used grammatically correct speech free of slang; and, most important, he never shot to kill.  More offensive to modern historical and ethnic sensibilities was the Indian scout Tonto, who spoke in a comical Indian patois totally unrelated to any authentic Indian dialect, uttering ludicrous phrases like "You betchum!"    

"Howdy pardner!"  Me in my best cowboy get up, including a Lone Ranger pistol and holster.  I could be the Lone Ranger one minute and at the drop of my straw hat transition to Red Ryder, Hopalong Cassidy, Gene Autry or Roy Rogers.  When I wasn't in a Wild West frame of mind I could easily become The Phantom, Zorro, GI Joe and yes, even Robin Hood.  I was truly "the great pretender" as a kid -- still am, I guess. 

Historical accuracy notwithstanding, the radio program was an instant hit.  Children liked the steady stream of action and parents approved of the good moral example offered by the upstanding masked man.  Soon picked up for nationwide broadcast over the Mutual Radio Network, over 20 million North Americans were tuning into The Lone Ranger three times a week by 1939. In an early example of the power of marketing tie-ins, the producers also licensed the manufacture of a vast array of related products, including Lone Ranger guns, costumes, books, and a popular comic strip.



The Lone Ranger made a seemingly effortless transition from radio to motion pictures and television.  The televised version of The Lone Ranger, staring Clayton Moore as the masked man and Jay Silverheels as Tonto, became the ABC netowrk's first big hit in the early 1950s.  Remaining on the air until 1957, the program helped define the golden age of the TV Western and inspired dozens of imitators like The Range Rider, The Roy Rogers Show, and The Adventures of Wild Bill Hickok.  Although the Lone Ranger disappeared from American television and movie screens by the 1960s, he lived on in a popular series of comic books well into the 1970s.



Cousin Donna would eventually introduce me to a number of other special things like my first movie, my first game of bowling and milkshakes but to my mind the greatest thing she ever did for me was to introduce me to her friend, The Lone Ranger.

"They went thata way, Kimosabe...We'll head em off at the pass!

My bandwagon runneth over with fruit cake

It's been a while since I posted a "Rosanneism" on Wrights Lane.  Well, in spite of my best intentions (and her orders), I just have to give in this one last (?) time.

This afternoon while out on a shopping trip, I was giving Rosanne a hard time/teasing about something, as is my calling in life (I fully expect that in time God will get me for all of that).  To tell you the truth, I can't even remember what wise-crack remark prompted her to blurt out with all the causticity she could muster, "Dick, I've had just about enough fruit cake from your bandwagon." 


As always, I considered myself told in no uncertain terms.  In some weird way I have learned to interpret her messages.

Did you ever force yourself to feign indignance while supressing the impulse to break out in hysterics?  I do that a lot!


Looking for a traditional family table game or the latest in video games?  Visit www.givemgames.com

WE CAN ALL LEARN TO DANCE IN THE RAIN

http://www.flickspire.com/m/passiontest/LearningtoDanceInTheRain

Life's events and experiences are like the weather -- they come and go no matter what our preference.

This is a link to a wonderful video that is an excellent follow up to my last post (see blow) about making the best of things in our lives and being thankful for the simple blessings that we often overlook, or take for granted.  Watch it and you will see what I mean.

About the broken eggs and lemons in life

I live in a world continually subjected to second-guessing and devil's advocacy which, out of necessity, I have learned to supress at all costs.  I do not think that I am any different from most others in this regard, it is just that I seem to place myself in vulnerable positions more often than the average person.  Activist innovator doers have a habit of doing just that.

When we are not chasing rainbows, taking on causes and treading into the unknown we find ourselves deflecting the woulda, shoulda, coulda analystic influences in our lives.  Maybe at the end of the proverbial day, one balances the other out -- I don't know.  The bottom line is that we are the masters of our own destiny and that we accomplish nothing if we give in to negativity, be it of our own making, the victimization of others or pure happenstance.

I have interviewed  several individuals recently who I greatly admire because they have overcome severe setbacks and circumstances that were beyond their control.  One describes his experience as the equivalent of being kicked squarely in the genital area and knocked to his knees while the other speaks of the nausea that accompanies disappointment, embarrasment and heartbreak.  While they come from differing cirumstances, they both had one thing in common -- the ability to pick themselves up, dust themselves off and make the best of the devestating situations in which they found themselves.

An old friend who I often quote, has an interesting analogy involving the cooking of eggs.  "You can't make an omlette without breaking the eggs," he says.  "If, though, you really feel determined to keep the eggs in one piece, you can always cook something else.  If you are dealing with a tray full of eggs that are already broken, however, you may as well use them up.

"What he was saying is that there is no point in wishing that a certain situation had never come about or thinking in retrospect about how the end result could have been much different.  What is done, is done, and the only way to improve it is to accept the unalterable and to go about seeing what can be made of it.

It's all about another analogy, making lemonade out of lemons.  The end result can be quite surprising and palatable beyond our fondest expectations. 

LIKE OLD BARNS, THE OLDER YOU AND I GET... WELL WATCH THIS VIDEO ANYWAY

INTRODUCING MY LATEST BLOG SITE

I am pleased to announce the publishing of my 25th blog site featuring an interesting and talented young  hockey player who grew up in my hometown of Dresden.

Robert Johnston (right) and older brother
 Brian, circa 1960

Like so many other starry-eyed youngsters, Robert "Rosy" Johnston never did make it to the National Hockey League but he has maintained a burning love for the game all his life.  A respectable Junior "A" caliber player, Rosy eventually made his way out west where he played on provincial championship teams in both Manitoba and Alberta.  Now 57 years of age and living in Calgary, he remembers his formative years in Dresden with fondness and credits the grandmother who raised him and surrogate parents who mentored him with being responsible for the man he is today.

It is a simple down-to-earth story that kind of makes you feel good about a lot of things and, in particular, a likeable blue collar guy who has done the best with what God and some caring people gave him when he was growing up in a small close-knit Southern Ontario community.    
Click http://rosysheartneverleftdresden.blogspot.com

WELCOME TO THE WORLD EMERY!

Born on Great Aunt Rosanne's birthday, Monday, February 07, 2011,  at 1:07 p.m., "Emery" 6 lb.14oz., daughter of Megan and Sean Krasnewych of  Scarborough.  Go ahead John and Jane, spoil your first grandchild all you want...It's allowed! 

Looking for a traditional family table game or the latest in video games? Visit www.givemgames.com

LET'S DANCE: STEVEN TO THE RESCUE

There are times when images captured by the camera lens are just too special and fun not to share.  Here are several that fall into this category for me.
My granddaughter Madison, 6 1/2 years old (when you're six that 1/2 is very important you know), attended her first wedding on Saturday.  She loves music and dancing and was in her glory at the reception following the wedding.  Her priceless expression of joy and elation in the top photo said it all when the deejay began playing a song by her current heart throb, teen idol Justin Bieber.  At one point she asked a boy at the next table if he would like to dance.  The very uncomfortable young lad declined, saying that he "did not know how" (to dance).  Witnessing what had just transpired, Steven, a quick-thinking boyfriend of an older cousin, rose admirably to the occasion by coming to the rescue of the rejected maiden, whisking her away to the dance floor as Bieber belted out "One Less Lonely Girl".  For a 6 1/2 year old girl in a pretty new dress, it couldn't get much better than that.  As for Steven, God bless him! 

Looking for a traditional family table game or the latest in video games? Visit www.givemgames.com

INTRODUCING: INTERNET MARKETING BY OUR VERY OWN RRW WORLDWIDE COMPANY

After more than two months of hard work we are finally in a position to announce the launch of our new Internet marketing business, RRW WORLDWIDE LLC, LTD.

GRANDKIDS LOVE GAMES

Our initial entry into this highly competitive and exciting marketing field will be an affiliate site, www.givemgames.com, exclusively designed for family games of all descriptions -- table games, card games, puzzles, video games, educational games, party games and supplies and kids video games incorporated in unique parental control software for home computers.  The object of the site, as with all future sites, will be to direct online shoppers to quality products at affordable prices and to do it in a convenient, easy-to-follow format.


RRW WORLDWIDE is a family-owned and operated company with Rosanne and I sole partners.  We have attained incorporation in both the USA and Canada.  Our head office will be listed as Las Vegas, NV because the bulk of our business will come from the States but we will continue to operate out of our home in Southampton.
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ONE OF ROSIE'S GIRLS

In the developing stage is a drop-shipping store for mobility products and health aids which will be available directly from our Mobility Aids Shop site. Rosanne will also have her own blog site, Rosie's Plus+X Factor, focusing entirely on over-size clothing for women -- "just like me."


Future plans include development of a shopping site for art and artist supplies.
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If you are interested in seeing samples of Givem Games and Rosie's Plus+X Factor you can click on the following links:
www.givemgames.com
http://rosieatplusfactor.blogspot.com

Our corporate marketing site can also be viewed at 
http://rrwworldwide.blogspot.com

Wish us luck! 

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HAVE FAITH IN COMPLETING LIFE'S JOURNEY; SOMETHING BETTER AWAITS US IN THE END

I wanna live my life just like you did
And make the most of my life just like you did
And I wanna make my home up in the sky just like you did
Oh, but until I get there, until I get there..."


A verse from "Save A Place For Me" as sung by Matthew West


You know me, I like to talk about things -- or more accurately, write about  them.  While I always have my readers in mind, more often than not when I think about certain things and then in turn write about them, I am helping myself find clarity and resolution in some shape or form.


There have been times, however, when delving into certain personal concerns and issues that I have concluded that there are no right or wrong answers or positions to be adopted.  The stock conclusion in such cases is generally "do what is right for you and follow your heart".  Being a sort of "there has to be an answer for everything" kind of person, I am not always satisfied with settling for such nebulous resolutions or solutions.


Listening to the very beautiful and poignant video above this morning, an unresolved issue came flooding back to me.  The lyrics for "Save A Place For Me" were obviously written by someone very early in the grieving process and a lot of questions are still being asked of the deceased loved one in the song.  Love, the deep physical and emotional love that used to exist between two devoted individuals, lingers in every lyrical sentence.


When someone very close to us inevitably passes away, particularly a husband or wife, how long must we put our life on hold?  When do we finally let go of the grief, the sadness, the longing, the sense of losing someone who once meant everything to us?  When do we pick up the pieces of what is left of our life, and get on with it?  Or should we just fold our tent and let the rest of the world pass us by, waiting for The Good Lord to eventually take us by the hand and fulfill the popular perception of a long-awaited glorious reunion somewhere in the great beyond?


The question also begs to be asked:  "What would my dearly departed loved one want me to do?  Depending on age, of course, would it be acceptable not only to pick up the pieces of my life, but dare I even think about entering the social arena after being away from it for so long?  And what if I just happen to meet someone who offers the potential to love again in that very special way?   Would I?  Could I?  Should I?


In my case, my first life partner passed away after 40 years of marriage. I was numb and hopelessly floundering.  A piece of me was gone, never to be replaced.  Anne came to terms with her illness and was more than ready to leave me, our two daughters and at the time four grandchildren...She was weary and deserved an earthly release which we all reluctantly accepted in the end.  I am convinced that Anne left us knowing that our commitment to each other had been fulfilled.


Fortunately for me, almost magically, another unique person came into my life.  We had something(s) to offer each other and we instinctively recognized the path we were destined to follow.  That path, offering a chance at a new life, new love and all that it entailed, has been the right one for us.  In all fairness, however, the path that Rosanne and I have taken may not be suitable or even possible for everyone.  In that regard, I feel blessed.


No matter how our live's unfold, or what direction we take, it is only natural that there will be some unresolved issues and unanswered questions.  Where and how we spend the rest of our eternity is perhaps the greatest mystery known to mankind.  No degree of moralizing or calling on religion will ever give us definitive answers to questions involving the afterlife. On the other hand, there is an inherent need for us to have faith while we are still in the here and now.


Faith is a wonderful thing, if applied in the true sense of the word.  Faith is all about trust, belief and honest intentions.  Faith helps keep us on course as we experience the clefs and valleys in our lives.  When we lose faith, we loose hope.  When we loose hope, we die.


As much as I love the song "Save A Place For Me" and I appreciate the sentiments that are expressed, in truth I have reservations (pardon the pun) about the prospect of anyone holding a heavenly place for me as one would reserve a seat in a theater or at a dinner table.  I simply have trouble wrapping my mind around that concept, however nice and conveniently self-serving it may be.


My faith promises me one thing, and one thing only.  I have faith in a belief that if we live decent lives, a reward awaits us at the end of our earthly journey.  What form that reward takes is well beyond any human conception.  But the mere prospect of something better awaiting us provides incentive for us to keep on keeping on, doesn't it?


And after all is said and done, the suggestion to do what is right for us and to follow our hearts does have merit.  That is what I have been doing all along anyway and I am sure that is what most readers have been doing as well.  We instinctively want to do what is right and our hearts are capable of leading us in wondrous ways.


I choose not to live a fanciful existence.  The best I can hope for is that God will ultimately have a place for me that is in keeping with the life that I have lived -- and that it will not be too uncomfortably hot for my liking.


I'll settle for that!

STRANGERS WHO SHARED PACK OF COOKIES

Here's a good one for you.  A fellow by the name Stewart was waiting for a train. He was a bit early and had some time to spare.  Knowing that he would be a while, he purchased a newspaper so he could do the crossword puzzle while he waited.  He slso picked up a cup of coffee, and a packet of cookies.   He found a spot on a bench next to a chap in a business suit and craddling a leather briefcase in his lap. After a few moments of settling in his seat and arranging his coat between the two of them, the other fellow suddenly leaned over, picked up the pack of cookies, tore it open and took one.  The cookie was gone in two bites.  Stewart didn't know how to react.  He had never had anything like this happen before, so he did nothing and just ignored it.  He buried his nose in the newspaper, took a sip of coffee and pretended to be oblivious to what had just happened.Since the packet of cookies was already open, Stewart could not resist the temptation.  As casual as possible, he he took out a cookie and ate it, thinking that that would settle the matter.  A moment or two later the other guy reached across and took another cookie.  Stewart thought that this time it would be just too awkward to say anything since he had ignored it the first time.  For the next few silent and rather awkward minutes they would take turns picking up the packet and eating a cookie before putting it down again.  They went through the entire pack of cookies this way. When the cookies were gone, Stewart's friend simply stood up and walked away.  Stewart's train pulled into the station shortly thereafter and he hurringly got to his feet and picked up the newspaper, unexpectantly and unbelievingly exposing his unopened pack of cookies.  Talk about being embarrased, Stewart could not believe his eyes.  The funny thing about the unusual situation was that there was another guy out there somewhere who had the same story, but did not know the punch line.  The lesson that can be learned from the story is to never assume you know the whole story.  It is good to get all the facts before jumping to conclusions. As we said in the previous post (below) "things are not always what they seem"...Even a packet of cookies shared by two strangers in a train station.