|Our NY Grandchildren, Brenna Meghan, Shaela Jamie and Ryan Emory|
origin of Kitty White’s party. Abbey searched
and found that it was “LILY” White’s Party (some said Lily White’s Ball). Somehow, Lily became Kitty, at least in John’s memory. We
found several comments that people remember it from their childhood. Some said
it was popular in the 40’s and 50’s. Most thought it annoying as children but
now think of it fondly. It must had come from the following poem.
|right click photo, open in new tab or window and click again to enlarge for easier reading|
Do you remember this poem?
“Only take care, and keep your soul diligently, lest you forget the things that your eyes have seen, and lest they depart from your heart all the days of your life. Make them known to your children and your children’s children– how on the day that you stood before the LORD your God at Horeb, the LORD said to me, ‘Gather the people to me, that I may let them hear my words, so that they may learn to fear me all the days that they live on the earth, and that they may teach their children so.’
Was there a Scripture verse, a song, a quote, a poem or an encouraging word that came your way and caused you to pause.
I’d love for you to share.
<center><a href=” http://gratefulprayerthankfulheart.com/ “><img border=”0″ src=” http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gKMsUvYjKyY/T0wqFpQF5qI/AAAAAAAAMsk/KWl4yi81lAo/s1600/think+on+these+things+Blog+button+2.jpg ” /></a></center>
Yesterday the twig was brown and bare;
I don’t know how he managed it, but this is how
I found my pillow-loving pup.
Hearing a rustle while working at my computer, I turned around
to see Raider in this unique position.
What Is a PET?
Who brighten your life from the start-
A lovable, laughable, huggable treasure
Who wins a warm place in your heart.
A pet is a jester, a trickster, a tease
Who’s always prepared to perform-
A pouncer, a bounder, a fetcher, a pleaser
Whose greeting is welcome and warm.
A pet is a blessing for so many reasons,
A gift of delight that endures-
A faithful companion, a friend for all seasons
Whose home, now and always, is yours!
By Mary Catherine Shannon
on every side there are suggestions of juvenility and mischief.
Hometown love for America…
|A few words that popped into my head as we watched the parade|
|Jamie and family|
God bless America,Land that I love.Stand beside her, and guide herThrough the night with a light from above.From the mountains, to the prairies,To the oceans, white with foamGod bless America, My home sweet homeGod bless America, My home sweet home.
|Carol, Mommy, Daddy, Lorrie and Frankie|
living in the city and how much she hated the dirt!
As you can see in this photo, the streets were
not yet paved back then.
My brother remembers walking to school with Wonder Bread
bags tied over his shoes so they wouldn’t get muddy.
and family, she would need to learn to drive.
|Mommy, Baby Lorraine & Daddy|
house that her dad built.
dear Mr. & Mrs. Paul lived in.
this is where I would sent flashlight signals to
Carolyn as her window faced our house.
The basement (or cellar as we called it) was kind of nasty. The paint on the walls was badly chipped and not like the clean and organized place of my childhood. There were still several
‘down the bank‘.
Then he decided sledding was a safer alternative.
Not for me being the smallest and youngest on the top of a four-high stack of kids on a speeding sled!
We laugh now remembering those days of our youth!
I never heard my dad curse or swear.
But he had two expressions that we will forever remember about him.
I think they are so unique, so him.
They still make me chuckle inside.
If we did something stupid or wrong, he would look at us with his beautiful blue eyes
and ask the piercing question,
“What ails you?“
It always produced remorse for whatever we had just done.
When he was frustrated with something that didn’t work right or was not made well, his favorite saying was,
“Fling it down the bank”!
ha… there have been many things I have thought about flinging down the bank!
Bleak in the morning early;
All the hills are covered with snow,
And winter’s now come fairly.
a few winter photos
my (dead) car battery:
I gathered together a few pieces to create a Pilgrim and Indian centerpiece to brighten our kitchen table. A squash-shaped soup tureen on an oval serving plate with a couple of tiny orange pumpkins and a set of hand painted wooden figures purchased years ago from a craft fair.
Look what I found just outside our side door on the arbor there…
Mourning Doves are light grey and brown and generally muted in color. Males and females are similar in appearance. The species is generally monogamous, with two squabs (young) per brood. Both parents incubate and care for the young. Mourning Doves eat almost exclusively seeds
if you listen real close you’ll hear her tiny little coos.
Lucky the woman who knows the pangs of birth for she has held a star.
It was designed by architect Malcolm Wells and built across the Cooper River’s north branch by homebuilder Bob Scarborough
In 1959, Bob Scarborough was developing housing on the Barclay Farmstead, and wanted to extend the subdivision street system over the North Fork of Cooper River, a small creek at the site. A lover of the Bucks County Covered Bridges, Scarborough decided to have a covered bridge for the purpose, and commissioned architect Malcolm Wells to design the bridge. It was dedicated on Saturday, February 14th, 1959. The bridge was renovated in 1993 and rededicated on its 34th anniversary.
Came, at the evening, cold and gray,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
But he turned, when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
Why build you the bridge at the eventide?”
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
With mother in the family pew and fumbled with my hat–
How I would like to see it now the way I saw it then,
The straight-backed pews, the pulpit high, the women and the men
Dressed stiffly in their Sunday clothes and solemnly devout,
Who closed their eyes when prayers were said and never looked about–
That little church of Long Ago, it wasn’t grand to see,
But even as a little boy it meant a lot to me.
The choir loft where father sang comes back to me again;
I hear his tenor voice once more the way I heard it when
The deacons used to pass the plate, and once again I see
The people fumbling for their coins, as glad as they could be
To drop their quarters on the plate, and I’m a boy once more
With my two pennies in my fist that mother gave before
We left the house, and once again I’m reaching out to try
To drop them on the plate before the deacon passes by.
It seems to me I’m sitting in that high-backed pew, the while
The minister is preaching in that good old-fashioned style;
And though I couldn’t understand it all somehow I know
The Bible was the text book in that church of Long Ago;
He didn’t preach on politics, but used the word of God,
And even now I seem to see the people gravely nod,
As though agreeing thoroughly with all he had to say,
And then I see them thanking him before they go away.
The little church of Long Ago was not a structure huge,
It had no hired singers or no other subterfuge
To get the people to attend, ’twas just a simple place
Where every Sunday we were told about God’s saving grace;
No men of wealth were gathered there to help it with a gift;
The only worldly thing it had–a mortgage hard to lift.
And somehow, dreaming here to-day, I wish that I could know
The joy of once more sitting in that church of Long Ago.
Seeing each treasure helps me know a little about the boy who grew to be the man who has shared my life and walked beside me all these years.
a Little League trophy
a Boy Scout compass and pin
a Sunday School attendance pin
a tie bar with his initials (probably his first)
even teeth from the first pike he caught
(if it was special enough for him to keep, then it is special to me too.)
Here’s a hand to the boy who has courage
To do what he knows to be right;
When he falls in the way of temptation
He has a hard battle to fight.
Who strives against self and his comrades
Will find a most powerful foe.
All honor to him if he conquers.
A cheer for the boy who says, “No!”
There’s many a battle fought daily
The world knows nothing about;
There’s many a brave little soldier
Whose strength puts a legion to rout.
And he who fights sin single-handed
Is more of a hero, I say,
Than he who leads soldiers to battle
And conquers by arms in the fray.
Be steadfast my boy, when you’re tempted,
To do what you know to be right.
Stand firm by the colors of manhood,
And you will o’ercome in the fight.
“The right,” be your battle cry ever
In waging the warfare of life,
And God, who knows who are the heroes,
Will give you the strength for the strife.