TRUE STORY.

My friend Anne Williams who is 87 years, told me about her two aunts who decided to raise their own turkey for Thanksgiving. The well fed turkey got good and fat. On the day before, they were sorry, but committed. So, one held the bird, the other bashed it in the head with a hammer. They set to plucking it and the turkey suddenly tried to scramble away from them. Oh, what a revolting development!

They ended up eating chicken and let the turkey live. It was cold outside, even in California. So, they knitted it a sweater. Then the feathers began to grow through the sweater and presented a new problem. It was pretty laughable. They eventually had to cut the sweater off in pieces, only the turkey didn’t want to go near them. They had a tough time catching it that educated bird.

I’m thankful my bird comes shrink wrapped from the store, among other things too numerous to mention.

My cup runneth over!  Share!  Be happy. Be thankful.

 

 

TWO BILL FOSTERS

Bill Foster was an indomitable spirit. I believe everyone loved him because he always had a smile on his face and he calmly refused to die. He unreasonably wouldn’t die when every indicator of “death is near” came to him over and over  in different guises.  He held on to  life even though it offered him limited mobility and comfort. No one beats the system, and my friend, Bill Foster died March 20th.  This picture is from his 75th birthday party that I blogged last year. You can meet Bill there at this address:
https://otrwjam.wordpress.com/2011/07/10/bill-foster-of-angels-camp/

I, like most people I know, dislike funerals. I am so grateful that celebrations of life are more common than funerals and his family’s  request for a celebration of life, was to wear colorful, fun clothes.

His grandson, Cameron, managed to fit into his grandfather’s some other era golf clothes with the pants tucked into the socks. His son Steve, wore his father’s polyester suit of orange checks and tried to fill his father’s shoes.  He did a good job, of it , too.

And no one ever expected Bill to do things like anybody else. He wanted to be a married man again. He had asked Linda Strangio to marry him. She finally gave in to that request and they were married 15 days before he died. He smiled all through the ceremony. And he died a happy man.

 

I met Bill Foster because of my friend Bill Foster (above). I went to an Arts Council summer music event in Arnold about five years ago, and was looking for a place to put my blanket on the grass in the park. My friend Barbara invited me to join them. I said, thanks but I was waiting for my friend Bill Foster.  She said, “Oh, I know him, he used to be my insurance agent in Dublin.”  I said, no, my friend Bill Foster is a retired cop.  That happened three times that day and I decided, I’ve gotta meet this guy. Bill Foster the cop got me in touch with Bill Foster the insurance agent, and I joined a number of his friends who helped bandage his legs. (He needed bandages changed three times a day at that point.)

Bill and his wife, June were at the celebration of life as well. Bill (cop) always called Bill (agent), sonny, because he is slightly older than he was. They lived in the same town, golfed on the same course, were constantly getting each others mail, or the wrong chart at a doctor’s appointment, and phone messages meant for the “other” Bill Foster. The opportunities for humor were many, and Bill exploited them at the celebration of life. I am lucky to have had two great friends named Bill Foster. One here and one I’ll never forget.

THE MOST IMPORTANT THINGS

Yesterday morning about 6 a.m., Jim was reading about a  tornado blowing 57 rail cars off the tracks when a horrific crashing sound startled both of us into jumping up and running for cover. We thought it was an earthquake. A cupboard in my dining room, an overladen shelf, apparently, sheared the supports on one side, and gave way. My bone china dishes came crashing to the floor. Two major losses, my grandmother’s crystal bowl and a crystal butter dish. Broken handles, chipped plates,…well, it was bad, but it could have been worse. The taste of Thanksgiving dinner will not be affected. There was a time when I enjoyed setting a beautiful table with everything matching, just so. I’ve been known to become very attached to favorite things. My cousin Marge Rowe gave me a sign and hung it in my kitchen that has numerous times given me pause.

I remember telling my kids when they were half grown, never cry for anything that can’t cry for you.
The good sweet earth sustains us, family & friends. Love & happiness & good health are treasures. And I’m grateful for that sign. It helps remind me to put things in perspective.

As the day warmed, Jim got out and finished washing the motor home. We gave it a hose-over wash on the road, can’t remember the town.  Then a major cleaning in Connecticut, inside and out. Now its second major cleaning yesterday with over 16,000 miles of road time. We have yet to tackle the inside except for doing the laundry. Life is good.