January 27th, 2007 12:07am
sandy
I have to ask two questions:
Why is everyone who works at my cardiologist’s office clinically obese (and at least 20 pounds heavier than I am) when they deal with so many people with heart issues?
And why did one of the older and thinner patients demand the location of the nearest McDonalds, while the overweight workers refused to tell him? (He swore he only wanted a coffee).
These are the questions I ask when I wait to see the doctor for over an hour.
Ah, but the world is so full of irony. Sometimes it just makes me laugh………
November 19th, 2006 09:10pm
sandy
Whether you called him Alf, Fred, Alfred, Mick or Dad, you were always greeted with a mischevious smile and a laugh. That was the man I knew. (more…)
November 19th, 2006 09:58am
sandy
It is necessary to help others, not only in our prayers, but in our daily lives. If we find we cannot help another, the least we can do is to desist from harming them. We must not cheat others or lie to them. We must be honest human beings…
Simply as a member of the human family, we need this kind of attitude. It is through such an attitude that real and lasting world peace and harmony can be acheived.
——————–
Wishing all who celebrate Thanksgiving a happy, healthy holiday week, and all who don’t a happy, healthy (non-holday) week!
Cheers.
November 18th, 2006 01:39pm
sandy
The other day my husband and I went to a deposition. In May of 2004, we had an apartment fire and pretty much lost everything. For so many reasons, we considered ourselves lucky. Sometimes luck, however, has its way of biting you in the butt… (more…)
November 12th, 2006 10:47am
sandy
Here’s a story I’m not proud of. I’m not going to write it & burn it in the fire as suggested by my spiritual guru but rather I’m going to write it & own it.
This story is of anger as a painting. All the tools were in place, the canvas was there. As I begun the painting several years ago, I thought I was painting a fruit bowl…
As I laid the first stroke, a fact was indelibly marked on the canvas. Each stroke was another fact until one day I looked at the painting and realized, with all of the facts in place, I wasn’t painting a fruit bowl at all. I was painting death. The painting had developed into something beyond my control. And I didn’t like what I saw. (more…)
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