Blogger: Today With PokieToo and Parkinson's Disease - Formatting Settings
ARE YOU FISHING FOR A DREAM?
Are You fishing for dreams? Then bait your hook
With a bit of reality,
Then swing out wide and cast your line
Far out into Life's sea.
Let every dream have a fighting chance,
Give it plenty of slack,
But settle for only the biggest and best....
Throw the little ones back.
Are you fishing for dreams? Then I wish you luck,
It's a good dream-fishing day.
May you catch a beauty--but oh, take care,
Lest the big one get away.
Helen Lourie Marshall
I grew up in the bootheel of Missouri in what was at that time a small little town called Cape Girardeau, Missouri. My neighborhood was Rodney Vista and time in my neighborhood never paid the least bit of attention to the outside world. Most of the dads worked and the mom's were housekeepers that on off days from school and summers, had their hands full keeping track of the kids on a couple square blocks. My grandmother was a very heavy set woman who believed in the power of the willow stick to discourage thoughts of mischief from her grand kids and surrounding neighborhood kids. It always amazed me how very fast she could loose her patience and head for that willow tree in search for the perfect limb with just the right length(to reach the back of the legs) and light enough to just put the fear in us but do no harm. We wee interdenominational brats. When summer started so did vacation bible schools for ever faith and this was Granny's chance for quiet. For two weeks we might be Catholic and then become Pentecost for two weeks. We stuck cereal on paper and attached cotton balls and ate snacks with the best of them. I can remember standing on the corner with my cousins, trying not to get in trouble until some unknown person came and took us to be saved. We were actually Methodist through and through and my Gram pa Mac instilled our faith in us from birth on.
This morning I received a email from someone who grew up next door to me and we grew up side by side until college. He was tall and handsome, and his dad had a very neat basement.....I spent many hours at Russell's house.....It had all the necessary things for a tomboy to be entertained....a creek, a huge tulip tree, a dad that always had something going on in his basement because he was a wood worker and just generally a neat guy. Russ and my dad were true buddies. They fished all the time....our neighborhood was always together doing something. That was the grand 50's and their will never be anything like them again. Russ's letter made my day this morning and will be something I shall always cherish...love Charlene
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