There was a rich merchant who had 4 wives.

He loved the 4th wife the most. He adorned her with rich robes and treated her to delicacies. He took great care of her and gave her nothing but the best.
He also loved the 3rd wife very much. He's very proud of her and always wanted to show her off to his friends. However, the merchant is always in great fear that she might run away with some other men.
He too, loved his 2nd wife. She is a very considerate person, always patient and in fact is the merchant's confidante. Whenever the merchant faced some problems, he always turned to his 2nd wife and she would always help him out and tide him through difficult times.
Now, the merchant's 1st wife is a very loyal partner and has made great contributions in maintaining his wealth and business as well as taking care of the household. However, the merchant did not love the first wife and although she loved him deeply, he hardly took notice of her.

One day, the merchant fell ill. Before long, he knew that he was going to die soon. He thought of his luxurious life and told himself, "Now I have 4 wives with me. But when I die, I'll be alone. How lonely I'll be!"

Thus, he asked the 4th wife, "I loved you most, endowed you with the finest clothing and showered great care over you. Now that I'm dying, will you follow me and keep me company?" "No way!" replied the 4th wife and she walked away without another word. The answer cut like a sharp knife right into the merchant's heart.

The sad merchant then asked the 3rd wife, "I have loved you so much for all my life. Now that I'm dying, will you follow me and keep me company?"
"No!" replied the 3rd wife. "Life is so good over here! I'm going to remarry when you die!" The merchant's heart sank and turned cold.
He then asked the 2nd wife, "I always turned to you for help and you've always helped me out. Now I need your help again. When I die, will you follow me and keep me company?" "I'm sorry, I can't help you out this time!" replied the 2nd wife. "At the very most, I can only send you to your grave."
The answer came like a bolt of thunder and the merchant was devastated. Then a voice called out : "I'll leave with you. I'll follow you no matter where you go." The merchant looked up and there was his first wife. She was so skinny, almost like she suffered from malnutrition. Greatly grieved, the merchant said, "I should have taken much better care of you while I could have !"
Actually we all have 4 wives in our lives,..
The 4th wife is our body. No matter how much time and effort we lavish in making it look good, it'll leave us when we die.
Our 3rd wife, is our possessions, status and wealth. When we die, they all go to others.
The 2nd wife is our family and friends. No matter how close they had been there for us when we're alive, the furthest they can stay by us is up to the grave.
The 1st wife is in fact our spirit. Often neglected in our pursuit of material wealth and sensual pleasure. It is actually the only thing that follows us wherever we go. Perhaps it's a good idea to cultivate and strengthen it now rather than to wait until we're on our deathbed to lament

Unlimited Desire
An emperor was coming out of his palace for his morning walk when he met a beggar. He asked the beggar, "What do you want?"

The beggar laughed and said, "You are asking me as though you can fulfill my desire!"

The king was offended. He said, "Of course I can fulfill your desire. What is it? Just tell me."

And the beggar said, "Think twice before you promise anything."

The beggar was no ordinary beggar, he was the emporer's past life master. He had promised in that life, "I will come and try to wake you in your next life. This life you have missed but I will come again." But the king had forgotten completely -- who remembers past lives? So he insisted, "I will fulfill anything you ask. I am a very powerful emperor, what can you possibly desire that I can not give to you?"

The beggar said, "It is a very simple desire. You see this begging bowl? Can you fill it with something?"

The emperor said, "Of course!" He called one of his viziers and told him, "Fill this mans begging bowl with money." The vizier went and got some money and poured it into the bowl, and it disappeared. And he poured more and more, and the moment he would pour it, it would disappear. And the begging bowl remained always empty.

The whole palace gathered. By and by the rumor went throughout the whole capital, and a huge
crowd gathered. The prestige of the emperor was at stake. He said to his viziers, "If the whole kingdom is lost, I am ready to lose it, but I cannot be defeated by this beggar."

Diamonds and pearls and emeralds, his treasuries were becoming empty. The begging bowl seemed to be bottomless. Everything that was put into it -- everything! -- immediately disappeared, went out of existence. Finally it was the evening, and the people were standing there in utter silence. The king dropped at the feet of the beggar and admitted his defeat. he said, "Just tell me one thing. You are victorious - but before you leave, just fulfill my curiosity. What is the begging bowl made of?" The beggar laughed and said, "It is made up of the human mind. There is no secret. It is simple made up of human desire."

This understanding transforms life. Go into one desire -- what is the mechanism of it? First there is a great excitement, great thrill, adventure. you feel a great kick. Something is going to happen, you are on the verge of it. And then you have the car, you have the yacht, you have the house, you have the woman, and suddenly all is meaningless again.

What happens? Your mind has dematerialized it.
The car is standing in the drive, but there is no excitement anymore. The excitement was only in getting it. You became so drunk with the desire that you forgot your inner nothingness. Now the desire is fulfilled, the car in the drive, the woman in your bed, the money in your bank account - again excitement disappears. Again the emptiness is there, ready to eat you up. Again you have to create another desire to escape this yawning abyss.

That's how one moves from one desire to another desire. That's how one remains a beggar. Your whole life proves it again and again -- every desire frustrates. And when the goal is achieved, you will need another desire.

The day you understand that desire as such is going to fail comes the turning point in your life.

The other journey is inwards. move inwards, come back home

When I was a kid, road- rail bridges were just part of our life. At the Taramakau River , about 15 miles south of Greymouth there is a road rail bridge. At one end of the bridge lived the gatekeeper. and his job would to shut the gates when there was a train coming. He would shut the north gate and bike across the bridge to shut the south gates.The train would pass through, and he would repeat the process, but this time to open the gates, The gates were removed sometime when i was a teenager, and it was up to the motorist to look out for trains.....Once when Mum and her friend were going to Hokitika to do some shopping,,,, she started to cross the bridge in our old Austin A70 car, and she was half way over when a train came onto the bridge. The train slowed down and backed off for Mum.... she always told people that her and the train driver stared each at each other and the driver backed down through fear

On the main highway just north of Hokitika on the West Coast of the South Island there's not one, but two of these rail- car-one-lane bridges. These bridges are long because they cross rivers at the point where they empty into the sea.

A friend of mine related an incident that occurred on one in the Bay of Plenty near Whakatane. She and her friends were cycling across the bridge when a train came through. They pressed themselves and their bicycles against the parapet and prayed that they wouldn't be hit by something protruding from the side of the

Right now New-Zealand is all night. Winter-- the shortest day and the longest night; dark when you wake up, and then lasting darkenss at the break of dusk, street lights assuming the strange pale shade of "fruju" orange when the switches flick on at 5pm., perhaps a shred of pink and mauve very low in the sky, the prettiness of the white headlights on the wet road and the red brake lights.
Rain running in rivulets down my temples and settling uncomfortably under my scarf.Wrapped up in winter woolies I negotiate the swollen stream on my way to the bus stop. Everthing is treacherously slippery from the unrelenting rain , sleet and hail. The big macrocarpa trees in growing in by the shortcut, stand fast against the barrage of rain. Even the (usually)tinder dry pine needle carpet beneath these behemoths are rainsoaked and soggy. As I negotiate the path in the late afternoon,there is a thin shadow dragging behind me like a tail.
The whole countr`ys surrounded by blackness in the winter, wrapped up from early dusk to late dawn in blacknessI thought I had nothing to write about in winter,, because it seems as if nature is sleeping under a heavy blanket of fallen leaves and frost.It seems that every day is irrelevant, a slip of a thing, nothing to write home about.
Night time in winter makes you want to huddle up by the fire... have hot soups and casseroles with mashed parsnips and potatoes... comfort food,,, steaming hot freshly brewed coffee,,,,roast pumpkin , kumara, and hot steamed puddings.
New- Zealand has it`s own particular quality at night.The hard earth slitting in the frost, the shape of the bare trees,the distant glow of the small townships, In Porirua, all you might expect is a roaming bright- eyes cat up to no good., but there is also the deep contentment of night, a fire in the grate, the closed curtains, a good book... and bed.
What can you hear at night ? In Greymouth you can hear the waves crashing on the shore , like the sound of a pistol whip... and the rain, relentless winter rain....sweeping in from the Tasman sea, battering the coastal communites, with little reprieve.
At 3 am silence and lonliness. I lie awake listening to mournful., "Love soangs till dawn"-- for the insomniacs.I am a woman sandwiched between generations... I am a daughter still,,, but I am also the mother of daughters. At that time I wake up , wondering where all the years have gone. There is something poignant and sad about 3am.. the frozen silence...I see a panoramic view of the past, and the future stretching before me the still of the night...a time of melancholy which will disappear in the brisk busy-ness of dawn.
Everyone wants company at night. Church meetings are nice... and its good to go into a cosy bar with a roaring log fire and look out at the rain... the gloomy evening... and have another round. And then home, the porch light, the hall light and then bed.... sweet, sweet repose, between brushed cotton sheets and sumptuous duvet.
Night in new-Zealand has a calendar of events. Tuesday and Thursday are practice days down at the net ball courts not far from our place.At the Porirua stadium up up the road from us ,there is always rugby practice.... even in the driving rain they will be out there covered from head to toe in mud-- grappling with the slippery ball... their hearts set to become the "Holy Grail" of New -Zealands sportsmen, an All-Black.
Night is the best time now... there is so much of it... soaked and bedraggled... filled with the smell of wood smoke, streaked with car lights and street lights.Night goes from 5.30pm in the evening to 7am the next morning.As the light wanes on the horizon in the late afternoon
the irrelevant say makes an early exit as I head for the best place in the world... my open fire and my bed.

The enduring sadness of second hand shops. Especially church stores, where you wander among jigsaws and shirts and saltshakers, and then stop at the books selling for 50 cents or a dollar. Awful books, the dregs. Reader`s Digest Condensed Classics--( 1962 edition) Hammond Innes,Tom Scott, books you doubt anyone ever read in the first place.
Yesterday I scored a gem, entitled"A Passage to India" By E.M Forster...the cover attracted me. It was a painting of a stone bridge spanning the river Soor in Indore , Central India.
It is a story which depicts with sympathy and discernment, The complicated Indian reaction to british rule in India, and reveals the conflict of temperament and tradition involved in that relationship.
Moving on to the bric a brac...i bought a Macrame hanging plant holder... a beer mug....a small plastic bag of seashells..a foldaway umbrella....I toyed with the idea of buying two large yellow cushions, but decided against it as I thought I could buy them cheaper elsewhere.
I frequent two second hand shops. One is in Titahi Bay in an old church... an ancient wooden building with kauri floorboards. It has a high ceiling and tongue and groove wall boards. It always seems colder in there than outside.The women who serve there are rostered on... elderly women of the church congregation-- faithful and devout...always ready with a cheerful word.
The books are old and dilapidated-- sets of encylopaedias from the 1970`s which are hoplessly out of date. Racks of clothes with an assortment of winter clothing and the ubiquitous" One size fits all" womens tops. ( One size doesn`t fit all! unless you are a pigmy and weigh 45 kilos, which isnt the case with NZ women... we are a nation of Amzonian godesses)
There are the shelves full of gloves and hats and coats.... tea cosy hats,,, which are all the rage amongst the university students, but not amongst the "Lumpen proletariet" in Titahi bay and Porirua.
I bought some mittens.. toasty warm mittens, made with natural spun wool,
I can`t imagine anyone buying the shoes, but i assured by the lady that "Yes, people do but the shoes." They seem so worn out to me.
The magazines and childrens book are tatty and worn, but I do manage to find a Richard Scarry story book. Richard Scarry`s books were banned from NZ schools for being politically incorrect ,The powers that be decided that images of women doing housework and men going out to work would damage a childs conceptof the roles of women and men in NZ.... they like to see books where women are depicted as motor mechanics and truck drivers with the men at home baking and vacuuming. Hmmmmmmm. Reality is different , however.Jesse used to sit there reading his Richard Scary book for hours when he was four years old, and he isnt suffering lasting psychological damage, in fact he is The Consummate S.N.A.G( Sensitive New Age Guy)he cooks, cleans and changes nappies.
I perused the kitchen ware-- old plastic containers, salt and pepper shakers, a hideous green vase with the ridiculous pricetag of $5. Needless to say its been there for months.
The lady came up to me and said there was a large box of clothes for free.... they were mostly worn and old looking but there was a box beside it with nice looking clothes. I assumed they were free... she did too. I scored some new and near new clothes for Leah and I.
The other shop I frequent is similar., although it is situated in Tawa, the home of the upwardly mobile.... retired rich and "wannabes." . The demographics are reflected in the shops wares. Liquer glasses, bone china tea sets,,,, size 10 "mother of pearl "satin evening frocks,books by Somerset Maughan and complete sets of Shakespeare`s plays.... this shop is paradise to me. I like to buy intricately embroidered doilies and tableclothes for the table.I marvel at the skill and patience these women who spent their leisure time sewing these treasures.I suspect they are a dying breed. My mother made many of these intricate delights in her lifetime.
I bought a bundle of teaspoons,,, for some reason teaspoons in the Teniteni household disappear( along with sticky tape, pens and scissors!)
I always engage in cheerful banter with the shop assistant, who is a rather attractive middle aged woman who always dresses with a certain "je ne c`est quoi" and has a ready smile and a sharp wit.
They sell state of the art kitchen ware...the sort of stuff people don`t throw out, so I can only assume that most of the kitchen ware comes from deceased estates.
I eventually bought some silken cushions and wine glasses.The idea of reclining on a silken cushions on a velvet couch with a glass of wine in my had , in front of a roaring fire, was immediately appealing to me, on this tempestuos and stormy day.

Our weather this weekend.
Fri, 4 Jul 2003

A polar blast that hit the South Island with snow and freezing temperatures yesterday has more bite left yet, forecasters warn.

The cold weather has just hit Wellington this morning...I am sitting here at the computer with two wooly sweaters on and fingerless gloves, because we dont have heating except for the fire, which I havent lit yet.Many South Islanders would have woken to a blanket of snow today after the cold snap brought falls down to sea level on the east coast.

Snow was falling steadily in Christchurch last night and a covering of several centimetres had formed across the city.

More than 10cm of snow was recorded in Methven and other inland Canterbury regions, while the temperature high in Christchurch hovered around 5deg and was at freezing point by late afternoon.

The Summit Road was closed by snow from mid-afternoon, but major highways remained open.

Snow showers are expected to persist through much of today - again down to sea level in Canterbury - as a second cold front moves up the island.

The windchill factor of southerlies gusting to 70kmh in exposed places would keep the temperature below 6deg, forecasters said.

Transit New Zealand advised drivers to take care and check latest Automobile Association reports.

Metservice weather ambassador Bob McDavitt said yesterday's cold front proved the "mother of frigid outbreaks", with a temperature of -40deg recorded about 6000m above Invercargill at noon yesterday.

"It's the coldest I can remember there. It's normally about -15deg," Mr McDavitt said. Fortunately the polar blast failed to deliver the heavy dumpings of snow that farmers and travellers had feared.

Snowfalls had not been as severe as expected because the cold air mass from Antarctica did not carry a large amount of moisture, Mr McDavitt said. "That's been our saving grace in some respects."

The weather forced delays in some flights from Christchurch International Airport yesterday, and the airport's customer services were deluged with calls from people checking on their travel.

Farmers were well prepared for the cold snap and optimistic last night they would get through it without too many problems.

Duncan Mackenzie, who farms sheep, cattle, and deer in the Mackenzie Basin, said there were only a few snow showers yesterday.

He hoped the worst of the weather would miss his property, "but you never can tell".

"We've brought the sheep down and fed out the silage and the snow plough is ready to go," he said.

Methven farmer David Wright said more than 100mm of snow had fallen, but so far not enough to seriously affect stock. More feed was being put out than usual to compensate.

"It's marginal right now and with more snow we might have a few problems."

In South Canterbury, dozens of schools closed early yesterday, fearing pupils might not be able to get home - and allowing them an early start to their holidays.

Snow lay more than 12cm deep on the hills around Banks Peninsula, but the roads were open and in good condition yesterday afternoon, Hilltop Tavern proprietor June Murdoch said.

The snow began falling at 10.30am and continued through the afternoon, falling further down the hills than usual.

"It's beautiful up here. Everything is pure white," Ms Murdoch said.

Coastal North Otago escaped the snow but woke to chilly temperatures that persisted at about 6deg for most of the day.

Inland it was a different story. Light snow blanketed the countryside and got deeper closer to the western foothills and ranges.

St John Ambulance had contingency plans to use four-wheel-drive vehicles in case emergency call-outs were hampered by snow.

About half of Christchurch's sports grounds were closed yesterday, while sports fixtures including some rugby league and soccer games were postponed. The Canterbury Rugby Union delayed its decision until today.
this this is a photo of Amtartica where our winter weather comes from. Yesterday when i was at work, and I was cooking breakfast for Jim and Monica, I watched the news on TV ,and it said that the cold weather was coming from the Antartica ice shelf--- and it was passing Mac Quarie Island( a sub- Antartic island) at -9 deg cent. We are half way between the Antartic and the Tropical pacific Islands and in the winter we get the cold weather freom the Antartic-- and when we are getting sick of the cold--along comes summer, and we get the hot weather coming in on the jet stream from the tropics.In the winter, I can`t imagine what the heat is like, and in the summer, i forget what the winter is like. but i like the seasons... thye are all exciting.... cold. warm , hot , -- all are interesting and unique.

Housing in NZ
These people referred to in the article are homeless through choice. They chose( for whatever reason ) to remain homeless. There are many agencies which help people such as these,. There is ample accomodation available at low cost to disadvantaged people. In the paper recently , there was a story about a man who lived in the bush on the Wellington hillside, in a tent. Last week he died of exposure, There was a public outcry, but through subsequent investigation, it was discovered he had been offered accomodation many times, but had refused.

There are no homless people in New-Zealand, because we have a small population and adequate public housing. At the beginning of the 20th century the government of the day undertook to clear all the hovels and slums in the Wellington,

The beginning of state housing
The first government to build state houses was the Liberal administration of Richard Seddon. In 1905, alarmed by growing reports of extortionate rents and squalid living conditions in the working-class districts of New Zealand cities, the Premier introduced the Workers' Dwellings Act. Its purpose was to provide urban workers with low-cost suburban housing, far removed from city slums and grasping landlords. Although several hundred workers' dwellings were constructed the scheme never prospered, and it wasn't until the first Labour government came to power in 1935 that state housing entered its first boom period.

Like the Liberals, Labour wanted to provide new suburban homes for working-class people living in dilapidated inner-city districts. In building these homes, it hoped to stimulate local industry and provide work for those left jobless by the Great Depression. The government soon initiated the largest housing construction scheme in the nation's history, securing hundreds of hectares of suburban land across New Zealand, upon which private builders erected thousands of high-quality modern state houses. In September 1937, Prime Minister Michael Joseph Savage opened the first of these: 12 Fife Lane, Miramar, Wellington.

To avoid replicating the working-class slums of Britain, Richard Seddon's state houses were to be designed and constructed to the highest possible standard budgets permitted. Furthermore:

no two houses would be put up exactly alike so that the persons occupying the dwellings would at once be marked as state tenants and thus be regarded by some people as being a slight because they were living at less rental than others owing to the benevolence of the state.

Similar sentiments guided the first Labour government's scheme. State housing areas would contain both rich and poor workers to avoid the creation of single-class neighbourhoods. As with the workers' dwellings, each house would be constructed using quality labour and materials, and designed to last for 60 years.



The floorplan of the above house also shows the importance of the living room. Not only is it the largest room in the house, but it also faces north to get the most sun.

Internal planning was equally important. Kitchens would face the morning sun and living rooms would form the centre of family life, arranged so that easy chairs could encircle the fireplace.

[ Related film clip: Gordon Wilson (1940s Government Architect) discusses State House design]

Cutting Corners
There is little doubt that the state houses of the 1930s and 1940s raised the standard of housing in New Zealand. (Interestingly, the present 'rotting building crisis' has seen some homebuyers spurn modern homes and seek these ex-state houses knowing that they were very well built.) Less certain is the legacy of what followed. Escalating building costs in the 1950s led the National government to lower the standard of new state housing. The results were not pretty. In places like South Auckland and Porirua, uniformity of design, the dominance of poor households, and a lack of services and amenities, eventually created the ghetto communities Richard Seddon and Michael Joseph Savage had so wanted to avoid.



Multi-unit housing constructed in the 1950s and 60s was criticised for its low-cost material and uniformity of design. This image of Porirua East was used in Housing Corporation publicity material in the late 1970s as an example to avoid in future housing schemes.

Subsequent governments have tried to correct these mistakes. From the 1970s new state housing areas were set alongside (more costly) private developments and closer to workplaces, transport links and other facilities. New housing designs were also introduced to take account of changing living arrangements, such as the 'family' (or dining) room, now adjacent to the kitchen, but distinct from the living room.



This 20 unit 'cluster' complex in Taylors Rd, Mt Albert was an infill scheme constructed in the late 1970s.



The floorplan of this Taylors Rd house highlights changing living patterns.

One Design Doesn't Fit All
However, few designs accommodated the practices of those outside the dominant Pakeha culture. One Maori tenant, long accustomed to the separation of food from washing areas, recalled her horror at finding the only place she could wash clothes was the kitchen sink: 'these houses were designed by English people who are happy to wash their pants in the sinkwell I wasn't going to be happy washing my babies nappies in there'.

More recently, the state has acted to meet the needs of ethnic minorities, for example by building extensions to some existing houses or combining houses to accommodate the larger families.



The opening of a state house that had been modified to accommodate a larger family.

[See also the State House Style Gallery

Daffodils

I planted some daffodils not long ago-- lots of them--- they are just starting to peep through the ground--I hope to have a display such as the ones in the picture( but not so much on a grand scale)aren`t they magnifique?

When daffodils begin to peer,
With, heigh! the doxy over the dale,
Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.

Winter's Tale
William Shakespeare
~~~
O Love-star of the unbeloved March,
When cold and shrill,
Forth flows beneath a low, dim-lighted arch
The wind that beats sharp crag and barren hill,
And keeps unfilmed the lately torpid rill!

Ode to the Daffodil
Aubrey De Vere
~~~
Now blow the daffodils on slender stalks,
Small keen flames that leap up in the mould
And run along the dripping garden walks.

Sweet Weather
Lizette Woodworth Reese
~~~
There is a tiny yellow daffodil,
The butterfly can see it from afar,
Although one summer evening's dew could fill
Its little cup twice over, ere the star
Had called the lazy shepherd to his fold
And be no prodigal.

The Burden of Itys
Oscar Wilde

Wednesday at Titahi Bay--- in the course of my work.
Mon, 30 Jun 2003

The day dawned crisp and cold.... the air was thin .
The sun burst out over the horizon in a blaze of yellow. It was as if it were a summer`s day.... the sky was clear blue... not a cloud in sight.
It was the shortest day recently, and that means the days will be getting progressively longer and it will get lighter earlier in the mornings.
I went to work dressed in a jacket , a hat, scarf and gloves..... trousers and thick socks and running shoes, I still felt cold.
I had an extra job today in Titahi bay... it was at Tuna Tce... I had an idea where it was, but I wasn`t quite sure. I got off the bus at the beach and went by the sea to eat my lunch, This was at 9.45am.
The scavenging seagulls were soon crowding around me.. and i threw my crusts to them and watched them squabble over them.
I made my way up the shortcut and then realised I had no idea where Tuna Tce was. I proceeded to the dairy, I was sure they would know where it was. An Indian lady came out-- middle aged-- tired looking-- dressed in a flimsy sari.... with only a light cardigan to ward off the cold. I asked her about Tuna tce. She said she had never heard of it.
I kept walking up the hill and asked a lady who was tending her garden. She had never heard of it either. I thought that maybe I was in the wrong area. I proceeded up the hill--- and right at the top-- ( it felt like a mountain)-- was Tuna Tce. I was huffing and puffing., and by that time.. sweating.
I attended to the old man for about 15 minutes ,and he said that I could go home early,,, even though I was booked in for two hours.
I found a walkway down to the beach. It was amazing. By that time the sun was shining and I could feel the warmth of its rays on my bare arms.
The path was a narrow concrete path... quite steep and winding. The concrete was weathered and was aesthetically pleasing to the eye.
The path meandered around the side of the hills...in gentle curves . framed by fern trees and gorse bushes in full flower.Every so often I would get a wiff of fragrance from the flowers.....
I made my way down.... and around the bend was a stand of pine trees. There was no noise except for birdsong , the sound of the breeze in the trees. and the waves on the shore. Every now and again I could hear crickets in the grass.It was as if I was in the wilderness.
Along the side of the path over the bank was some long grass.. it was still sparkling with dew.... running down the stems in rivulets...steam was rising from the ground where the suns rays had penetrated through the trees,
Around another bend in the path I had a magnificent view of the sea. It was sylvan in its brightness... shimmering and sparkling. Waves were billowing into shore, I counted 6 surfers in the water.
One would be forgiven for thinking it was the middle of summer... the suns rays were warm and healing... the air was fragrant...I saw a monarch butterfly on a flower. Fantails ( small native birds) flitted around me.
Along the side of the path were tiny blue wild flowers-- periwinkles I think. They were bright blue on the outer petals with yellow stamens. .. a perfect match.
Around another bend I saw a paddock with a magnificent black horse. it was shiny black and was standing tall and proud, It reminded me of Black beauty.
I arrived at the beach and ambled along the waters edge. There was one other person on the beach, I longed to take my shoes off and paddle, but i had to go to my next job.I found a nice piece of pumice to take home...
I want to go down that path again-- it was pure bliss.
These are the things that thrill me... the simple things... nature at it`s best

TRUCKER'S STORY :

I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring
Stevie. His placement counsellor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my customers would react to Stevie. He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Down Syndrome.
I wasn't worried about most of my trucker customers ,because truckers don't generally care who buses tables ,as long as the meatloaf platter is good and
the pies are home-made. The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the mouthy college kids travelling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded "truck stop germ"; the pairs of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truck stopwaitress wants to be flirted with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks.
I shouldn't have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month, my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop mascot.
After that, I really didn't care what the rest of the customers thought of him.
He was like a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table.
Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background,shiftinghis weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table ,and put the dishes and glasses onto cart and meticulously wipe the
table up with a practised flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his
brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met.
Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing, two miles from the truck stop. Their Social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often,admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and
what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and
Stevie being sent to a group home.
That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work. He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart.His social worker said that people with Down syndrome often had heart problems at an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.
A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery and doing fine.
Frannie, head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she
heard the good news. Belle Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of the 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table. Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Belle Ringer a withering look. He grinned. "OK, Frannie,what was that all about?" he asked. "We just got word that Stevie is out of
surgery and goingto be okay."
"I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him.
He is going to be OK" she said. "But I don't know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is." Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables. Since I hadn't had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn't want to replace
him,the girls were bussing their own tables that day until we decided what to do.
After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand a funny look on her face. "
What's up?" I asked. "I didn't get that table where Belle Ringer and his
friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and Tony and Tipper were
sitting there when I got back to clean it off," she said."This was folded
and tucked under a coffee cup." She handed the napkin to me, t T Three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold
letters, was printed "Something For Stevie."
"Pony Pete asked me what that was all about," she said, "so I told about
Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked
at Pete, and they ended up giving me this." She handed me
the napkin that had "Something For Stevie" scrawled on its outside.
Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply "truckers."
That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is
counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all
that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week,making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy. I arranged to have his mother bring him to work,met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back.
Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through the
doors and headed for the back room where his apron and bussing cart were waiting.
"Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast," I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. "Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate your coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!" I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room. I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining
room.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and
join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting ,slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins.
"First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess," I said. I tried to sound stern. Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had "Something for Stevie"printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto thetable. Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled onit.
I turned to his mother. "There's more than $10,000 in cash and checks on the
at table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. ... "Happy Thanksgiving.!!"
Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and what's
funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other,
Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table. Best worker I ever hired. Plant a seed and watch it grow.