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I heard the bells on Christmas Day

Their old, familiar carols play,

and wild and sweet The words repeat



Of peace on earth, good-will to men!





And thought how, as the day had come,

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along

The unbroken song



Of peace on earth, good-will to men!





Till ringing, singing on its way,

The world revolved from night to day,

A voice, a chime,

A chant sublime



Of peace on earth, good-will to men!





Then from each black, accursed mouth

The cannon thundered in the South,

And with the sound

The carols drowned



Of peace on earth, good-will to men!





It was as if an earthquake rent

The hearth-stones of a continent,

And made forlorn

The households born



Of peace on earth, good-will to men!





And in despair I bowed my head;

"There is no peace on earth," I said;

"For hate is strong,

And mocks the song



Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"





Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The Wrong shall fail,

The Right prevail,



With peace on earth, good-will to men."

:yh_flower

Loss of Innocence...........

Attached files

Watch TV. Watch Movies. | Online | Free | Hulu

"Sleep in heavenly peace."



:yh_flower

"Dear Abby: Twice in recent years my husband has bought a gift for himself for Christmas, wrapped it, put it under the tree and then opened it on Christmas morning, gleefully exclaiming that it was a great gift and just what he wanted.



The first time he did it, he wrote my name on the gift card as the giver. The second time he didn't bother.



When I asked him why, he said it was something he saw in the store and wanted. When I asked why he didn't just ask me to get it, he didn't have an answer.



He has also bought cards for himself for Valentine's Day. On both of them he wrote, "To Larry from 'Hon,'" his pet name for me.



I was flabbergasted and upset and asked him why he would do such a thing. He said he ran across the "perfect card" for him while looking for one for me.



I don't know what to make of his behavior, but it is demeaning and I feel angry for days afterward.



He has a habit of comparing my gifts with those from his son or those he bought for himself, and it makes me feel as if mine don't measure up. My husband is 77.



What's wrong with him?



Perplexed in Fla.

Dear Perplexed: It appears you married someone who likes to buy on impulse and is insensitive to how his words and actions affect others.



Look on the bright side: He's solved the problem of what to get the man who has everything for you!



However, because this is a recent change in his behavior, consider reporting it to his doctor."

Do you know somebody like this?

WINTER'S ENTRANCE

As days shrink

to the size of a small doorway,

darkness dominates

like a protective dome

in the star arched sky.



We frenzied town dwellers

seek security

in hyperactivity:

buy bigger presents,

indulge in more parties.



Beyond the entrance we call ‘Winter’

lies a quiet space, empty

but for a single candle

whose light increases

as dreams and hopes

fuel its incandescence.



Step softly within

where the calm communion

of sitting with silence,

shining with light

brings long sought oneness.



Kaaren Whitney

Sergei Bobkov wood carving art shown in photos

What do you think of this type of art?

Wow!

Uh oh...someone's been naughty....not nice..........

Video Catches 8-Year-Old Girl Stealing Packages Off Neighbor's Doorstep | Author Blog Posts - Yahoo! Shine

Europe's best Christmas markets - CNN.com

I was lucky to have visited the Christkindlesmart in Germany once with some friends. It was cold, snowy and icy, but great fun! I remember that I bought, among other things, a small wooden nativity scene.

Strike a pose......

People posing with statues

Comatose since Christmas 1969: A tale of unconditional love and miracles - CNN.com

The slacker's Christmas guide - MSN Living

and....

http://religion.blogs.cnn.com/2012/12/2 ... ?hpt=hp_c2

Happy Birthday Jesus!

http://news.yahoo.com/photos/christmas- ... 51791.html

“Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom, but we hope it, we know it.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe quote

Attached files

Just some feelgood stuff

Dear Abby: What do you say to people when they tell you they will “pray for you when you’re dealing with an illness or other life tragedy if you are a nonbeliever? Statistics say that 34 percent of Americans are nonbelievers, so please address this to the 34 percent who share my feelings of appreciation for the sentiment, but feel like hypocrites for playing along to reciprocate their kindness. I wonder if any of your nonbeliever readers can share how they internally deal with this dilemma. — Nonbeliever, But Grateful

I’m sure they will, in droves. However, because nonbelievers physically resemble those who are believers, and nonbelievers don’t usually wear symbols indicating their nonbelief, it’s understandable that someone of faith would attempt to offer comfort that way. And most people battling a serious illness welcome a “blast of positivity, whether it is couched in religious terms or not.

When someone offers to pray for you, it’s usually because the person cares about you, knows you are sick and feels helpless to offer anything more to help. Accept it for what it is, and say thank you rather than tell the person that what they offered is, in your eyes, worthless. That’s called being gracious — regardless of your religious or nonreligious convictions.

Dear Abby: I have been with my wonderful wife for 35 years.



Friends have said they wish they could have a relationship like ours, but an interloper has come between us, interfering with our ability to communicate.



Her cellphone has taken over her life.



She’s constantly playing word games with friends, texting, etc.



It starts first thing in the morning and lasts into the night.



I returned my cellphone after two weeks when I saw the writing on the wall.

My wife and I used to sit together and have nice conversations. Now they are interrupted by weird noises when her phone announces she has another text.



I took a friend on a fishing trip to Mexico, and his phone never left his palm. Is this my future? — Missing Face Time in Arizona



Dear Missing: Yes, unless you are able to negotiate an agreed-upon period of time during which you are your wife’s first priority and her cellphone is turned off.



As to your fishing buddy, either accept he has a new toy, or cast around for someone who is less technology-

addicted to join you next time.



Hmmm....

2012: The year in pictures - CNN.com

Dear Abby: I am a professional driver. Please allow me to offer some advice to everyone I share the road with:

(1) Please do not honk or display obscene gestures because I am driving the speed limit. It’s not my fault that you’re late.

(2) Please don’t pass me on the right, using the curb lane, parking lane, bike lane or sidewalk. It’s dangerous for me, for you, and for anyone who happens to be in those lanes legally.

(3) Please obey the stop signs, stoplights, yield signs and other signs on the road. They’re there to protect people.

(4) Please put down that breakfast sandwich, cup of coffee, lunch or dinner. If you’re that hungry, pull over to eat.

(5) Please turn off your cellphones while driving. Whatever it is, it can wait. And if it can’t, you have no business being behind the wheel.

(6) If you must discipline your children, please pull over to do it. I have seen drivers wrap their vehicles around trees and lampposts because they had turned around to talk to their child.

I drive more than 1,000 miles a week, and I see more accidents than most will in a lifetime. Many of them could have been avoided simply by paying attention to the road. If you choose to ignore this advice, I can pretty much guarantee that you will injure, or possibly kill, someone eventually. If my letter prevents just one fatality, then it was well worth the time it took to write it. — Milwaukee Mile Man

Thank you for taking the time to write. As both a driver and a passenger, I have seen some frightening near-misses because drivers chose to ignore speed limits and run stop signs and stoplights. Usually the infractions are caused less because of thoughtlessness than by rudeness and an attitude that the rules of the road apply to everyone else.

And please don’t think that automobile drivers are the only transgressors, because I have seen bikers and cyclists do some of the same things.

Worth noting:

Emancipation Proclamation 150th Anniversary: Photos From Envisioning Emancipation

January............

Attached files

A special moment.......

Video - Breaking News Videos from CNN.com

Hide and Seek...

'Invisible' photographer Liu Bolin | Photo Gallery - Yahoo! News

Old love letters and photos...

Love letters from World War II unearthed in home | The Lookout - Yahoo! News

Today, let's go for a ride............in 1927 NewYork

MSN Entertainment -

"Wake me when we get there."

Toyota unveils self-driving car - Jan. 4, 2013

I don't think so.

“To read a poem in January is as lovely as to go for a walk in June

Jean-Paul Sartre quotes (French existentialist philosopher and writer, 1905-1980)



Winter Stores

Charlotte Brontë (published under her nom de plume, Currer Bell, 1846)

We take from life one little share,

And say that this shall be

A space, redeemed from toil and care,

From tears and sadness free.

And, haply, Death unstrings his bow,

And Sorrow stands apart,

And, for a little while, we know

The sunshine of the heart.

Existence seems a summer eve,

Warm, soft, and full of peace,

Our free, unfettered feelings give

The soul its full release.

A moment, then, it takes the power

To call up thoughts that throw

Around that charmed and hallowed hour,

This life’s divinest glow.

But Time, though viewlessly it flies,

And slowly, will not stay;

Alike, through clear and clouded skies,

It cleaves its silent way.

Alike the bitter cup of grief,

Alike the draught of bliss,

Its progress leaves but moment brief

For baffled lips to kiss

The sparkling draught is dried away,

The hour of rest is gone,

And urgent voices, round us, say,

“'Ho, lingerer, hasten on!

And has the soul, then, only gained,

From this brief time of ease,

A moment’s rest, when overstrained,

One hurried glimpse of peace?

No; while the sun shone kindly o’er us,

And flowers bloomed round our feet,—

While many a bud of joy before us

Unclosed its petals sweet,—

An unseen work within was plying;

Like honey-seeking bee,

From flower to flower, unwearied, flying,

Laboured one faculty,—

Thoughtful for Winter’s future sorrow,

Its gloom and scarcity;

Prescient to-day, of want to-morrow,

Toiled quiet Memory.

’Tis she that from each transient pleasure

Extracts a lasting good;

’Tis she that finds, in summer, treasure

To serve for winter’s food.

And when Youth’s summer day is vanished,

And Age brings Winter’s stress,

Her stores, with hoarded sweets replenished,

Life’s evening hours will bless.

Touched by An Angel

Written by: Maya Angelou

We, unaccustomed to courage

exiles from delight

live coiled in shells of loneliness

until love leaves its high holy temple

and comes into our sight

to liberate us into life.

Love arrives

and in its train come ecstasies

old memories of pleasure

ancient histories of pain.

Yet if we are bold,

love strikes away the chains of fear

from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity

In the flush of love's light

we dare be brave

And suddenly we see

that love costs all we are

and will ever be.

Yet it is only love

which sets us free.

A love story:

Pat Benatar And Neil Giraldo: Star-Crossed Lovers, Partners For More Than 30 Years | And The Winner Is... (NEW) - Yahoo! Music

Saturday Morning Walk

by Rachel Osborne

I step carefully on the gravel path, trying to make my footfalls

quiet as not to disturb anyone.

I smile to myself.

I am alone.

Nevertheless, I try to step softly, because I realize there are hundreds

of people that surround me,

watching in silence.



There are places I tend to be silent instinctively

once I cross the threshold:

libraries, art galleries, cemeteries.

Perhaps it is because they are the mortal remnants of men,

the only thing left, vainly trying to live in the dead man's stead.



In respect, I fall silent and try to listen to these voices from the dust.



These weathered stone lips have been mouthing

the same words for generations.

This mouth is beginning to close,

never to speak again,

battered into eternal silence by rain, moss and vandals.

But with what voice do the dead who never had an epitaph

or whose stone has been destroyed speak?

They speak in one massive stone chorus in the center of the cemetery and

sing with bells and see with stained glass eyes.



The parish church of Kea has been standing,

it's squatty square tower straining towards heaven,

for many hundreds of years.

I lean against its cold stone.



I wonder what tumult this small plot of land

will know when the angel blows his trump.



Softly, I begin to hear music from above.

I crane my neck as it increases in volume.

From the open window, I realize that I am privy

to someone's weekly organ practice.

I stand and listen to those complicated,

unfamiliar hymns for a long while,

the sole living member of an audience of thousands.









************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************





Saturday Morning



Everyone who made love the night before

was walking around with flashing red lights

on top of their heads-a white-haired old gentlemen,

a red-faced schoolboy, a pregnant woman

who smiled at me from across the street

and gave a little secret shrug,

as if the flashing red light on her head

was a small price to pay for what she knew.



Hugo Williams

http://healthyliving.msn.com/health-wel ... enarians#1

Brief but interesting stories from folks who have "been around the block" a few times.

Incredible!

This is a problem we face where I work every year as well:

Tax time tip

Q. Dear Abby: Please help me and thousands of other payroll administrators with a public service message. I will be sending out W-2s this month to current and former employees. Last year, I got back about 10 percent of these W-2s because employees have moved and left no forwarding addresses. Often the phone has also been disconnected.

Please remind anyone who has changed jobs and moved in the past year to make sure their former employer has their new address so their W-2 will arrive on the first try. I have a stack of these forms that have never been claimed by former employees and no idea how to contact them. — Payroll Administrator, Fort Payne, Ala.

A. Dear Administrator: I’m pleased to pass along your message. The W-2 is proof the government needs to verify what someone has been paid and what has been withheld by the employer. Employers are required to provide one.

If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda



I want you to know

one thing.

You know how this is:

if I look

at the crystal moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window,

if I touch

near the fire

the impalpable ash

or the wrinkled body of the log,

everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists,

aromas, light, metals,

were little boats

that sail

toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,

if little by little you stop loving me

I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly

you forget me

do not look for me,

for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,

the wind of banners

that passes through my life,

and you decide

to leave me at the shore

of the heart where I have roots,

remember

that on that day,

at that hour,

I shall lift my arms

and my roots will set off

to seek another land.

But

if each day,

each hour,

you feel that you are destined for me

with implacable sweetness,

if each day a flower

climbs up to your lips to seek me,

ah my love, ah my own,

in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,

my love feeds on your love, beloved,

and as long as you live it will be in your arms

without leaving mine

Frozen over objects and people



Bbrrrrrr!

America's First Ladies:

First ladies' fashion on MSN Photos

More photographs....

‘Strange Worlds’ photographer aims to trick the eye « Flickr Blog

The Cross of Snow

By

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow



In the long, sleepless watches of the night,

A gentle face--the face of one long dead--

Looks at me from the wall, where round its head

The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.

Here in this room she died, and soul more white

Never through martyrdom of fire was led

To its repose; nor can in books be read

The legend of a life more benedight.

There is a mountain in the distant West

That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines

Displays a cross of snow upon its side.

Such is the cross I wear upon my breast

These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes

And seasons, changeless since the day she died.

Japan's Grandmother Poet Dies, Aged 101 - Yahoo! News UK

Her poem in Kujikenaide can be roughly translated as follows:



Don't lose heart.



Oh, please don't sigh that you are unhappy.



The sunshine and the breeze will not favour anyone.



Dreams can be dreamed equally.



I have seen hard times but I am glad that I am alive.



Don't you ever lose heart, either.

Ever been in this situation? Here's the answer.

DEAR ABBY: How does one send a thank-you note for a really, really bad "re-gift"? This Christmas, I received a battered box with old, wrinkled, ripped tissue paper thrown in with a couple of items that appeared to be part of another gift. It looked like a food gift basket had been divided and piecemealed out to make more gifts.



It is hurtful and insulting to be on the receiving end of something that's not even "giftworthy." I say, why bother at all. Please advise.



- Anony-miss out West

DEAR ANONY-MISS: The person may have felt obligated to give you something and been strapped for money for gifts. A gracious way to respond would be to thank the individual for thinking of you at such a meaningful time as Christmas. You do not have to lie and say you thought the gift was "fabulous."

To my Dear and Loving Husband

If ever two were one, then surely we.

If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee.

If ever wife was happy in a man,

Compare with me, ye women, if you can.

I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold

Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,

Nor ought but love from thee give recompetence.

Thy love is such I can no way repay.

The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.

Then while we live, in love let's so persever

That when we live no more, we may live ever.



Shadow Poetry - Resources - Famous Poets - Anne Bradstreet

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends

And before the street begins,

And there the grass grows soft and white,

And there the sun burns crimson bright,

And there the moon-bird rests from his flight

To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black

And the dark street winds and bends.

Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow

We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And watch where the chalk-white arrows go

To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,

For the children, they mark, and the children, they know

The place where the sidewalk ends.

Linda Pugach, who married the man convicted in attack that blinded her, dies in NYC - U.S. News

I have just finished watching the documentary "Crazy Love" which is about them. This was made around 2007. A tragic story to me.

I thought the husband was, for lack of a better word, a creep. Did he get what he deserved in the end?

This Is Just To Say



by William Carlos Williams





I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox



and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast



Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

William Carlos Williams - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ian_%26_Sylvia

Happiness

by Raymond Carver





So early it's still almost dark out.

I'm near the window with coffee,

and the usual early morning stuff

that passes for thought.



When I see the boy and his friend

walking up the road

to deliver the newspaper.



They wear caps and sweaters,

and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.

They are so happy

they aren't saying anything, these boys.



I think if they could, they would take

each other's arm.

It's early in the morning,

and they are doing this thing together.



They come on, slowly.

The sky is taking on light,

though the moon still hangs pale over the water.



Such beauty that for a minute

death and ambition, even love,

doesn't enter into this.



Happiness. It comes on

unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,

any early morning talk about it.



http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raymond_Carver

Strings in the Earth and Air by James Joyce



STRINGS in the earth and air

Make music sweet;

Strings by the river where

The willows meet.



There's music along the river

For Love wanders there,

Pale flowers on his mantle,

Dark leaves on his hair.



All softly playing,

With head to the music bent,

And fingers straying

Upon an instrument.



James Joyce - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The Night Is Darkening Round Me

The night is darkening round me,

The wild winds coldly blow;

But a tyrant spell has bound me,

And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending

Their bare boughs weighed with snow;

The storm is fast descending,

And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,

Wastes beyond wastes below;

But nothing drear can move me:

I will not, cannot go.

by Emily Brontë



The Bronte Sisters Biography

This poem

by Donald Justice





This poem is not addressed to you.

You may come into it briefly,

But no one will find you here, no one.

You will have changed before the poem will.



Even while you sit there, unmovable,

You have begun to vanish. And it does no matter.

The poem will go on without you.

It has the spurious glamor of certain voids.



It is not sad, really, only empty.

Once perhaps it was sad, no one knows why.

It prefers to remember nothing.

Nostalgias were peeled from it long ago.



Your type of beauty has no place here.

Night is the sky over this poem.

It is too black for stars.

And do not look for any illumination.



You neither can nor should understand what it means.

Listen, it comes with out guitar,

Neither in rags nor any purple fashion.

And there is nothing in it to comfort you.



Close your eyes, yawn. It will be over soon.

You will forge the poem, but not before

It has forgotten you. And it does not matter.

It has been most beautiful in its erasures.



O bleached mirrors! Oceans of the drowned!

Nor is one silence equal to another.

And it does not matter what you think.

This poem is not addressed to you.

Donald Justice - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia