This will be a little bit long, but for it to make sense, I think I'll type the whole chapter

...He leads me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Psalm 23:3

It was an unbelievably beautiful morning in the spring. A golden sun was climbing in a brilliant blue, cloudless sky, and the sunlight sparkled in the cool air. Bob and I had decided to have our breakfast out on the patio, where our little fountain was dancing amid containers of pansies and mums.

Smiling at each other, we drank our orange juice and enjoyed the quiet beginning of a perfect day. Little curls of steam rose from our freshly buttered muffins as Bob read a page from a devotional for husbands and wives. We each enjoyed a cantaloupe half as we chatted about the grandchildren and the garden. Then, as we lingered over our fragrant cups of coffe, Bob pulled out our jar of Mom's Canned Questions.

A friend of ours developed this wonderful little product, which we sell at our More Hours in My Day seminars. It's really just a decorated jar full of little slips of paper, but each slip contains a question designed to stimulate thought and discussion. We use it often when we have company and when we are by ourselves, and the questions have brought us both tears and laughter as they helped us know each other better.

As usual, Bob drew out a question and passed the jar to me. I reached in and pulled out a slip. And then I seemed to feel dalk clouds rolling in to block the sunshine as I read my question. My impulse was to say "Forget it" and stuff that little slip of paper back in the jar.

What was on the paper?

Just this: "What would you do if you could spend one day with your dad?"

Such a simple uestion. But the mories it evoked had the power to fill my cup with pain and anger and resentment.

You see, my dad was a brilliant man, a creative Viennese chef. He used to get standing ovations for the food he prepared. From what I'm told, he doted on me as a little child, and I've inherited some of his creativity in the kitchen.

And yet my dad was also a raging alcoholic. Living in our home meant always living on edge, never knowing when he might explode. One wrong word from any of us, and the spaghetti sauce would be dumped down the toilet or down the sink; the pots and pans would be whipped off the stove and the plates off the table. There would be shouting; there would be arguments. And although my father never physically abused me, he did take his rage out on my mother and brother.

In response to my father's rage, I almost gave up talking. If saying the wrong thing could trigger and explosion, I reasoned perhaps it was better not to say anything at all. So I became intensely introverted and fearful, and I wished my father dead many times. When I was eleven, he really did die, leaving a cloud of guilt and resentment that hung over my life long after I thought I had forgotten.

Even after my dad died, I still didn't talk much. When I met Bob and we began dating, he used to say to me, "Emilie, you've got to talk." And then so many wonderful things began to happen in my life. The most important was that Bob introduced me to Jesus, and I became a Christian. Then Bob asked me to marry him, and my Jewish mama (who was very wise) surprised me by giving her consent. Relatives critized her for letting her precious seventeen-year-old marry a Gentile, but my mama sensed that Bob could give the the love and stability I needed.

... continue

Hi....

I bought some wors at the butchery a few days ago. Usually I would only keep it for the braai, but I grew up also eating wors and mash...where the wors was made on top of the stove in a pan. I am so lus for this wors, and I am not sure I can wait until the sun eventally comes out....

Now my silly question.... how do you cook wors in the pan? There used to be a yummy gravy whcih we used to eat on the mash....

Can anyone help??

The Carrot, the Egg and the Coffee
A carrot, an egg and a cup of coffee... You will never look at a cup of coffee the same way again.

A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life and how things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make it and wanted to give up.

She was tired of fighting and struggling. It seemed as one problem was solved, a new one arose.

Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire. Soon the pots came to boil. In the first she placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she placed ground coffee beans. She let them sit and boil, without saying a word.

In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. Then she ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl.

Turning to her daughter, she asked, "Tell me, what do you see?" "Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied. Her mother brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did and noted that they were soft. The mother then asked the daughter to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard boiled egg. Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee. The daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma. The daughter then asked, "What does it mean, mother?"


Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same adversity ... boiling water. Each reacted differently. The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the boiling water, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened.

The ground coffee beans were unique, however. After they were in the boiling water, they had changed the water. "Which are you?" she asked her daughter. "When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?" Think of this: Which am I? Am I the carrot that seems strong, but with pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength?

Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes with the heat? Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a break-up, a financial hardship or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff? Does my shell look the same, but on the inside am I bitter and tough with a stiff spirit and hardened heart?

Or am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it releases the fragrance and flavour. If you are like the bean, when things are at their worst, you get better and change the situation around you.

When the hour is the darkest and trials are their greatest, do you elevate yourself to another level? How do you handle adversity? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?

May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human and enough hope to make you happy.

The happiest of people don't necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the most of everything that comes along their way. The brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past; you can't go forward in life until you let go of your past failures and heartaches.

When you were born, you were crying and everyone around you was smiling. Live your life so at the end, you're the one who is smiling and everyone around you is crying.

My dad has this snippet of a song and is looking for the rest of the words, does anybody know them?

The bit he has is this:

My old mule is mighty sick
Stands around and doesn't kick

THE SIZE OF YOUR HEART - AUTHOR UNKNOWN

It isn't the size of your house as such
That matters so much at all.
It's the gentle hand and its loving touch,
That make it great or small.

The friends who come and the hour they
Who out of your house depart,
Will judge it not by the style you show,
But rather by the size of your heart.

It isn't the size of your head so much,
It isn't the wealth you found.
That will make you happy -- it's how you touch
The lives that are all around.

For making money is not hard --
To live life well is an art:
How people love you, how they regard,
Is all in the size of your heart.

So, now that the days are visibly longer and the weather marginally warmer, how are your gardens coming along?

I managed to get my pruning done in early February (thanks to a cold spell nothing had sprouted yet) so the apple trees are ready to go.

I planted up my selection of tomatoes, aubergines, chillies and herbs for this year on St. Patrick's Day, and some of the seedlings are already popping their heads above the soil.

Have not yet decided what flowers to grow for the summer - any suggestions anyone?

For many years I have heard talk of the infamous Tibetan Book of the Dead. Just on Saturday I came across the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, written by Sogyal Rinpoche over ten years ago. It gives a clearer, more rounded treatise of Tibetan Buddhist philosophy than the original Tibetan Book of the Dead, and even though I am only a few chapters in, I have to say I am very very very impressed.

For those of you who have an interest in spirituality, regardless of the personal path that you follow, I would recommend that you get this book - it is a wonderful, rounded, addition to spiritual teachings of any religion.

This quote is one I am particularly fond of (already) and is a thought that has been echoed by so many religious teachers over the years:

"To follow the path of wisdom has never been more urgent or more difficult. Our society is dedicated almost entirely to the celebration of ego, with all its sad fantasies about success and power, and it celebrates those very forces of greed and ignorance that are destroying the planet. It has never been more difficult to hear the unflattering voice of the truth, and never more difficult, once having heard it, to follow it: because there is nothing in the world around us that supports our choice, and the entire society in which we live seems to negate every idea of sacredness or eternal meaning. So at the time of our most acute danger, when our very future is in doubt, we as human beings find ourselves at our most bewildered, and trapped in a nightmare of our own creation."

- Sogyal Rinpoche

My child sang a song today I wish you'd heard it too.
I was so excited, well, you know his words are few.
He sang very well I thought, this being his first debut.
His sweet face was all lit up, and he just looked so cute.

I had taken for granted, the ability to speak.
I thought that I'd sing lullabies with my child cheek to cheek.
I never thought I'd long to hear each syllable resound
or how I'd feel their melody touch me so profound.

I had taken for granted what was in front of me.
Having a special child taught me to see with clarity.
Now I see through eyes of hope and reap the joys thereof,
And when he looks into my eyes I'm overcome with love.

IÂ’d taken for granted: the way people interact
Until I discovered, social grace was something my child lacked
I don't want my boy to feel alone, or always feel left out
I want him to have a childhood and frolic with others about.

Now I hear better, see clearer, and socialize
More than ever before
I take very little for granted,
And life's joys mean so much more.

Ek sukkel om die lyne op die blinknat pad te sien en boonop is aandry nie vir my gemaklik nie - ek dink ek is seker half nagblind.
En so met die gesukkel om te sien, moet ek konsentreer om regs te hou en nie instink te volg en links te koes vir die aankomende ligte nie - ons is mos nou in Europa waar alles verkeerdom is - selfs die stuurwiel sit aan die verkeerde kant ....

Met die padtekens wat praat van "alle rigtings" en "andere rigtings" - hoe moet mens dan nou weet waaaaar jy is? (Net die Belge weet waar dié plekke is) Om sommer om die blok te ry wanneer jy die verkeerde afrit geneem het, werk toe nou ook nie, want die blokke verdeel in die helfte en 'n mens kom sommer in 'n ander windrigting uit - moet nie eers vra waar die son opkom of ondergaan nie, want dié is maar skaars met sy glimlag verby die wolke. ('n Kompas sal dalk die ding doen.)

Tussen die Franse en Vlaamse straatname lê 'n geskiedenis ...
'n Mens kan ry en ry en ry soos in die oorlogse loopgrawe en nie weet waar jy is nie, want straatname is soms so skaars soos vrede in die oorlogtyd.

Eintlik is ons oppad om vir "tiener wysheid" en vriend te gaan aflaai by 'n jeugbyeenkoms êrens aan die buitewyke van die stad. So met die ry wonder ek of ek ooit weer huis gaan sien!
Daar aangekom, spreek ek so effens my vrees uit.
Terwyl hy uitryg uit die klein motortjie sê hy ewe ongevoelig, "Toemaar Ma, België is nie so groot nie!"

I'm busy listening to the Trainspotting soundtrack. I've had it for several years, listen to it often & love it! :thumbs: Do you have a favourite soundtrack?