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Missing Child
Cedrika Provencher
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Father's Day
june is busting out all over!
posted 6/1
our garden
i love
our garden
and seeing
all the new
and beautiful
blossoms
bursting
with color....
it is rebirth
all over
again
and
again...
and a
treasure
we have
to hold onto...
nature's circle
of life...
everlasting...
happy june everyone!
Please support THE CURE! Dana Farber's groundbreaking MISSION POSSIBLE!
just for one moment
posted 6/13
only the heart knows
posted 6/15
"Only the heart knows how to find what is precious." ~ Fyodor Dostoyesvsky
happy father's day!
bette midler sings
time for a laugh!
woman goes back to work after many years
posted 6/16
swan lake
posted 6/18
this is so very beautiful! performed by the great chinese state circus it combines acrobatic movement with ballet in its purest form. I have never seen swan lake danced so brilliantly! Thanks for sending Marcia xo
perfect for father's day month!
posted 6/19
catz
posted 6/20
half knowledge
posted 6/23
A mahout (a person who drives an elephant….Hindi meaning having great measure) was riding on the back of his elephant when it suddenly became mad and started running down the street. He shouted and shouted to warn people to get out of the way. One man would not move away, however the mahout shouted. He was pushed aside by the elephant and was wounded. Eventually the mahout managed to calm down the elephant and tied him down in its place. He went back to see the man the elephant had thrown to the side of the road. To the mahout’s relief the man was only slightly wounded. He asked the man why he hadn’t moved away in spite of all his shouting. The man answered the mahout, “The elephant is the Brahman (holy man).” Then the mahout asked him, “If you see the Brahman in the elephant, why don’t you see the Brahman in me, who is shouting to rescue you.”
Half knowledge is always dangerous.
from: Raja Deekshithar
farewell georgie!
posted 6/23
George Carlin died Sunday
he was 71 years old
I'm always relieved when someone is delivering a eulogy and I realize I'm listening to it.
you'll be listening still, george...
and laughing all the way home...
god love ya...
in tribute -- my favorite: Dusting is a good example of the futility of trying to put things right. As soon as you dust, the fact of your next dusting has already been established.
our sincerest condolences to
his family and friends...
george will be missed by many
naturally 7
posted 6/25
what wonderful spontaneity...
this is on a tube in paris...
it's wonderful to see the
people beginning to melt
into the sunshine
With the intention to attain the ultimate supreme goal that surpasses even the wish granting jewel may I constantly cherish all living beings.
Whenever I associate with others may I view myself as the lowest of all and with a perfect intention may I cherish others as supreme.
Examining my mental continuum throughout all my actions as soon as a delusion develops whereby I or others would act inappropriately may I firmly face it and avert it.
Whenever I see unfortunate beings opressed by evil and violent suffering may I cherish them as if I had found a rare and precious treasure.
Even if someone I have helped and of whom I had great hopes nevertheless harms me withot any reason may I see him as my holy spiritual guide.
When others out of jealousy harm me or insult me may I take the defeat upon myself and offer them the victory.
In short - may I directly and indirectly offer help and happiness to all my mothers and secretly take upon myself all of their harm and suffering.
Furthermore, through all these method practices together with a mind undefiled by the stains of conceptions of the eight extremes and that sees all phenomena as illusory may I be released from the bondage of mistaken appearance and conception.
- Buddhist Prayer -
Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.
oriah mountain dreamer - the invitation
posted 6/27
tired of the same old conversation lead in? the weather, what do you do for a living, where do you live, where were you born? blah, blah, blah....
here's an alternative...
it's exactly how i would like to get to know you...
would you accept this invitation....
the girl with the apple
6/28
A girl with an apple August 1942. Piotrkow, Poland.
The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously. All the men, women and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto had been herded into a square. Word had gotten around that we were being moved. My father had only recently died from typhus, which had run rampant through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was that our family would be separated. "Whatever you do," Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me, "don't tell them your age. Say you're sixteen." I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as a worker. An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked me up and down, then asked my age. "Sixteen," I said. He directed me to the left, where my three brothers and other healthy young men already stood. My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children, sic k and elderly people. I whisp ered to Isidore, "Why?" He didn't answer. I ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her. "No," she said sternly. "Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers." She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was the last I ever saw of her.
My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany. We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night weeks later and were led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and identification numbers. "Don't call me Herman anymore." I said to my brothers. "Call me 94983." I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a hand-cranked elevator. I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number. Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald's sub-camps near Berlin. One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice, "Son," she said softly but clearly, I am going to send you an angel." Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream. But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work. And hunger. And fear. A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, aroun d the barracks, near the barb ed-wire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was alone. On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little girl with light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in German. "Do you have something to eat?" She didn't understand. I inched closer to the fence and repeated question in Polish. She stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life. She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence. I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly, "I'll see you tomorrow." I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day. She was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread or, better yet, an apple. We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both. I didn't know anythi ng about her, just a kind farm girl, except that she understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she risking her life for me? Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and apples. Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia. "Don't return," I told the girl that day. "We're leaving." I turned toward the barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the little girl whose name I'd never learned, the girl with the apples.
We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed. On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 AM. In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over. I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited. But at 8 A.M. there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers. Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was running, so I did too. Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived; I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my survival. In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my life , had given me hope in a plac e where there was none. My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come.
Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust and trained in electronics. Then I came to America, where my brother Sam had already moved. I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and returned to New York City after two years. By August 1957 I'd opened my own electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in. One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me. "I've got a date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date." A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me. But Sid kept pestering me, and a few days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her friend Roma. I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes th at sparkled with life. The four of us drove out to Coney Island. Roma was easy to talk to, easy to be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I couldn't remember having a better time. We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat. As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been left unsaid between us. She broached the subject, "Where were you," she asked softly, "during the war?" "The camps," I said, the terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable loss. I had tried to forget. But you can never forget. She nodded. "My family was hiding on a farm in Germany, not far from Berlin," she told me. "My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers." I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion. And yet here we were, both survivor s, in a new world. "There was a camp next to the farm." Roma continued. "I saw a boy there and I would throw him apples every day." What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy. "What did he look like? I asked. He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I must have seen every day for six months." My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it. This couldn't be. "Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?" Roma looked at me in amazement. "Yes." That was me!" I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn't believe it! My angel. "I'm not letting you go." I said to Roma. And in the back of the car on that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait. "You're crazy!" she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for Shabbat dinner the following week.
There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I could never let her go. That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of marriage, two children and three grandchildren I have never let her go.
Herman Rosenblat
Miami Beach, Florida
Holocaust survivor, 76, finally gets his bar mitzvah
