Some of the secret joys of living are not found by rushing from point A to point B, but by inventing some imaginary letters along the way.
I am off on special assignment today so I am sending you another Daily that was published years ago. But before I do I thought I would again answer the question I am often asked, “Why have you been publishing Ray’s Daily for the past eleven years?” As I have often said, one of the reasons is that it requires me to think about my world on a regular basis, but that is not all. The best part is that I get paid by many of the readers. Here is a copy of my most recent payment.
Thank you for posting this particular message today. If not for your timely message I could have gotten extremely stressed out, wasted a lot of time and energy, and not to mention, would have come out of it, worse off! I had received some discouraging news but I really have no control over it, but the more I thought about it, the angrier I got and it kept me awake until 4:45 am. Then I opened this email. Thanks to you, I can now go to sleep, and have a better day tomorrow. Your timing was impeccable. Although I know all you wrote about, reading it put everything into perspective. Thank you Ray!
Your loyal fan since yahoo 360 days!!!
By the way Kathleen is one of those close friends I have never met.
Ray’s Daily first published July 13, 2004
A man was lying on the psychiatrist’s couch as his therapist addressed him.
“Well, Jim. I’m pleased to announce that this will be our final session. I believe that you finally are cured of your paranoia.”
“Yes, doctor. I am.”
“I remember how you used to think that men in black were following you everywhere. But you don’t believe that anymore, do you?”
“No, doctor. I don’t”
“I remember also how you used to think that black helicopters were hovering over your house. But you don’t believe that anymore either, do you?”
“No, doctor. I don’t”
“Finally, I remember how you used to think that CIA agents were monitoring your mail, bugging your phone, and snooping into your affairs. But you don’t believe that anymore either, do you?”
“No, doctor. I don’t. Thanks to your therapy, I no longer harbor such delusions. In fact, you’ve been so helpful to me, that I’m really sorry that I have to kill you now,” said Jim, as he pulled out a gun.
The psychiatrist was shocked. “Wait a minute. Why do you have to kill me?”
“You know too much.”
Do Roman paramedics refer to IV’s as “4’s”?
A woman named Emily renewing her driver’s license at the County Clerk’s office was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation, She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself. “What I mean is,” explained the recorder, “do you have a job, or are you just a . . . .?”
“Of course I have a job,” snapped Emily. “I’m a Mom.”
“We don’t list ‘Mom’ as an occupation.’Housewife’ covers it,” said the recorder emphatically.
I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation….this time at our own Town Hall. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like, “Official Interrogator” or “Town Registrar”. “What is your occupation?” she probed. What made me say it, I do not know? The words simply popped out.
“I’m a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations”
The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair, and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.
“Might I ask,” said the clerk with new interest, “just what you do in your field?”
Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, “I have a continuing program of research, (what mother doesn’t), in the laboratory and in the field, (normally I would have said indoors and out).
I’m working for my Masters! , (the whole darned family), and already have four credits, (all daughters).Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities, (any mother care to disagree?), and I often work 14 hours a day, (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money.”
There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk’s voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.
As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants — ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old baby), in the child-development program, testing out a new vocal pattern. I felt I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than “just another Mom.”
Motherhood . . ..What a glorious career! Especially when there’s a title on the door.
Does this make grandmothers “Senior Research Associates in the field of Child Development and Human Relations” and great grandmothers “Executive Senior Research Associates also think it makes Aunts “Associate Research Assistants”?
You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
A journalist assigned to the Jerusalem bureau takes an apartment overlooking the Wailing Wall. Every day when she looks out, she sees an old Jewish man praying vigorously. So, the journalist goes down and introduces herself to the old man.
She asks, “You come every day to the wall. How long have you done that, and what are you praying for?”
The old man replies, “I have come here to pray every day for 25 years. In the morning I pray for world peace and then for the brotherhood of man. I go home, have a cup of tea, and I come back and pray for the eradication of illness and disease from the earth.”
The journalist is amazed. “How does it make you feel to come here every day for 25 years and pray for these things?” she asks.
The old man looks at her sadly. “Like I’m talking to a wall.”
What hair color do they put on the drivers licenses of bald men?
A minister delivered a sermon in ten minutes one Sunday morning that was about half the usual length of his sermons. He explained, “I regret to inform you that my dog, who is very fond of eating paper, ate that portion of my sermon which I was unable to deliver this morning.”
After the service, a visitor from another church shook hands with the preacher as he was leaving, and said, “Sir, if that dog of yours has any pups, I sure would like to get one to give to my minister!”
We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid.
To pass the time while our plane was being de-iced, the flight attendants played a trivia game with the passengers. They asked us to guess the total number of years the three of them had worked for the airlines. After an attendant collected our estimates, we heard the announcement:
“The correct answer is 26 years. For the two people who came closest with 28 years, we have prizes. And for the passenger in seat 12F who guessed 85 years, would you please step off the plane once we are airborne?”
If you like gambling, the worst thing you can do is bring your spouse with you to the casino.
If you lose, they get mad.
If you win, they want half!
Some people, no matter how old they get, never lose their beauty. It merely moves from their faces to their hearts.
Stay well, do good work, and have fun.
Management is not responsible for duplicates from previous dailies. The editor is somewhat senile.
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