Ray's musings and humor

Ray’s Resting

“My goal is no longer to get more done, but rather to have less to do.”

Francine Jay


I enjoyed my day of relaxation so much yesterday that I am going to devote another day to doing nothing more than having a very early breakfast with an old friends. In the meantime here is the Daily I published twelve years ago.

Ray’s Daily first published on July 15, 2004

I know I complained some these last few days and in reality I should be glad for how lucky I really am. I am saddened by the loss of an old friend and Indianapolis Icon; for days the newspapers have been filled with the death of my friend Charles. He was only in his mid-fifties and had two agonizing years fighting prostate cancer. We first met more than 30 years ago when he was just starting his lifelong journey in his constant effort to help others.

When all is said and done we really have it pretty good. What helps me is messages like the one I just received from one of our friends. He said:

I hope you continue to feel better and better.  Reading your daily is a real pick-me-up and a great way to start the day with a smile.  It helps keep everything in perspective.  It was a real blessing during April, May, and June when my mother was dying of lung cancer (She died on June 8th) and I just hope that the medicine that you have been dispensing to all of us is also of benefit to you.  May God continue to bless you and may your health continue to improve.

That kind of makes everything worthwhile.


No one gets out of this world alive, so the time to live, learn, care, share, celebrate, and love is now.

Leo Buscaglia


Doctor Bloom who was known for miraculous cures for arthritis had a waiting room full of people when a little old lady, completely bent over in half, shuffled in slowly, leaning on her cane. When her turn came, she went into the doctor’s office, and, amazingly, emerged within half an hour walking completely erect with her head held high.

A woman in the waiting room who had seen all this walked up to the little old lady and said, “It’s a miracle! You walked in bent in half and now you’re walking erect. What did that doctor do?”

She answered, “Miracle, shmiracle . . .  he gave me a longer cane.”


A life with Love will have some thorns. But a life without Love will have no Roses.


I don’t remember who sent this to me years ago, she does not sound happy.

She said: We start to “bud” in our blouses at 9 or 10 years old only to find anything that comes in contact with those tender, blooming buds hurts so bad it brings us to tears. Enter the almighty, uncomfortable training bra contraption the boys in school will snap until we have calluses on our backs.

Next, we get our periods in our early to mid-teens (or sooner). Along with those budding boobs, we now bloat, we cramp, we get the hormone crankies, have to wear little mattresses between our legs or insert tubular, packed cotton rods in places we didn’t even know we had.

Our next little rite of passage (premarital or not) is having sex for the first time, which is about as much fun as having a ramrod push your uterus through your nostrils (IF he did it right and didn’t end up with his little cart before his horse), leaving us to wonder what all the fuss was about.

Then it’s off to Motherhood where we learn to live on dry crackers and water for a few months so we don’t spend the entire day leaning over Brother John. Of course, amazing creatures that we are (and we are), we learn to live with the growing little angels inside us steadily kicking our innards night and day, making us wonder if we’re having Rosemary’s Baby. Our once flat bellies now look like we swallowed a watermelon whole and we pee our pants every time we sneeze. (The latter condition never goes away, either…lots of times, neither does the former.)

When the big moment arrives, the dam in our blessed Nether Regions will invariably burst right in the middle of the mall and we’ll waddle with our big cartoon feet, moaning in pain all the way to the ER. Then it’s huff and puff and beg to die while the OB says, “Please stop screaming, Mrs. Hearmeroar. Calm down and push. Just one or (or 10) good push,” warranting a strong, well-deserved impulse to punch the bastard (and hubby) square in the nose for making us cram a wiggling, mushroom-headed 10 lb. bowing ball through a keyhole.

After that, it’s time to raise those angels, only to find that when all that “cute” wears off, the beautiful little darlings morph into walking, jabbering, wet, gooey, snot-blowing, life-sucking little poop machines.

The teen years. Need I say more?

The kids are almost grown now and we women hit our voracious sexual prime in our mid-30’s to early 40’s while hubby had his somewhere around his 18th birthday (which just happens to be the reason all that early, hot, man sex got you pregnant in the first place).

Now we hit the grand finale: Menopause. The Grandmother of all womanhood. It’s either take the HRT and chance cancer in those now seasoned “buds” or the aforementioned Nether Regions, or sweat like a hog in July, wash your sheets and pillowcases daily and bite the head off of anything that moves.

Now, you ask WHY women seem to be more spiteful than men when men get off so easy INCLUDING the icing on life’s cake: Being able to pee in the woods without soaking their socks…

Now, I love being a woman but “Womanhood” would make the Great Ghandi a tad crabby.

Women are the weaker sex? Yeah, right. Bite me.


Shoot first and call whatever you hit the target.


Nina and Rosey shared the chores and on this day Nina went to the grocery store. In addition to the healthful items on their carefully prepared shopping list, she returned with a box of sugar- laden cookies.

Nina noticed Rosey’s glare and said, “This box of cookies has one-third fewer calories than usual.”

“Oh really?? Why is that?” Rosey asked.

“I ate a third of the cookies on the way home,” Nina replied.


Ever wonder what the speed of lightning would be if it didn’t zigzag?


Ron and John were building a house. John was on a ladder, nailing. He’d reach into his nail pouch, pull out a nail, look at it, and either toss it over his shoulder or proceed to nail it into the wood.

Ron couldn’t stand it any longer and yelled, “Why are you throwing some of the nails away?”

John explained, “When I pull it out of my nail pouch. If it’s pointed toward me, I throw it away. If it’s pointed toward the house, then I can use it!”

Ron replied, “Don’t throw away the nails that are pointed toward you! They’re for the other side of the house.”


God gave us memories that we might have roses in December.

James M. Barrie


She said: A bricklayer at my husband’s construction job routinely complained about the contents of his lunch box. “I’m sick and tired of getting the same old thing!” he shouted one day. “Tonight I’ll set my wife straight.”

The next day the men could hardly wait until lunch time to hear what happened.

“You bet I told her off,” the bricklayer boasted. “I said, ‘No more of the same old stuff. Be creative!’ We had one heck of a fight, but I got my point across.”

He had indeed. In front of an admiring audience, he opened his lunch box to find that his wife had packed a coconut- and a hammer.


“Next time you think you’re perfect, try walking on water.”


When my friend was pregnant, she was having a hard time with the weight she’d gained. One day her husband persuaded her to go to the beach for the day. “There I sat, with my bulges and potbelly,” she told me later, “and this gorgeous girl, about 18 years old, walked by in a fluorescent pink micro bikini. And I started to cry.”

“When my husband asked what was wrong,” she continued, “I said, ‘Just look at that beautiful teenager. My body will never look like that again”

“He rolled over and glanced at the girl in pink, and–here’s how I know I’ve married a special man–he took my hand and kissed it. “You know what, Honey?” he said. Neither will hers.”


A people that values its privileges above its principles soon loses both.

Dwight D. Eisenhower


Stay well, do good work, and have fun.

Ray Mitchell

Indianapolis, Indiana

Management is not responsible for duplicates from previous dailies. The editor is somewhat senile.

Ray’s Daily has been sent for more than fifteen years to people who want to start their day on an upbeat. If you have system overload because of our daily clutter, let me know and I will send you the information via mental telepathy. If you have not been getting our daily you can request to be added by e-mailing me at raykiwsp@gmail.com. Back issues are posted at https://raykiwsp.wordpress.com/ currently there are more than 2000 readers from around the world.


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