November 27, 2018
A man sooner or later discovers that he is the master-gardener of his soul, the director of his life.
I am finding that I appreciate each day more these days. It gets a little harder to do somethings then in the past but when I do them I appreciate the accomplishment more. When I look at each day and it’s parts I find that I can improve the day by just doing what needs to be done and using what is left as the opportunity not only to do what I must do but also to do what I want to do.
I recently read the following offering on how we all can improve our days. It reminded me again that the quality of each day is up to me. I hope you find it to be as worthy as I do.
The Art of Living Each Day
Author: Wilferd A. Peterson
Each day is a lifetime in miniature.
To awaken each morning is to be born again, to fall asleep at night is to die to the day.
In between waking and sleeping are the golden hours of the day. What we cannot do for a lifetime we can do for a daytime.
Anyone can hold their temper for a day and guard the words they speak.
Anyone can carry his burden heroically for one day.
Anyone can strive to be happy for a day and to spread happiness around.
Anyone can radiate love for a day.
Anyone can rise above fear for a day and meet each new situation with courage.
Anyone can be kind and thoughtful and considerate for a day.
Anyone can endeavor to learn something new each day and mark some growth.
The supreme art of living is to strive to live each day well.
When we fail and fall short, let us forgive ourselves and consider the words of Emerson: “Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you will begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be cumbered by your old nonsense.”
Live a day at a time and remember that tomorrow is another today.
All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.
A wise schoolteacher sends this note to all parents on the first day of school: “If you promise not to believe everything your child says happens at school, I’ll promise not to believe everything he says happens at home.
Judy has the answer; this is what she sent us:
My face in the mirror
Isn’t wrinkled or drawn.
My house isn’t dirty.
The cobwebs are gone.
My garden looks lovely
And so does my lawn.
I think I might never
Put my glasses back on.
You know, if my wife wasn’t so hung up on this faithfulness thing, she’d probably say you were my cutest girlfriend yet.
Martha Stewart did not dine with us this Thanksgiving. Since Ms. Stewart did not come, we made a few small changes:
Our sidewalk was not lined with homemade, paper bag luminaries. After a trial run, it was decided that no matter how cleverly done, rows of flaming lunch sacks do not have the desired welcoming effect.
The dining table was not covered with expensive linens, fancy china or crystal goblets. We used dishes that match and everyone got a fork. Since it was Thanksgiving, we did not use the plastic Peter Rabbit plate and the Santa napkins from last Christmas.
Our centerpiece was not the tower of fresh fruit and flowers that I promised. Instead we displayed a hedgehog-like decoration hand-crafted from the finest construction paper. The artist assured me it was a turkey.
We dined fashionably late. The children will entertained you while everyone waited. They shared every choice comment I made regarding Thanksgiving, pilgrims and the turkey hotline. Please remember that most of these comments were made at 5:00 AM upon discovering that the turkey was still hard enough to cut diamonds. As accompaniment to the children’s recital, I played a recording of tribal drumming. If the children mentioned that I don’t own a recording of tribal drumming, or that tribal drumming sounds suspiciously like a frozen turkey in a clothes dryer, ignore them. They are lying.
We toyed with the idea of ringing a dainty silver bell to announce the start of our feast. In the end, we chose to keep our traditional method. We’ve also decided against a formal seating arrangement. When the smoke alarm sounded, everyone gathered around the table and sat where they liked. In the spirit of harmony, we did ask the children to sit at a separate table. In a separate room. Next door.
Now I know you have all seen pictures of one person carving a turkey in front of a crowd of appreciative onlookers. This did not happen at our dinner. For safety reasons, the turkey was carved in a private ceremony. I stress “private” meaning: No one, under any circumstances was allowed to enter the kitchen and laugh at me. I used an electric knife. The turkey was unarmed. It stands to reason that I would eventually win. When I did, we ate.
Instead of offering a choice between 12 different scrumptious desserts, we served a traditional pumpkin pie, garnished with whipped cream and small fingerprints.
Martha Stewart did not dine with us this Thanksgiving. She probably won’t come next year either.
I am thankful.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. There are plenty of people willing to do that for you. Love yourself and be proud of everything that you do. Even mistakes mean you’re trying.”
Management is not responsible for duplicates from previous dailies. The editor is somewhat senile.
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