Winter Is On It’s Way

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Winter for sure is on it’s way,

Sunlight gets shorter every day.

All the trees are almost barren,

Now I can see farther across the hills.

Heavy knit sweaters folks are wearing,

Frost each morning sits on my windowsills.

Gathering wood for my old iron stove, 

Hanging bird feeders in a nearby grove.

Filling my cup with hot spiced tea,

I’ll call on an old friend to share it with me.

Author: Eileen ~ Nov. 2018


The Wagon Filled With Food


My husband had gotten to the point where he became very violent and I was now getting physically abused. He was now using hard drugs and more often. I had to get my kids and myself out to a safer place. Thankfully I had a good paying job, but to start out fresh was going to be difficult for the first couple of months. Since I had a government job, (MHMR)  I only got one pay check on the first of the month. I was able to apply for temporary food stamps and was waiting for them to come in. When I got done paying for my light deposit, cable, phone hook up and deposits, I didn’t have quite enough for my first and last months rent, I was short $75.00 dollars. I went to the elders for help and they were quick to help as they had already been informed about my situation. It was small pickens in the food department at our house. We would always say after we got done eating…”It ain’t thrilling but it’s filling” The next month came and I was able to pay all my new bills, fill up the car with gas, and I had just seventy five dollars left, either pay back the brothers or get food. Seventy  five would indeed buy a months grocery’s in those days. I put the money in an envelope and brought it to the meeting on Sunday. After the meeting I handed the envelope to Joe an elder in our hall, he’s the one I went to for the asking in the first place. Before he took it he asked me, “Are you sure you don’t need it for a little longer?” I hesitated for  a moment, at home I had just two hot dogs and one can of corn and that was it!  So going through my mind loud and clear was, yes I need it, I need food !!  But I just pushed the envelope in his hand and thanked  him saying we were fine, please take it while I have it.

When I got home I sliced up the hot dogs in small pieces and fried them in oil, then mixed them up with the corn. I set the bowl on the table and said to my three children, this is temporary, you know things will get better so lets pray now. My dear kids never said a word of complaint, they bowed their heads and I started the prayer, dear Jehovah, thank you for this food we are about to eat, just then a knock on the door. David opened the door and Dessmond, the  son of a friend of mine was standing their. I said, come in and he said, “I can’t, mama wants to see you.” I said, tell her to come on up, and he said, “I can’t, she wants you to go down to her”. Right away I thought something must be wrong as I and all four kids rushed down the two flights of stairs. When I got to the bottom their she was with her big station wagon backed right up to the sidewalk and the back of it was down. The whole back of that car was filled with bags of food.  Everyone just kept going up and down the  two flights of stairs carrying bags of food. I thanked her and she left right away. She wouldn’t come in, she just jumped in the car and took off. ??? We again sat back down to the table and I started the prayer over. Dear Jehovah, thank you for this food…..I couldn’t go on, I got a lump in my throat, I looked up and  my three kids were looking at me with tears in their eyes. We all then started laughing and crying at the same time. There was food in the cabinets, food in the refrigerator, food on the counter tops, and even bags of food on the floor. Again I started the prayer, THANK YOU JEHOVAH , AMEN! Needless to say, the hot dogs and corn ended up being our side dish. I have thanked Jehovah for that day and every day since then for our food, our home,  and our friends, and all else he gives me every day. But today I have the opportunity, forty some odd years later to again thank my dear friend that owned the big station wagon filled with food.


Thank you Fay.


Matthew 6:33 “Keep on, then, seeking first the Kingdom and his righteousness, and all these other things will be added to you.

Why Study The Bible

~ Dear Friend ~

One Hundred and One Famous Poems: With a Prose Supplement - Cook, Roy Jay (Compiled by)

One hundred and one famous poems

A sweet dear friend gave me this beautiful poetry book a few weeks ago. Two of her writings are posted on here, “PATIENCE” and “Centenarian”. I knew she liked my poems but didn’t know she was a writer herself. Then one day she emailed  “Patience” to me. I loved it and ask her permission to post it here on my site and got her approval, check them out. This poem below is from the book.

The House by the Side of the Road

by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911)

There are hermit
souls that live withdrawn
In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran;-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house
by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban;-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I see from my house
by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears-
Both parts of an infinite plan;-
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened
meadows ahead
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my
house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by-
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish- so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat
Or hurl the cynic’s ban?-
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.


What Every Wife Knows

Victorian Lady Serving Coffee and Cake Premium Poster

What Every Wife Knows

Give me a man who drinks good, hot, dark, strong coffee for breakfast!
A man who smokes a good, dark, fat cigar after dinner!
You may marry your milk-faddist, or your anti-coffee crank, as you will!
But I know the magic of the coffee pot!
Let me make my Husband’s coffee — and I care not who makes eyes at him!
Give me two matches a day —
One to start the coffee with, at breakfast, and one for his cigar, after dinner!
And I defy all the houris in Christendom to light a new flame in his heart!

Oh, sweet supernal coffee-pot!
Gentle panacea of domestic troubles.
Faithful author of that sweet nepenthe which deadens all the ills that
married folks are heir to.
Cheery, glittering, soul-soothing, warmed hearted, inanimate friend!
What wife can fail to admit the peace and serenity she owes to you?
To you, who stand between her and all her early morning troubles —
Between her and the before-bfeakfast grouch —
Between her and the morning-after headache —
Between her and the cold-gray-dawn scrutiny?

o you, who supply the golden nectar that stimulates the jaded masculine soul.
Soothes the shaky masculine nerves, stirs the fagged masculine mind, inspires
the slow masculine sentiment.
And starts the sluggish blood a-flowing and the whole day right!
What is it, I ask you, when he comes down to breakfast dry of mouth, and touchy
of temper—
That gives him pause, and silences that scintillating barb of sarcasm on the tip of his
tongue, With which he meant to impale you?
It is the sweet aroma of the coffee-pot—the thrilling thought of that first delicious sip!

What is it, on the morning after the club dance,
That hides your weary, little, washed-out face and straggling, uncurled coiffure from
his critical eyes?
It is the generous coffee-pot, standing like a guardian angel between you and him!
And in those many vital psychological moments, during the honeymoon, which decide
for or against the romance and happiness of all the rest of married life—
Those critical before-breakfast moments when temperament meets temperament, and
will meets “won’t” —
What is it that halts you on the brink of tragedy,
And distracts you from the temptation to answer back?

It is the absorbing anxiety of watching the coffee boil!
What is it that warms his veins and soothes your nerves,
And turns all the world suddenly from a dismal gray vale of disappointment to a bright
rosy garden of hope —
And starts another day gliding smoothly along like a new motor car?
What is it that will do more to transform a man from a fiend into an angel than baptism in
the River Jordan?
It is the first cup of coffee in the morning!

Helen Rowland