Saturday, 6 September 2008


Yes, right! I got what I deserved this week. I thought wanted to rule the world, so what did I get? Stomach flu. LOL.

Stomach flu (when you are febrile and vomitting for three days) is not fun. It brought me down to earth, anyway. It's brought me back to my reality which is back to the grind of working in the shop on Mondays and Tuesdays and doing my studies on the side while The MOTH travels Australia (and sometimes the world) with his company.

Drink a glass of tap water for me, will you? I need it, but it's gonna take a while to get back to full strength guzzling on my part. Such is life, huh?

Somehow or other, it didn't dampen my spirits. I'll be scrying for that solar-system to influence again next week. It's probably gonna take some divine intervention, but what the heck.

Meanwhile, tomorrow is Fathers' Day here in Australia. My father died in 2002, so I have only lovely memories of him to celebrate, but to all you dads out there, have a happy day. To all you off-spring, spoil you dad. He's worth it! The MOTH popped into Laurieton, NSW, to visit his parents this week for a day and a half (while I crawled into my batcave - er, sickbed).

Paul Harvey (google him, he's quoted often on many URLs) wrote the following sermon. It's kind of sweet.

What are Fathers Made Of?
A father is a thing that is forced to endure childbirth without an anesthetic.
A father is a thing that growls when it feels good--and laughts very loud when it's scared half to death.
A father never feels entirely worthy of the worship in a child's eyes.
He's never quite the hero his daughter thinks, never quite the man his son believes him to be--and this worries him, sometimes.

So he works too hard to try and smooth the rough places in the road for those of his own who will follow him.
A father is a thing that gets very angry when the first school grades aren't as good as he thinks they should be.
He scolds his son though he knows it's the teacher's fault.
Fathers are what give daughters away to other men who aren't nearly good enough so they can have grandchildren who are smarter than anybody's .
Fathers make bets with insurance companies about who'll live the longest.
Though they know the odds, they keep right on betting.
And one day they lose.
I don't know where fathers go when they die.
But I've an idea that after a good rest, wherever it is, he won't be happy unless there's work to do.

He won't just sit on a cloud and wait for the girl he's loved and the children she bore. He'll be busy there, too, repairing the stairs, oiling the gates, improving the streets, smoothing the way.

And here's another one that I liked:

What Dads are made of

God took the strength of a mountain,
The majesty of a tree,
The warmth of the summer sun,
The calm of the peaceful sea;

The generous soul of nature,
The comforting arm of night,
The wisdom of the ages,
The power of the eagle's flight;

The joy of a morning in spring,
The faith of a mustard seed,
The patience of eternity,
The depth of a family's need;

Then God combined these qualities,
and when there was nothing more to add,
He knew His masterpiece was complete,
And so, He called it


author unknown

Happiness & laughter always,



Daughter of the Midwest said...

My Dad is ten feet tall and bulletproof in my eyes and I never ever want to live without him. Thank you so much for posting these works.

Kristin said...

Thank you so much! These made me cry. We just lost my FIL about a week ago and these are just so beautiful.

Lili Bear said...

Stomach flu... I hope you're feeling better.
These texts you have chosen to show here, in particular the first one, are wonders.... It looks as if they're describing my dad and my husband...
I've read about the fabric and Polstitches' reaction. What a shame...
Don't let them discourage you. They're xcwfxzlxzlfffff...
Take care,