27-05-2017, 01:33 PM
2421
Re: Leisurely Scribbles (part 5)
Originally Posted by spitfire
->
Why is Sesquipedalophobia such a long word?
...which,ironically,is the medical term for the fear of long words...
27-05-2017, 09:48 PM
2424
Re: Leisurely Scribbles (part 5)
As soon as this batch of work is done, should be about another week, I’ll be taking a break meself.
Alright, I get the message, youz all have big ugly ears and don’t want to talk about them, no problem I can understand and sympathise with that.
So I'll get back to words and related subjects.
“In the late nineteenth century, a Polish oculist and linguist named Ludwik Lejzer Zamenhof set out to create a universal language that would promote peace and harmony among all the world's inhabitants. ... Dr. Zamenhof intended for Esperanto to be easy to learn and speak”
What a great idea and what a shame Esperanto never caught on, can you imagine going to all the trouble of creating a language (there are approx.180,000 thousand words in the English language) and nobody bothers to learn it, the poor chap must have died of frustration using foul language up to his last breath.
Irish was compulsory in all Irish schools when I was attending, I was never very good at it and was whacked many a time, I have to admit that put me off the Irish language for a very long time.
Two of my grandsons chose an all Irish speaking school to attend and picked the Irish up very quickly, they love speaking their own language with their school mates. Now the school has a great reputation and has a long waiting list for pupils of all nationalities.
Most of those who went to school with me know very little Irish today, like me they thought they would never leave school and forget all about the Irish language and the caning we got for not knowing it, so to me that proves that compulsory is the wrong way to go if you want someone to learn a language, you have to come up with a way of making them want to learn it.
I remember when Lady Chatterley’s Lover was banned over here, but you could get a copy of it printed in Gaelic, bugger that for a game of soldiers I says, I’ll stick with the Beano.
30-05-2017, 04:23 PM
2428
Re: Leisurely Scribbles (part 5)
Potato cakes, me granny make them lovely Gummy, with a bit of finely chopped onion thrown in the mix.Had to attend another funeral over the weekend, the daughters mother in law passed away, she lived in Dundalk, rest her kind soul, the dreaded Alzheimer’s thing again.
“In the midst of life we are in death” Said the Benedictine monk Notker way back in the 900’s, how true that is when you think about it, even in your own life you die several times. Take the boy that I once was, he’s long dead and buried now, so too is the youth and then the young man, not even a sign of the middle aged bloke either, vanished from the face of this earth. I often look in the mirror in the mornings and ask meself what is that old geezer doing in my face.
What’s that big word for creature changes, metamorphous? when the boy has to fade out to let the man take over and so on, yes indeed in the midst of life there is death.
Thankfully in the midst of death there are plenty of laughs at the wake too, the youngest sister of the dead woman was telling Phyllis and me that she never married, she got very close to it one time she said, her name is Janet and she was a very jolly woman, she said the chap she was going with was a decent enough man and he had asked her to marry him, she said she would think about it and let him know the following night. She talked about it with her father who knew the chap and he said to her “You know of course that his surname is Tillls don’t you? Do you realise that your marriage name will be Janet Tills? And that was the end of that, she swears the story is true.
30-05-2017, 04:38 PM
2429
Re: Leisurely Scribbles (part 5)
An Old Lady's Poem-Anonymous
When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was felt that she had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Ireland. The old lady's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health.
... And now this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this simple, yet eloquent, poem traveling the world by Internet. Goes to show that we all leave "SOME footprints in time".....
An Old Lady's Poem
What do you see, nurses, what do you see?
What are you thinking when you're looking at me?
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice, "I do wish you'd try!"
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe.....
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill....
Is that what you're thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse; you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten ...with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another.
A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at twenty -- my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five now, I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide and a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty, my young now grown fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn.
At fifty once more, babies play round my knee,
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead;
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old woman ...and nature is cruel;
'Tis jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again.
I think of the years ....all too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, nurses, open and see,
...Not a crabby old woman; look closer ...see ME!!
*********************
Remember this poem when you next meet an old person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within ...... We will one day be there, too!
Aint that the truth Lads,x
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