The Hollyberry Lady

cherokee_greg

Im lovin it thanks so cool

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Greg zone 9 Fresno,CA
http://gardenjot.com/garden/view/1980/Gregs-Banana-Farm

Jananas Bananas

I love it too!

Hopes are planted in friendship's garden where dreams blossom into priceless treasures.

~JaNan

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Jananas Bananas

The Hollyberry Lady

The Hollyberry Lady

The Hollyberry Lady

Jananas Bananas

GRANDMA'S HANDS

Grandma, some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench.. She
didn't move, just sat with her head down staring at her hands.

When I sat down beside her she didn't acknowledge my presence and the
longer I sat I wondered if she was OK.

Finally, not really wanting to disturb her but wanting to check on her,
I asked. She raised her head, looked at me and smiled 'Yes, I'm fine,
thank you for asking,' she said in a clear voice.

I didn't mean to disturb you, grandma, but you were just sitting here
staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were OK, I
explained.

Have you ever looked at your hands, she asked. I mean really looked
at your hands?

I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over,
palms up and then palms down. No, I guess I had never really looked at
my hands as I tried to figure out the point she was making.

Grandma smiled and related this story:

Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have
served you well throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled
shriveled and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach
out and grab and embrace life.

They caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed upon the floor..

They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child, my mother
taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my
boots. They held my husband and wiped my tears when he went off to war.

They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were
uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son. Decorated with my
wedding band they showed the world that I was married and loved someone
special.

They wrote my letters to him and trembled and shook when I buried my
parents and spouse.

They have held my children and grandchildren, consoled neighbors, and
shook in fists of anger when I didn't understand.

They have covered my face, combed my hair, washed and cleansed the rest
of my body. They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and
raw. And to this day when not much of anything else of me works real
well these hands hold me up, lay me down, and again continue to fold in
prayer.

These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of life.

But more importantly, it will be these hands that God will reach out and
take when he leads me home. And with my hands He will lift me to His
side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of God.

I will never look at my hands the same way again. But I remember God
reached out and took my grandma's hands and led her home. When my hands
are hurt or sore or when I stroke the face of my children and husband I
think of grandma. I know she has been stroked and caressed and held by
the hands of God.

I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face.

Impossible things are simply those which so far have never been done. -
Elbert Hubbard

__________________
Jananas Bananas

The Hollyberry Lady

cherokee_greg

GONE ~~
>
>I wake in the morning to sounds of the Mother and to the warmth of
>the sun and leave my house where my fathers lodge once stood,
>Go to the car and drive down the paved road which my fathers traveled
>on horse back across the prairie,
>
>I cross the park and go past the tennis courts and baseball fields
>where my fathers once had winter camp and I climb the mountain, To
>the top to touch the sky,
>
>I light my pipe and blow smoke to the four winds and sit within the
>circle scratched in dirt.
>
>I look out upon the land below and see the houses turn to teepees and
>the cars to buffalo, the planes to eagles.
>
>I look upon the lake and see warriors in canoes instead of rushing
>speed boats. And then everything turns slowly back to the way it was.
>
>I see that the Mother still lives below us, and I wonder, have we not
>forgotten the land ?
>
>Do we not shun away from what the people have done to it? The mother
>still lives and we still belong to her.
>
>Many have forgotten the past and call it dead, but these things still
>live within my heart and my spirit. And the children, have we taught
>them to keep this in their hearts.
>
>Our people are not gone they are merely lost, they cannot find their
>path forward because they do not know where they have come from.
>
>I will cry no more for what has been lost, but will raise my peace
>pipe to the air and thank the Great Spirit for my vision. The way is
>forward.
>
>To teach the children all the wonderful things they have to be proud
>of.
>
>This nation, this United States would have no past, if it were not
>for my fathers, no stories of greatness, and no stories of sadness.
>
>These stories must be told and taught, but not with sadness, told
>with pride.
>
>I raise my fists to the air and thank the Great Spirit for bringing
>me to the People, for my victories and my defeats.
>
>I toss tobacco to the four winds and journey back down the paved
>roads with the four winds blowing through my windows...and truly I
>am "Home".
>
>The lands are not gone, the buffalo are not gone, the people are not
>gone.
>
>They live in my heart and my spirit, they will only be gone when we
>have forgotten them and have not passed those things on to our young.
>

__________________




Greg zone 9 Fresno,CA
http://gardenjot.com/garden/view/1980/Gregs-Banana-Farm

The Hollyberry Lady

The Hollyberry Lady

The Hollyberry Lady

The Hollyberry Lady

cherokee_greg

What Do You Value Most?
========================

A young man learns what's most important in life from the guy next door.

It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man.

College, girls, career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with his wife and son.

He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him.

Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday." Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.

"Jack, did you hear me?"

"Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said.

"Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him, he'd ask how you were doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side of the fence' as he put it," Mom told him.

"I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said.

"You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said.

"He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in this business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important. Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said.

As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown.

Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.

The night before he had to return home, Jack and his mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time.

Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and
time.

The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture...

Jack stopped suddenly.

"What's wrong, Jack?" his mom asked.

"The box is gone," he said.

"What box?" Mom asked.

"There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing I value most,'" Jack said.

It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.

"Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom."

It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox.

"Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days," the note read.

Early the next day Jack retrieved the package.

The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago.

The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention.

"Mr. Harold Belser" it read.

Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope.

Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside.

"Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett.

It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped to the letter.

His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch. Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover.

Inside he found these words engraved: "Jack, Thanks for your time! Harold Belser."

"The thing he valued most...was...my time."

Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days.

"Why?" Janet, his assistant asked.

"I need some time to spend with my son," he said.

"Oh, by the way, Janet...thanks for your time!"

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away."


~Author Unknown~

__________________




Greg zone 9 Fresno,CA
http://gardenjot.com/garden/view/1980/Gregs-Banana-Farm

The Hollyberry Lady

cherokee_greg

Dirt Roads



What's mainly wrong with society today is that too many Dirt Roads have been paved.

There's not a problem in America today, crime, drugs, education, divorce, delinquency that wouldn't be remedied, if we just had more Dirt Roads, because Dirt Roads give character.

People that live at the end of Dirt Roads learn early on that life is a bumpy ride.

That it can jar you right down to your teeth sometimes, but it's worth it, if at the end is home...a loving spouse, happy kids and a dog.

We wouldn't have near the trouble with our educational system if our kids got their exercise walking a Dirt Road with other kids, from whom they learn how to get along.

There was less crime in our streets before they were paved.

Criminals didn't walk two dusty miles to rob or rape, if they knew they'd be welcomed by 5 barking dogs and a double barrel shotgun.

And there were no drive by shootings.

Our values were better when our roads were worse!

People did not worship their cars more than their kids, and motorists were more courteous, they didn't tailgate by riding the bumper or the guy in front would choke you with dust & bust your windshield with rocks.

Dirt Roads taught patience.

Dirt Roads were environmentally friendly, you didn't hop in your car for a quart of milk you walked to the barn for your milk.

For your mail, you walked to the mail box.

What if it rained and the Dirt Road got washed out? That was the best part, then you stayed home and had some family time, roasted marshmallows and popped popcorn and pony rode on Daddy's shoulders and learned how to make prettier quilts than anybody.

At the end of Dirt Roads, you soon learned that bad words tasted like soap.

Most paved roads lead to trouble, Dirt Roads more likely lead to a fishing creek or a swimming hole.

At the end of a Dirt Road, the only time we even locked our car was in August, because if we didn't some neighbor would fill it with too much zucchini.

At the end of a Dirt Road, there was always extra springtime income, from when city dudes would get stuck, you'd have to hitch up a team and pull them out.

Usually you got a dollar...always you got a new friend...at the end of a Dirt Road!

__________________




Greg zone 9 Fresno,CA
http://gardenjot.com/garden/view/1980/Gregs-Banana-Farm

cherokee_greg

Words of wisdom: I've learned that ......

I've learned that you cannot make someone love you. All you can do is be someone who can be loved. The rest is up to them.

I've learned that no matter how much I care, some people just don't care back

I've learned that it takes years to build up trust, and only seconds to destroy it.

I've learned that it's not what you have in your life, but who you have in your life that counts.

I've learned that you can get by on charm for about 15 minutes. After that, you'd better know something.

I've learned that you shouldn't compare yourself to the best others can do, but to the best you can do.

I've learned that it's not what happens to people that's important. It's what they do about it.

I've learned that no matter how thin you slice it, there are always two sides.

I've learned that it's taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.

I've learned that it's a lot easier to react than it is to think.

I've learned that you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time you see them.

I've learned that you can keep going long after you think you can't.

I've learned that we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.

I've learned that either you control your attitude or it controls you.

I've learned that regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades and there had better be something else to take its place. (Amen to that!)

I've learned that heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences.

I've learned that learning to forgive takes practice.

I've learned that there are people who love you dearly, but just don't know how to show it.

I've learned that money is a lousy way of keeping score.

I've learned that my best friend and I can do anything or nothing and have the best time.

I've learned that sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you're down will be the ones to help you get back up.

I've learned that I'm getting more and more like my grandma, and I'm kinda happy about it.

I've learned that sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry, but that doesn't give me the right to be cruel.

I've learned that true friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance. Same goes for true love.

I've learned that just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.

I've learned that maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you've had and what you've learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you've celebrated.

I've learned that you should never tell a child her dreams are unlikely or outlandish. Few things are more humiliating, and what a tragedy it would be if she believed it

I've learned that your family won't always be there for you. It may seem funny, but people you aren't related to can take care of you and love you and teach you to trust people again. Families aren't biological.

I've learned that no matter how good a friend someone is, they're going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.

I've learned that it isn't always enough to be forgiven by others. Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.

I've learned that no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn't stop for your grief.

I've learned that our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become.

I've learned that sometimes when my friends fight, I'm forced to choose sides even when I don't want to.

I've learned that just because two people argue, it doesn't mean they don't love each other. And just because they don't argue, it doesn't mean they do.

I've learned that sometimes you have to put the individual ahead of their actions.

I've learned that we don't have to change friends if we understand that friends change.

I've learned that if you don't want to forget something, stick it in your underwear drawer.

I've learned that you shouldn't be so eager to find out a secret. It could change your life forever.

I've learned that the clothes I like best are the ones with the most holes in them.

I've learned that two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different.

I've learned that no matter how you try to protect your children, they will eventually get hurt and you will hurt in the process.

I've learned that there are many ways of falling and staying in love.

I've learned that no matter the consequences, those who are honest with themselves, get farther in life.

I've learned that many things can be powered by the mind, the trick is self-control.

I've learned that no matter how many friends you have, if you are their pillar, you will feel lonely and lost at the times you need them most.

I've learned that your life can be changed in a matter of hours by people who don't even know you.

I've learned that even when you think you have no more to give, when a friend cries out to you, you will find the strength to help.

I've learned that writing, as well as talking, can ease emotional pains.

I've learned that the paradigm we live in is not all that is offered to us.

I've learned that credentials on the wall do not make you a decent human being.

I've learned that the people you care most about in life are taken from you too soon.

I've learned that although the word "love" can have many different meaning, it loses value when overly used.

I've learned that it's hard to determine where to draw the line between being nice and not hurting people's feelings and standing up for what you believe.

Author Unk.

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Greg zone 9 Fresno,CA
http://gardenjot.com/garden/view/1980/Gregs-Banana-Farm

cherokee_greg

Live Life Over

IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER

I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.

I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.

I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.

I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.

I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains. I would have cried and laughed less while watching television - and more while watching life.

I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.

I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.

I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.

Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."

There would have been more "I love yous"... more "I'm sorrys"...but mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute... look at it and really see it...live it...and never give it back.

----------------------------

In memory of Erma Bombeck who lost her fight with cancer. "Be courageous and bold. When you look back on your life, you'll regret the things you didn't do more than the ones you did."

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Greg zone 9 Fresno,CA
http://gardenjot.com/garden/view/1980/Gregs-Banana-Farm

cherokee_greg

THE CRACKED POT


A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a
pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in
it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion
of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house,
the cracked pot arrived only half full.


For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only
one and a half pots full of water to his master's house. Of course, the
perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for
which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own
imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of
what it had been made to do. After two years of what it perceived to be a
bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream.


"I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you."


"Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?"


"I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.


The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, "As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."


Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.


The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot's side?


That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them.


For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house."

Each of us has our own unique flaws. We're all cracked pots. But if we will allow it, the Lord will use our flaws to grace His Father's table.


In God's great economy, nothing goes to waste.


So as we seek ways to minister together, and as God calls you to the tasks He has appointed for you, don't be afraid of your flaws.


Acknowledge them, and allow Him to take advantage of them, and you, too, can be the cause of beauty in His pathway.


Go out boldly, knowing that in our weakness we find His strength, and that "In Him every one of God's promises is a Yes."

__________________




Greg zone 9 Fresno,CA
http://gardenjot.com/garden/view/1980/Gregs-Banana-Farm

cherokee_greg

Information Please

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person - her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. "Information Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time. My first personal experience with this genie-in the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway.


The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the foot stool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.


"Information"
"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me." I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.


After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk, that I had
caught in the park just he day before, would eat fruit and nuts.


Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "Information Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was unconsoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"


She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.


Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please."
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much.


"Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall.


As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.


A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information, Please." Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information."


I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed. "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time."


"I wonder", she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls." I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.


"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered "Information."
I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" She said.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, she said. Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."


Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?"
"Yes."
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called.
Let me read it to you." The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."


I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.


* Anonymous

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Greg zone 9 Fresno,CA
http://gardenjot.com/garden/view/1980/Gregs-Banana-Farm