Enjoy every moment of your life....

My boy Peppino:












Time is a great story teller.... (Irish wisdom)





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Love the trees until their leaves fall off, then encourage them to try again next year.

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 My boy Peppino: "I know the year is dying, Soon the summer will be dead. I can trace it in the flying Of the black crows overhead; I can hear it in the rustle Of the dead leaves as I pass, And the south wind's plaintive sighing Through the dry and withered grass. Ah, 'tis then I love to wander, Wander idly and alone, Listening to the solemn music Of sweet nature's undertone; Wrapt in thoughts I cannot utter, Dreams my tongue cannot express, Dreams that match the autumn's sadness In their longing tenderness." -  Mortimer Crane Brown, Autumn Dreams
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Memories have to be our most painful blessing....

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My boy Vondracek: A Dog for Jesus (Where dogs go when they die) I wish someone had given Jesus a dog. As loyal and loving as mine. To sleep by His manger and gaze in His eyes And adore Him for being divine. As our Lord grew to manhood His faithful dog, Would have followed Him all through the day. While He preached to the crowds and made the sick well And knelt in the garden to pray. It is sad to remember that Christ went away. To face death alone and apart. With no tender dog following close behind, To comfort its Master's Heart. And when Jesus rose on Easter mourn, How happy He would have been, As His dog kissed His hand and barked it's delight, For The One who died for all men. Well, the Lord has a dog now, I just sent Him mine. The old pal so dear to me. And I smile through my tears on this first day alone, Knowing they're in eternity. Day after day, the whole day through, Wherever my road inclined, Four feet said, "Wait, I'm coming with you!" And trotted a...
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Hello, cold days...

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My boy Rudi: "One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow; And have been cold a long time To behold the junipers shagged with ice, The spruces rough in the distant glitter Of the January sun; and not to think Of any misery in the sound of the wind, In the sound of a few leaves, Which is the sound of the land Full of the same wind That is blowing in the same bare place For the listener, who listens in the snow, And, nothing himself, beholds Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is." -   Wallace Stevens, Snow Man    
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