I have studied and I’ve got my last degree
My heart has learned its lessons one by one.
I’m a graduate of the grief academy
I didn’t know how painful it would be
When the man you love is here and then is gone
I’ve been studied and I got the third degree
The tears I wept could wash out the Dead Sea
Remove the salt and scour the shore till done
I’m a graduate of the grief academy
I know now I must die,we cannot flee
We turn to dust and that is not much fun
I have studied and I’ve got my last degree
Ii is not News, not for the BBC.
Unless you’re Stephen Hawkings, that great man
We’re graduates of the grief academy
We can’t control life with a self made plan
God is gone though prayer might well begin
I have suffered till I got a new degree
I’m a graduate of the grief academy
Isn’t it telling that you forgot?” said Brigid Schulte, author of “Overwhelmed: Work, Love and Play When No One Has the Time,” when I told her I had blanked on the word.
“That’s so indicative of where we are in our culture right now, that you can actually forget what it is to have something you like to do that’s not a) tied to work and b) productive,” Ms. Schulte said.
While researching her book Ms. Schulte realized how many “lifehacks” make hobbies out to be keys to productivity rather than activities just meant to be enjoyed, and she saw that it was difficult for people to get out of that way of thinking.
But eventually, she found that people responded to “neuroscience and research about how you need a space where you’re calm that leads to insight.” Yet even with that knowledge in hand, Ms. Schulte said, people still saw hobbies as means to improve their performance at work. “That’s the only way I can break through to people about why having leisure is important.”
Indeed, Americans’ difficult relationship with leisure is nothing new.
“People forget that when we were negotiating the Fair Labor Standards Act in 1938, there were three conditions people wanted: minimum wage, 40-hour workweek and mandatory two-week vacation,” Ms. Schulte said. We got two out of three, “and we’ve been stuck ever since.” One in four Americans has no access to paid time off, and those who do often don’t take all of their vacation time or they spend their vacations checking email. Many of us have been taught to hate not being productive, and we’ve structured our culture around work, not play.
I would contend that art and culture are the most important vehicles by which we come to understand one another. They make us curious about that which is different or unfamiliar, and ultimately allow us to accept it, even embrace it. Isn’t it telling that those societies most afraid of “the other” — the Nazis, Stalin’s Soviet Union, the Chinese under Mao — were not able to bring forth any significant cultural artifacts? Yet an abundance of work created in resistance to such ideologies can still dominate our cultural discourse.
Mary got all dolled up in her new pink wool dress.She was going to visit her former neighbour Sally in her pleasan and friendly Care Home not far away
Which handbag will match this, she asked her tomcat Emile.She did love a bag of fine quality as did he.
Not a black one, he muttered
How about blue?
Yes cerulean blue is pretty.
Mary put her keys and money into the bag,
It is very large,but never mind
Emile thought, Now my chance has come.
He donned his denim jacket and got a clean Hanky
Then when Mary was powdering her nose he hid inside the gorgeous Enny bag
Powder puff £4 by Barks 2 Often
Buy bag in G bay for £5000
Mary put the bag on her
shoulder and went to the
bus stop
And so will all of us
Soon the bus arrived.She picked up her beautiful bag and almost fell over.It was very heavy.
I am getting old, she thought I can hardly lift my handbag Little did she suspect the truth That Emile was inside trembling in fear in case Mary should drop the bag off the bus.He weighed 5 kg without his fur,so he had been told by the Doctor.
The bus went off and soon they reached Naughty Hall with it’s lovely Cedar Tree and its rose gardens.They got off the bus and walked to Pewter Road where Sally was waiting for Mary.She did not know that Mary had this errant cat hiding in her bag
But she soon will
Mary rang the bell on the front door of Suffolk House.
Come in the receptionist cried.
I have come to visit Sally, Mary told her Is she still in Room 13?
No we call it 12a now because 13 is unlucky
For whom?
Well someone broke a tooth eating nuts in there.
That’s not bad luck.Its stupid to bite hard nuts when you are old.At least it was not some old people having heart attacks while making love That would have made the News.
In the Guardian last week it said that old people could still enjoy sex They advise playing with toys.
Well they could still have heart attacks using toys
Can’t tell you as I have never seen a sex toy nor used one.
We will ask Matron then
Do you think she uses them?
God knows but it is not part of the job description.
Not yet
And so cry all of us.
Sally was happy to see Mary
What a pretty dress she whispered
Thank you said Mary.
Oh, lord your handbag is shaking.Is there a bomb in it?
Who would bomb a Care Home?
A crazy old woman!
That would be stupid.
Oh dear, it’s moving .Oh, God.
The women froze.
The two women stared at the bag.
And so have all of us.
Then they heard a loud Miaow.
It’s a cat.A large one.
Now Emile what are you doing?
Can’t breathe.Let me out, mother.Quick.
Are you the cat’s mother, asked Sally?
Not literally, Mary confessed.
She let Emile out and it was a lovely treat for Sally.She had not touched an animal since her husband died 6 years ago.
She usually preferred dogs but Emile was such fun
And so are all of us .
Then Mary decided to go home with her cat but he had to walk to the bus stop because she wasn’t going to carry them in her handbag
Sally I have to say goodbye now. I need to get home and someone is coming to see me tonight nk
So you are lucky sorry soon I wish someone was coming to see me but maybe my son John will be coming tomorrow
Mary walked along to the bus stop will her cat then she saw a car stopping.
It was her neighbour Michael.
What are you doing with your cat up here?
We have been to see Sally my friend in her care home and now we are going home home
I can take you said Michael
St. Mary and her cat got into the back of the car along was Mary’s handbag
Then NH NH in 10 minutes they were back in their own neighbourhood and Emile was especially delighted
I will never get inside Mary’s handbag ever again, he vowed even if Sally has never touched an animal for 7 or 8 years. It’s not my fault but they have no animals in the care home..
and at that very moment a very kind lady called Dora was scrubbing Sally’s room when they when they realised that a cat has been inside it
Cut off from humankind in my dark well Unimagined death had my love scorned I lay grieving in a prison cell
How did I get here, am I in hell? My soul was leaving from my body warm Cut off from humankind in my dark well
Shall I too fall where my lover fell? I felt such pain,I was a skinless worm A person grieving in a prison cell
I did not wish in this black place to dwell I felt a force that pulled till my heart tore Cut off from humankind in my dark well
In despair I had no thoughts at all Until a golden light around me formed To hold this person grieving in her cell
In gratitude great tears ran as I learned Love had followed me when I was harmed Cut off from humankind in my dark well The ladder of his thorns broke my death spell
Originally developed by Autodesk, Sketchbook has become a popular choice for many. It has a clean, uncluttered, and easy-to-navigate interface. If this is your preferred app on your computer, you’ll be right at home using it on your mobile device.
Many of the longest-lived cultures with very low rates of dementia are getting close to nine or nine and a half hours of sleep a night, which sounds ridiculous for most of us. But we do have to stop thinking of sleep as a waste of time. Now I track my sleep with my watch and I’m very diligent about it. I get at least seven hours a night.
Turn back, live again, he asked of me
Do not wander in this darkness anymore
One false step might give death victory
We are each connected to that tree
The sunlit top, the roots hid in earth’s floor
Come back, live again, he asked of me
While we live, we’ll live with dignity
Not scrabbling for the gold in blood and gore
One false step will give death victory
The kindness of the golden light was clear
And left an image in my mind’s deep core
Come back, live your life, he then soothed me
Do not wonder now why you are here
We’re here to live and living shall restore
What our suffering self has found so dear
I had never seen the Light before
Only Christ the Tyger with his roar
Come back, live through pain, he asked of me
One right step will give love victory
“It has been an old comparison for our urging on – the Beehive; however, it seems to me that we should rather be the flower than the Bee – for it is a false notion that more is gained by receiving more than giving – no, the receiver and the giver are equal in their benefits. The flower, I doubt not, receives a fair guerdon from the Bee – its leaves blush deeper in the next spring – and who shall say between man and woman which is the most delighted”
I wish I were on Hutton Roof again The limestone and the little open flowers The sea at Arnside like a distant gem The spaciousness, like days with far more hours
I wish I were as agile now as then I’d climb the mountains, hills,the little lanes
Windermere below still winding on The handsome Lake,the old man, Coniston
I wish I were in Dent, the curious shapes The hills and their deep mystery engross The height, the little river, the mistakes The lost loved man alive, to hold me closeI
I yearn to be on Hutton Roof today The holy smell of grass, the feel of air
“Wink goes on to examine the phrase “if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also.” Why, Wink asks, does Jesus reference the right cheek specifically? The answer is both challenging and enlightening. Jesus lived in a right-handed world where left hands were reserved only for unclean tasks. Therefore, we can see assume that the person doing the hitting would have used their right hand. The only way to strike someone on the right cheek with your right hand is a backhanded slap. Such a blow connotes an insult, not a fistfight, and was a normal way to reprimand someone over whom you had power (e.g. masters to slaves, husbands to wives, Romans to Jews). To strike your equal in such a manner was socially and legally unacceptable, carrying with it a huge fine.
With this new understanding of the context Jesus was speaking in, picture the scenario with yourself as the oppressor. You are a wealthy, powerful person whose slave has displeased you in some way. You reprimand your slave with a backhanded slap. The response you expect is the response you have always received from your slaves – the response you yourself would give if someone higher than you treated you the same way. You expect your slave to cower, submit, and slink away. Instead, your slave defiantly turns their other cheek and challenges you to hit them again. What can you do?
You would like to give your slave another backhanded slap to show them their place, but to do that you would have to use your left hand which would admit that your action is unclean. You could hit them on their left cheek, instead, but it would be embarrassing to hit your slave the way you should hit your equal. You’re confused. You don’t know what to do. Flustered, you could order the slave be flogged, but the slave has already made their point. They have shown you that they are a human person with dignity and worth. You don’t own them, you cannot control them, and they do not submit to your rule.
And so, in light of Wink’s insights, Jesus’ instruction not to resist evil and to turn the other cheek transforms from an instruction to accept injustice into a challenge to resist systems of domination and oppression without the use of violence. Rather than ignoring an evil situation and hoping it will go away, Jesus is telling his followers to find creative, active, and nonviolent ways to assert their humanity and God’s love in the world.”
Ms. Caudill and I then went to a conference room to discuss music therapy with my husband, Don, and our friend Alexandra, who has engaged in music ministry. Music must be an especially effective form of therapy, Don supposed, because it directly expresses and creates emotions. Alexandra agreed. Singing in a choir for and with people impaired by dementia, she has witnessed elderly men and women who could not remember their own names recalling verbatim the words of beloved hymns.
“Music lights up neurons between the right and left hemispheres of the brain,” Ms. Caudill said. “It can also aid in neuroplasticity, helping the brain form new connections.” A stress reliever, music is used to recover speech, improve walking and assist in the retrieval of memories. Popular and classical melodies can be infinitely modified to meet various backgrounds and tastes.
Sometimes depressed patients are encouraged to compose new lyrics to a favorite song that can then convey their reactions to their condition. Ms. Caudill recorded a lymphoma patient singing her version of Shawn Mendes’s “In My Blood” and upon discharge gave her an MP3 of her new “anthem”: “Sometimes I feel I should give up, but I can’t. It isn’t in my blood.”
Inside my mind I dream of pearls, Caterpillars,snails with whorls. I dream contented, all enwrapped; With reverie and dream I’m lapped. The inner seas will comfort me, While gods refine my eyes to see
Oh,sweeter than confectionery Is my Oxford diction’ry. The words whirl round then fall to shape The sentences which my world make. This furnishing is rich and strange And magically self arranged.
Oh,sweeter than the love of man Is reading works of poets long gone; Feeling deeply their dark tides .Upon which our boat may glide. The infinite sea we float upon Is the same warm sea the ancients swam
Sweeter still is the spring air And the blossom spreading fair We’ll drown our selves in grassy fields To the gods of poetry yield.
We’ll rise again and spring up tall To grow more rich until we fall. Then we’re compost for the worms God enlighten these my poems
I dreamed of my old dentist in the night
He filled my ear and then he caught my eye
I hope he can’t see me without a light
He asked me how I planned to write
I told him I don’t plan but just come by
I dreamed of my old dentist in the night
I felt a little quaint, I was not right
I think I picked the wool with the wrong ply
I hope you can’t see me without a light
I want to knit lace sweaters for delight
But there’s no wool shop anywhere hereby
I dreamed of my old dentist in the night
I made a horse shoe patterned jumper tight
My bosom was so big it made men cry
I hope they can’t see me without a light
I reckon that cheese sandwich made me high
This is no truth it’s halfway to a lie
I dreamed of my old dentist in the night
I wish I could see him by candlelight
A virtual wall stops grace from being shared .The still,small voice no longer can be heard. The sacred, silent space unoccupied No burning bush nor tempest speak the Word. We centre all our self on the absurd For iPads cannot pass through any I. The still,small voice no longer can be heard. God no longer feels inclined to share. The golden clouds of angels cannot fly No burning bush nor tempest speak the Word. The altar’s stripped, the rituals mere nightmares .The ancient priest says Mass and wonders why. The still,small voice no longer can be heard. A virtual wall stops grace from being shared. Jesus is made flesh and , silent, dies No burning bush nor tempest speak the Word. No man is an island,John Donne cried But now there is no truth to satisfy The still,small voice no longer can be heard. No burning bush nor tempest speak the Word
At the very edge of human sight Places we don’t go till in despair Love is waiting like a golden light
The world in panic, will the virus bite? Noone ever said this world is fair At the very edge of human sight
Is there really danger of such might, Where our hidden fears emerged dark ,bare Love is fading where’s the sun, the light?
Panic like a virus can ignite Responses that are worse than germs out there At the very rim of human sight
Our defences that are usually adroit Now lie like dead young soldiers unrepaired Love is fading to a weaker light
The still,small voice is quieter than a bird The storm is passing by, will it be heard? At the very edge of human sight Love is dying,looks like candlelight
I hapve heard grass singing in the wind. I have walked through poppy fields in sun I have struggled when dark rain descends
I have watched trees’ shadows in the ponds I have crossed the arctic wastes of pain I have heard grass singing in the wind.
Another soul is writing with my hand I have wept while loaning him my pen I have struggled when dark rain descends
I have found the edges of the mind I have sensed a silence un-contained. I have heard grass singing in the wind.
I have grieved for all who are confined I have cringed at creeds of cunning men I have crawled when crushing rain comes down
I have seen the storm through camera lens. I have felt the solar system bend. I have heard grass singing in the wind. I have shuddered when dark rain descends
