Our son was going to spend a week up north camping with his Grandma and Grandpa. However, Grandpa fell on the driveway and broke his right leg. This happened on August 1st (their 59th wedding anniversary) and Grandpa had just turned 82 on July 28th. He is having surgery today. Please keep him in your thoughts and prayers. Thank you!
Our son, who attends a sheltered workshop for the handicapped, took some cardstock and two butterfly paper punches to work a few weeks ago. In a couple of days, he made about 50 usable butterflies. Today’s blog post is to show how we are using them.
They are blank inside and stamped “hand-made with love” on the back. The place where our son works has a small store where we hope each of these 5 x 6 1/2 inch cards with envelopes will sell for $1.00. We live in an economically depressed area that has lost 80% of our automobile industry jobs and don’t want these cards to sit on a counter gathering dust. So what do you think — will they sell?
More 4 x 5.5 inch cards made by the kid and me (mom). Who knew catching the cold virus this summer could turn out so well?
The kid has a sore throat and I (Huffy’s wife) have a bad cold. So, between naps and gargling, we did some crafting. What do you think?
Father Tom, the priest at St. John Vianney.
May the Angels protect you —
May the Sadness forget you —
May the Goodness surround you —
And may God always bless you —
Happy Easter!!! ~ author unknown
Taciturn turtle, Spartan of simple space,
Of what do you think as you make slow pace
Across the humming highway’s span?
So small a life to immerse
In the ferment of the Universe!
Yet, someway, you ,too, are akin to man.
~from To aTurtle by Maxine McCray Miller
A Little Madness in the Spring
A little Madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King,
But God be with the Clown —
Who ponders this tremendous scene —
This whole Experiment of Green —
As if it were his own!
~ Emily Dickinson
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls. — by Lord Alfred Tennyson