memories that find me, now my hair is turning gray,
in like painted butterflies, from somewhere far away.
idly through my fancy, and the pictures fading fast,
again in rose and purple, o'er the broad screen of the past,
the old selected 'dreaming 'neath the wistful, watchful stars,
breeze is telling stories, to the list'ning "coolabahs”;
old home, looking welcome from Its big, bright, friendly eyes,
"Sugar-loaf" behind it, blackened in against the skies;
the same dear, happy circle round the boxlog's cheery blaze,
little Irish mother, telling tales of other days,
the fountain, keeps a-singing on the hook besooted o'er,
youngsters on their hand and knees, play "horses" round the floor.
one sweet little custom, that I never can forget,
And a gentle benediction,
crowns her memory for it yet;
I can see that little mother still, and hear
her as she pleads:
"Now it's getting on to bedtime; all you children get
There were no steel-bound conventions, in that old selection
Only this — each night she lined us up, to say the Rosary;
traveler who, stayed the night, upon his journey knew,
He must join, the little
circle, aye, and take his decade, too.
And I believe she darkly plotted,
when a sinner hove in sight,
Who was known to say no prayer at all, to make
him stay the night.
Then we'd softly, gather round her, and we'd speak in
As we prayed, as sainted Dominic prayed, so many years ago.
the little Irish mother's face, was radiant, for she knew
where "two or three are gathered,” He is gathered with them, too
O’er the Paters and the Aves, how her reverent head would bend,
How she'd kiss the
cross devoutly, when she’s counted to the end;
visitor would rise at once—and brush his knees, and then,
He'd look very, very foolish as he took
the floor again;
she'd other prayers to keep him, they were long, long prayers in truth,
we used to call them “trimmin’s, in my disrespectful youth,
She would pray
for all our little needs, and every cloud of care,
That would darken o'er the
"Sugar-loaf", she'd meet them with a prayer
would pray for this one's“ sore complaint, "or that one's hurted hand,
Or that someone else, “might
deal, or get that bit of land."
then again, to "make It rain," or else to "make it dry,"
help for Mary Jane McShane, "who's going to wed Matthi ;
"dad might sell the cattle well” and seasons good, should rule,
little John, the clever boy, might go away to school
There were "trimmins" too, that came and went, but ne'er she closed without,
one for, Adding something special, none of you must know about,
was, that little mother, and her wit, would sparkle free,
she'd ruin you, If you look about, when at the Rosary,
If, perchance you, couldn't find your beads, disaster waited you,
For the only one she'd pardon, was dad, (and jus) because she knew,
hopeless, and 'twas sinful, what excuses he'd invent,
So she let his, use his fingers, and he "cracked” them as he went.
every "sore complaint” got right, and every “hurted hand,”
And, we “made
a deal”, from time to time, and got that “bit of land,
And we never failed, to get
the rain, and as the years went by,
we could see that Mary Jane McShane, was fit
for our Matthi;
Yes and, Dad did "sell the cattle well," and little John, her
It was he who said, the Mass In black, the morning that she died,
gentle spirit triumphed , for “twas this, beyond a doubt,
That, the “something
very special" was, she kept so dark about,
years have crowded past us, and the fledglings, all have flown,
And the nest beneath, the “Sugar-loaf," no longer Is their own;
For a hand, has written finish, and the book, Is closed for good;
There is a, stately red-tiled mansion, where the old slab dwelling stood;
stranger, has her “evenings”, and the formal supper spread,
But I wonder,
has she “trimmins”, now? Or is the Rosary said?
little Irish mothers, passing from us, one by one,
write, the noble story, of the good that they have done?
children may be scattered, and their fortune, windwards hurled,
But the “trimmin’s” on the Rosary, shall bless them round the world
THE OLD FOOTBALL
shed metaphoric light on the HUMAN LACK OF REASONING,
WHEN ACCEPTING EARTHLY AUTHORITIES IN HEAVENLY MATTERS
as follows: ...
Me (or anyone else) showing up to the
first day of a Football Spring Camp after having been chosen ahead of 1000s of
other players .. and finally getting that big chance in life to be somebody
.... and the Coach informs me that, by wearing my soccer gear, my attire is not
proper and I risk being cut from the team ..if I don't' immediately surrender
my beloved Lucky Soccer Gear and conform to the wearing of the required helmet
And I just can't understand why he isn't willing to
fact that "I" have been playing soccer for many years with this same gear
(and the games are very closely related) as well as that I have an
inkling that my Lucky Soccer Gear is the only
tools I need and that it will allow me the freedom of movement that the
restrictions of the traditional helmet and pads take away. It also seems to me that it would be best, for the
team, if other players would be
allowed to make their own decisions as to what attire works best for them
personally. This seems to me to be a very reasonable request .. as I like to
think of myself as a team player .. and know in my heart that we all have the
same goal of putting the ball into the end zone a greater number of times then
the enemy team and
gaining the reward of the trophy for the glory of our coach and TEAM.
So maybe what I should do is just, go ahead and, wear my gear
...get out there and show them all how much better someone can actually perform.
And surely (even before halftime) the outcry of the fans will support my efforts
and when the owners and the scouts see all of this (from their lofty perched,
plush, glass covered boxed seats) they will be forced to agree and
immediate change will take place in these archaic rules.
OR, maybe just maybe it would be best if I would take my request
to the Assistant Coach. He is a reasonable man (and played a lot of soccer in
his day) and in a position of authority to present my case to the Head Coach and
the Owners at an appropriate meeting, at which time I am sure they will see the
validity of a need for a change in the NFL rulings. And someday (maybe not
in my lifetime but someday) the rules will reflect this necessary freedom and
the means of all footballs players to achieve their utmost.
Either way I guess the decision is mine, but my "retirement
plan" sure would be a lot better off if I could figure in the rewards of a few
years in the NFL....Hmmmmm what to do?
Footnote on this adage (metaphor):
CONCEPT # 1):
Let us consider how impossible and absolutely ludicrous we truly consider the
idea of anyone playing (a game) on earth and publicly embarrassing themselves
and their coach and team (and in the case of the Olympics their Country) by making personal decisions that bypass set rules of
any form, in any "game"-- be it football -- hockey -- baseball -- basketball --
tennis -- boxing -- ...you name it.
Let us consider in our heart of hearts:
How important are those rules? To the game and to show respect to the efforts
made by the decision makers of any of these games, over the last, lets say
200 years ? (most of the games as we know them have matured, to a science,
within that time period)
CONCEPT # 2): Let us
consider in our heart of hearts: The "rules" within the Church (generally
accepted as the body of
Christ) and the efforts made by the decision makers over the last 2000 years.
How important are those rules to the salvation of Individual Souls of all
Souls living under 1000s of different
governmental -- ancestral -- and socially acceptable set rules.
Church rules, all of which have been
designed to be true to The Teachings of The God That Became Man and by His Grace
have been able to coincide with governmental and sociological rules, allowing each
person of each country, (and century) the ability to live within their own
society, and at the same time giving them the opportunity of being loyal to their Faith Practice for the betterment of their personal eternal
Bottom line in the form of One Question:
Are Concept #1 and Concept #2 even in the same