Waiting for Good Luck
by S. E. Kiser in The Chicago Record-Herald
The foolish man sits down,
Without the wish to strive,
And twirls his thumbs and waits
For good luck to arrive.
The wise man bares his arms
And works to make the way
A smooth one for the good
Luck that may come some day.
The new Millennium Begins on January 1, 2001
Millicent and I just returned from a visit to the S & S Cafeteria where we celebrated my 84th birthday.
If I had known I was going to live so long, I would have taken better care of myself!!
I don’t know how I first heard (or read) the above, it could have been by George Burns!
Tempus sure does fugit, seems only yesterday Millicent and I were being married. On May 27th, we will have been together for 55 years!
An executive received a penguin for his birthday. The next morning he placed the bird in the care of an office boy and asked if he’d mind taking it to the zoo. The young man agreed & departed, the penguin in tow.
He did not return to work all day, but in the evening he arrived at the executive’s home with the penguin.
“I thought I asked you to take that bird to the zoo!” exclaimed the exasperated older man.
“Oh, I did, sir,” the youth replied. “And he enjoyed it so much, tomorrow we’re going to the museum!”
Man reading newspaper to a friend: “Here’s a story about a famous body builder going through his midlife crisis and joining a monastery.” Friend supplies a headline for the article: “From a Hunk in a Funk to a Monk!”
“Forgiving can be the beginning of the healing process. We must remember that hatred is like acid. It does more damage to the vessel in which it is stored than to the object on which it is poured.” – Ann Landers
Beauty is a fairy; sometimes she hides herself in a flower cup, or under a leaf, or creeps into the old ivy, and plays hide-and-seek with the sunbeams, or haunts some ruined spot, or laughs out of a bright young face.
Sometimes she takes the form of a white cloud, and goes dancing over the green fields or the deep blue sea, where her misty form, marked out in momentary darkness, looks like the passing of an angel’s wings. – Sala
Published at The Claricent Press of Clarence & Millicent Prowell at Jacksonville, FL 32257-5490.