LEFTOVERS

Photograph by Bob Gentry 8/5/99

A Thought for Today

A toast to everything that touched us all year long – friends newly met, old friends here and old friends gone but still remembered.

As the old year ends and a new one pokes its head around the corner it’s time to clear my Big Mac in preparation for Flight Plans up ahead. It’s not an easy job. 365 days of mail and false stops and starts at various FP’s produce quite a stack of leftovers.

It’s always hard for me to throw anything away; ask anyone who’s paid a visit to my house and observed the boxes of ‘stuff‘ in nearly every room. Then imagine how much easier it is to hide things on a 13 Gig hard drive. Spring cleaning around here would take more than a single season. Some of the leftovers are certainly worth sharing.

OF THE MOMENT

This came in awhile back from and I misplaced the name of who sent it. Sorry. But, I’ve been waiting for the right time to use it. It seems to me the last day of the year is exactly that time.

A MEDITATION ON TIME

Imagine there is a bank that credits your account each morning with $86,400. It carries over no balance from day to day. Every evening deletes whatever part of the balance you failed to use during the day. What would you do? Draw out every cent, of course!

Each of us has such a bank. Its name is TIME. Every morning, it credits you with 86,400 seconds. Every night it writes off, as lost, whatever of this you have failed to invest to good purpose. It carries over no balance. It allows no overdraft. Each day it opens a new account for you. Each night it burns the remains of the day. If you fail to use the day's deposits, the loss is yours. There is no going back.

There is no drawing against the "tomorrow." You must live in the present on today's deposits. Invest it so as to get from it the utmost in health, happiness, and success! The clock is running. Make the most of today.

To realize the value of ONE YEAR, ask a student who failed a grade.

To realize the value of ONE MONTH, ask a mother who has
given birth to a premature baby.

To realize the value of ONE WEEK, ask the editor of a weekly newspaper.

To realize the value of ONE HOUR, ask the lovers who are waiting to meet.

To realize the value of ONE MINUTE, ask a person who missed the train.

To realize the value of ONE-SECOND, ask a person who just avoided an accident.

To realize the value of ONE MILLISECOND, ask the person who won a silver medal in the Olympics.

Treasure every moment that you have! And treasure it more because you shared it with someone special, special enough to spend your time.

And remember that time waits for no one. Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift.

Maybe that's why it's called the present!

GOD’S WINGS

Judy points out; “An article in National Geographic several years ago provided a penetrating picture of God's wings.”

IN CASE YOU WANTED PROOF

After a forest fire in Yellowstone National Park, forest rangers began their trek up a mountain to assess the inferno's damage. One ranger found a bird literally petrified in ashes, perched statuesquely on the ground at the base of a tree. Somewhat sickened by the eerie sight, he knocked over the bird with a stick. When he struck it, three tiny chicks scurried from under their dead mother's wings.

The loving mother, keenly aware of impending disaster, had carried her offspring to the base of the tree and had gathered them under her wings, instinctively knowing that the toxic smoke would rise. She could have flown to safety but had refused to abandon her babies.

When the blaze had arrived and the heat had scorched her small body, the mother had remained steadfast. Because she had been willing to die, those under the cover of her wings would live.

Being loved this much should make a difference in your life. Remember the One who loves you and then, be different because of it.

Don't drive faster than your Guardian Angel can fly.

AND SPEAKING OF ANGELS

“This really put me in the Christmas spirit!” writes Wes

THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL

One particular Christmas season a long time ago, Santa was getting ready for his annual trip, but there were problems everywhere.

Four of his elves got sick, and the trainee elves did not produce the toys as fast as the regular ones so Santa was beginning to feel the pressure of being behind schedule. Then Mrs. Claus told Santa that her mom was coming to visit. This stressed Santa even more.

When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two had jumped the fence and were out, heaven knows where.... More stress.

Then when he began to load the sleigh one of the boards cracked, and the toy bag fell to the ground and scattered the toys.

So, frustrated, Santa went into the house for a cup of apple cider and a shot of rum. When he went to the cupboard, he discovered that the elves had hidden the liquor, and there was nothing to drink.
In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the cider pot, and it broke into hundreds of little pieces all over the kitchen floor.

He went to get the broom and found that mice had eaten the straw end of the broom. Just then the doorbell rang, and irritable Santa trudged to the door. He opened the door, and there was a little angel with a great big Christmas tree.

The angel said, very cheerfully, "Merry Christmas, Santa. Isn't it a lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would you like me to stick it?"

Thus began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas tree.

Happy Holidays!

ENGLISH LANGUAGE

Susan writes, “No wonder the English language is so very difficult to learn:

WHAT’S THAT LYING IN THE ROAD AHEAD, A HEAD?

We polish the Polish furniture.

He could lead if he would get the lead out.

A farm can produce produce.

The dump was so full it had to refuse refuse.

The soldier decided to desert in the desert.

The present is a good time to present the present.

At the Army base, a bass was painted on the head of a bass drum.

The dove dove into the bushes.

I did not object to the object.

The insurance for the invalid was invalid.

The bandage was wound around the wound.

There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.

They were too close to the door to close it.

The buck does funny things when the does are present.

They sent a sewer down to stitch the tear in the sewer line.

To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.

The wind was too strong to wind the sail.

After a number of Novocain injections, my jaw got number.

I shed a tear when I saw the tear in my clothes.

I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.

How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?

I spent last evening evening out a pile of dirt.

ESCAPING JUST IN TIME

Tami and Deb both sent me this one.

10 SIGNS THAT YOU’VE HAD TOO MUCH OF THE 90’S

1. You try to enter your password on the microwave.

2. You haven't played solitaire with real cards in years.

3. You have a list of 15 phone numbers to reach your family of 4.

4. You e-mail your work colleague at the desk next to you to ask if they're ready to go to lunch.

5. You chat on-line regularly with a stranger from the US, but you
haven't spoken to your next door neighbor yet this year.

6. Your reason for not staying in touch with friends is that they do not have e-mail addresses.

7. Your idea of being organized is multiple colored post-it notes.

8. You hear most of your jokes via email instead of in person

9. When you go home after a long day at work you still answer the phone in a business manner.

10. “Seasons in the Sun” becomes a hit, again.

AN OLD JOKE

Coral sent this out to friends just before Christmas with the following note; “Hi Gang . . . A very old joke . . . But there's always a new way of telling them!”

THE GIFT

As a joke, my brother used to hang a pair of panty hose over his
Fireplace before Christmas. He said all he wanted was for Santa to fill them.

What they say about Santa checking the list twice must be true because every Christmas morning, although Jay's kids' stockings were overflowed, his poor panty hose hung sadly empty and grew increasingly threadbare.

One year I decided to make his dream come true. I put on sunglasses and a fake beard and went in search of an inflatable love doll. Of course, they don't sell those things at Wal-Mart. I had to go to an adult bookstore downtown. If you've never been in an X-rated store, don't go. You'll only confuse yourself. I was there almost three hours saying things like, "What does this do?" "You're kidding me!" "Who owns that?" "Do you have their phone number?"

Finally, I made it to the inflatable doll section. I wanted to buy a
standard, uncomplicated doll suitable for a night of romance that could also substitute as a passenger in my truck so I could use the car pool lane during rush hour. I'm not sure what a complicated doll is. Perhaps one that is subject to wild mood shifts and using a French accent for no reason at all. (That also describes a few ex-girlfriends.) Finding what I wanted was difficult.

Love dolls come in many different models. The top of the line, according to the side of the box, could do things I'd only seen in a book on animal husbandry. I figured the "vibro-motion" was a feature Jay could live without, so I settled for Lovable Louise. She was at the bottom of the price scale. To call Louise a "doll" took a huge leap of imagination.

On Christmas Eve, with the help of an old bicycle pump, Louise came to life. My sister-in-law was in on the plan and cleverly left the front door key hidden under the mat. In the wee morning hours, long after Santa had come and gone, I snuck into the house and filled the dangling panty hose with Louise's pliant legs and bottom. I also ate some cookies and drank what remained of a glass of milk on a nearby tray. Then I let myself out, went home, and giggled for a couple of hours.

The next morning my brother called to say that Santa had been to his house and left a present that had made him VERY happy but had left the dog confused. He would bark, start to walk away, then come back and bark some more. I suggested he purchase an inflatable Lassie to set Rover straight. We also agreed that Louise should remain in her panty hose so the rest of the family could admire her when they came over for the traditional Christmas dinner. It seemed like a great idea, except that we forgot that Grandma and Grandpa would be there.

My grandmother noticed Louise the moment she walked in the door. "What the hell is that?" she asked. My brother quickly explained. "It's a doll."

"Who would play with something like that?" Granny snapped. I had several candidates in mind, but kept my mouth shut. "Where are her clothes?" Granny continued. I hadn't seen any in the box, but I kept this information to myself.

"Boy, that turkey sure smells nice, Gran," Jay said, trying to steer her into the dining room. But Granny was relentless.

"Why doesn't she have any teeth?"

Again, I could have answered, but why would I? It was Christmas and no one wanted to ride in the back of the ambulance saying, "Hang on Granny, Hang on!"

My grandfather, a delightful old man with poor eyesight, sidled up to me and said," Hey, who's the naked gal by the fireplace?" I told him she was Jay's friend. A few minutes later I noticed Grandpa by the mantel, talking to Louise. Not just talking, but actually flirting. It was then that we realized this might be Grandpa's last Christmas at home.

The dinner went well. We made the usual small talk about who had died, who was dying, and who should be killed, when suddenly Louise made a noise that sounded a lot like my father in the bathroom in the morning. Then she lurched from the panty hose, flew around the room twice, and fell in a heap in front of the sofa.

The cat screamed, I passed cranberry sauce through my nose, and Grandpa ran across the room, fell to his knees, and began
administering mouth to mouth resuscitation. My brother wet his pants and Granny threw down her napkin, stomped out of the room, and sat in the car.

It was indeed a Christmas to treasure and remember.

Later in my brother's garage, we conducted a thorough examination to decide the cause of Louise's collapse. We discovered that Louise had suffered from a hot ember to the back of her right thigh. Fortunately, thanks to a wonder drug called duct tape, we restored her to perfect health. Louise went on to star in several bachelor party movies. I think Grandpa still calls her whenever he can get out of the house.

FINALLY

Waldo sent me this without comment.

TWO BIRDS

A woman from the deepest, most southern part of Alabama goes into the local newspaper office to see that the obituary for her recently deceased husband is written. The obit editor informs her that the fee for the obituary is a dollar per word.

She pauses, reflects and then says, "Well, then, let it read, 'Billy Bob died'."

Amused at the woman's thrift, the editor says, "Sorry ma'am there is a seven word minimum on all obituaries."

A little flustered, she thinks things over and replies, "In that case, let it read, 'Billy Bob died - 1983 Pick-up for sale'."

My thanks to Judy, Wes, Susan, Tami, Deb, Coral and Waldo for today’s items and all the other nice people who have made contributions throughout the past year.

To all of you, who stop by The Flight Plan daily, sometimes or just today, I appreciate your time and attention. I wish each of you and those you love not just a Happy New Year, but happy ever after.

Try to stay home tonight, if not, don’t party alone. Above all take along a designated driver with an appetite for Gingerale or Mountain Dew. See you again tomorrow, even if you don’t have a Mac. How’s that for positive thinking. Sleep warm.

                          - RM New Years Eve, 1999

THANKSGIVING