Senior Moment© 2005
A Publication of http://www.senior2senior.org

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Vol 1 #19 Dec 31, 2005
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Content:

1. Publisher’s Comments
2. Article

1.  Publisher’s Comments

Happy New Year to one and all and may all your dreams and wishes come true. This the last issue for 2005, a year, in my opinion, in which we moved no closer to being closer as a people inhabiting this good earth.

Too many so called democratic regimes have passed the American equivalent of the Patriot Act and/or committed other civil atrocities.

I don’t understand how we, that’s the collective we, can trumpet freedom and democracy yet enslave and ensnare our own citizenry with what seems like impunity.  Maybe if we the people, you know, the actual holders of authority, grabbed our politicians and put them in prisons and camps and detainee centers and didn’t tell anyone where they were or how long they would be there, we’d see a different world outside our front window.

No, I’m not into a rage or rant. I simply want each and every one of us to actually attempt to fulfill goodwill to men and peace on earth. That isn’t too much to ask for 2006 is it?
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My saga of bad technology karma continues. I bought an external hard drive to back up my files and thought I had followed the install directions to a T given my computer recognized the drive.

Lo and behold I clicked on the E drive icon to see how my files are arranged and what do you think but I don’t have access. Mind you, I didn’t password protect nor put in any sort of secret code.

Regardless, I know a little over 30 gigs of files are sitting in drive E but aren’t accessible to me. The hell of it is I have to wait till 1-03-06 before I can get any relief.

If this is a precursor to my 2006, I may violate my own words in the opening paragraph and become unpeaceable with the hard drive company. <lol>
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I added some more jokes to the joke pages. My sense of humor wouldn’t let me pass them up. Use the S2S home page for access to the jokes.
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Today’s article is a bit long but so what especially if the message is universal. I can’t think of a single person or place where it wouldn’t be applicable. But, that’s me. You decide for yourself.
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The last set of terms (first set was in issue #14) I believe are relevant to what we seniors call our life’s affairs.

(1) Trustee – The person, persons, or institution responsible for managing the assets placed into a trust and/or transferring property to beneficiaries or heirs.

(2) Will – The cornerstone of any estate plan, a will specifies how you want your assets distributed when you die and names an executor for your estate as well as a guardian for your minor children.
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What the heck, might as well close with another Happy New Year wish to you and yours from me and mine. God bless you.
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2.  Article

The Pickle Jar
 
The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom.  When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.  As a small boy I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar.
They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty.  Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled.  I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window.  When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank.  Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production.  Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.
Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully.  "Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son.
You're going to do better than me.  This old mill town's not going to hold you back."
Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly.  "These are for my son's college fund.  He'll never work at the mill all his life like me "
We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone.
I always got chocolate.  Dad always got vanilla.  When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm.  "When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again." He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar.  As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other.  "You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters," he said.  "But you'll get there.  I'll see to that."
The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town.
Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone.  It had served its purpose and had been removed.
A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood.  My dad was a man of few words, and never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith.  The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done.  When I married, I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy.  In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me.
No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar.  Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar.  To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make a way out for me.  "When you finish college, Son " he told me, his eyes glistening, "You'll never have to eat beans again…unless you want to."
The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents.  After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild.  Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms.  "She probably needs to be changed," she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her.  When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.
She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room.  "Look," she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser.  To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins.  I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins.  With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar.  I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room.  Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt.  Neither one of us could speak.
This truly touched my heart...  I know it has yours as well.  Sometimes we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our blessings.
Never underestimate the power of your actions.  With one small gesture you can change a person's life, for better or for worse.
God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in some way.
Look for God in others.
The best and most beautiful things cannot be seen or touched - they must be felt with the heart ~ Helen Keller
Happy moments, praise God.
Difficult moments, seek God.
Quiet moments, worship God.
Painful moments, trust God.
Every moment, thank God.

Until next issue,

Tom Koziol

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