[adrotate group=”1″] Born not on Irish soil, but across the sea, In Britain’s realm, his story began Patrick, a lad of noble birth, Destined for more than mere mortal span. Captured by raiders, torn from kin, He found solace in Ireland’s wild embrace. Six years a shepherd, heart heavy with longing. He turned to faith that desolate place. In dreams, a voice whispered divine and clear, “Escape, young Patrick, flee this verdant shore” He journeyed, barefoot across rugged terrain. Guided by angels to freedoms door. Yet another vision awaited him there. Angel’s plea: “Return ,O Patrick, dear friend. Bring light to this land, where druids roam and weave Christianity into its ancient blend./ In green meadows, Patrick walked and taught, His words like dewdrops on shamrocks’ leaves Three hearts in one—the Holy Trinity— He revealed through clover, a truth that weaves. On March seventeenth, the world dons green, In honor of this saint, both humble and grand. Church bells chime, and Irish families gather, To celebrate faith, heritage, and the land. Lenten prohibitions yield to joyous feasting, Cabbage and bacon grace every plate. And in the pubs, where laughter dances, Green beer flows, a merry twist of fate. Dr. Thomas Hayes Curtin, an Irish soul, In New York City, a century ago, Decided to paint the ale with shamrock hues, A festive libation, a radiant glow. Not with magic, but a drop of wash blue, A touch of poison, yet the crowd rejoiced. Green beer was born, a St. Patrick’s tradition, A toast to the saint, a jubilant voice. So raise your glass, dear revelers all, To Patrick, the shepherd turned apostle. His footsteps echo through time’s emerald halls, Guiding us toward love, hope, and the celestial. In every verdant sip, we taste his tale, A blend of faith, courage, and mirth. St. Patrick, forever woven into Ireland’s fabric, A beacon of light across the emerald earth. May the shamrocks twirl, the bagpipes play, And green beer flow on this hallowed day. Sláinte, St. Patrick, your legacy lives, In every heart that dances where the clover thrives. [adrotate group=”1″] Post Views: 143
Category: Tribute
The Native American Mascot GENOCIDE !!
GENOCIDE The DELIBERATE and SYSTEMATIC EXTERMINATION of a National, Political, Racial, or CULTURAL GROUP. It appears to me the “MEDIA”, has triggered a movement to eradicate the MEMORY, of our Native American Culture. We now see few movies featuring the “INDIAN”. Westerns we all watched, most of the time, featured the Indian in a fashion that could be interpreted in a bad light. The Massacre of Custer’s troops. Attacking wagon trains, etc. etc. Then we also had the ones which showed the other side the “Indians” who worked as Scouts for the Calvary. SACAGAWEA, Who was instrumental in the movement to push the boundaries of the United States to the Pacific Ocean. Without her, the USA may have ended at the Mississippi River. Let’s not forget the “INDIANS” who befriended the first SETTLERS, and saved their live by teaching them how to grow keeps in this “Untamed Land”. We had Tonto, faithful companion to The Lone Ranger, NOT just a companion, BUT actually his life saver. And many more. In reality many of us wanted to be the “INDIAN” when we played Cowboys and “INDIANS”. We admired the family values, they depicted. We appreciated their courage. Their tenacity to hold on to their Land and way of LIFE. WHO? Among us would not FIGHT to defend our LAND, OUR WAY OF LIFE. We took away their Land, Food, and most likely their dignity. We moved them around, for our convenience. Put them on little parcels of land called RESERVATIONS. Before we came this whole country was theirs. They welcomed us with open arms, and we treated them badly. Now the NCAA and PRO Sports, even our Primary Schools, are wanting to abolish the use of any reference of the “INDIAN”. I know of a small town about 20 miles from where I live, began as an “INDIAN” village. The school there taught them our ways, and took their name as the school’s nickname. Thanks to school consolidation, the town has only an elementary school, but still carries the “INDIAN” name. The meaning has several interpretations today, from the native name of a type of TREE, to what they called EELS. HISTORY LOST. But ask any of the alumni, or any of the townspeople. They are proud of the that name regardless of what it means. By removing the last remnants, the team NICKNAMES, and MASCOTS; the GENOCIDE, of our Native Americans will move closer to being nothing more than a footnote in history. These Mascots, (even if not exactly accurate), remind of the American Heritage. There were many Tribes. Few of us know more than a handful of their names. But with the Colleges, Pro, and Primary Schools, we find our last tributes, to the brave native people who settled here long before “”AMERICANS”‘, thought of coming here. What people are missing is this. The names were given with respect and admiration. Whether, like the nickname of the school previously mentioned, (remember the tree, or eel, or whatever it meant). Or a local tribe, or chief, or warrior. They remain as a reminder, lest we forget… If you have noticed I used quotation marks each time I wrote “INDIAN”. American should be used. The word “INDIAN” came about because Chris Columbus thought he was in INDIA. In conclusion, I think removing these last few reminders, of the REAL American, would be an absolute tragedy. That Is How I See It. Post Views: 120
Joe Paterno to Retire
It is no surprise to hear Penn State’s “Elder Statesman” is retiring. We all expected him to retire, due to health issues. But his love of the game kept him going. I can’t think it was the money which kept him going. After all these years he has earned enough to retire and live quite comfortably. Why would a man of his age, even think about standing out there in the cold, rain, snow, etc. I feel it had to be the love of the game, and the kindred spirit he shared with his players. Rare men like Joe Paterno are able to pass on many life lessons to the young men he tutors. I hope COACH Paterno enjoys his retirement. I feel he will somehow find a way to be associated with either football, the young men or both. Coach Paterno (age 84) (85 December 21, 2011), has ran an exceptional football program for the better part of the 62 years he has been coaching at Penn State. (Let me explain RAN. The head coach runs the program. “JoePa” has only been the head coach since 1966. That was before many of us were born,) Before becoming Penn State and the nations longest reigning football coach, Paterno had a lengthy history with the game of football. While attending Brown University he played QB and CB. and currently co-shares the record for interceptions, at fourteen. Coach Paterno served as an assistant coach at Penn State from 1950 until taking over the reins as head coach in 1966. I could most likely fill at least one entire page listing the awards he has won. However the circumstances surrounding his retirement is a real bummer. One man cannot be held responsible for the actions of other adult men. But true to his teachings he bears the responsibility of his program. And thus the shame brought on his program by others who were apparently not able to uphold the high standards, Coach Paterno has set. Coach their actions do not really reflect you. How many people do we know who could stay at one job 62 years. Congratulations on a GREAT career, and being a TERRIFIC example for young men everywhere. That Is How I See It find find find Post Views: 166
Tribute To Mr. Feist
This is a tribute to best buddy, Mr. Feist In 1994 a friend brought me the ugliest kitten you could ever imagine. I was told it was a girl. When I took her to the vet, I was told she was a he. He got his name because he liked to play and aggravate me. We didn’t have much of a relationship until he was nearing his first birthday. He had been outside and when I got home from work, he came up to the back door, limping. I picked him up and noticed his leg was injured. I took him to the vet. He had a broken leg, so badly crushed the vet suspected he had been hit by a car. The vet kept him for a couple of days. When I picked him up he had a splint that went from his paw to just above his back. He was practically helpless. Mr. Feist was determined. he managed to take care of himself while I was at work. But, I noticed him wanting to be closer to me. Yes I gave in he sat on my lap, or desk while I tried to get my part time job handled. It wasn’t long until we formed a bond. He started to sleep at the foot of my bed. Wherever I went he was there. I rarely was able to get out of his sight when at home. This continued after he healed. I remember one day we had a surprise snow storm while I was at work. He had slipped out as I was leaving for work. I knew he could get into the garage, and would have shelter. It was after dark when I got home. I searched and called for him. Finally my neighbor who disliked cats, called to me. He ask me to come in, he had let Mr. Feist in and gave him some warm milk, I was surprised when he led me to his bedroom to find Mr. Feist curled up in the middle of his bed, asleep. He told me anytime I needed to go somewhere Mr. Feist was welcome to stay there. They even bought him a little dish and let him sleep in their guest room. The strange thing is Mr. Feist loved to watch TV. Mostly he watched sports with me. occasionally he would watch a movie. I recall a time I was watching a Basketball game, along with him. For some reason I switched channels. Mr. Feist turned around and gave me a look of daggers, as if to say, “What are you doing?” “I was watching that game?” One thing he did not like was Blue Jays. I heard him making a ruckus and looked out and he was being attacked by one. After that he was very cautious when he went outside. I moved one day. Mr. Feist and I had been there about one week, when he disappeared. I hunted and called for him. Couldn’t find him. All sort of things crossed my mind. We now had a small stream running through our backyard. Did he fall in? Did he get hit while exploring his new surroundings? Had he tried to go to the old house. I couldn’t find him anywhere. I continued the search when I woke up, and when I got home from work. My dart league was that night. When I got home about 11 pm. I heard a very weak meow. I started calling and looking. Finally I found him in a cistern. I climbed in to rescue,. We spent many hours together playing, watching TV, and doing my part time job. Mr. Feist always wore a bell. He lost it one day. He was so depressed for about a month, until I replaced it. Mr. Feist and I had been together about 14 years, when he developed a cancerous tumor. I nursed him for about 6 months. Then the Vet said he would need to be put to sleep. It was a hard decision. He was racing me up the stairs that day, and seemed to feel OK. But the Doc thought he would not make it through the week, as his medicine wasn’t working any longer. He said Mr. Feist was having himself a final good day. So after 14 years of close companionship we parted Exactly one year to the date, of his death. I was awakened by the tinkle of his bell. That is my BFF Mr. Feist Mr. Feist July 1994-Sept 2008 Post Views: 148