Aw, Ridgerunner, that's sweet.
Navigation
Install the app
How to install the app on iOS
Follow along with the video below to see how to install our site as a web app on your home screen.
Note: This feature currently requires accessing the site using the built-in Safari browser.
More options
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an alternative browser.
You should upgrade or use an alternative browser.
USMB Coffee Shop IV
- Thread starter Foxfyre
- Start date
Ridgerunner
'Ole Wise One'
Aw, Ridgerunner, that's sweet.
True story...
Skittles ingredients
Skittles’ ingredients are: Sugar, corn syrup, hydrogenated palm kernel oil, apple juice from concentrate, less than 2% - citric acid, dextrin, modified corn starch, natural and artificial flavors, coloring (includes yellow 6 lake, red 40 lake, yellow 5 lake, blue 2 lake, yellow 5, red 40, yellow 6, blue 1 lake, blue 1), ascorbic acid (vitamin c).
What’s In My Food: Skittles Ingredients Label Explained | HubPages
Last week I was listening to song parodies on You Tube and ran across one I haven't heard in a while. The damn song has been stuck in my head for a week...........
Could be worse songs to have stuck in one's head.......
You can usually get over it by singing it loudly out loud. But given the lyrics, I wouldn't sing it where the neighbors can hear you.
I tried that and it made it worse........ Now the whole neighborhood is singing it...........
Last week I was listening to song parodies on You Tube and ran across one I haven't heard in a while. The damn song has been stuck in my head for a week...........
Could be worse songs to have stuck in one's head.......
You can usually get over it by singing it loudly out loud. But given the lyrics, I wouldn't sing it where the neighbors can hear you.
I tried that and it made it worse........ Now the whole neighborhood is singing it...........
Your parody could go viral!
Ridgerunner
'Ole Wise One'
This story has been circulating the internet for years but it never gets old. And the message at the end is more important than ever.
The Black Telephone
Those of us old enough to remember when the phone was wired to the wall, usually in the kitchen, can relate to this story. I loved this read.
When I was a young boy, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box.. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.
My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway.
The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information, please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information."
"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience..
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked
"No, "I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open the icebox?" she asked.
I said I could.
"Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math.
She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called, "Information Please," and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, " Wayne , always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please."
"Information," said in the now familiar voice.
"How do I spell fix?" I asked
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest . When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston . I missed my friend very much.
"Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle . I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.
"Information."
I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle .
A different voice answered, "Information."
I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" she said.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," She said. "Sally had been working part time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up, she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was Wayne ?" "
"Yes." I answered.
Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you. The note said, "Tell him there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others. Whose life have you touched today?
The Black Telephone
Those of us old enough to remember when the phone was wired to the wall, usually in the kitchen, can relate to this story. I loved this read.
When I was a young boy, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box.. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.
My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway.
The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information, please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information."
"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience..
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked
"No, "I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open the icebox?" she asked.
I said I could.
"Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math.
She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called, "Information Please," and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, " Wayne , always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please."
"Information," said in the now familiar voice.
"How do I spell fix?" I asked
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest . When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston . I missed my friend very much.
"Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle . I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.
"Information."
I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle .
A different voice answered, "Information."
I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" she said.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," She said. "Sally had been working part time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up, she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was Wayne ?" "
"Yes." I answered.
Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you. The note said, "Tell him there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others. Whose life have you touched today?
- Thread starter
- #67,306
This story has been circulating the internet for years but it never gets old. And the message at the end is more important than ever.
The Black Telephone
Those of us old enough to remember when the phone was wired to the wall, usually in the kitchen, can relate to this story. I loved this read.
When I was a young boy, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box.. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.
My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway.
The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information, please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information."
"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience..
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked
"No, "I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open the icebox?" she asked.
I said I could.
"Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math.
She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called, "Information Please," and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, " Wayne , always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please."
"Information," said in the now familiar voice.
"How do I spell fix?" I asked
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest . When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston . I missed my friend very much.
"Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle . I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.
"Information."
I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle .
A different voice answered, "Information."
I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" she said.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," She said. "Sally had been working part time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up, she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was Wayne ?" "
"Yes." I answered.
Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you. The note said, "Tell him there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others. Whose life have you touched today?
Thank you for that Ridgerunner. I had this on my computer but hadn't thought about it for some time. I led a group we called the "Senior Saints" at our church for several years, and I read that piece one day when doing a presentation. I don't think there was a dry eye in the house. Probably all of us know at least one or two people who made a difference in our lives sometimes through just a thought or a phrase. That's why I strongly advocate Cinderella's mother's advice as she was dying: "Have courage and be kind." We never know what affect we might have on another.
Ridgerunner
'Ole Wise One'
Nosmo King
Gold Member
My paternal Grandmother died in the summer of 1965. The following spring my grandfather decided to salve his grief by visiting his brother, Uncle Ducky, in balmy Pinellas Park, Florida. And I was invited to go along!
I was the first of my family to board an airplane. At the time, air travel was glamorous and exciting, now it has all the glamour of bingo night at the volunteer fire department. As a precocious nine year old, I was doted over by the beautiful stewardesses. I got the pins and even a model of the jet we were on. No swag was withheld. A TWA flight bag in red nylon and an ice cream sundae were my gifts just for traveling with Grandpa!
I found Florida to be exotic and fascinating. Tales of alligators prowling canals and manmade lakes, the actual ship used to film the Marlon Brando version of Mutiny on the Bounty, private zoos offering encounters with flamboyant birds and chattering monkeys and my very first visit to a McDonalds!
But none of that compared to living in Uncle Ducky and Aunt Sis's house for ten whole days. All of Ducky's private treasure trove was at my disposal. Admittedly, some of those marvelous objects should have been withheld.
Ducky served in the U.S. Navy's Shore Patrol during World War II. So many of the treasures were War surplus or things Ducky actually used as he broke up bar fights between drunken service men while on leave in Honolulu. Hand cuffs, a leather blackjack stuffed with lead beads and about the size of a turkey drumstick, a Billy club and a two way radio.
And that radio captivated me. I decided to see what made it work. Screwdriver in hand, I carefully pryed the back from it. There were wires and tubes and mysterious gizmos for me to dissect. I fiddled and fumbled around inside the radio which was about the size of a loaf of bread. Suddenly, I found myself thrown across the room and against the bed! The room smelled of the air after a lightening strike and a pale blue cloud swirled around my dizzy head.
Ducky, to his credit, was not cross with me, figuring the electrical shock that emanated from the capacitor was ample punishment for my childish curiously. Rather he picked me up with his bearlike arms, dusted me off and carried me into his living room where he asked me if I learned my lesson.
Through a veil of shameful tears, I told him I had and asked for forgiveness. Then he lead me out to his carport, another Florida thing that surprised me, put me into his car and ferried my off for an ice cream cone which was lapped up while marveling at the vast Gulf of Mexico.
I was the first of my family to board an airplane. At the time, air travel was glamorous and exciting, now it has all the glamour of bingo night at the volunteer fire department. As a precocious nine year old, I was doted over by the beautiful stewardesses. I got the pins and even a model of the jet we were on. No swag was withheld. A TWA flight bag in red nylon and an ice cream sundae were my gifts just for traveling with Grandpa!
I found Florida to be exotic and fascinating. Tales of alligators prowling canals and manmade lakes, the actual ship used to film the Marlon Brando version of Mutiny on the Bounty, private zoos offering encounters with flamboyant birds and chattering monkeys and my very first visit to a McDonalds!
But none of that compared to living in Uncle Ducky and Aunt Sis's house for ten whole days. All of Ducky's private treasure trove was at my disposal. Admittedly, some of those marvelous objects should have been withheld.
Ducky served in the U.S. Navy's Shore Patrol during World War II. So many of the treasures were War surplus or things Ducky actually used as he broke up bar fights between drunken service men while on leave in Honolulu. Hand cuffs, a leather blackjack stuffed with lead beads and about the size of a turkey drumstick, a Billy club and a two way radio.
And that radio captivated me. I decided to see what made it work. Screwdriver in hand, I carefully pryed the back from it. There were wires and tubes and mysterious gizmos for me to dissect. I fiddled and fumbled around inside the radio which was about the size of a loaf of bread. Suddenly, I found myself thrown across the room and against the bed! The room smelled of the air after a lightening strike and a pale blue cloud swirled around my dizzy head.
Ducky, to his credit, was not cross with me, figuring the electrical shock that emanated from the capacitor was ample punishment for my childish curiously. Rather he picked me up with his bearlike arms, dusted me off and carried me into his living room where he asked me if I learned my lesson.
Through a veil of shameful tears, I told him I had and asked for forgiveness. Then he lead me out to his carport, another Florida thing that surprised me, put me into his car and ferried my off for an ice cream cone which was lapped up while marveling at the vast Gulf of Mexico.
Last edited:
- Thread starter
- #67,312
And on December 21 the planets align to create a very bright "Star of Bethlehem" but in North America it will only be visible low in the western sky for an hour or so after sundown. I love these astronomical phemonena though.
- Thread starter
- #67,313
I was mistaken, the temp has dropped and the snow is sticking, already a good half inch at my house. Not sure about at Fox's house but I'm closer to the mountains than she is.
We also got between a half inch & inch of accumulation that didn't last long. But not knowing where Mother Nature was going with it, it did cause us to cancel our weekly 42 game.
- Thread starter
- #67,314
And Happy Friday Coffee Shoppers. The sun is shining in Albuquerque--it's quite chilly but pleasant outside for December. Supposed to rain this afternoon which we seriously need--extreme drought over most of the state right now--and the weather forecast is accurate some of the time.
Happy a great day!
Happy a great day!
Nosmo King
Gold Member
My paternal grandparents owned one of those aluminum Christmas trees. The kind that was assembled and set in the corner. Not like ours that had to be sought out at a Christmas trees farm. It had to be sawed down, put on top of our turtle shaped Mercury, secured with hemp twine then held onto with freezing mitten clad hands for the trip back home.
Grandpa's tree did not require an hour or two of stringing lights, hanging ornaments and slathering with strands of aluminum tinsel. Rather, Grandpa's tree had a rotating color wheel. About the size of an oscillating fan, the wheel had a spot light fronted by a 12" diameter wheel with color gels. The silver tree would be yellow then red then green and blue. Sit back and wonder at the magical color show.
Grandma augmented the tree with pink satin ornaments. No sentimental collection of glass baubles carefully wrapped each Mew Year's Day to be brought down from the attic come next December. We were the stewards of those heirlooms. A Mickey Mouse from 1935, glittering green balls from the War Years, and one that had Santa in his sleigh waving a bottle of Coca Cola were on our tree, and on Mom's tree to this very day.
In the days before cable TV, I often wondered if Grandpa could attach his TV antennae wire to the aluminum tree and maybe pick up unavailable stations from far off Cleveland or Wheeling. Grandpa never took me up on that. "Just sit back and watch the magical color show."
Grandpa's tree did not require an hour or two of stringing lights, hanging ornaments and slathering with strands of aluminum tinsel. Rather, Grandpa's tree had a rotating color wheel. About the size of an oscillating fan, the wheel had a spot light fronted by a 12" diameter wheel with color gels. The silver tree would be yellow then red then green and blue. Sit back and wonder at the magical color show.
Grandma augmented the tree with pink satin ornaments. No sentimental collection of glass baubles carefully wrapped each Mew Year's Day to be brought down from the attic come next December. We were the stewards of those heirlooms. A Mickey Mouse from 1935, glittering green balls from the War Years, and one that had Santa in his sleigh waving a bottle of Coca Cola were on our tree, and on Mom's tree to this very day.
In the days before cable TV, I often wondered if Grandpa could attach his TV antennae wire to the aluminum tree and maybe pick up unavailable stations from far off Cleveland or Wheeling. Grandpa never took me up on that. "Just sit back and watch the magical color show."
- Thread starter
- #67,316
Just saw this and it was too beautiful not to post. Christmas sailing ship just off the Oregon coast at Garibaldi.
Saturday morning!
Oh the days when the 'toons had a level of cultural literacy.
Let the cartoon begin!
Oh the days when the 'toons had a level of cultural literacy.
Let the cartoon begin!
We had that tree for several years when I was a kid...My paternal grandparents owned one of those aluminum Christmas trees. The kind that was assembled and set in the corner. Not like ours that had to be sought out at a Christmas trees farm. It had to be sawed down, put on top of our turtle shaped Mercury, secured with hemp twine then held onto with freezing mitten clad hands for the trip back home.
Grandpa's tree did not require an hour or two of stringing lights, hanging ornaments and slathering with strands of aluminum tinsel. Rather, Grandpa's tree had a rotating color wheel. About the size of an oscillating fan, the wheel had a spot light fronted by a 12" diameter wheel with color gels. The silver tree would be yellow then red then green and blue. Sit back and wonder at the magical color show.
Grandma augmented the tree with pink satin ornaments. No sentimental collection of glass baubles carefully wrapped each Mew Year's Day to be brought down from the attic come next December. We were the stewards of those heirlooms. A Mickey Mouse from 1935, glittering green balls from the War Years, and one that had Santa in his sleigh waving a bottle of Coca Cola were on our tree, and on Mom's tree to this very day.
In the days before cable TV, I often wondered if Grandpa could attach his TV antennae wire to the aluminum tree and maybe pick up unavailable stations from far off Cleveland or Wheeling. Grandpa never took me up on that. "Just sit back and watch the magical color show."
Ridgerunner
'Ole Wise One'
If my rememberer is correct Mr. Sears and Mr. Roebuck sold our family one in the early 60's...
Similar threads
- Replies
- 37
- Views
- 1K
Latest Discussions
- Replies
- 160
- Views
- 693
- Replies
- 1K
- Views
- 108K
- Replies
- 50
- Views
- 509
Forum List
-
-
-
-
-
Political Satire 8081
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
ObamaCare 781
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
Member Usernotes 471
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-