THE CORNER 4 WOMEN

Monday, 29 July 2024

"THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED" By John A Elliott

"THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED"

By John A Elliott re-edited 2024.

Throughout my early childhood during the 1950’s music in our house consisted mainly of the old upright rosewood piano in our front room, and twice a week Mr Bird, my music teacher would come round to attempt to teach me the fine art of playing a piano using all my fingers, and not just playing ‘Chopsticks’ with one of my sisters, whilst squabbling who should get the lions share of the piano stool. It took quite a few lessons before my parents got the message that I wasn’t going to be a concert pianist, and they’d be best advised to just buy me a set of drums or a Kazoo, and I wouldn’t be joining Ted Heath’s Orchestra any time soon, or in fact, don’t hold your breath ‘cos little Johnny was tone deaf and couldn’t co-ordinate more than one digit on each hand at any one time. Phew wasn’t I glad when Dad cancelled my piano lessons, I hated them. I’m the same today, I type everything using just my index finger and sometimes my thumb. Here I go digressing yet again, into the nuances of my typing skills, or I should say lack of them.

The piano wasn’t really our only source of music, we had the trusted old radio, and the BBC home service. It had a length of copper wire, and a metal coat hanger for an aerial, which hung from the wooden pelmet above the window. I always remember listening to ‘Two Way Family Favourites’, at Mid-day every Sunday whilst mum finished making our Sunday dinner my sisters and I would be sat round our dining table listening to the requests to our forces still stationed abroad.

Now my dad’s idea of popular music was Paul Robson singing the ‘Canoe Song’ from the film ‘Sanders of the River’, or Connie Frances’s ‘Carolina Moon’ and ‘Who’s sorry now’, constantly playing on our old gramophone from those 78 rpm records. He also liked Frankie Lane. At least mom was a little more modern playing Nat King Cole, Doris Day, Frank Sinatra, Peggy Lee, The Everly Brothers, Johnny Mathis, Elvis, Rickey Nelson, Jerry Lee Lewis, Buddy Holly, Gene Vincent and Cliff Richard.

I remember it was a cold wintry 4^th of February, and a Wednesday in 1959 when I came home from school to find my mom and young sisters, huddled together crying in our front parlour. I was just eight at the time and wondering what was wrong. My mom had just heard on the radio that Buddy Holly, Richie Vallens and The Big Bopper had all died in a plane crash the day before, near Clear Lake Iowa, USA. My mother loved Buddy Holly and his Music. Rock ‘n Roll and Rockabilly music was still in it’s infancy throughout the 1950’s, and the death of these up and coming popular artists was a massive blow to the genre. My mother was sad and weepy for quite a while, playing Buddy’s songs especially ‘That’ll be the Day’ and ‘Raining in my Heart’ over and over.

Today I love playing all those 1950’s and 60’s hit songs, not on 45rpm vinyl records, although I do have a retro version record and cassette player. No today it’s the modern, crackle free CD’s on my computer. I know it’s not really the same, but all those memories of yesteryear come flooding back as the music hits my aging ears. I can still picture my mother sitting in her favourite armchair, beside a glowing log fire, on a cold winters evening, knitting me yet another balaclava, and listening to her favourite music in our front parlour back on Bancroft Lane, Mansfield.

The singer/songwriter Don McLean immortalized Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and Big Bopper Richardson in the 1972 No.1 hit “American Pie,” which refers to that fateful February in 1959 as “THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED.”

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More

articles by Su DeNyme (our resident writer) & John A Elliott are available
here: https://www.nicheebookcollections.com/TC4W/ARTICLES.html

Sunday, 28 July 2024

"JUST A PILE OF DIRTY CLOTHES"

"JUST A PILE OF DIRTY CLOTHES"
(author unknown)

I walked past the dirty laundry basket yesterday, and saw my husband’s dirty work clothes on the floor right beside it. Seeing this only made me appreciate him more.

⁣

I read a post a few weeks ago about how the men in our lives tend to never be able to put their clothes after work, into the laundry basket. How they’re sometimes on the floor. ⁣

⁣

When I first saw this, I agreed. I thought to myself “oh my god THIS! It’s SO annoying!” I even showed my husband the article saying “why do you do this?!” And that’s the way I thought, until yesterday. ⁣

⁣

My husband came home from work.

Sweaty.

Dirty.

Tired.

He sat down on the floor and played with our kids, asked what was for dinner, if I needed any help, then went to take a shower.

Ten minutes later, I walked past the laundry basket, right where our washroom also is, and I see it.

The thing that would usually make me yell through the shower door.

The thing that used to be so annoying.

The thing that seems so little now, that it also seems like I was looking for a fight.

This time, I see something different. ⁣⁣

I notice the stains all over his work pa⁣nts.

I notice the dirty socks stuffed into his destroyed work boots. ⁣

I notice the sweat filled t-shirt. ⁣

⁣

The evidence of just how hard he works, is all over the clothes he left on the floor. ⁣

⁣

I looked at those dirty clothes on the floor, that I once would have started a fight over.

I picked them up, put them in the basket, and walked away. ⁣

⁣

When he got out of the shower, he noticed his dirty shoes and clothes were no longer there, and that I hadn’t said anything.

“Thank you” he said to me.

Which he had not said before, probably because I was too quick to start an argument about it. ⁣

⁣

He said “thank you for putting that away, I had a long day. I was planning to put them in the wash when I was out of the shower.”

⁣

“I know. I could see it on your clothes.”⁣ I said back.

⁣

I realized in that moment, that sometimes the little things that annoy us, can be looked at differently. ⁣

⁣

I stopped looking at it as dirty clothes on the floor, and started looking at it as proof of just how hard my husband works to provide for us and our children. ⁣

⁣The dirty boots that normally annoyed me, showed how sore his feet must be.

The sweat stained shirt showed how hot he must have been at work.

The sweaty socks showed how physically hard he works everyday.

All of it piled right by the bathroom door, showed me he couldn’t wait any longer to get out of those gross clothes.

I am grateful he left his clothes on the floor that day.

I saw him in a whole new light.

It just took me awhile to see it.

Brought to you by https://thecorner4women.com together with our sister website http://www.nicheebookcollections.com and our growing e-book library available FREE, through our Newsletter sign up page here:-
https://tc4women.nicheebookcollections.com/NEWSLETTER-EBOOK-LIBRARY-SIGNUP.html We now have over 1900 e-books on our library shelves for your reading pleasure, so do come along and check us out.
More articles by Su DeNyme (our resident writer) & John A Elliott are available here: https://www.nicheebookcollections.com/TC4W/ARTICLES.html

"TWO BASKET WEAVERS"

"TWO BASKET WEAVERS" (author unknown)

A wealthy king decided to hold a contest among two highly skilled basket weavers. Ultimately, he wanted to determine who could weave more baskets in a day. The two women would contest for the fastest weaver, with the winner to be awarded a large sum of money as a prize.

It started early in the morning, on the day of the contest, with the two women set to weave their best.

However, one of the women seemed faster than the other, and in only five hours, she had woven two baskets. Meanwhile, the other woman became jealous as she was still on her first basket.

Shorty, the king came to inspect the two busy women. And then, quite unexpectedly, he said to the faster woman.

"Your baskets are a bit smaller than the required size. You didn't follow the contest rules, therefore you must start all over again. Remember that you don't have much time left"

The jealous woman was so gladdened by what the king had said and she silently mocked the faster woman. She knew it was a great opportunity for her to win the contest.

However, the faster woman wasn't discouraged by her plight. With so much determination and commitment, she started all over again, hoping to achieve success.

By the end of the day, the two women were made to stop weaving as the contest was over. It was time to know the winner.

The other woman had excellently made ten baskets. Everyone was impressed by her skills.

But to the greatest surprise of all, the woman who was made to restart hers, had woven eleven baskets. She still won.

The king who couldn't contain his astonishment and curiosity, asked the faster woman.

"You had very limited time. Come on, tell me how you won?"

The woman smiled and said.

"Magic starts to happen once you start believing in yourself"

Many of us tend to give up when things get too hard. We allow disappointments to cripple our self esteem and kill the passion to pursue our dreams. We are afraid to start all over again as we think it's always too late. However, we need to understand that the moment we start believing in ourselves, we start creating confidence. And with confidence, we can do anything in life.

"WHEN" by Becky Hemsley

"WHEN"
by Becky Hemsley

When did we all lose the thrill

Of running full-speed down a hill

Of marvelling at daffodils

Until the sun went down?

When did we stop spending days

On grassy verges weaving braids

Of plaited, fragile daisy chains

Until we’d made a crown?

When did we begin to lose

The urge to skip and race and move

‘Til we had scuffed our favourite shoes

All in the name of fun?

When was it that we forgot

Predicting ‘loves me, loves me not’

With flowers from a wild plot

That grew beneath the sun?

And when did we begin to miss

The chance to stop and make a wish

With dandelions clocks we’d picked

That grew beneath our feet?

Well I for one do not believe

That we forgot how all that feels

But life at some point took the wheel

And freedom took back seat

It seems that it got left behind

And buried ‘neath the daily grind

But it’s still there for us to find

At any time we want

So climb a hill then run back down

Weave yourself a daisy crown

Then blow your wishes to the clouds

Because life’s too short

to stop

******

Becky Hemsley 2023

https://www.facebook.com/talkingtothewild

Stunning artwork by Lisa Aisato

'When' is part of my most recent collection https://a.co/d/5tiaf9c

"SHARING CORN"

"SHARING CORN"
(author unknown)

There was a farmer who grew excellent quality corn. Every year he won the award for the best grown corn. One year a newspaper reporter interviewed him and learned something interesting about how he grew it. The reporter discovered that the farmer shared his seed corn with his neighbour's. “How can you afford to share your best seed corn with your neighbour's when they are entering corn in competition with yours each year?” the reporter asked.

“Why sir,” said the farmer, “Didn’t you know? The wind picks up pollen from the ripening corn and swirls it from field to field. If my neighbour's grow inferior corn, cross-pollination will steadily degrade the quality of my corn.

If I am to grow good corn, I must help my neighbours grow good corn.”

So is with our lives... Those who want to live meaningfully and well must help enrich the lives of others, for the value of a life is measured by the lives it touches.

And those who choose to be happy must help others find happiness, for the welfare of each is bound up with the welfare of all...

"THE HAND SHAKE" by Mary O’Brien

"THE HAND SHAKE"

by Mary O’Brien ©

He thrust his hand out boldly, with a smile upon his face,

Then glancing down he pulled it back, in shame and half disgrace.

‘Sorry love my hand is way too dirty, to shake the likes of yours,

‘There’s grease and dirt and god knows what, on my rough old paws.’

His smile just briefly faded, as he wiped them on his shirt,

‘Mate won’t bother me’ I quickly said, ‘it’s just a bit of dirt’.

I wonder did he even see, the story in his hand,

All the blisters, cuts and bruises, from him working on the land.

The bent and broken finger, from when the micky hit the gate,

The cracked and blackened fingernail, when he held a chisel for a mate.

He may have seen those battle scars, but did he see the rest?

The story of his life laid there, a toiler of the best.

Those hands have cut the mulga, put out the licks and block,

And from a muddy dam, they have pulled the dying stock.

They guide the header through the crop, over hectares ripe and gold,

Then into church on Sunday, his partners’ hand they hold.

Embedded with black diesel grease, and burrs from woolly sheep,

They brush the frost off windscreens, as he starts while others sleep.

His hands have tied the tricky knots, to hold the precious load,

Then they steer the massive road train, as it rumbles down the road.

They proudly taught his son just how, to hold that cricket bat,

They clean the trough, shoe the horse, and help a lady change a flat.

Leather they have polished, then tightened up the girth,

They gentle break the yearling colt, and draw mud maps in the dirt.

These hands have bled so many times; he scarcely feels the pain,

They pass the footy, turn the snags, and check the gauge for rain.

That hand has locked in contracts; with this hand, he gives his word,

They have shovelled mud around the wheels, and have saved a baby bird.

Hands that wave his hat about, pushing weaners up the race,

They’ve held a tiny tea-set cup, to see the smile upon her face.

Hands that relocate a brown snake, when it somehow gets inside,

They have evacuated green frogs, and buried Fluffy when she died.

Those hands have cracked a stock whip, and dressed a fly blown sheep,

They rub his aching back, as he dreams about some sleep.

Tough hands that dug the postholes, and welded up the gate,

They’ve rolled a fleece, cheered his team, and passed a cold one to a mate.

They’ve wiped the sweat, chased the flies, and even broken up a fight,

They tap the calculator buttons, in his office late at night.

Milking cows, digging grids, and carrying bags of grain.

He has pressed those hands together, as he muttered prayers for rain.

They fix the pump, start the siphons, and scratch his troubled head,

And then they rub his weary eyes, as he finally heads to bed.

These hands untangle Christmas lights; kids and tinsel all around,

They check the crop has sprouted, as they scratch into the ground.

They tend the vines, they pick the fruit, they crush the sweetest cane,

Then they hold a tiny pushbike seat, and cradle children in their pain.

Hands that lay a wreath for granddad, as the haunting Last Post plays,

They wrap around his family, as he waits for better days.

With these hands he fought the bush-fire, to save his neighbours’ crop,

They have tied his daughter’s laces, and thrown hay bales up on top.

Those hands have fixed the windmill, and split the ironbark log,

They’ve shorn the rams, checked the crops, and cupped water for his dog.

To safety, they have pulled him, up the stockyard rail,

And they wiped away his silent tears, when the crop got smashed with hail.

He looked a little ill at ease, as he stood there in the yard,

Especially when I grabbed his hand, and shook it long and hard.

I hope he understood, that I saw much more than grime,

‘Mate, it’s just a bit of dirt’, I uttered one more time.

Looking past the grease and dirt; I see his joy, his pain, his tears,

If you’re watching with your heart, you see the story of his years.

Saturday, 27 July 2024

"THE WOMAN AND THE BEES" by Chima_Dickson Official

"THE WOMAN AND THE BEES"

by Chima_Dickson Official

There was a beautiful young woman who made friends with a colony of bees. She visited the beehive in the woods everyday, and she offered her bee friends sugar and flowers filled with delicious nectar.

The bees loved her very much and loved to play with her. They would hover around her, kiss her and tell her how she brightened up their day. They deeply appreciated her kindness and generosity.

One evening, the woman was walking through the woods when a hungry and ferocious leopard attacked her. She froze for a second, paralysed with fear and unable to run. Her heart pounded heavily, her palms sweaty, and she began to tremble from head to foot.

With a quavering voice, she pleaded,

"Please, don't kill me! I am an innocent bride who is about to be married to a wealthy sailor. Please, let me go!"

However, the hungry leopard growled and snarled at her so viciously,

"Shut your mouth, you coward! I am going to kill you and eat your flesh! I will tear you apart and fill my hungry stomach!"

A shiver of horror ran through the woman and filled all her bones with fright, she thought she would die right there. Suddenly, the thought of her bee friends crossed her mind. At once, an idea struck her, and she said to the leopard,

"Listen, I am a cursed girl with a very bitter blood. My blood tastes exactly like coffee, making my flesh bitter too. You won't enjoy eating me. But if you take me to the beehive, the bees can give you some honey which can make my blood tasty and sweet."

The leopard thought for a moment, then grunted impatiently in agreement,

"Alright, then! Now, let's go and get some honey. I can't wait to fill my stomach!"

The leopard grabbed the woman and began pulling her towards the beehive which was a short distance away. However, upon getting there, the woman screamed for help, calling out her bee friends.

Like the wind, all the bees burst out from their hive and attacked the leopard, biting and stinging it mercilessly, until it cried and ran far away.

Having defeated the ferocious leopard, the bees smiled at the woman and said,

"This is the only way we can pay for your kindness towards us. We love you, and we wish you a very happy married life. We will miss you so much when you finally go live with your husband."

Upon saying that, the bees accompanied her back to her village and bid her farewell. The leopard on the other hand, was able to heal it's wounds from the bee stings. However, the stings had formed black spots all over it's skin which never went away.

MORAL LESSON:

When you do good for others, you might not be rewarded for your actions immediately, but you would surely receive it someday. Be kind to all people, share love with everyone and forgive your enemies. It can lead to positive outcomes and rewards in the future.