A Journey

This day . February 3rd . Last year . 2020

I was getting mother out of her car & into her home.
 
After spending days in Life Care rehabilitation for her 2nd hip break, December 3rd 2019.

What a year this has been.  But we made it . No fan fare today.  But could not let this day pass without so much thankfulness that I got her home.  And thanks with prayers to God for her safety.
❤❤❤

Lessons TAUGHT A Teacher from a STUDENT

* Worth the Read *

DO NOT DELETE 

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***As you can tell I received this this am in an e-mail and I
must admit I’ve never seen or read it,,,so instead of forwarding
it to my contacts – I’m posting for all who can to read & see
and hopefully they will forward it to.
BELOW is what I received.***
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This has been around before; but, it’s so touching I just had to send it around again.      Anne
 
Subject:  DO NOT DELETE, RETURN IF YOU CAN’T FORWARD!!!!
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This is a true story and it will give you the chills.

This is a beautiful and touching story of love and perseverance. Well
worth the read.

At the prodding of my friends I am writing this story. My name is Mildred Honor and I am a former elementary school music teacher from DesMoines, Iowa .

 

 

I have always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons – something I have done for over 30 years.

During those years I found that children have many levels of musicalability, and even though I have never had the pleasure of having a prodigy, I have taught some very talented students.

However, I have also had my share of what I call ‘musically challenged’
pupils – one such pupil being Robby.

Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a single mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I prefer that students (especially boys) begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby. But Robby said that it had always been his mother’s  dream to hear him play the piano, so I took him as a student.

Well, Robby began his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought itwas a hopeless endeavor. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm needed to excel.  But he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary piano pieces that I require all my students
to learn.  Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and tried to encourage him. 
At the end of each weekly lesson he would always say ‘My mom’s going to hear me play someday’.  But to me, it seemed hopeless, he just did not have any inborn  ability.

I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled, but never dropped in.

Then one day Robby stopped coming for his
lessons. I thought about calling him, but assumed that because of his lack of ability he had decided to pursue something else. I was also glad that he had stopped coming – he was a bad advertisement for my teaching!

Several weeks later I mailed a flyer recital to the students’ homes. To my surprise, Robby (who had received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and that because he had dropped out, he really did not qualify. 

 
He told me that his mother had been sick and unable to take him to his piano lessons, but that he had been practicing. ‘Please Miss Honor, I’ve just got to play’ he insisted. I don’t know what led me to allow him to play in the recital – perhaps it was his insistence or maybe something inside of me saying that it would be all right.

The night of the recital came and the high school  gymnasium was packed with parents, relatives and friends. I put Robby last in the program, just before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he might do would come at the end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through my ‘curtain closer’.

Well, the recital went off without a hitch, the students had been practicing and it showed. Then Robby came up on the stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked as though he had run an egg beaterthrough it.  ‘Why wasn’t he dressed up like the other students?’  I thought. ‘Why didn’t his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special night?’
Robby pulled out the piano bench, and I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen to play Mozart’s Concerto No. 21 in C Major. I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on the keys, they even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo to fortissimo, from allegro to virtuoso; his suspended chords that Mozart demands were magnificent!  


Never had I heard Mozart played so well by anyone his age.

After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo, and everyone was on their feet in wild applause!  Overcome and in tears, I ran up onstage and put my arms around Robby in joy.  ‘I have never heard you playlike that Robby, how did you do it?  
‘  Through the microphone Robbyexplained: ‘Well, Miss Honor …. remember I told you that my mom was sick? Well, she actually had cancer and passed away this morning. And well …… she was born deaf, so tonight was the first time she had ever heard me play, and I wanted to make it special.’

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into foster care, I noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy. I thought to myself then how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil.

No, I have never had a prodigy, but that night I became a prodigy ……. of Robby.  He was the teacher and I was the pupil, for he had taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself, and maybe
even taking a chance on someone and you didn’t know why.

Robby was killed years later in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P.Murray Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April, 1995.

 

And now, a footnote to the story. If you are thinking about forwarding this message, you are probably wondering which people on your address list aren’t the ‘appropriate’ ones to receive this type of message.  The person who sent  this to you believes that we can all make a difference!
So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice. Do we act with compassion or do we pass up that opportunity and leave the world a bit colder in the process?

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*** I hope you enjoyed the read and got something from it! ***
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Mother bear kills cub and then itself

The Chinese media has reported on an extraordinary account of a mother bear saving her cub from a life of torture by strangling it and then killing itself.

The bears were kept in a farm located in a remote area in the North-West of China. The bears on the farm had their gall bladders milked daily for ‘bear bile,’ which is used as a remedy in Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM).

It was reported that the bears are kept in tiny cages known as ‘crush cages’, as the bears have no room to manoeuvre and are literally crushed.

The bile is harvested by making a permanent hole or fistula in the bears’ abdomen and gall bladder.

As the hole is never closed, the animals are suspect to various infections and diseases including tumours, cancers and death from peritonitis.

The bears are fitted with an iron vest, as they often try to kill themselves by hitting their stomach as they are unable to bear the pain.

A person who was on the farm in place of a friend witnessed the procedures and told Reminbao.com that they were inhumane.

The witness also claimed that a mother bear broke out its cage when it heard its cub howl in fear before a worker punctured its stomach to milk the bile.

The workers ran away in fear when they saw the mother bear rushing to its cub’s side.

Unable to free the cub from its restraints, the mother hugged the cub and eventually strangled it.

It then dropped the cub and ran head-first into a wall, killing itself.

Many TCM practitioners have denounced the use of bear bile in their treatment as there are cheaper herbs and synthetics that can be used in its place.

Bear bile is traditionally used to remove ‘heat’ from the body as well as treat high fever, liver ailments and sore eyes.

MORE on this story & Pictures can be found     HERE

Happy Mothers Day

 

 MY Mother

 

my MOTHER

Is gentle and kind.
She’s warm and helpful
and my best friend.

It took me awhile to
realize, you see,
Just how much I mean to her,
and her to me.
No one can replace her,
or fill the shoes she wears.

She calls me her ­
“Little Girl”,
but that’s ok;
There’s no better way to show
how she cares.
We’ve been shopping, riding or
having a ‘cocktail’ coffee break,
So many miles now separate;
we must dream of yesterdays.
She worries about me ­
as most mothers do;
So far away it’s hard to
express or convey
How much I Love her:
Today and Always.

 

Deborah Register©