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Silverfoxesclub-digest In this issue:
-Excellent post (+ response)
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Subject: Excellent post
Mike, thank you for your excellent post, and I think it gives the readers
a very good understanding of what e-mail is like for a blind person. I
think that, with your sensitivity, your blind friend was "short sighted"
as obviously there was a reason for your discontent with a post. I
usually don't comment on posts, because I miss the graphics and the
smilies, and often things are said in jest, and I can't tell. That is why
spoken voices are so important to me, and why I enjoy speaking to people I
e-mail with, because it adds a dimension of reality. I remember the
conversation I had with our Ben Boxer: he has a beautiful speaking voice,
and sounds much younger than he is!
But I have no doubt that the fellow posting did not understand I was
blind, and there are no hard feelings: just a hard cock from time to time.
Hugs,
Subject: Re: Excellent post
(Quotes removed for brevity's sake)...
You know, I've known Ben Boxer for a while now but I don't believe I've
ever spoken to him. Strange huh? I don't know if he even realizes how long
he and I have corrosponded. I've had to switch internet services so
frequently that he probably doesn't even remember me, but, what can you do?
As for the situation with my old friend. I don't hold it against him at all,
I understand that because of his unique situation he misunderstood and I let
it go at that. I wish I could say the same for our so called friends, who
felt that I overreacted and that because Austin wasn't offended I had no
right to be. I couldn't seem to get through to them that it would be
difficult for Austin to be offended because he could not see what it was he
should be offended by. I tried to explain it to him but you know, the truth
is, I think he was very lonely and simply was willing to say the heck with
it in order to keep the friends he had. He was very young and still had not
gotten to the point where he understood that it's the quality of friendship,
not the quantity, that matters the most. I guess he'd be in his mid twenties
by now but I haven't heard from him in a very long time.
As for my understanding of persons with disabilities, that comes from
various different angles. I have my own crosses to bear in life and am
handicapped in several ways, in the past I've worked with the disabled in a
volunteer organization called ISP (Industry Serving People) where we taught
disabled folks to do certain jobs so they could work and help themselves
feel more useful in life. The part where I worked, we taught the mentally
disabled how to make things with plexiglass (napkin holders, sugar
canisters, paper weights and so forth) for restaurants, hotels and offices.
I studied psychology in college as my major for four years with plans on
going into the field of therapy, after finishing I decided to go for my
graduates degree and went to Duke where I took on the uncommon field of
Parapsychology. I decided that since I had always had an interest in the
unexplained that this would be an interesting field to delve into. With all
that under my belt, I never hung out a shingle or have even worked in the
field. I'm an artist now, which is something I've always done but never
applied myself to as a career choice. Funny how things sneak up on you and
get you when you're unaware, isn't it?
Well, keep on posting, don't let life's booby traps keep you from dancing
through the fields. You don't need to worry about misunderstanding postings
so long as you're aware of the possability and everyone else remains aware
of the challnges you're faced with, it should all work out fine.
Hugs,
Subject: Queer as folk - UK version
Hi list,
Cheers,
Headline:
Text:
A soft mist started falling as moment of silence
began at 7:55 a.m., creating a brilliant rainbow over
Ford Island. It lasted until the American flag was
raised five minutes later over the gleaming white
USS Arizona Memorial during the Navy's annual
commemorative ceremony.
``Why do we remember Pearl Harbor above and
beyond all others?'' asked Adm. Dennis Blair,
commander of the U.S. Pacific Command. ``In part,
because we considered it an act of treachery.
``But did we think we defined the rules by which
others act? Did we think we could never be hit at
home? This was one of the great lessons of Pearl
Harbor to Americans.''
About 240 survivors, veterans, dignitaries, military
officials and guests attended the services on the
memorial that straddles the battleship sunk in the
attack, a tomb for about 1,000 of its crewmen.
The surprise attack on Pearl Harbor and other
military bases on Oahu lasted two hours. The
Japanese military sank or heavily damaged 21 ships,
destroyed or damaged 323 aircraft, killed 2,388
people and wounded 1,178.
Subject: Para Psychology.
I only had two things happen to me that were very strange and I can't
explain. The first was I had reached the end of my tether, and quit my
job because things weren't going well. I happened to turn on the radio
and heard an advertisement for a law firm working with job discrimination.
Out of desperation, I contacted the firm, and signed a contract with a
lawyer, who was a tremendous help to me. What was strange is that I knew
nothing about him, and that I happened to hear the announcement at that
split second.
The second was weird. My mother was in a nursing home, and had lost the
ability to speak coherently. I had not visited in a while because it was
hard to get a ride up there. One night, my aunt came to me in a dream (my
mother's sister) and said in the German dialect we spoke at home, (can't
spell very well) "Dein mutter gay cumen shnel tsu got" which means your
mother is going to die (come to god) soon. Something told me I had to
visit her, and I made my Aunts go with me. We visited her and my mother
died about a half hour after we left.
But I did not know one could major in para psychology, and I don't know if
those things are para psychology. Ben, have you ever had any strange
feelings or knowledge about events? Any of the rest of you?
Bob and Harley
On Thu, 7 Dec 2000, Digital Artistry wrote:
I took on the uncommon field of Parapsychology.
Subject: Re: Para Psychology
- ----- Original Message ----
Subject: Para Psychology.
Ben, have you ever had any strange
feelings or knowledge about events?
Bob and Harley
Well, Bob, you ask about me having off-the-wall parapsychological
experiences? Ha! Let us hope you do not regret having opened up MY can of
worms on the subject.
The answer, oh, yes, brother, oh, yes!
Parapsychology is defined as the study of the evidence for psychological
phenomena, such as
telepathy, clairvoyance, and psychokinesis, that are inexplicable by
science.
I have written a couple of stories about such experiences on my personal
site in one of my other names. Perhaps you can visit there and your computer
voice can read them to you. One is called The Man in the Rainbow about an
adventure when I survived a plane crash in South America years ago.
Another is a sort of ghost story that happened when I was in the U.S. Army.
Mystery of the Manse.
There is a third one also, much longer than those two, that happened to me
in Mexico. It is a series of such experiences called The Aztec Gypsy.
Oddly, the subject of such things came up just yesterday in my e-mail
correspondence with a friend in Europe. He has read the above stories and
asked if there were more. I wrote him briefly about another one. Whether
these were hallucinations or whatever, they all seemed very real at the
time, and so many things were uncovered that I accept them as they are,
without embellishment or explanation.
Here is what I wrote to my friend last night:
A prominent one occurred after I found my mother when I was17 after having
been kidnapped and taken away from her at the age of 4. I knew little of her
family or life at the time. In her large, old house, she and I had been
talking in her bedroom late one night until I left her to retire. I had to
walk along a long, dark hallway to my own room.
In the middle of the hallway, a double stairway from the front of the house
and the back met in the middle. Coming up from the front was a beautiful
young woman stylishly dressed in a fur-trimmed winter coat. It sruck me as
odd, for this was in midsummer. When she reached the top of the
stairs, she turned toward my mother's room and caught sight of me. There was
a flicker of recognition on her part, and she lifted her arms as if to
embrace me. She spoke not a word, but she smiled. Her beauty was
breathtaking, but something about the situation struck terror into my heart.
I turned and ran back into my mother's room.
My mother was sitting straight up in bed, staring at me with her large,
luminous eyes. (There are pix of my mother on the Web. Sorry you can't see them,
Bob.)
When I dashed into the room with fear written across my face, she said at
once, "You have seen my sister! I knew she would come! She loved you so
much!"
Together, we went back into the hallway, but the lady was gone. My mother
went at once to a closet and pulled from a box a portrait of her sister, of
whom I had no recollection. It was the lady I had seen in the hallway,
wearing the same coat, the same hat, in the last portrait taken before she
died.
Then my mother told me this story: She said that my aunt had loved me dearly
when I was a child (I
was the first nephew/grandson in the family) and had suffered terribly when
I was stolen away. When It became clear that I was probably gone forever, my
clothing was collected and placed in a box to be destroyed as too many
painful memories were attached to them, but my aunt became greatly agitated
and insisted that the box be placed under her bed instead.
"If we throw them away, he will never come home," she said. "If I have them,
we will see him again."
She was a girl of 16 at the time. The box remained under her bed until she
died. (That is another tragic story.)
On the day she was buried, the box of my clothing mysteriously disappeared.
This was a double calamity. My beautiful aunt, once a glamorous model, was
dead, and the family, who had come to believe with her that if my clothes
were preserved, I would someday come home again, were further devastated by
what they considered the bell also tolling for me.
A year later, after a series of circumstances (another story) leading to a
dangerous escape, I
appeared at my mother's door unannounced in the middle of the night, after
an absence of 13 years. I was 17. I had come home at last.
Thus, my mother and I were convinced that my aunt had come to see me again,
from somewhere in
the ether, I suppose, and I had turned tail and run from her!
That troubled me until one night several years later, on a ship in the
Arabian Sea, I awoke in my
stateroom in terrible pain. I had developed a boil on the end of my nose,
and there was no ship's doctor to lance it. The room was relatively dark,
but I felt something working on my nose. I fancied I saw long, slim fingers
with brightly painted nails pressing around the boil until it burst with a
sharp pain and I fell asleep.
The next morning, the boil was gone, leaving
no trace of its having been there.
I wrote to my mother about it when I got to Ceylon (now known as Sri Lanka).
She wrote back and told me that my experience had given her peace because
when I was a little boy, I had been prone to boils, and my aunt, whose long,
tapered fingers had been featured in many ads for gloves and piano-playing
and nail polish, had often attacked my boils with her sharp, red nails and
given me relief.
The news made me feel peaceful, too, as though my
aunt had come to me again, there in the Arabian Sea, and this time I had not
turned away.
By the way, a few years after I found my mother, the mystery of my vanished
box of clothing was cleared up, too. My aunt had been involved in a messy
divorce from a man she truly loved. He had
left her for his teenage mistress. The shock literally killed her. The old
family doctor wrote "death by broken heart" on her death certificate. She
had just turned 29.
When my aunt suddenly died, her ex-husband crept into the house while the
family was at her funeral and ransacked her room for anything he thought
might be of value. Among the items he stole was the sealed box containing
the clothes I had left behind when I disappeared those long years before.
They had been the family's only hope that I would ever return.
The bastard confessed to this when he himself lay dying, saying that in a
rage he had burned the clothes and everything he had stolen because they
were of no value to him.
My story does not quite end there. About three years ago I was visiting my
mother, who is now a lively and mentally sound 86, and we had a conversation
about these long-past events. In the course of our talk, we narrowed down
some dates, and to our mutual great surprise, it turned out that the day in
my teens when I had found out that my mother was still alive -- not dead as
I had been told -- the day I had therefore decided that at whatever cost I
would find her and go home again, was the very day when my dear aunt was
buried and my clothes were stolen from beneath her bed where they had been
stored for all those years since I had vanished on the street.
The family legend was that I would return if those little sunsuits and
kiddie shoes were kept safe. On the day they were stolen, I was given the
information that would enable me to do so within a year. I was 16, the same
age as my aunt when
she made that prediction and hid the clothes away.
Subject: Clinton says he was pushed
Ben Boxer notes: I still say if Bill Clinton had
gone ahead and issued the Executive Order he
promised us before his election, things would be
different in the country today. Harry Truman
thumbed his nose at Congress and at least 64
percent of the population when he signed the
Executive Order integrating African-Americans
with Caucasians in the armed forces. And he still
won the election of 1948 later in the year.
What's right is right, and in U.S.A. culture it is
right for all us to travel in the same boat. That
includes the military and, of course, the Boy
Scouts.
Headline:
Text:
Subject: [Fwd: The TILT]
A family took their frail, elderly mother to a nursing home and left her,
hoping she would be well cared for.
The next morning, the nurses bathed her, fed her a tasty breakfast, and set
her in a chair at a window overlooking a lovely flower garden.
She seemed okay, but after a while she slowly started to tilt sideways in her
chair. Two attentive nurses immediately rushed up to catch her and
straighten her up.
Again she seemed okay, but after a while she slowly started to tilt over to
her other side. The nurses rushed back and once more brought her back
upright.
This went on all morning.
Later, the family arrived to see how the old woman was adjusting to her new
home.
"So Ma, how is it here? Are they treating you all right?"
"It's pretty nice," she replied. "Except they won't let me fart."
------------------------------
End of silverfoxesclub-digest V1 #69
|
developed a few days
back, and it was said that the characters were all rather twinky with the
exception of one of Stuart's clients, Martin. Late forties, a bit plump,
married, kids (and a caved in roof in the script). For those who are
interested, here's a grab of him off my QAF tapes. Not particularly good
quality but it's the best I can do.