LUKY;
MUCH TO MY SURPRISE AND DELIGHT, MY SON MANAGED TO GET JOBS FOR HIMSELF AND HIS SISTER DURING THE CHRISTMAS RUSH AT A LOCAL DEPARTMENT STORE.
She started before him, because he was still writing exams.
It was with a strange feeling that I walked into the shop at 5pm on her first working day.
She caught sight of me before I recognized her - small wonder, dressed as she was in a monstrous brick-red overall. It did nothing for her looks, being big enough for two of her.
My heart contracted. Here was my first little birdie flying out of the nest, and look what they'd done to her.
Yet what a smile she gave me.
Meal check
"You're looking very efficient in that smart overall", I lied, trying to make it sound sincere.
After all, why prick the bubble of her obvious enjoyment? "What did you have for lunch?"
"They've got a cooked lunch here in the cafeteria", she replied evasively. "Very nice; only thirty-five cents".
She's her father's daughter all right when it comes to throwing red herrings in my path, but I'm wide awake: "In that case, why did you buy a chocolate and an apple instead?"
"Oh, Ma! Well, I had a chocolate and a cold drink."
"As from tomorrow, you have your proper cooked lunch here. They can take the thirty-five cents off your earnings."
"What, and deplete my pay packet? Not on your life. Besides, you know Daddy hates us to get anything on account."
Everything's fine
The only time my children's parents are ever quoted is when they've said something to suit their offspring.
"Well," I went on, "I suppose your father will have to give you the thirty-five cents. How did the work go?"
"Oh, it's lovely! I love the staff, I love the customers. You know, if they couldn't afford to pay me, I'd work for nothing."
Skeptically, I commented: "That must be why you're so flush with your cash."
All the same, I could share her feeling. I've always loved working with the public myself.
"If you're ever tempted to be rude to someone", I said, "remind yourself that he might just be a king in disguise - or a television talent scout."
"That's not necessary", she answered. "I love them all. And they're all nice to me!"
She indicated the merchandise arrayed on her counter with an air as proprietary as it was proud.
"Can't I sell you anything?"
"I don't smoke, thanks", I replied, eyeing the pipes and tobacco. "Besides, I'm a miser - like you. I'm off now, but I'll be parked near the entrance. Bye."
Sales talk
"Oh, just a minute", she called after me in a routine kind of voice I'd never heard her use before.
"On Friday afternoon at 4pm Father Christmas, Mickey Mouse and Dumbo will be visiting the shop.
They'll be giving out free toys, sweets and balloons. Bring your children."
"I'll do that", I promised, giggling all the way back to my car, though not in any derisive way.
Nobody ever told me one could feel so proud of a daughter who works in gents' sundries in the local department store.
Catherine Nicolette
Ah yes. My first job. At age seventeen, I was really surprised that Mom thought I looked smart.
I had seen my reflection in the department store mirror, and suffice it to say that no-one was ever going to sing 'You're Beautiful, it's true' when faced with the brick-red overall monstrosity.
It flapped around my middle every time I turned around, and I had to pin up the cuffs which - left untended - reached long past my extended fingertips.
Anyhow, I wasn't going to disillusion Mom as regards my appearance; if I looked good, well that was not only a blessing - it was a departmental miracle.
Map of Africa
I had landed in the gents department, and busily sold wallets with choices of the map of Africa, rhinoceros themes or giraffes loping across the bushveld on them.
I enjoyed work from day one; even if some days later I first learned the wisdom of Mom's advice to keep my opinion firmly to myself when dealing with others.
Although a talent scout never came my way.
Champagne flutes and whisky tumblers
I graduated from gents' sundries to glassware; unpacking champagne flutes and whisky tumblers on to glass shelves, and finding out what a truly aching back and painful arches meant.
I was then promoted to security guard on Christmas Eve at the costume jewellery store.
All I remember of my security guard time was praying ardently to Divine Providence not to let anyone try to pinch any items on my shift.
I could not bear the thought of having to turn anyone in for shoplifting on the Eve before the Lord's Birthday; it somehow did Not Seem Right.
Added to which I seriously doubted my ability to tackle customers from the Free State, celebrated as it is for its well built rugby player population
I spent my shift sweating anxiously at the thought of having to run after a shoplifter.
I was sure I'd never catch up to them - my brick red overall would trip me up first ...
Thankfully no one pinched.
Redundant
I was outraged in New Year's week to find that after all my loyal and hard work, my holiday job had been made redundant.
"Sorry luv", I was told, "Temps only work for a coupla weeks when we have the Christmas rush, no call for ya now."
I was disgruntled until I landed a job as relief operator at the [now] old-fashioned switchboard.
Anyone who had the fortune to watch 'Nommer Asseblief" many years ago will appreciate the pivotal role the switchboard operator had.
I was useless at it, though. I disgraced myself by panicking when the lights lit up all over the board.
On my third day as relief operator, I efficiently disconnected the Head Boss from a very important consultation with Management.
The next day I was gently referred to work as assistant clerk and typist, where I revelled in paperwork, filing cabinets. office gossip and the joys of overboiled tea.
I worked there until I went off to University. That is another story ...
Vintage
I heard the other day that anyone from the eighties is now considered 'vintage'.
I bashfully eschewed imparting the information that my first workdays were pre-vintage; the seventies.
They were such fun...
Image by Catherine Nicolette
LUKY;
I DON'T KNOW WHETHER IT'S THE SAME WHERE YOU'RE LIVING, BUT I OFTEN SAW POSTERS WARNING PEOPLE NOT TO HAVE BIG FAMILIES.
Perhaps I'm unduly sensitive, but I take exception to posters showing hordes of neglected-looking children and implying they're the victims of parents who lack a sense of responsibility.
Has it occurred to those disseminating the posters that some of us might like to have big families?
Why try and shame us out of that perfectly natural desire?
Old-time picture
When I went for my smallpox injection before going overseas, I saw a large poster on the clinic wall promoting family planning. It showed an old family photograph, taken I suppose some seventy years ago.
To me it looked terribly sweet: father, mother and eight or nine youngsters aged from two to twenty. It was, however, meant to serve as a grim warning.
There was also a photograph of an attractive young couple playing with their children in a playground.
The caption pointed out that they only had two children, not because of God or nature or natural birth control, but because the wife regularly paid a visit to the outpatients clinic of a hospital for her supply of contraceptives.
Sarcasm regretted
I was up in arms at once. As the nurse pulled back my sleeve, I sweetly offered to supply a more recent photo of a large family for her art gallery - my own family. "Maybe you could use that for your awful warning", I suggested.
She smiled uncertainly and I felt instantly ashamed. Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, after all.
However, my shame was shortlived. Reading a magazine on the plane to my destination, I came across an article entitled "Your child costs R60 000".
I boiled over that article. For goodness' sake, can you work out the worth of your child in rands and cents? If not, why work out its cost?
More than we do
Besides, when I read how the R60 000 was made up, it soon became evident that I spend a lot less than that on my kids; we just didn't earn that kind of money, and there's nothing healthier for a child than to have to do without certain things in life, provided he receives the necessities and a lot of love.
But I can see how a struggling young couple could be frightened silly reading that article. No wonder contraception plays such a large role in people's lives.
It's your decision
So do I feel everyone should have a large family? On the contrary. Just as the boat was missed with sterilisation programmes, so would anyone who veered the other way. The ultimate decision as to the size of a family rests with the parents concerned.
Moreover, health authorities, an intelligent mother or an understanding doctor should be the people to approach for advice on one's family planning.
But why can't natural ways of family planning be offered like the Billings method, instead of merely supplying contraceptives paid for by the taxpayer's money?
There are thousands of single or widowed people leading celibate lives, no matter what the media tell you to the contrary. Are married couples deemed incapable of making a sacrifice?
Catherine Nicolette
Having grown up in a large family, I can attest to the distinct benefit thereof.
There is always at least one of your siblings who will talk to you; it is possible to fall out with five siblings.
The full six I never yet managed.
Family Reunion
My cousin who is an inveterate party thrower had a family get together last year.
The family count was as follows; Auntie Elly and Uncle Johnny had five children.
Uncle Josje and Auntie Bren had five.
Uncle Roks and Auntie Mieks had three children, while we Whittles number seven [six on earth, one in heaven].
Add to the party number the in-laws and fiancées and the get together [with the addition of many grandchildren] was a hectic event.
There were people everywhere. I kid you not.
It was the best night ever.
We celebrated with adult relatives whom we have known from the moment of the exciting news of their impending arrival, the nine months of which were counted until the great event occurred.
That is a bond like no other.
Truly a reunion to remember.
Joyous Event
I thus have openhearted acceptance of big families.
The introduction of a new baby to our community is a joyous blessing.
Notwithstanding this optimistic viewpoint, many find themselves unable to support large families today due to the constraints of a stretched economic climate.
Spacing children evenly according to economic ability is a responsible attitude.
Contraception
I am somewhat hesitant, however, about forms of contraception which can reportedly prove injurious to the woman.
Birth control pills can reportedly have side effects such as blood clots, heart attack, high blood pressure and stroke. [1]
The risk is held to be low, but it is tragic when a nineteen year old has a stroke and can only speak with the left side of her mouth while her right arm and legs flop uselessly at her side.
Depo Provera may reportedly result in loss of significant bone mineral density, increasing the risk of osteoporosis. [2]
Depo-Provera may allegedly also have an abortifacient effect [prevention of the implantation of an already conceived child]. [3]
The Mirena Coil reportedly has the risk of Organ Perforation, where the device perforates or penetrates the organ's walls. [4]
Natural Family Planning
So what is the answer? Responsible spacing of children is essential for a struggling couple, so they may have peace of mind.
Then when their personal bundle of joy comes along, they will know they can care for the little one.
Natural methods of responsible family planning can be used.
These methods are reportedly chemical free and internal device free..
More information can be found at the link below. [5] & [6]
Ovulation Home Tests can prove helpful. [7]
The Billings Method has been used by many. [8]
So if you want to space your family, why not consider the natural options?
Your health is your wealth ...
[1] Medline Plus; Birth Control Pills - Overview, Alleged News
http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/007460.htm
[2] Web MD; Birth Control and Depo-Provera, Alleged News
http://www.webmd.com/sex/birth-control/birth-control-depo-provera
[3] Depo-Provera - Human Life International - Alleged News
www.hli.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/PLTP-Depro-Provera-Inject... · PDF file
[4] Mirena IUD Organ Perforation, Alleged News
http://www.drugdangers.com/mirena/organ-perforation.htm
[5] FPA; Natural Family Planning, Alleged News
http://www.fpa.org.uk/contraception-help/natural-family-planning
[6] Fertility Awareness; Natural Family Planning (NFP), Alleged News
http://americanpregnancy.org/preventing-pregnancy/natural-family-planning/
[7] Medline Plus; Ovulation Home Tests, Alleged News
http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/007062.htm
[8] Billings Method, Alleged News
http://www.thebillingsovulationmethod.org/
With thanks to Nlm.nih.gov/ WebMD/ Hli.org/ Drugdangers.com/ Fpa.org.uk/ Americanpregnancy.org/ thebillingsovulation ethod.org
LUKY
ONE OF THE MOST DIFFICULT THINGS IN THE WORLD FOR PARENTS TO ACCEPT IS THAT THEIR CHILD HAS A DISABILITY, EITHER PHYSICALLY OR MENTALLY.
When they are confronted with the knowledge that this child is not like other children, they may find themselves incapable of bearing this unexpected burden.
"Why me?" they ask, caught completely off guard. "What have I ever done to deserve such sorrow? Why should my child be blind or deaf, or paralysed, or mentally disabled?
"I could have borne any other affliction on his behalf, but to think that he will never be able to see (or hear, or move, or understand)! Oh, I can't stand it!"
I've got news for you.
There is no limit to the amount of heartache you can stand if you love your child.
What may prove to be truly intolerable will be the interference of smug outsiders.
"Handicapped? Isn't that caused by the parents being drunk when they conceived it?"
"No, I never heard that. But I heard that a child can be handicapped if its mother tries to have an abortion."
Of course the families on both parents' sides have to add their contribution:
"Nothing like that has ever happened in our family", both sets say. "It must have come from his (her) side."
These and similar views, as unscientific as they are uncharitable, should not be brooded upon.
The child's handicap is no fault of either parent or family.
Neighbours can drive you distracted when your child has a disability.
"He can't sit yet? Good grief, my niece is six weeks younger than him, and she's walking all over the house. I'm sure you're not feeding him properly. Have you tried giving him a tonic?"
You will notice that such neighbourly friends talk like this only when father is away at work, because father, more knowledgeable than his wife, avoids such people.
Parents of disabled children should consult reputable specialists. Give the best care you can give following their guidance.
Keep your child at home with you as long as your maternal intuition tells you that this is good for him.
God gave him to you, not to those who say: "Put the child in a home and forget you ever had him", or "Don't be selfish. Let him go. Think of your other children."
If you follow the first advice you'll very likely end up with attacks of migraine for the rest of your life, because nature has a nasty, subtle way of revenging itself upon those who violate it.
The people who tell you you are being selfish to keep your child should get their priorities straight. It is never selfish to care for your own offspring; on the contrary, it is the right thing to do.
And why deny your other children a chance to love and spoil their disabled brother or sister? Children thrive on helping others.
When you have taught the child all you can, it is time for him to receive the benefits of a special school.
Don't brood on the future. It has a way of taking care of itself.
Live each day as it comes, and leave the rest to God.
Rest assured that the disabled child will receive the fulfilment of his or her disabled faculties after death, and when his parents stand before the Throne of God to be judged, he will act as a powerful mediator on their behalf.
Catherine Nicolette
Well, Mom is speaking from experience here.
My brother Jo sustained early brain injury, and has coped with the challenges brain injury brings.
Having lived through childhood with a disabled brother, I can attest to the advice given by many during this time.
I had my own share of remarks; by age eleven I simply ignored their import [particularly the alcohol slur] and fixed the authors of the remarks with a glacial eye.
Some Comments Were Just Not Worthy Of My Attention, I considered.
Some kids in the street started throwing stones at my little brother and myself as we walked in the street; I remember cradling my arms protectively around him, his eyes rounded with terror.
One of the stones meant for him hit me on the cheek; blood trickled from the gash..
We turned in at our home gate, the words 'Mal, hy's mal, en jy is ook want jy gooi hom nie weg nie'
[Mad, he's mad, and so are you because you don't throw him away] following us.
Many years later when my brother was able to converse and explain, he told me simply that the stones had indeed hit him that day. Not the physical stones, but the stones that cut his heart were the taunts of madness, and the suffering he felt when I was cut.
I had long since forgotten the incident; though he has forgiven, he has never forgotten.
I found it odd that others felt it incumbent upon them to make remarks when the onus of care did not fall on them.
As young children, we siblings certainly helped with the physical and emotional care our disabled brother needed. But it never bothered us.
You see, to us our brother was just that; our brother.
Not a disabled person. Not a boy with a brain injury. Not someone who needed more care than other children his age.
He was our playmate, our brother, our friend. Ours to love and protect. His sorrows were [and are] our sorrows; his happiness, ours.
Looking back at those years, I can see so many things.
God sent us a special blessing when He chose our family for Jo.
Today this tall man - fluent in English and Afrikaans, singing Sotho songs of praise to God in a beautiful baritone - with an immense sense of humour and a very Dutch sense of dignity is my very best friend.
Last year when Jo and I had a long chat, I told him what was in my heart; my guilt that I am so far from home as Mom gets older, as I pursue charitable enterprise and ministry.
Should I return to the place of my birth, and put charity and ministry on the back burner for a while?
Jo's advice was given without hesitation.
'Why?' he asked. 'I look after Mom. God chose me to be with her as she grows older.
Do what He chose for you."
He is always doing thoughtful little services for Mom; making cups of coffee, cleaning the carpets, caring for the dogs, washing the dishes.
As the sister of a disabled brother, I can tell you that his joyous, innocent heart, insightful advice and brotherly love are among the greatest joys of my life.
If you have a disabled brother or sister, don't worry; embrace him or her.
God chose you specially for the honour of being his or her family.
Photograph taken by Catherine Nicolette. For use copyright free for any worthy purpose
LUKY
WHY, I SOMETIMES WONDER, ARE THERE SO MANY PEOPLE UNABLE TO RETURN LOVE WHICH IS OFFERED TO THEM IN A HUMBLE SPIRIT?
When I was a teenager, I was a great one for having crushes on young men.
At one stage I was in love with six boys at the same time, and it is funny to remember now that they all looked, behaved and spoke like each other.
I would worship them silently from afar, and have long imaginary conversations with them, in which I was invariably witty and cynical and would have them rolling with laughter in the aisles.
When I happened to come face to face with them, however, my mouth would go dry and my tongue curl up and, try as I might, I could seldom hold their interest.
Lost interest
Yet there were boys who liked me and on whom I had almost that effect - notably ones I never tried to impress - but the funny thing was that as soon as I discovered a boy liked me, I automatically lost my interest in him.
It took me years to discover that this was a sign of immaturity.
On analysis it showed that I had nothing but contempt for myself.
In effect I was thinking: "If he can fancy himself in love with someone as silly as me, he can't have much between the ears."
By spurning, and perhaps even hurting him, I was only revealing my own inadequacy and lack of self-confidence.
If life hadn't dealt me a few blows where they hurt most, I might never have grown out of that state of mind.
Appreciate the attainable
I know adults who have inflicted much pain on others because they never learnt to appreciate the attainable.
These are the girls who try to look thirty when they're twenty, and eighteen when they're forty; who dress like men, yet long to be treated as ladies; who yearn for the mature status of motherhood, but once they've attained this try to be sisters to their children, rather than mothers whom their offspring can respect.
The immaturity of men reveals itself in a different way.
Why is it there are so many men who, having wooed their wives with great intensity and won them, tire of them after a time and neglect them and their children - perhaps at the very time when the springtide of their married life is about to flower into the beauty of summer?
A woman may have lost her figure and the bloom of her skin, but the wedding vows remain valid.
Anyway, if you happen to have a servant or staff member who needs their job desperately, don't treat them with contempt.
If there is a man or woman who loves you to distraction and you find yourself unable to return his or her affection, be gentle and kind, because you'd find yourself feeling surprisingly lost if this affection turned to dislike - and love is notoriously akin to hatred.
Finally, if you should happen to prefer the glamorous charms of a colleague to the ones your wife lost in service to you and your children, change your job - or reflect on these words of the poet Thomas Moore written, I believe, when his beautiful wife lost her looks in the wake of an attack of smallpox:
It is not while beauty and
youth are thine own
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a
tear
That the fervour and faith of a
heart can be known
To which time shall but make thee
more dear.
No, the heart that has truly loved
never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close
As the sunflower turns on her god
when he sets
That same look which she turned when he rose.
Catherine Nicolette
Faithfulness. Such an easy word to say, such a hard word to live.
I was deeply blessed to have the examples of my parents, aunts and uncles, grandfathers and grandmothers as the norm in my life when I grew up.
The sun rose; the sun set. But one word which was never ever mentioned was 'divorce'.
Thus, I never had any doubts when I set out to school at the beginning of the day whether I would be returning to the same loving family - undivided - at night.
Exchange of views
I got used to the many arguments which somewhat ruffled the serenity of our extended families from time to time.
I also realise that today I always bounce back after an exchange of views with a sunny spirit of reconciliation, not always fully reciprocated.
I put this tendency down to the fact that in our family disagreements were not to be feared
With diverse strong personalities, differing opinions will flourish.
After clearing the air, all got down to the business at hand; my parents, aunts and uncles and grands to growing their marriages, we to flourishing in the secure climate.
The one thing my parents always encouraged, however, was 'Not to let the sun go down on your anger'. [Ephesians' 4;26].
At the end of the day we had to make friends with whatever sibling or friend we had quarrelled with.
Mom always emphasized that if we married one day, the best way to keep a marriage healthy was to talk out problems by the end of every day, and to never carry a grudge.
Sound advice indeed.
Mistakes
As I grow older, I am at times saddened as I see 'one strike and you're out' trends at times occurring. Perfection is being expected in relationships, at work, in traffic and in life.
The true reality is that we all - with the best intentions in the world - make mistakes at times.
And forgiveness can lead to the nurturing of faithfulness in all relationships in life.
Perhaps there is someone with whom you have fallen out with. Why not try to effect a reconciliation?
If the other does not wish to reconcile, well then you have the peaceful mind and heart that you have extended the olive branch.
More than that you cannot do.
LUKY
OUR SINGING TEACHER HAD TWO DOGS; BOTH UNNERVED ME.
They prowled around her front yard slavering, seeking whom they might devour.
To me the height of bad form is to sound one's car hooter outside anyone's house, but when we used to go in for singing lessons, I hooted until she came out.
We eventually telephoned first: "Kindly tie up the Hounds of the Baskervilles, we're on our way."
Our loss
My own dog Snowy, who should have been called Dusky because we didn't wash him enough, was killed some years ago.
We got him and Bully, the mastiff, when first moved to a house in a new neighbourhood.
My husband had hung ferns trailing from the eaves which looked terribly pretty.
He had brought one of them in the morning, and that afternoon the fern was gone: someone had simply unhooked it.
So we got the dogs.
We bought Bully and Snowy two kennels, a big one and a small one, but they remained unoccupied except by Bully's store of food and other treasures.
Even in the heart of winter, Bully, Snowy and our cat slept on the lawn, under a sheltering tree, in one another's paws.
It always gave me such a happy feeling in my heart, as if our Lord had blessed our home with peace.
In the daytime, however, there was nothing peaceful about Bully and Snowy; they roamed the neighbourhood chasing cars and motorbikes.
Although we took to locking them into the courtyard all day, visitors would often leave the gate open.
Out they would rush to pursue some luckless driver.
When we tried to keep them in the garden, they made holes under the fence and got out that way.
We'd patch up the hole with sticks: next morning, another hole would be made.
Person unknown
The end was predictable.
Someone, I don't know who, killed Snowy.
One day he was simply gone, and when my second daughter went out with his food, she couldn't find him.
"Somebody got him," my husband said bleakly, "Heaven knows they had irritation enough; I told you long ago this would happen."
I didn't believe him. "He's just lost. He'll come back."
But he didn't - not alive, that is.
Grisly deed
It was between three and four weeks later, when my second daughter, our dog lover, had just got over her grief, that some jester deposited the remains of Snowy into our front yard.
Though badly decomposed, his coat now looked like a grubby little mat, and there was a look of agony about his bared teeth. It was poignant.
Snowy, though totally disobedient, had not deserved his end at the hands of a ghoul, and only a ghoul could have thought up that final gesture.
Chase was off
Bully and the cat were very nervous.
They circled Snowy's remains, and Bully at least was still heartbroken.
She no longer went out of the courtyard, even if the gate was left open, and she no longer chased cars or motorbikes - which was our one consolation.
We didn't talk about Snowy to each other.
My husband did ask: "What kind of person could have done such a thing", but there are some thoughts you shy away from and none of us answered him.
Yet I suppose the others, like myself, still sometimes wonder how Snowy died - and hope, like me, that his end came swiftly
Catherine Nicolette
Sigh. Snowy. Yes, I remember that affectionate little spirit, so loyal and steadfast, and so small.
A few weeks before a man had passed our gate, and appeared to be approaching the gate handle.
I - unseen by him - was coming home unexpectedly early from work.
He turned towards me as I came up, and looked somewhat threatening.
Snowy flew out from the courtyard, and stood between the man and me, barking bravely at the man.
The man looked at him with utter hatred, and told him 'Ek sal jou kry. Wag net, ek sal jou kry!'
[I'll get you. Just watch, I'll get you].
Mysterious disappearances
I watched as the man went away. There was something about him.
I would not have been surprised to find if he was not the one linked to the mysterious disappearances of hanging baskets and other garden items.
If my memory serves me, the latest was the garden spade.
Snowy looked lovingly at me as he panted patiently, waiting for my pat.
I was worried, and spoke to Dad about it. We kept a good eye on Snowy and the animals for some weeks.
When all was quiet, I stopped worrying. The thefts, too, had stopped.
Soft snores
I continued to go to and from work, stepping one frosty morning over the animals who had slumbered overnight on the top step in front of the Kitchen door.
Large Bully had his paws outstretched. Little Snowy had curled up within his paws, his own paws outstretched.
The little cat was cuddled within Snowy's paws.
On top of the two, Bully's head was resting, keeping them warm as he softly snored.
I grinned as I quietly left them to their sleep.
I had washed Snowy the day before, drying his hair with my hair drier, and combing his coat beautifully. The first thing he had gone and done after his wash was to joyfully wallow in a mud patch left after the garden had been watered.
Gallant protector
The day we found Snowy I will never forget.
The poor little darling was left with his face frozen in agony, thrown at the spot in the front gate where he had so gallantly protected me.
Dad and I buried him. Every bone in Snowy's little body had been broken. Every tooth in his head had been broken too.
He had obviously been subjected to horrendous torture for hours, if not days before death had mercifully took him. Dad and I decided it best not to describe how badly Snowy had suffered, as the family was already so distressed.
Dad and I had noted one thing though. An implement had been left next to Snowy's body which I assumed had been used to torture him.
The missing garden spade ...
I learned a lesson that day. Many animals have bright and loyal spirits, loving to the end.
And I learned that evil exists. I had met him.
Luky
I WONDER how many people still remember the Children of Mary of yore in their blue cloaks and white veils? Perhaps you once belonged to them, as I did.
It is heartening for me to see that Marian Devotion continues in churches; the candle of Our Lady keeps burning in our parishes.
Consolation
People sometimes wonder about the time it takes to recite five decades of the Rosary, but what argument can anyone wind against repeating the consoling words of the litany to Our Lady, which is sheer poetry, as is her office?
What Stations of the cross could be complete without the Stabat Mater?
We always loved singing our Marian hymns, during the months of May and October especially, and the Magnificat, that most glorious shout of joy, came from the young woman who carried our Saviour in her womb.
Today I am wondering how we can continue to rekindle Marian devotion in our parishes.
We can discuss it at meetings, writing about it in parish newsletters, forming Rosary circles, reinstating the family Rosary at home, circulating Marian literature, decorating Our Lady's statue on feast days, and finally by bombarding our priests with requests for the renewed recitation of the Rosary in church.
Plead Her Cause
Your priest is the key to Marian devotion in your parish.
Ask your priest to help you with your efforts to keep Marian devotion alive.
Many priests are honored to preach about the woman who is the Ark of the Covenant, the Sign in Revelation, and the template of humanity Jesus looked up to as He learned to integrate His Divinity with His humanity.
Every true child of Mary should make it her goal in life to further the noble cause of Mary.
Thank you!
It is over three years since I first began blogging Coffeebreak and it's been a privilege to be with you.
Your enthusiastic support has thrilled me no end.
Til the next article, goodbye, thank you for everything and God bless!
Children of Mary
http://www.thechildrenofmary.net/history.asp
Stabat Mater Dolorosa
http://www.preces-latinae.org/thesaurus/BVM/SMDolorosa.html
The Magnificat
http://www.ourcatholicprayers.com/magnificat.html
Stations of the Cross
http://www.catholic.org/prayers/station.php
Pray the Rosary Online
http://www.comepraytherosary.org/
With thanks to the childrenofmary.net, preces-latinae.org, ourcatholicprayers.com, catholic.org and comepraytherosary.org
Luky;
BEFORE I WAS MARRIED I OFTEN ASKED WOMEN WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO EXPECT A BABY OR GIVE BIRTH TO ONE, and I never got much of an answer.
I have since found that giving birth is like walking alone in a valley, huge mountains on either side of one, from which kind faces - those of the doctor, the nurse, one's husband - look down helpfully; but that for all their help, this is something I have got to see through myself. I always found it a most frightening experience, and I have a feeling that it will be the same one day when I die.
The difference between dying and giving birth, however, is that although I'm not sure exactly what follows death, I know what is born from labour pains: a beautiful baby. The greatest happiness I have known throughout my life has been occasioned by my children, their humour and their innocence. One feels very close to God after giving birth, and this is why I always chose names of favourite Saints for any children. I may not always be there, I think, but my child's Patron Saint will care for him.
These days people don't go in much for giving children names of their grandparents or near relatives.
"Call your child anything you like", today's grandma cries, and whether she really means what she says only grandma knows. But one of my sister's daughters is called Lucy after me, and it means an awful lot to me.
Mind you, you can carry this name business from the sublime to the ridiculous. I know a woman who was born instead of the son that had been ordered, and she was called Joachim after her grandfather. Some people feel that you should call your children after rich relatives so that they will leave you a lot of money, and this is another reason why I called my children after the Saints.When my son Joseph was three years old he still couldn't walk, and I was expecting his younger brother, and worried how I'd cope taking two non-walkers on the bus to the Doctor since we had no car. One nineteenth day of March I took the bull by the horns and went to Mass, bringing Joseph in his pushcart.
"Listen, Saint Joseph", I said firmly, "you have no idea how badly I wanted to call this child Brett or Gary or Grant. When I gave up this idea in your honour, I couldn't guess that even you wouldn't do anything for him. Had I known that, his name wouldn't have been Joe today, of that you may be sure." Believe it or not, six weeks later Joe took his first steps - sixteen the first day.
I think a name does things for its bearer. I've never met a Theresa or a Philomena who wasn't a staunch personality. On the other hand I feel that you are putting the child too much on its mettle by naming it Faith, Hope or Charity; and it's all very well being called Melody if you can keep a tune, but what happens if you're tone deaf?
I've got a lovely name, Lucia, but no one ever calls me by it. I was called after my grandmother, as were several of my first cousins.
Reading a book by Graham Greene the other day, one of whose unappealing characters was also called Lucia, I was cross to find that he devoted an entire paragraph to deploring the girl's name - in as acid a fashion as another novelist did when writing about an unmarried girl named Priscilla, and ascribing her single status to her name.
Unfortunately his was a prescribed book for matric the year one matric pupil just happened to be Priscilla. Writers have to bear that sort of possibility in mind . . .
