"Shepherd Book once said to me, If you can't do something smart, do something right." ~ Jayne Cobb (Serenity, 2005)
What I do in my "spare time"
Shinny of Champions
BLAST - Beer League Adult Skills Training
California Browncoats
Alberta Browncoats Society
| Chain of Command | [-] |
| Past Brainpan Whimsy | [-] |
Translation: LunaStone Designs is responsible for all the good stuff. I'm responsible for screwing up her work.
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Poppy count charitable donation grand plan
Each year since returning to Canada full-time in 2007, I have counted the poppies I see people wearing from the day the poppy campaign begins until 11am on November 11th. I'd tally up the count, donate 0.10$ per poppy, and send a cheque to a local veterans organization.
It used to be a sizeable donation.
In recent years, I've noticed my poppy count decreasing. I worry sometimes that people have begun to forget the past. I worry that we will soon relive their horrors in our future.
I don't base my donation on poppy counts anymore. And I no longer wait until Remembrance Day arrives to make them.
I am changing too. Hopefully, for the better.
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I am tired and overworked and back in India. I cried like a baby this afternoon as I couldn’t stop thinking of dad. I know he would have loved visiting Singapore and wandering the warren of streets.
My prayers go out to Heather who lost her father on Valentine’s day.
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February 24th, 2007 at 1:03 pm
Thanks dear.
I have been thinking of you too in the last few days. I wonder if it ever stops hurting…? On the one hand, I’m so happy for him that he has no more pain and suffering now; on the other, the slightest thing starts the tears streaming down my face. Like – seeing his hat on the stand in the hallway.
February 25th, 2007 at 2:49 am
I’d like to say it gets better and easier – but I haven’t found that place yet. It’s been 5 months since dad passed away and I find myself thinking about him and crying nearly every day. What is getting a bit better is that I’m not randomly breaking down in public or needing to pull my car off the road so I can sit and cry in my truck on an almost daily basis.
You can have years to prepare – I had 2 years notice of the terminal diagnosis – but nothing prepares you for the reality.
And, while I can write about dad and only suffer the lump in the back of my throat and shed a few tears, I still can’t really talk about him yet. When I do, I still catch myself talking as if he’s still around, wanting to pick up the phone and call to share new news.