|Definition:||Extremely or hopelessly bad or severe.|
|If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.
|Definition:||Extremely or hopelessly bad or severe.|
|If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.
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I have Cerebral Palsy which affects my speech and motor skills. I graduated college. I’ve worked for a retail store for 17 years (plus 5 years at their corporate office) and a movie theatre for about 6 years. Nonething stops me.
I want to help you succeed on-line and make extra money from home on-line. Yes, you can do this to! I know people who make $100 online, make $1000 online and some who make $10000 online. It all comes down to how much time you want to put towards earning money online. There is no limit.
I was told I wouldn’t walk, wouldn’t talk? Guess what? I can. In fact, I can use a stand bycycle and bike 13 miles in just over an hour. Sure all of this takes time. College even took a little longer. Was it worth it? Absoultely. Do not give up! Giving up won’t solve anything. I urge you to join me today!
I would like to thank St. Edward’s parish for praying for my mother, Kathryn Weis, since 2003. A lot of you don’t know the circumstances and probably wondered why she was on the prayer list for years; probably broke a record! She raised me as a single parent for many years. The roles reversed when she became ill; I was helping her along with other friends. I have cerebral palsy, and she made sure I became as independent as possible. I graduated from the U of M with a double major; communications and journalism. I work at the Bloomington Target and AMC Southdale with 5 years at Target Corporate Office after college. She made sure I overcame obstacles in life. She had tongue cancer in the early 1980s, and it came back in 2003. She has had twice the lifetime of radiation, 8+ reconstruction surgeries, tube feedings, lost the ability to speak (was able to communicate via iPad afterwards), etc. Her parents Maurice and Lorraine Weis were members of the parish for many years before moving outstate. My mother continued to attend the parish for many years until she became too ill. I would take her to church as her illness/fatigue permitted. My mother served as a teacher for the First Eucharist preparation classes at St. Edward. She passed on 6/25/15. We were blessed that her parents were able to return from Arizona to be with her in her final moments; in fact, she waited until all immediate family members were able to see her. Again, thank you for all your prayers and support. Father Brian and Father Mike had an excellent service on 7/1 to remember my mother.
— Dan Fischer
Weis, Kathryn A. Age 56, of Bloomington, passed away peacefully on 6/25/15. Survived by son, Daniel Fischer; parents, Maurice & Lorraine Weis; 2 siblings; 1 nephew; many loving relatives & friends. Private service.
Published on June 28, 2015
I loved Katie and admired her kindness, strength, intuitiveness, and creativity. She was gifted a beautiful son with CP and with the strength of God, became a wonderful mother and provider. She shared her gifts with others by teaching crafts, cake decorating, & knitting; in fact, she had everyone on our dental team over to learn to knit! I met Katie in the aftermath of her first bout with cancer. I took her under my wing and she was my biggest cheerleader as we developed a close friendship. She helped with my son’s Eagle ceremony and gave my sons joy with her Christmas fudge (I have her secret recipe in my cookbook with a beautiful photo). Most of all, she helped me deal with the mountains I made of molehills; it didn’t matter that her problems were far worse than mine. She was stubborn and lived longer than I ever thought possible. I was the first one to see in in recovery after multiple drastic surgeries in the beginning. As we drifted apart, I never stopped loving her and keeping in touch through her son, Danny, and friend, David. She was close, but she never did finish her bucket list of visiting each state in the US. I am comforted with the thought that she is in heaven and can see the entire Universe, let alone all 50 states.
Mari and Syd Payton and Alex
Our thoughts are with you and your family, Dan. Your mom was a wonderful person and she will be missed.
Mass at St. Edward’s, 9401 Nesbitt Ave, Bloomington. Weds July 1st, 11am. Visitation one hour prior at church.
So there was a mistake in labs this morning, instead of 69,000 it was actually 212,000 and now they are 165,000 this is NOT a set back because she is still under 200,000 !!!
On July 4th Londons white blood count cells were in the millions, she had a blood transfusion and today her numbers are 69,000 which is amazing!!!!
Thank u for visiting my page!!! My name is London, I am 3 months old and was diagnosed with leukemia. My mom kept bringing me to the dr because I was fussy and really gassy, the Dr’s kept sending us home saying there’s nothing they can do for “gas” I would only eat about 2 to 3 ounces of formula and I should have been eating 6 ounces. On July 4th my belly was really big and I didn’t want to eat so we went to ER and I was rushed to children’s in Minneapolis mn, I was diagnosed with leukemia. My white blood cell count was in the millions! !! Thankfully with God and the medical staff I had a blood transfusion and 2 days later my number has gone down to 69,000!! I have been through so much but also have proven miracles each step of the way. Please pray for me on my journey to recovery! !!
I haven’t worked since July 4th due to the situation. If you would like to donate please follow link below.
CLICK HERE FOR ENTIRE JOURNAL: http://danthehk.com/category/leukemia Life of London by Melissa Erlandson
And if you can’t donate prayers are even better! !!
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author’s program note. These kinds of things are happening to me all the time now. I was sitting in a booth at the Cambridge Common Restaurant just the other day and was anxious to enjoy the same American fare I always get there, namely a classic hamburger medium well, fresh lettuce and tomato with a whisper of Bermuda onion; side of onion rings (a specialite’ de la maison), justly renowned up and down Massachusetts Avenue, three half deviled eggs (uniquely available here) and large diet Coke; make sure there are three slices of lime. I am most particular about such matters, and don’t forget it, Pookie. Mind, just two won’t do.
Then the snag. I couldn’t get out of my top coat, suitably charcoal gray, the one that I acquired so many years ago in London, at Austin Reed, in that long ago era when being stylish still mattered to me, though even then not so very much (to my mother’s abiding chagrin).
This coat, now my straight-jacket, now my jailor… for, you see, I couldn’t take it off and I couldn’t get it on. I was a hostage and even doing the shimmy like my sister Kate didn’t help. Nothing did.
My irksome dilemma was compounded by the fact no waitron (as we call them in my progressive metropolis) was to hand. No, they were all bunched together at the entrance, where at least 4 of them cast jaundiced eyes at the folks (another Cambridge-ism) entering; what tip they might get their one and only concern.
And so I waited pondering the thoughts every hostage wherever held had thought; thoughts like how did I get myself into this friggin’ situation… how could I get myself out of it… and where was the cavalry to rescue me? After all, I pay my taxes.
Like I said, this wasn’t the first time I was trapped inside my top coat… or my favorite sweater, the thick one from France with the heraldic devices and fastidious moths… or any of those Ralph Lauren polo shirts, the ones that mysteriously disappear when certain light-fingered friends decide to spend the night because they’ve over served themselves from my dwindling supply of fine wines and liquors I shall never buy again.
No, this wasn’t the first time a determined garment decided to hold me for ransom, but it was the longest and most public such event, thus deserving of the most careful consideration and a thorough vetting of each and every detail, no matter how picayune you might think. Besides, who asked you for an opinion anyway?
So, by now I was one exasperated puppy with a fast rising temperature. I needed help and the staff had well and truly disappeared. Now what? Out of the corner of my eye I saw an elderly couple just finishing up. Then the absolutely unthinkable notion… they could help me. And all of a sudden I was confronted by one of the most profound and undeniable aspects of aging… that I, help giver par excellence for my entire life, now needed help…. and I didn’t like that one little bit… not least when my potential rescuers stood up and I realized with horror the “elderly couple” was my age… yes, card carrying Baby Boomers. It only worsened my dilemma… and made me feel damn foolish, too.
I mean, why couldn’t I just say in my most congenial and casual way, “Could you folks give me a hand?”. They would have said yes, pulled me up smartly and removed me from the troublesome coat.
They would then have smiled and quipped some phrase like “Don’t take any wooden nickles”, waved and gone on their merry way with that happy feeling that comes when you’ve taken time to do a good deed you didn’t need to do. The whole thing would have taken 120 seconds, or less. Besides, I had seen the gentleman look at me struggling. It seems to me he wanted to help but didn’t want to intrude, either for fear he’d be rebuffed by me or somehow “get involved”, a thing that trips us all up. We want to make the world a better place, we prattle on about it without surcease, but we want to do it without “getting involved”. How this can be accomplished no one knows. Thus I didn’t request his help, and he didn’t offer it. I remained trapped, arms pinned. And to think the gray haired couple and I all grew up on Bob Dylan and his 1974 masterpiece, “Forever Young,” “May you always do for others/ And let others do for you.”
Giving, yes. Getting, no.
I’m ok with the first half of Dylan’s line. Giving is what successful people do. Giving is an important aspect of their success. It firmly and unequivocally establishes them as a person of consequence, a person of empathy and kindness and generosity; a person who should be touched to ensure good luck and whose every word is solid gold, ready for chiseling on public buildings.
Of course I see myself this way and give with the well-honed and always gracious gesture of the grandest grand seigneur. When misery of any kind strikes within my circle and often without; (think typhoons in far-away places which even I cannot find with ease), I respond at once.
It is not an act of thought; it is rather an act of indelible habit long ago taught and constantly performed since. It affirms my superior status and good heart and immediately suggests God’s unqualified approbation and bounty. This thought comforted my God-fearing Puritan ancestors; it comforts me as well, just as it comforts me to give even where the response is anything but warm.
One day when I was returning from my walk about the neighborhood, I saw a family in distress.Their car didn’t work, and they were in despair, young children shrieking. I asked them where they were going and how much they needed. Connecticut. $500.
I offered to lend, not give, the money. Could they pay back, say, $50 a month? “Oh, yes, sir, we can and we will.” Fervent thanks were rendered and rendered again. A week or two after the first payment date, no funds received, I called. I expected an excuse and a promise for prompt recompense and renewed appreciation. What I got was an earful of the bluest and most vulgar, every word an expostulation of the rawest and most offensive; the whole proof positive that no good deed goes unpunished.
But here’s the rub. I was not disconcerted by the torrent of malice; quite the contrary. “There but for the grace of God…” What might so easily have resulted in a shouting match turned instead into a moment of quiet satisfaction and proof of God’s love. Could the man shouting unanticipated obscenities have said as much? Yes, God moves in mysterious ways and His account of the time we have been given and used is absolute, infallible, eternal. Yes, this is what happens to the givers, each blessed and rightly so. But what happens to those who are given? I didn’t need to consider this matter. It had been drilled into me from birth… and now prevented me from asking for help.
“If you want it done right, do it yourself,” I’d been taught. “God helps those who help themselves,” I’d been assured.” “Don’t wait to be asked. Take the initiative to do the right thing and do it now!”, every phrase an adamant declaration for independence here, independence now, independence forever.
These were the shibboleths of the people who shaped me, theirs the adamant voices ringing in my ear today. And they are right, for there is nothing more important as you age than the personal freedom and independent living which are constantly at risk and being chipped away, threatened, diminished day by day. Then out of nowhere, I heard a song begin to gather in my brain. And it went something like this…
“I am what I am/ I am my own special creation/ So come take a look/ Give me the hook or the ovation.”
And all of a sudden, as the song rose and its insistent lyrics soared, I got that feeling that I’ve known before, the feeling that He is there… that He is watching… and against every logical thought and sentiment He cares.
Thus did epiphany and perfect recognition hit me squarely between the eyes in an urban greasy spoon in the unlikely form of an anthem for drag queens everywhere featuring this electrifying line, “There’s one life, and there’s no return and no deposit.” (The song, of course, is “I Am What I Am” music and lyrics by Jerry Herman from the 1983 production of “La Cage aux Folles”. Go now to any search engine and find it. I prefer the version by George Hearn with resonant. adamant voice enough to uplift millions, including you and me.)
“I don’t want praise. I don’t want pity.”
And so the truths poured out. I shuffle now, my once strident walk slower now. This doesn’t matter.
My right hand tremors, This doesn’t matter.
Shoelaces a struggle to tie. This doesn’t matter either.
The agile letters that jump up and down on a page challenging meaning. This, too, doesn’t matter. What then does?
The waitress knew. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long. Need some help with your coat?” and so my incapacity begot a new friend with radiant smile and, in short order deviled eggs, onion rings, and apple crunch with vanilla ice cream… all on the house. “You deserve it,” she said…. and maybe I’m ready to admit that I do.
Dedication by the Author. It is my privilege and pleasure to dedicate this article to Daniel Fischer, my “monkey” and friend, a man of spirit, persistence, dedication and love. Remember, you are not alone and your example and dazzling smile inspire us all and always will, none more so than me.
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[..okieoilman] ANOTHER SUNDAY NIGHT AND ALL IS WELL-(SOUNDS LIKE SANTA IS ON THE ROOF) LETS SEE WHAT DEVELOPS TONIGHT.
WE HAVE BEEN PROMISED THIS ON A DAILY BASIS FOR 10 DAYS NOW AND SURELY ONCE THEY WILL BE CORRECT–THIS IS A VERY GOOD TIME FOR ALL OF US.——BLESSINGS GALORE————
NOTICE I DID NOT STATE DEFINITE TIME??–INFER WHAT YOU MAY. NOT BEING SECRETIVE–JUST CONSERVATIVE—-
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