Monthly Archives: June 2013

WELL, I FITTED INTO IT LAST YEAR

You find some old ‘comfortable’ thing that you like to slip into.

It seems a little small, but you’re QUITE SURE that in

recent years, you’ve worn this size, so, you work with it…

You try it on in different ways…..

From different angles you examine yourself.

Finally, you admit that it does feel

“A LITTLE TIGHT.”

Someone offers you a larger size, which you find highly
insulting.

I  mean, it might be a tight fit, but you still look GOOD!!

Haven’t we all been there!

 

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My Rememberer Is Broke

My forgetter’s getting better but my rememberer is broke
To you that may seem funny but, to me, that is no joke

For when I’m “here” I’m wondering if I really should be “there”
And, when I try to think it through, I haven’t got a prayer!

Oft times I walk into a room, say “what am I here for?”
I wrack my brain, but all in vain, a zero is my score.

At times I put something away where it is safe, but, Gee!
The person it is safest from is, generally, me!

When shopping I may see someone, say “Hi” and have a chat,
Then, when the person walks away I ask myself, “who’s that?”

Yes, my forgetter’s getting better while my rememberer is broke,
And it’s driving me plumb crazy and that isn’t any joke.

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Men

This actually happened

They dressed the truck up with the
guy tied down on the
roof.

The driver and passengers put on
Moose heads.

Then they went down the toll road
Interstate, causing 16
accidents.

Yes; they went to jail…

Yes; alcohol was involved…

This proves that men cannot be
left alone.

 

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Amazing Ads

How much do you weigh?

This is good one, no more running

On the other side

This is good!

Would you use this elevator?

It will be closest ever I will get to skydyving!

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7 klippies

7 Klippies

Daar’s sewe klippies in jou sak
Deur die Here vir jou ingepak
Sodat jy ene weg kan gooi
Vir elke tiende jaar voltooi.

Eerste klippie, geen probleem
Die spel sal donkiejare neem,
Dink ons in ydel kinderwaan
Die lewe gaan vir ewig aan.

Op twintig waai die tweede klip,
Pragtig en rooi van lip,
Windmakerder kan jy nie kry,
Wat ek wil, skuld die wêreld my.

Klippie drie die laat jou dink,
Vir dertig jaar het jy rinkink,
Vier sewendes is daar nou oor,
Om op te maak vir tyd verloor.

As uit jou hand die vierde val,
Dan vlek die grys jou slape al,
En dit wat in die sak oorbly,
Te min om als gedoen te kry.

Dan kom jy by vyftig,
Nou galop die tyd te vlytig,
En na die bult-op lewenspad,
Beginne jy die afdraand vat.

Voor laaste klippie nommer ses
Glip uit die sak voor jy sê mes
Die wat gewerk het vir n baas
Kry sy persent en groet vir laas.

O wee, o wee, nou klippie sewe,
Skriftuurlik het jy klaar gelewe,
Daar kom nou veel genade kort
Vir die wat dalk wil tagtig word.

Daar is natuurlik taai kalante,
Jy sien hul soms in die koerante,
Wat net nie wil die emmer skop
En eers na honderd om sal dop.

Of jy nou tot vervelens lewe,
Of tata sê hier rondom sewe,
By watter klip jy ookal stop,
Gaan sal ons, die tyd raak op.

Ek wens jou dus n sakvol klip,
Genoeg vir daardie honderd trip
En vreugde in jou kook en bak,
Tot jou knië daar op oudag knak.

Nou ja, ou maat, daar het jy dit,
Al wat ons nou kan doen is bid
Vir gesondheid, liefde en geluk,
Met voorspoed vir die oorblystuk

 

 

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5 Thoughts of wisdom

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The folded napkin

Truly worth the read.

I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn’t sure I wanted one. I wasn’t sure how my customers would react to Stevie.

He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Downs Syndrome. I wasn’t worried about most of my trucker customers because truckers don’t generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade.

The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded ‘truck stop germ’ the pairs of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks.

I shouldn’t have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop mascot.

After that, I really didn’t care what the rest of the customers thought of him. He was like a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table. Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto his cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag.

If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met.

Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home. That’s why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work.

He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Downs Syndrome often have heart problems at an early age so this wasn’t unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.

A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery, and doing fine.

Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news.

Belle Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table.

Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Belle Ringer a withering look.

He grinned. ‘OK, Frannie, what was that all about?’ he asked.

‘We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay.’

‘I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?’

Frannie quickly told Belle Ringer and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie’s surgery, then sighed: ‘Yeah, I’m glad he is going to be OK,’ she said. ‘But I don’t know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they’re barely getting by as it is.’ Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables. Since I hadn’t had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn’t want to replace him, the girls were busing their own tables that day until we decided what to do.

After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face.

‘What’s up?’ I asked.

‘I didn’t get that table where Belle Ringer and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and Tony Tipper were sitting there when I got back to clean it off,’ she said. ‘This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup.’

She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed ‘Something For Stevie’.

‘Pony Pete asked me what that was all about,’ she said, ‘so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this’ She handed me another paper napkin that had ‘Something For Stevie’ scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply: ‘truckers.’

That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work.

His placement worker said he’s been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn’t matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy. I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back.

Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn’t stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting.

‘Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast,’ I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. ‘Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate you coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!’ I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room.

I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins. ‘First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess,’ I said I tried to sound stern.

Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had ‘Something for Stevie’ printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table.

Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I turned to his mother. ‘There’s more than $10,000 in cash and checks on that table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. ‘Happy Thanksgiving,’.

Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well.

But you know what’s funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table.

Best worker I ever hired.

Plant a seed and watch it grow.

At this point, you can bury this inspirational message or forward it fulfilling the need!

If you shed a tear, hug yourself, because you are a compassionate person.

Well.. Don’t just sit there! Send this story on! Keep it going, this is a good one!

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Test your knowledge – Riddle

Test your knowledge – Riddle
 

 

You are standing outside a building, and it soon begins to get cold.

The wind starts to blow from the east at 30 miles an hour.

The wind chill is around negative 30 degrees.

On which side of the building should you position yourself to keep warm?

 

 

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Airport as a Dispatcher Sees It

Russian airport

Daily record of takeoffs and landings at the Domodedovo International
Airport is 724.

Maximum hourly capacity of two runways working simultaneously
is 43 aircrafts.

All this air traffic is controlled by dispatchers working day and night
at the air traffic control tower.

Profession of air traffic controller is among the most difficult ones
speaking of psychological stress.

Let’s spend some time with professionals who control tens
thousands of lives.

Domodedovo has two runways and each of them is controlled by the
separate dispatcher teams. There is a total of 6 shifts, 10 dispatchers
each.

Probably first what you imagine hearing about an air traffic
controller is a typical movie image of a severe man with huge
headphones shouting something in a microphone and staring at a round
monitor with a green line going round.

Movies are not always true.

They don’t use headphones, displays are neither round, nor
green
and not only men can take their seats in the tower but pretty girls too.

Each display shows all the aircrafts near the airport. Dispatcher can
control if they are climbing or descend, at which altitude and with
which speed they are flying.

The whole airport territory is clearly visible from the tower.

A complex of modern equipment including automatic
visualization
system is installed here. Wide field of view of the airfield allows
controlling every vehicle movement.

If a dispatcher has any suspicions he uses binoculars.

If a runway controller switches on a special indicator with sound
signal.

All controllers’ actions are controlled by a senior
dispatcher.

He’s always moving from one controller to another
supervising their activities.

Each dispatcher is supposed to have a 20-minutes break every
2
hours. While having a rest he is replaced by a substitute
dispatcher.

Minimal time between aircraft landings is 2 minutes and
between
takeoffs – from 1 to 3 minutes depending on the aircraft class.
Atmosphere on the tower is very calm and quiet. When one of the
dispatchers holds radio exchange with the aircraft’s crew all
others keep silent or speak in a whisper.

For getting up to the tower air traffic controllers pass through this
windowed door.

They use their special electronic passes and a fingerprint scanner to
get in.

Join
us at www.eposvriende.com

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Alles oor asyn

ALLES OOR ASYN

Asyn is een van die oudste kosmaak bestanddele wat daar is en dit kan nagegaan word tot sowat 10 000 jaar gelede. Die Engelse `vinegar’ is afgelei van `vinaigre’, die Franse woord vir suur wyn. Asyn is inderdaad ‘n swak oplossing van asynsuur wat ontstaan wanneer wyn of ‘n ander alkoholiese oplossing gis.

Asyn word vir baie dinge gebruik. As bykos, ‘n preserveermiddel, in boererate en selfs as ‘n matige ontsmettingsmiddel. Dit hou vir ‘n onbepaalde tyd, maar dit bly die beste bewaar as jy dit weg van lig en hitte bêre.

APPELASYN
Word van appelwyn gemaak. Dit het ‘n matige, effense soet en vrugtige geur en ‘n ligte goue kleur. Ongefiltreerde appelasyn het glo gesondheidsvoordele.
Gebruike:
Slaaisouse, vis of skulpvisgeregte en ingemaakte kos, veral ingelegde vrugte.

ROOI WYN ASYN
Word van rooi wyn gemaak.
Gebruike:
Slaaisouse, die gaarmaak van rooikool, in lewer of rooi vleisgeregte, in souse of eiergeregte.

WIT WYNASYN
Word van wit wyn gemaak. Rooi en wit wynasyn is baie veelsydig en jy kan dit in die meeste resepte gebruik waar jy asyn nodig het.
Gebruike:
Slaaisouse,
Mayonnaise, vleis, wild en vismarinades, souse, vir die skoonmaak van ‘n aangebrande pan of om gegeurde asyn te maak..

BALSEMIEKASYN
Word van dieselfde druiwe as donker balsemiekasyn gemaak, maar ‘n ander proses word gebruik om die asyn helder te maak. Dit het ‘n sterker geur as donker balsemiek en word gebruik in geregte wat vir die geur van balsemiekasyn vra, maar wat beter lyk met ‘n kleurlose asyn.
Gebruike:
Slaaisouse, souse, pastaslaaie, met hoender of vis, of om ‘n pan skoon te maak.

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