Sorry it took so long to forward this message. Tried it and have been experiencing so much inner peace that I couldn't find the keys.
----- Forwarded Message -----
Date: Mon, 11 Aug 2003
Subject: Fw: Inner Peace
I am passing this on to you because it has definitely worked for me. By following the simple advice I read in an article, I have finally found inner peace.......
According to the article:
"The way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you've started."
So I looked around to see all the things I started and hadn't finished.
Today, I have finished off a batch of Margaritas, a bottle of white wine, 3 cold buds, the last of the brandy, my Prozac, a box of chocolates and licked the Cool Whip container clean.
..............You have no idea how good I feel.
What have you left undone?
Monday, August 25, 2003
Wednesday, January 29, 2003
The Snow
You missed a lovely snow.
Last night's snow was a spring snow, not the glittery snow of the frigid night of winter but the soft, wet snow of a spring. It was a philosopher's snow, a snow for wandering and pondering. It sifted through the silent night, sliding onto the earth at an angle so slight that it seemed some tilt of the universe had charted its course. In the windless night, the snow lay, undisturbed, where it fell on the tops of posts and clinging to each bare branch. I, cloistered by the white air and serene in the silence, surveyed this sanctuary and fell into contemplation.
This morning, the snow is perfect for snowballs and snowmen. The neighborhood is deserted; the children have gone to school, their parents have gone to work and I am left to my own devices. Four dogs respond to my call. I can tell they've been trailing something. Each nose is covered with snow. They are anxious to get back to their pleasures but they stand alert as I dip into the snow and pack it between my palms. They watch me draw back the snowball and they gauge the direction it will fly. With the pitch, they are off and running. For some few minutes, they are a scrambling mass. They chase and ground snowballs, they catch snowballs. Snowballs are wonderful. And, they're edible. Not one, retrieved, reached my hand.
Last night's snow was a spring snow, not the glittery snow of the frigid night of winter but the soft, wet snow of a spring. It was a philosopher's snow, a snow for wandering and pondering. It sifted through the silent night, sliding onto the earth at an angle so slight that it seemed some tilt of the universe had charted its course. In the windless night, the snow lay, undisturbed, where it fell on the tops of posts and clinging to each bare branch. I, cloistered by the white air and serene in the silence, surveyed this sanctuary and fell into contemplation.
This morning, the snow is perfect for snowballs and snowmen. The neighborhood is deserted; the children have gone to school, their parents have gone to work and I am left to my own devices. Four dogs respond to my call. I can tell they've been trailing something. Each nose is covered with snow. They are anxious to get back to their pleasures but they stand alert as I dip into the snow and pack it between my palms. They watch me draw back the snowball and they gauge the direction it will fly. With the pitch, they are off and running. For some few minutes, they are a scrambling mass. They chase and ground snowballs, they catch snowballs. Snowballs are wonderful. And, they're edible. Not one, retrieved, reached my hand.
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