~PK’s Jokes~

I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I’ve aged, I’ve become kinder to myself, and less critical of myself. I’ve become my own friend.. I don’t chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making
my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn’t need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.

I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.

Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60 &70’s, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love … I will.

I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set.

They, too, will get old.
I know I am sometimes forgetful.
But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.

Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers,
or even when somebody’s beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and
compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face.
So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their
hair could turn silver.

As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don’t question myself anymore.
I’ve even earned the right to be wrong.

So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever,
but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day (if I feel like it).

The average age of the military man is 19 years.  He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country.  He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his father’s, but he has never collected unemployment either.

He’s a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activitie s, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away  He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and a 155mm howitzer.

He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk.  He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark.  He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.

He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional.

He can march until he is told to stop, or stop until he is told to march.

He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity.  He is self-sufficient.

He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry.

He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts.

If you’re thirsty, he’ll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He’ll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low.

He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands.

He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job.

He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and still find ironic humor in it all.

He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime.

He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed.

He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to ’square-away ‘ those around him who haven’t bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking.

In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful.

Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great- grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom.  Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years.

He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding.
Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.

And now we even have women over there in danger, doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so.

As you go to bed tonight, remember this shot. . .

A short lull, a little shade and a picture of loved ones in their helmets.

‘Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands.
Protect them as they protect us.
Bless them and their families for the selfless acts
they perform for us in our time of need.  Amen.’

When you receive this, please stop for a moment and say a prayer for our ground troops in Afghanistan, sailors on ships, and airmen in the air, and for those in Iraq .

There is nothing attached…
This can be very powerful…

Of all the gifts you could give a US Soldier, Sailor, Coastguardsman, Marine,
or Airman, prayer is the very best one.

Man Builds Noah’s Ark (exact scale given in Bible)

Working Replica of Noah’s Ark Opened In SCHAGEN, Netherlands . The
massive central door in the side of Noah’s Ark was opened the first
crowd of curious townsfolk to behold the wonder. Of course, it’s
only a replica of th e biblical Ark , built by Dutch Creationist
Johan Huibers as a testament to his faith in the literal truth of
the Bible.

The ark is 150 cubits long, 30 cubits high and 20 cubits wide.
That’s two-thirds the length of a football field and as high as a
three-story house. Life-size models of giraffes, elephants, lions,
crocodiles, zebras, bison and other animals greet visitors as they
arrive in the main hold. A contractor by trad e, Huibers built the
ark of cedar and pine. Biblical Scholars debate exactly what the
wood used by Noah would have been.

Huibers did the work mostly with his own hands, using modern tools
and with occasional help from his son Roy. Construction began in
May 2005. On the uncovered top deck - not quite ready in time for
the opening - will come a petting zoo, with baby lambs and
chickens, and goats, and one camel.

Visitors on the first day were stunned. ‘It’s past comprehension’,
said Mary Louise Starosciak, who happened to be bicycling by with
her husband while on vacation when they saw the ark looming over
the local landscape.

‘I knew the story of Noah, but I had no idea the boat would have
been so big.’ There is enough space near the keel for a 50-seat
film theater where kids can watch a video that tells the story of
Noah and his ark.

Huibers, a Christian man, said he hopes the
project will renew interest in Christianity in the Netherlands ,
where church going has fallen dramatically in the past 50 years.

Now that I am old and gray…give me the time to tell this new
generation (and their children too) about all your mighty miracles. Psalm 71:18