I just wanted to let all my regular visitors (as well as new ones!) that im not going to be blogging now for quite awhile. Im not even sure if i will blog again. I have spent alot of my time trying to blog nice things and returning any comments left that now im in need of a break !

I have had a great time with the up keep of my space and i have made lots of cyber friends, so thanx everyone for being so wonderful!

Please still respect my space and save anything to your own computer, just in case i decide im coming back !

I wish all of you the very best....

Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round
Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?

You better slow down
Don't dance so fast
Time is short
The music won't last

Do you run through each day on the fly
When you ask "How are you?" do you hear the reply?
When the day is done, do you lie in your bed
With the next hundred chores running through your head?

You'd better slow down
Don't dance so fast
Time is short
The music won't last

Ever told your child,
We'll do it tomorrow
And in your haste, not see his sorrow?

Ever lost touch,
Let a good friendship die
'Cause you never had time to call and say "Hi"?

You'd better slow down
Don't dance so fast
Time is short
The music won't last

When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift....
Thrown away...

Life is not a race.
Do take it slower
Hear the music
Before the song is over.

The Baker Hotel is a beautiful old building, fourteen stories, with a bell tower on top. It was originally constructed in 1914 as the Crazy Water Hotel, and re-built in 1925 as the Baker Hotel after a fire destroyed the Crazy Water. There are numerous ghost stories and other fascinating tales of the hotel. It was abandoned in 1970, and has stood vacant and deteriorating since then.  People are working to save this historical old hotel, but the town officials have condemned it and are trying to demolish it. As of now, it is closed to the public.

Ghost Story

The most eerie story of the old Baker would have to be the tragic tale of the death of a young elevator operator by the name of Douglas Moore. The original story was told that in 1948, Douglas went to work at the Baker and quickly began to earn a lot of money - perhaps too much - for an elevator operator.

After a period of gainful employment, Douglas confessed to his mother that he had become a minor part of an illegal prostitution racket in the hotel. His mother insisted that he quit. Douglas went a step farther and reported the happenings to the local authorities not knowing that some were actually involved in the ring.

Douglas was laid off but was suddenly called back to work two weeks later. Upon returning to his job he found himself in the basement playing around in the service elevator late one night with two other bellboys. This particular elevator had a call button that would send it rapidly from the basement to the top elevator room without stopping.

It was reported by the other two boys that one of them accidentally depressed the call button when Douglas was not completely inside the elevator - suddenly trapping his body halfway out and severing him at the waist. Many believed the two boys were paid to kill Douglas.

Some have reported seeing the ghost of Douglas lurking about in the basement area. Some say that only the upper portion of his body and his head can be seen, the lower portion is of course, missing. While on one of my personal visits to the Baker, I must admit, this location, where the young boy died, was the one that just gave me a very uneasy feeling.

In a discussion with a local psychic, then later with a distant relative of Douglas, I learned the true story of the death of the hard-working young man. Douglas apparently was never a part of a prostitution ring. Actualy he was a 15-year-old boy who came from a poor family. He never drove a fancy car, which some have said, and he didn't make a lot of money.

Douglas and his friend, Logan Shoemake, were horsing around one evening as teenagers do. Logan was operating the service elevator, which had no guard on it, which allowed one to hop aboard as it was moving. Logan was raising the elevator and it was about four feet above the floor level, when young Douglas attempted to jump in. His friend Logan saw he couldn't make it and attempted to pull him back. Douglas's body was crushed at the waist. He died within half an hour of the accident. The Hotel paid for all funeral arrangements. It was a tragic event and one from which, the family never fully recovered.

Occasionally, we are graced
with the presence of an earth
bound Angel. They are unable
to stay with us for long, but
while they do, they bring
unprecedented joy and happiness
to all they touch. While they are
here, we bask in their goodness
and marvel at their contribution
to the world. When they leave,
we are left with the devastation
that comes with losing such a
wonderful being...but we must
remember...the earth bound Angels
are not ours to keep. They are ours
to enjoy, learn from, and behold
until they return home.

If you take an Oriental person and spin him around
several times, does he become disoriented?

If people from Poland are called Poles, why
aren't people from Holland called Holes?

If love is blind, why is lingerie so popular?

When cheese gets its picture taken, what does it say?

Why isn't the number 11 pronounced onety one?

Do Lipton Tea employees take coffee breaks?

I thought about how mothers feed their babies
with tiny little spoons and forks so I wondered
what do Chinese mothers use? Toothpicks?

If it's true that we are here to help others,
then what exactly are the others here for?

Ever wonder what the speed of lightning would
be if it didn't zigzag?

Do people who spend $2.00 apiece on those little
bottles of Evian water know that spelling it backwards
is Naive?

Have you ever truly heard
An Angel whisper in your ear?
Their voices are soft and comforting
Letting you know you have nothing to fear.

If you listen very carefully
You just might hear their sweet voice
Whispering to you of God's perfect love
And all things that make you rejoice.

They do their very best
To always watch over you
To keep you safe and happy
In everything you do.

So, next time you feel lonely
Kinda scared and feeling blue
Just whisper to your Angel...
... And listen ...
For they'll whisper back to you.

Annie sits on her Mummy's bed

Waiting for her to die

Annie suddenly realises that

Her mummy's took her last sigh

Annie's tears start to flow

Spashing down her rain

Her wonderful precious Mummy

She will never see again

Annie is shouting for her dad

She needs his tender care

But Annie's cries are hopeless

As her Daddy's no longer there

Annie looks down at her mother's face

And gives her one last kiss

Her Mummy's love and beauty

Is what Annie is going to miss

She watches the angels fly on down

To take her Mummy to heaven

Now Annie is left all alone

At the tender age of seven.

© Heather/Happychick

The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read.
Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree.
Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown,
For the world was intent on dragging me down.

And if that weren't enough to ruin my day,
A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play.
He stood right before me with his head tilted down
And said with great excitement, "Look what I found!"

In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight,
With its petals all worn - not enough rain, or too little light.
Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play,
I faked a small smile and then shifted away.

But instead of retreating he sat next to my side
And placed the flower to his nose
And declared with overacted surprise,
"It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful, too.
That's why I picked it; here, it's for you."

The weed before me was dying or dead.
Not vibrant of colors: orange, yellow or red.
But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave.
So I reached for the flower, and replied, "Just what I need."

But instead of him placing the flower in my hand,
He held it mid-air without reason or plan.
It was then that I noticed for the very first time
That weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind.

I heard my voice quiver; tears shone in the sun
As I thanked him for picking the very best one.
You're welcome," he smiled, and then ran off to play,
Unaware of the impact he'd had on my day.

I sat there and wondered how he managed to see
A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree.
How did he know of my self-indulged plight?
Perhaps from his heart, he'd been blessed with true sight.

Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see
The problem was not with the world; the problem was me.
And for all of those times I myself had been blind,
I vowed to see the beauty in life,
And appreciate every second that's mine.

And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose
And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose
And smiled as I watched that young boy,
Another weed in his hand,
About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.

It really isn’t that easy
To ride a Bumble Bee
It is difficult to keep your seat
Without falling off you see

They are like a buzzing bronco
And ever minute your in danger
They vibrate and wobble as they fly -
I hang on just like a Texas Ranger

Any other transport
Would be better I’m sure by far
If it were only practical
I would rather go by car

But cars can’t crossover gardens
Or weave in and out the flowers
I’d just get caught up in the traffic
And the journey would take hours

So I really have no option
But to risk a broken neck
I grip tight with clenched fists and knees
And pray I don’t hit the deck

It is not easy being a Bee Fairy
Any day I could end up dead
You can’t imagine just how great it feels
To get back home to bed

Having her hair done at a West Hempstead, NY, beauty parlor, a Woman told a cautionary tale about racial prejudice.

The story deserves a wider audience.

On a recent weekend in Atlantic City, the woman related, she won a bucketful of quarters at a slot machine. She took a break from the slots for dinner with her husband in the hotel dining room.

But first she would stash the quarters in her room. "I'll be right back and we'll go to eat," she told her husband and she carried the coin-laden bucket to the elevator. As she was about to walk into the elevator she noticed two men already aboard. Both were black. One of them was big...Very big...An intimidating figure.

The woman froze. Her first thought was: "These two are going to rob me." Her next thought was: "Don't be a bigot, they look like perfectly nice gentlemen, even if one of them is awfully black." But racial stereotypes are powerful, and fear immobilized her.

She stood and stared at the two men. She felt anxious, flustered, ashamed. She hoped they didn't read her mind but knew they surely did; her hesitation about joining them on the elevator was all too obvious. Her face burned. She couldn't just stand there, so with a mighty effort of will she picked up one foot and stepped forward and followed with the other foot and was on the elevator. Avoiding eye contact, she turned around stiffly and faced the elevator doors as they closed. A second passed, and then another second, and then another. The elevator didn't move. Panic consumed her. "My God," she thought, "I'm trapped and about to be robbed!"

Her heart plummeted. Perspiration poured from every pore. Then one of the men said, "Hit the floor." Instinct told her: "Do what they tell you." The bucket of quarters flew upwards as she threw out her arms and collapsed on the elevator carpet. A shower of coins rained down on her. Take my money and spare me, she prayed. More seconds passed. She heard one of the men say politely, "Ma'am, if you'll just tell us what floor you're going to, we'll push the button." The one who said it had a little trouble getting the words out. He was trying mightily to hold in a belly laugh.

She lifted her head and looked up at the two men. They reached down to help her up. Confused, she struggled to her feet. "When I told my man here to hit the floor," one of the men, the average sized one, told her, "I meant that he should hit the elevator button for our floor. I didn't mean for you to hit the floor, ma'am." He spoke genially.

He bit his lip. It was obvious he was having a hard time not laughing. She thought: "My God, what a spectacle I've made of myself." She was too humiliated to speak. She wanted to blurt out an apology, but words failed her. How do you apologize to two perfectly respectable gentlemen for behaving as though they were robbing you? She didn't know. The 3 of them gathered up the strewn quarters and refilled her bucket. When the elevator arrived at her floor they insisted on walking her to her room.

She seemed a little unsteady on her feet, and they were afraid she might not make it down the corridor. At her door they bid her good evening. As she slipped into her room she could hear them laughing while they walked back to the elevator. The woman brushed herself off. She pulled herself together and went downstairs for dinner with her husband.

The next morning flowers were delivered to her room ~ a dozen roses. Attached to each rose was a crisp one hundred dollar bill. A card said: "Thanks for the best laugh we've had in years."

It was signed, Eddie Murphy and Bodyguard.

My guardian angel, once careless and free,
flew into the clouds and lost touch with me.
Her tears were cold and wet, falling on my face.
Her smile had left us without a trace.

Her angelic lips quivered, frozen and scared,
I felt rain clouds visiting, and had to prepare.
I knew that angels, often content,
were very special presents that God had sent.

To see one so sad,
so afraid,
so alone,
had made me weep while the cold winds had blown.

Her wings lost feathers,
comforting and soft,
falling from the stars,
floating aloft.

Her pain was felt throughout the land,
to feel true misery is impossible to stand.
I prayed so that when her hurting stops,
I'll be able to taste the angel's teardrops.