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Don’t Die Too Soon……

It is interesting that in our age, longevity is a sought after state, with this product or that process offering to lead us to that sought after place.

It is also noteworthy that the Bible talks about certain men living to extraordinary ages. Methuselah takes the lead having died at the age of over 900 years!

Appreciating that there have been questions raised, over the years, about the language of the bible not necessarily having the same interpretation for numbers as we do in this age, there may be truth in this argument, there may not be, but in the end, who’s to say for certain?

In the cycle of human life, once beauty and stamina wane, the longevity wishers begin to have second thoughts. When the taste of commercial promises have proven themselves to be a little less than truth, the longevity wishers lose their appetite for a longer life. When the proliferation of mind disorders (particularly) reveals its ugly character or for that matter painful physical  diseases start destroying family members and friends before the very eyes of longevities, (if I may call them that) they don’t want to live longer thank you!

It looks like it’s a trade-off situation; in other words we want to live longer, but don’t want to die of a terrible mind or body failure.

Well, longevities, there’s good news in store for you. Its possible to live longer and not suffer the fate of mind and body failure, without the aid of commercial promises or changed lifestyle disciplines.

Its true, at least that’s what the Bible tells us; Moses is said to have died at one hundred and twenty years of age and went to his grave in good shape.

In case you are wondering, I am a longevity, planning on also going on to one hundred and twenty. “Why?” you might ask. Simple….I love my life and if Moses made it, I’m going make it as well!

This raises a question in my mind. When does death start? I think it begins with what could be termed as societal death.

Let me explain, when a person reaches a certain age, for the most part they are forced to retire. In other words they must give up their jobs and leave their work environment.

There are many people who successfully plan for this event and will go on in life sustaining themselves. There are those that would be able to continue earning money to augment pension payments. Then there are those who will have to rely on state pension only.

All these people will reach a time when society (including family members) will interact with them less and less; as a result they will spend a great deal of time on their own.

How often do we see pictures of the elderly, sat in chairs at a home or caring center, no longer productive, waiting for family or friends to visit and basically, waiting to die.

So death for these folks has started in the mind; that mind located in a perfectly healthy body. Loneliness, rejection, worthlessness, anxiety, fear, and many more begin their lethal purpose of destroying their host body and hey-ho-before-you-know, the host body and mind becomes home to a plethora of diseases, sadly resulting in death – often slow and painful.

Understandably, you ask, “Where are you going with this line?” My Answer is this: There’s more…….

Look out for part two, it’s really interesting.

 

How to survive in the lockdown by investing in some solid encouragement:

Buy my book:   e-book or printed format.

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Whiffle Golf

Three young men waited for the club secretary’s selection of a fourth player to join them in the Wednesday Club Competition.

“Meet Roger Forsythe, he’s looking to join some young blood.” A smiling club secretary greeted them. Roger’s face lit up as he faced the group. “Love playing with young blood; won many a prize because of that strategy.” Watching the three young faces it was not difficult to see their disappointment. Who could blame them? Roger was in his late sixty’s and overweight. When he spoke there was a chesty whiffle to his apparent laboured breathing.

They pulled names out of a hat to select their teammate and after some discussion on handicaps they made their way down to the carts. Jason and Cuen, two of the team, who now became a twosome against Roger and James were selecting clubs a little way from the tee. “Providing he doesn’t drop dead on us, the old man is easy meat, so we need to stack up the bets.” Cuen smiled as he spoke in hushed tones to Jason. “Why not?” replied Jason.

On the first tee a measure of discussion took place on what the three considered friendly betting on the two teams. “Count me out on the bets, I’m happy enough to collect a prize.” Roger appealed in his wheezy tone. No one argued that one and they tossed a coin for first team out.

The young men were big hitters using drivers with bulbous heads; they were clearly in the 200 yard plus league, Roger on the other hand, trailed them in the  late 170’s. But in many respects the three were erratic. The young men’s shots were long, yes, and dry fairways with short brown grass, gave extra run to their strokes. Yet, probably one in five of these big hits took advantage of the favorable fairway conditions, as four out of the rest were either ‘hooked’ or ‘sliced’ and as a result the three spent a large portion of their game off the fairway in the rough. The fairway benefit was all Roger’s as his shots followed the fairway and rarely came anywhere near the rough. One might have said that Roger was consistent.

What was also consistent about Roger was his ever wheezing whiffle. He appeared to be struggling to breathe by the time he reached the greens. Fortunately for him he either landed on the green with his chip shots, or on shorter holes with his shot off the tee. Clearly though, Roger’s downfall was his putting. Often he landed within a few feet of the pin and then missed the hole by an inch or so when putting. Strangely, Roger never seem to be upset with his putting weakness. After a miss, he could continue a few practice swings, smile, and move on.

After the ninth hole the four moved to the clubhouse for some refreshment. It was hot and the young men did quick justice to a couple of beers each and a packet of fresh fries. Roger settled for tea. Jason remarked, “Roger, are you sure you up to another nine holes, sounds like your lungs were struggling over the last nine.” “I’m good; usually improve, both breathing and game on the second nine.” Roger smiled reassuringly. The three laughed, not taking Roger seriously.

“In that case Roger, join us in the betting; we usually sweeten the stakes on the back nine.” James said merrily. “Thanks James, but no thanks. You guys are hot-shots and all under par at the moment, it seems.” Roger responded defensively. “Think of it Roger, you have one of the hot-shots, as you call us, on your side, what can you lose,” persisted James.

Cuen joined the discussion, “Look Rog, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll give you ten to one odds; on individual play, if one of us wins it costs you one Rand, you win, you get ten. On the team event you stand a winning chance for the team prize; after all, you and James both playing well.”

Roger finally relented and agreed to Cuen’s offer.

They teed off the tenth and all were happy with their arrangements. As the game continued it became apparent that Roger’s whiffle had eased off considerably and his putting became more accurate.

By the fourteenth hole things were looking a little gloomy for Cuen and Jason with Roger toting up a mean score. As a team, James and Roger were doing well, thanks largely to Roger’s improved playing. When an opportunity presented itself and the two were near each other, Jason muttered to Cuen, “The old dog has come to life, we’d better pull ourselves towards ourselves, or this could be an expensive game. In fact Cuen, after this game, I shall be wary of your judgement.” “Stop whining Jason, you agreed to the arrangement didn’t you?

As the game continued, tempers were flaring with Cuen and Jason. The angrier they became, the worse they played. James managed to keep his cool, probably because he partnered Roger.

They walked off the nineteenth and into the clubhouse.

Sitting at the pub were three unhappy young men, shelling out wads of notes. Roger opted to shower and so the three sat bemoaning their losses at the bar, without Roger’s presence. “Well the old whiffler sure skinned us.” Moaned Jason. “Ag, he just had a stroke of luck on the back nine,” commented Cuen. “Well, be honest, he did warn us that his breathing and game improved on the last nine and we went and agreed to a ten to one bet!”

Just then club secretary approached, “Fine bunch you three are, I had my money on you – Roger did not look so well today, so I took a chance on you guys.” “We’ve lost a packet!” Jason spat. “You and I both, seems Roger will be collecting a stash today, especially from the caddies,” the secretary went on. The caddies?” questioned James. “Yip, about twelve of them backed you.” There was a fair amount of cussing from the three, but eventually, Cuen began to laugh and the rest followed suit.

The secretary, caught his breath, “Our Roger is a hectic gambler, here every Wednesday to collect his stash, never misses.

 Roger collected a packet full of notes and contentedly filled his pockets, after buying a round. “You are one sly old ba****ed Roger,” Cuen laughed, you sure took us!” “Night’s not over yet.” Quipped Roger.

Roger did not go home empty handed. Pockets stuffed with notes, he and James were runners up in best team of the day award and to boot Roger was awarded, “Most Improved Player.”

Opening his front door, Roger’s wife called, “Perfect timing, dinner will be served shortly.” He opened a bottle of bubbly and the two sat down to a scrumptious roast.

They chatted and after dinner went through to the living room, where a large table held Roger’s spoils.

Rosie, Roger’s wife sat down and not unalike a Father Christmas, Roger gave out their prizes. “For my wife Rosie: the runner up award for the best team of the day, a beautiful duvet cover, with matching pillow cases for our bed; next, an envelope containing one thousand Rand, a gift from those who thought they bet against a whiffley old man. For myself, a two hundred Rand voucher from the pro-shop for the most improved player of the week!”

Rosie beamed, “My man always bags the goose!”

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If you feel this article has value, please send this link to others, Writings are meant for people, not for dormant files in our computers and very often when we share them, it results in positive changes in the lives of individuals and communities.

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The Art of Sabrage

“Sabrage /səˈbrɑːʒ/ is a technique for opening a champagne bottle with a Sabre,[1] used for ceremonial occasions. The wielder slides the Sabre along the body of the bottle to break the top of the neck away, leaving the neck of the bottle open and ready to pour. The force of the blunt side of the blade hitting the lip breaks the glass to separate the collar from the neck of the bottle. One does not use the sharp side of the blade. The cork and collar remain together after separating from the neck.”  Wikipedia

The origins of Sabrage are said to have come from Napoleon’s troops who received gifts of Champagne from people as they rode from their victory ground. They could not open the bottle with one hand on the reign and used their Sabre’s to dislodge the bottle tops.

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You ADD Too?

Sea Shore

“We spend time in our dreams, our special world where everything is on our side”

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I dream of visiting faraway islands on distant shores, lying on a beach, engrossed in my favorite pastime – dreaming. Continue reading You ADD Too?

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Every Dog Has His Day…..

 

“Every Dog has his Day and every Bitch – Two Afternoons.”

(American Proverb)

Dogs

 

 There was once a dog, call “Dog” and his mate called “Bitch”.

They lived in a comfortable suburban home with their owners.

Every day started with a bowl of dog food porridge and every day ended

with a bowl of dry biscuits. In between they drank from bowls of water.

On Sunday’s they were given bones from the owners table, after they

finished their meal.

On being handed their bones,

Dog would run away and bury his bone, returning to snatch Bitch’s

from her, eating it and then saying, “Haven’t you heard,

‘Every Dog has His Day!’ Sunday is my day – ha! ha!”

The following Monday, whilst Dog was fast asleep dreaming of Doggy Bone Land,

Bitch searched until she found Dog’s buried bone, which she ate with relish,

carefully burying the remnants. The following afternoon Bitch dug up the

remnants and ate those too.

On Wednesday Dog went off happily to find his bone, which of course was

not there!

He was furious and snarled at Bitch, who responded nonchalantly; “Haven’t you heard:

‘Every Dog has his day and every Bitch two afternoons, haha!”

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If you feel this article has value, please send this link to others, Writings are meant for people, not for dormant files in our computers and very often when we share them, it results in positive changes in the lives of individuals and communities.

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Please feel free to send in questions (see ‘Contact’) and comments (hit ‘Comments’

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What Land Belongs to Who….?

In May 2015 Thomas Beddy responded to a comment by our then President Jacob Zuma on Facebook.

In the run-up to our next general election, like most countries in the world, hot headed politicians are, in one form or another, broadcasting all manner of gross exaggerations to the their followers and the electorate in general.

The comment of Mr Beddy I thought was absolutely brilliantly written, in response to Mr Jacob Zuma’s statement that, all the problems in South Africa started with the arrival Rand Noteof Jan Van Riebeeck in 1652.

His article reads thus and I quote verbatim from his Facebook Page:

As a header the face of Jan Van Riebeeck is cartooned saying, “Stop blaming me for all your shit!!! Pay back the money”.

“A Brit responded..

I know, I know.. We had the same problems in England you know..

First we had the Picts and the Scots. And then came the Romans who stuck around for for about four centuries. Then we had the Angels and Saxons and all those other Germanic tribes. Oh ho. Then came the Danes and their Viking mates, a nauseating bunch of horney helmeted rapists and looters they were.

Nevertheless the Danes were eventually displaced by the Normans, who turned out to be Frenchmen in disguise – but we were a bit slow to recognize the fact until it was too late; Anyway they were led by the Duke of Normandy, who was a real bastard and who gave our wimpy king a right one in the eye. (The bloody French are still hanging around with their cheese and their bread and their wine  and their accordion music and their fancy restaurants, seducing our people away from our culture of slap chips and custard.)

And then, and then, came the Dutch when King William and Queen Mary of Orange popped over and started causing nonsense with the Irish at the battle of the Boyne. The Irish have never completely forgiven us, so they came over and settled all our building sites.

Then the Germans came back again, surreptitiously, and occupied top of the Mall in Buckingham Palace…

And where are we now…? Now we have Arabs, Pakistanis, Indians, Caribbeans, Syrians, the Oz, Italians, Americans, Canadians, Poles, Portuguese, Saudis, Kuwaitis, Moroccans Egyptians, Iranians, Palestinians, Israeli Jews, Ethiopians, Somalis, Nigerians, Rhodesians, Scots (to run the government), and (whoa!) South Africans…

Its been going on for two thousand years.

It’s an outrage…

And yet, and yet…all these people (well most!) have contributed to make England and the English a great democratic nation.

And yet, I have never felt the slightest inclination to bomb Rome, to shatter the Pyramids, , to close a Pakistani restaurant, to nuke the Ka’aba in Mecca, to blow up a bus in Jerusalem, to chop off the head of a Nigerian etc. (And even if I have, I have controlled myself from saying so.)……”

There is more – find it on Facebook.

I have published this article, because I feel Mr. Thomas Beddy has a good sense of humour, which is something we need more of in this world of ours today.

 

 

 

 

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Saint Pinard

Saint Pinard

 

 

Saint Pinard

I recall some years ago a conversation I had with a French family, concerning my origins. At the time it raised much mirth among them resulting in the only member of the family, who could speak English, confiding in me.

“Peter” he said, “This name, Pinard is a beet of a joke in France”.

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The Gravy Train – Part Two

Gravy Train

 

I finished off Part One, last week with this statement:

How do you make your lap available?

It’s a very simple process called, ‘looking for opportunities’. Once you embark on this process, you will be nothing short of astounded by the amount of opportunities that cross your path, almost every second of the day.

Continue reading The Gravy Train – Part Two

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The Gravy Train

Gravy Train

You and I are living in one of the most exciting ages in history.

Do you agree with this statement and does it excite you?

This is the age of discovery – discovery in almost every dimension of our daily lives. Science, anthropology, the human mind, medicine, human behavioral science, earth and environmental science, mechanical science etc. the list seems to be endless.

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Decisions, Decisions.

Bexi's Decisions

Vanilla ice cream or chocolate cake? Close your eyes take a deep breath and just pick one. Go with your heart, rely on your gut. It’s really not that hard. I mean for me of course I would have chosen a slice of chocolate cake with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side, but some people might have found that choice quite hard.

Continue reading Decisions, Decisions.