by MarianBeaman | Feb 26, 2014 | Coming of Age, Conflict, Education, Literature, meditation, Quotations, Reflection, Uncategorized
Tucked under the signature of my Florida driver’s license are two words in blood-red that indicate that I am an organ donor. This means that if I were in a fatal crash, my kidneys, liver, lungs, corneas—even my heart could be harvested for transplantation. Harvested...
by MarianBeaman | Feb 14, 2014 | Education, Family / Nostalgia, Literature, meditation, Memory, Nostalgia, Romance, Uncategorized
“All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt.” So says Charles M. Schulz. Valentine’s Day is interpreted by many to include cards, chocolates, candlelight and roses. Some even break the bank buying expensive jewelry....
by MarianBeaman | Feb 12, 2014 | Gratitude, Literature, Quotations, Reflection, Uncategorized
Think of February as God’s special gift of time sandwiched between all the hubbub of past holidays and the upcoming arrival of a busy spring. To me, February is the ideal month to regroup . . . to review where I’ve been and to rethink where I’m going. I have found it...
by MarianBeaman | Feb 5, 2014 | Coming of Age, Literature, meditation, Uncategorized
Now you are probably thinking . . . age 72 is a long way off, or it’s just around the corner. Either way, it’s a question worth pondering. In 1700 the average life expectancy was 37. In fact, 40 would be pushing it. Yet, in that very year Mary Granville...
by MarianBeaman | Jan 15, 2014 | Literature, meditation, Memory, Nostalgia, Purple Passage, Quotations, Reflection, Uncategorized
VISIONS and DREAMS for 2014 A man must have dreams–memory dreams of the past and eager dreams of the future. I never want to stop reaching for new goals. – Maurice Chevalier Then the Lord answered me and said: “Write the vision And make it plain on...
by MarianBeaman | Jan 8, 2014 | Coming of Age, Education, Family / Nostalgia, Literature, Mennonite Lore, Uncategorized
Books, books, books! I had found the secret of a garret-room Piled high with cases in my father’s name, Piled high, packed large,—where, creeping in and out Among the giant fossils of my past, Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs Of a mastodon, I...
