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Sunday, September 21, 2014


The first window blinds I remember were those at my grandparents’ house. They were in every single window and were not white but more of a tan color.  To me, there were funny things and I touched them a lot. The blinds were only put up halfway so that it looked decent from the street. I suppose.  They weren’t made of plastic but of a thick fabric that had been either oiled or glazed.

Heard the words “Holland cloth” in reference to the blinds which made me think that they must have come from Holland. Well, no they weren’t but I sure thought that.  Each blind had a silky string cord that hung down in the middle and at the end of that cord was a circle that was covered in the same silky string.  Loved to touch that circle and once when I did, the blind went zooming up to the curtain rod. Was in big trouble. But my grandfather only laughed and fixed that blind thank heavens.

These types of blinds were what everyone had in their houses. It was the thing to have.

But with the advent of plastic, window blinds drastically changed for that was what they were made of and they smelled a smelly smell. A distinct smell.  Fumes permeated the entire room where those blinds were.  Windows were opened to let that ghastly smell out.  I remember that because I did it a lot, much to my parents’ disdain. And the blinds were snow white—not the familiar tannish color.  Oh they blocked out light but not so much for that would happen a lot later.

The worst or the best thing about these new plastic window blinds was a built-in spring:   If I were to pull it so it would go up, it went up all right. Like fast. And the worst thing was that if I pulled it up too quickly, the entire blind would wind round and round the pole on which it was attached.  It was then that I had to call my mom or dad to fix it which to them was a never ending nightmare.

These new blinds didn’t have a silky corded string or a circle; instead, the bottom of the blind was really thick. That was good and that was bad.  Good if I had to yank on it to go up and bad because my fingerprints were left on the white bottom.  But oh someone came up with an invention of a pull which slid over the bottom of the blind and it was also decorative.  Looked good but once again, not so good for if I pulled on that decorative slide, it would either fall off or up went the blind as fast as all get out.

By this time I had a love-hate relationship with window blinds.  They smelled, they still flew up to the top and wound round and round unless I was careful and too many times they actually broke off from the pole that held them. That was called disaster.  Worse was that if I pulled too hard and that blind went up too fast, it would also tear right smack down the side or the middle.  Couldn’t count the times that happened and how many blinds had to be replaced.  Too many times it seemed.  And this happened in my young adult years.  Could I fix a ripped blind? I don’t think so. A new one had to be bought and it didn’t last long either.

A newer version of the plastic blind came out; still snow white but with a white pattern on it. Why you ask? I have no idea. Certainly didn’t enhance the looks of them at all.

And with this advent of the newer version, what would I have in my classroom? Why I had the old tan ones that were left over from the Dark Ages.  If the sun were glaring into the room, I’d pull all of them down—one at a time.  And what do you think would happen? Well it never failed that one of them would roll up as fast as it could and just stay there while the students and I were blinded.  Oh too many times, the custodian would appear and fix that blind for me; not only was I grateful but so were my students.  The classroom windows were extremely tall and there were four in the classroom.  Sometimes when the blind went zooming up, I’d stand on a chair and step over to the built-in cupboard to reach that thing.  Never was a fun job ever.

I’ll never forget that on one specific day when I went to pull up the blinds, that two of them rolled up to the pole and just sat there.  The custodian was not at school that day. My students and I had to turn our desks away from the windows but that day was pure torture.  Worse was that it took three days for some men to come from the board’s warehouse to take down the broken blinds and replace them.  Prior, those three days were sunny and the days were hot.

 Oh and one principal decided that every teacher should make all the blinds in each classroom the same level so that it would look good from the outside.  Do you think that every teacher did that? Of course not.  But if they did, too many times those blinds went zooming up to the very top of the tall window.  I know because that happened to me a lot.  Frustrating to say the least.

When plastic mini-blinds came on the scene, I think that everyone in town not only got them but yelled a huge yell of hooray.  Well, at least I did.  No more smelly smell, no more pull cord or decorative slide to mess with but what did we get? Strings on the side.  Did the strings get tangled up? You bet they did.  But the strings also allowed the blind to be pulled up to any length.  And attached to the left side was a long stick like piece that dangled down.  Its purpose allowed anyone to open the mini-blinds a little or a lot.

We’ve come a long way with window blinds for who would want the ones made of material?  They couldn’t be washed and when they got dirty, they were replaced.  At least mini-blinds can be taken down and put in the bathtub to soak. Drying them is another story in itself. Oh and with these blinds that almost all of us have, slats do get broken or bent. My cat has destroyed way too many blinds by climbing through them at night to peer out.  And so what do I have to do? Why buy replacements of course. But there are two good things about these blinds:  They don’t smell to high heavens and they don’t roll up to the top of the window!

Window blinds:  Love them or hate them. Have them or discard them.

Sherry Hill

Copyright © 2014
Sherry Hill

All Rights Reserved

Saturday, September 20, 2014


Greetings from far far away!

I'm embedding a link to my newest Amazon Kindle E book; if you don't have a Kindle, Amazon has a free download to your computer.

Sincerely hope that you enjoy my newest fiction book.
Thanks all!

Sherry Hill


Thursday, September 18, 2014


Over the years, I have come in contact with people from every walk of life--rich, poor, middle class and low class. What matters to me? None of those classes matters: What matters is how that person acts and treats others. And to me, uppity people are the worst whether they are rich or poor. Putting on airs or as some would call it "being fakey" is so pretentious. Really wealthy people, classy people or any class included do not put on airs.
About twenty years ago or more, I was getting ready to do a big style show in town: It was for a big cause that raised money for something here. Not only did I have to find the clothes and accessories to the women to model but also for me, for I had two roles--that of being the coordinator and also modeling an outfit. I was doing this show in conjunction with an organization I belonged to. And whenever we did these style shows, we charged a fee. The fee which was minimal was given back to the organization for usage.
The woman in charge of the even bigger style show that combined about eight stores and a couple of organizations had contacted me. I told her about the price and she said that was fine. And "Oh," she said, " We will be serving finger foods afterwards, so please let the models know so that they can eat. We'd just love to share that with you." And so, we were a part of all of these stores who had models represented as well as their own speakers.
The day arrived and it was mid-summer, hot and humid. I had also asked some of my friends who were going to model if their daughters would like to be in the show; they did and they were there--ready and waiting. As we all walked into this giant well-known building in town, there was a lovely table set up complete with flowers, drinks and finger foods. And behind the table was standing the woman with whom I had to talked to on the phone. She greeted me and handed me the check that I had to have and she was so uppity: She wanted to be so superior and she acted out her part well. The others proceeded to go on into the auditorium and I followed them.
Table after table was filled with elderly women, younger women and girls. And all of them were having their luncheon served.
We had to walk past them to the front of the room and go up steps behind the stage curtains: It was there that we had to change our clothes and be prepared for the show. Luckily, my friend was going to narrate. But a good friend of mine, who owned a store in town, came running through those curtains and was hysterical! She couldn't stay for the show and would I coordinate her models as well? I told her I would and the show went on...and on.
Somehow my friend who was narrating had the sharp wits to combine that store along with us.
The entire style show was a huge success for the audience was so appreciative. All of us had to wait till the audience cleared out before we could leave.
After everything was packed up, picked up and put away, I was the first to head to the main front doors where that table was set up.
None of us in my group or the store group hadn't eaten or drunk anything prior to the start of the show.
You can imagine that after a two hour show and the talking, etc. how we were: We felt like we had been out in the desert.
The two young girls who had modeled for me ran to the table and asked for a drink. The uppity woman looked at them as if they had snakes in their hair! "Absolutely not!" she roared. A minute later, the mothers of those two girls descended upon the uppity woman and I can't write what they said. But the girls and their mothers went flying out the double doors and left.
And here I was with my friend, the narrator, and the models at the front table. Just as one woman reached for a plate on which to put some finger sandwiches, the uppity woman looked over at me and said, "Well!
Do you think that all of you can have food and drinks after you charged me to be in the show? Absolutely not!" I was plain out dumbfounded. Everyone left except my friend, the narrator and me; we were waiting on my then-husband to pick us up. As we approached the double doors to go outside, we could see that it was pouring down the rain in sheets. We were stuck in there for what seemed like an eternity. Meanwhile, I glanced back at the table where finger sandwiches and drinks still sat--that is till the uppity woman grabbed a huge cloth napkin and covered up a huge stack of sandwiches and shoved them into her huge pocketbook.
Oh but my eyes met hers. Caught! She looked like the cat that swallowed the canary. Tacky!
I said nothing.
When my then-husband arrived to pick up my friend and me, we dashed out into the rain, got in the car and had him take us to the quickest place he could find so that we could get something--anything--to drink. My friend and I told him what had happened and none of us could get over the uppity woman's behavior, much less her cramming food into her pocketbook.
If you think that I just let this go, I didn't. For the more I thought about it, the more furious I got: Not for me but for the little girls and the friends of mine who had done this for me and were met with her repugnance.
A week later I contacted the man for whom the luncheon had been held. He was the head of the organization. As I politely told him what the uppity woman had done, he was aghast. Of course, what could he do? The damage had already been done.
The uppity woman continued acting out her part for a long time in town. She might have had followers but she didn't impress me or my friends. Besides being wealthy, she was a fake. And whenever I did see her off and on, I chose to ignore her. You don't have to be wealthy to have class or manners: It's not a requirement at all. It is something that is learned. Give me plain honest people any day for uppity people really get to me.
Sherry Hill
P.S. I do have some very wealthy friends. But if you were to meet them, you'd never know it for they don't put on airs and don't act the part, thankfully. And I have middle class friends and poor class friends. All of them have class. You can't buy it.
Copyright © 2014
Sherry Hill
All Rights Reserved

Wednesday, September 17, 2014


Fall is my favorite season. It's a sensory overload of colors, smells, azure blue skies, crunchy sounds that my feet make on leaves while walking and it takes my breath away. To me, Fall is like a woman with a velvet cape on that comes swirling around painting this and that with brilliant colors. She's quick and she has much to do and that she knows. Remnants are left here and there to remind us of her--acorns on the street, huge orange pumpkins that delight us all and the pungent wonderful smell that only leaves have when their colors really show. Fall knows that she impresses us for she is a master of stirring up childhood memories of bonfires, bobbing for apples and jumping in leaf piles. But like Cinderella, Fall only has a specific time: She must hurry! And hurry she does making us all wish that she would stay longer but alas she can't for leering behind her is Winter with his icy fingers wanting to reach out and say it's his time. That’s the only downside to Fall: She can’t stay long enough for others or me. I welcome her with open arms and embrace every single day that she is among us. And I mourn Fall when she leaves for her stay is too short. But while she’s here, what a spectacular show she does put on. And for that, I am ever so grateful.
Sherry Hill
Copyright © 2014
Sherry Hill
All Rights Reserved

Friday, September 12, 2014


Without technology I wouldn't be able to share any of my blog post with you--in fact, I wouldn't have a blog. And no computer on which to write. But alas, I have both.  And now after about four hours of moving stuff that was out of place, getting rid of my old printer, scanner, copier, my new one is finally installed.

Was it hard to install? Well there was a USB cable that was in the package that wasn't compatible at all. Had to call the place where I got the psc and ask a technician about what to do as that USB cable wouldn't fit. He said it must have gotten put in the original packaging by mistake.

Uh hum.  "What should it look like?" I asked him. "It should have a metal oblong end and one on the other end that is black with the symbol on it." Knew what he meant and lo and behold, my old psc did have that cable. I know because I yanked it out--well not from the back but from the psc. 

"Thank heavens" I thought to myself. I got it installed--that is after I inserted the software disc into my laptop and waited and waited.  Finally the software was installed. I looked at the manual and attempted to figure out what button did what: Not easy.  Did know how to copy and scan from looking at a diagram but there is so much more with this newer version of the psc.

Seems like when you get something that is new technology-wise, it is more complicated than the last one. But isn't everything like that? What happened to easy? I think it flew out the window. Course a 7 year old might disagree.

Didn't mention that I had to move about 30 things that had accumulated around the old printer I had and that they were all over this room. Everywhere. Some were small while others were book size. Is the job finished regarding the stuff? Not yet but it will be. Right now I am worn out just as the man is at the computer.

Oh new technology: Either love it or let it get the best of you.  One thing's for sure and that is it won't get the best of me. I will figure it all out: It's a case of have to.  If you've been in my situation, you know the feeling well.  There is a lot I can do but something that requires a lot of manual looking is not one of them.

Rest my case --for now that is.

Sherry Hill

 Copyright © 2014
Sherry Hill
All Rights Reserved

Wednesday, September 10, 2014


A long while back, my mom discovered that our family owned two pieces of property here in town. Shocked me. Shocked her. She knew of the two houses from long ago as her great grandmother’s sister, Samantha, had lived in the biggest one with her husband, Perry. But Samantha died when my mom was in her twenties leaving Perry a widower.
I remember meeting Uncle Perry; he had been a riverboat captain long before I was born. The house in which he and Samantha would move to was one he built her for a wedding present. And it sat on the Kanawha Boulevard right across from the now Magic Island: It had an entire yard full of purple martin bird houses that he had built.
Perry and Samantha had no children. When he died, his niece inherited everything—except for those two houses which were down the street on Ohio Avenue. Apparently the niece called my mom and told her about them and said that she’d been renting both houses for years. And added: “I deposited the money in the bank.” It shook up my mom as these houses were part of our inheritance along with a family farm. My mom had been collecting the farm taxes forever as her great grandfather didn’t leave a will. So many heirs and so many secondary heirs that it would be impossible to count, but she did.
And guess who had to go with my mom in the dreaded cold winter to check out these two houses? I did. The biggest house that sat in front had each room occupied by one person. Each person had a hot plate and furniture. My mom got livid when she saw that for there was no insurance on the place. The smaller back house was empty but had some furniture in it.
I drove her home and there she sat and stewed upon the situation. Finally, she called a lawyer friend of hers who told her that all of the renters in the biggest house had to get out. This was on a Saturday and the next day, I picked her up and took her over there where she had to tell every single person that they would have to vacate the place. Nice about it she wasn’t for if anything were to happen like a fire or the like, our family would get sued. In two weeks, the house was vacant. And the weather was frigid; after all, it was February.
I was teaching school and on a Saturday morning not long after, she called me and said “You will have to get someone and go over and see if any people are still living in the house.” “Now?” I asked. “Now!” she screeched at me. I called two antique dealer friends of mine to go with me. Heck, there was no way I was going in there alone and besides the temperature was 12 degrees that day.
My friends Tom and Marti went in the frigid house with me. We scoured that place from top to bottom. No renters were found. I did find an antique cupboard of sorts nailed to the wall. Tom pulled it lose and Samantha had written her name on the back of it. The three of us carried it downstairs and put it near the front door. “What about the attic?” Tom asked me. “What do you mean?” “Well, there might be stuff up there that we missed” Tom told me. Ah the adventurer in me came out full force. I ran up those stairs to the attic with Tom and his wife right behind me.
What I saw, I’d already seen---an old metal kitchen table. “Hey!” I shouted “There’s a push up square in the ceiling.” Somehow I got up on that table, pulled the four tabs back and all of a sudden a gigantic amount of bats swooped down into my hair, on my arms and on Tom and Marti. “Get them off of me!” I was screaming. Marti had already run down the staircase leaving just Tom and me. All of a sudden, Tom yanked a curtain rod off the wall and hit every bat he could see. I ran down the staircase and went outside. Hysterical. Marti was there almost frozen and hysterical as well.
Seemed like an eternity before Tom came out but he did and had that cupboard with him. Had no idea what he did with the curtain rod but by this point who cared?
Cupboard was brought to my house by them and they left for home. I was freezing and couldn’t get warm. Called my mom to report what had happened and that there were no renters left in the house. Well that made her glad but I could tell I was getting sick.
Not only did I get pneumonia but those bats on me! I missed a week of teaching school. Yes, I kept that cupboard for a while only to give it to a neighbor which in retrospect, wished I hadn’t.
My mom had to contact every single heir and secondary heir in order to sell both places. That took months. Both were sold; each heir got something like $67. The money that had been in the bank from Uncle Perry’s niece was not a huge amount as it should have been. But it too had to be shared and shared it was.
After the “bat experience,” I would never go into an empty house in the dread of winter ever again. Seriously, would you have wanted a swarm of bats all over you? I don’t think so. And don’t forget getting pneumonia. That was a two-fold experience I will never forget and it all happened just to check and see if any renters were in the house. Well, they weren’t.
Sherry Hill
Copyright © 2014
Sherry Hill
All Rights Reserved

Tuesday, September 9, 2014


Several years ago, we had a horrible winter that dragged on forever. Aside from taking care of my pets and myself, I would go outside every frigid morning and put out birdseed in the snowy yard. Naturally I didn’t linger out there but more like threw the birdseed and bread crumbs out as fast as I could and rush back into the warmth of the house. Upon entering my house, as usual I would do some things and then peer out the window to see what birds or critters would find the food in the piled up snow. I saw the frequent squirrels, little birds and then they seemed to either run or fly off in a split second. It was that cold.
As I turned away from the window, I decided to take one more glance to see if any other birds would find the food. Lo and behold, two mourning doves were out in the deep snow but on the other side of the food. They were frantic in looking for birdseed and kept going around in the same area. I wanted to scream “The food is over there! You’re not looking.”
Absolutely impossible to run out and tell them that and so, I kept hoping they would look over to the side. But they didn’t and left hungry. And then it struck me how much we are like these particular mourning doves when it comes to needing or getting help from God. We get narrow-minded and have tunnel vision in focusing on what is right in front of us and forget to look around or up. Most of all, we forget that God is everywhere and not in just one place.
In Matthew 7:7 it is written: “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.”
The parallel is obvious between the mourning doves and people. Look around, look up, look aside and it will be there. Just don’t look in one place. Even if what we are seeking is covered up, it is still there waiting for us. And it is up to us to find it for God said it.
Sherry Hill.
Published in The Sunday Gazette Mail.

Copyright © 2014
Sherry Hill
All Rights Reserved

Saturday, September 6, 2014


Crinolines go way back in history. If you were to look at drawings or old photos of women in long dresses—say about the late 1700’s to the late 1800’s: They normally would be wearing a crinoline. But underneath it? Why a hoop skirt which had metal casings going round along with material. Imagine having to wear one of those? And underneath that, the slip. Imagine trying to sit down with that thing on.
Think “Gone With The Wind” and the dresses that Scarlett wore: They had crinolines underneath them which made the dresses stand way out from the waist down. And the ever popular hoop skirt was underneath that; however, instead of metal casings, the casings were made of bone. Under all those layers were bloomers and a camisole with the popular waist corset that held a woman’s waist in tight. Imagine trying to sit down in a dress with all of that underneath it. Not impossible but no doubt the entire bottom of the dress would fly up unless a woman held it down. And that probably happened way too much. Oh the horror of it all.
Being encased in the gigantic crinolines as well as the other layers of torture undergarments, must have been horrid and hot as well. And ah, no air conditioning then either—an important factor. No wonder women fainted or had vapor attacks.
The early 1900’s saw a different view of how a woman would dress: It was the Gibson Girl look. Crinolines had been cast aside. A pinched waist and also a bustle that was attached underneath the long dress were in vogue. This look was popular for a while until long dresses minus the crinoline became the rage. Down side to these dresses as well as those prior, was a million buttons. Snaps had not been invented yet nor the zipper. What did a woman use to button up a dress? She used a button hook or if she were lucky, someone else used the hook. And of course the slip still ruled as did camisoles.
In the 1920’s women revolted against the underneath layered look and wore the vamp type dresses—but not all women. There were those that refused to bare it all.
Forward in time and crinolines lost favor among women—that is until the 1950’s when teenagers wanted to wear them underneath their skirts. At first the crinolines were white and made of tulle; mothers had to starch them so that they would stick way out underneath a skirt. And of course underneath that was the ever popular slip. Good heavens, mustn’t show an upper leg—still.
Then with the advent of many different colors of crinolines it made every young teenage girl want them all. Some were multi-colored. I know because I wore those things. It was such a rush to walk down the street with my skirt sticking out to high heavens and making crunchy noises. What was my favorite color? Why the multi-colored one of course but I also wore a white one underneath that and the slip. It WAS the thing to wear.
Was my mom happy with having to starch them? I don’t think so. And wearing two crinolines at once under my skirt, made it virtually impossible to get through rows of desks in junior high. But ah, I wasn’t alone for all of my female friends wore them as well. Sitting down at my desk was almost impossible but it worked after I smashed the crinolines down. My friends had to do the very same thing. This wearing of them went on for two years and realistically, I was never so glad to quit wearing them. They were hot, cumbersome and seemed to get soiled easily. Don’t get me wrong for girls also wore straight skirts and those were heaven compared to having wear crinolines. I know all too well for I couldn’t wait to wear a straight skirt—but the slip underneath it was still there.
Come high school, no female wore crinolines ever again but they would appear underneath formal evening gowns. Ah the torture was still alive and well. Every single prom required a girl to wear a strapless evening gown with a huge crinoline sewn underneath it. In retrospect, those evening gowns were pure punishment due to the staves that were in the bodice and crushed your ribs to no end. Vertical lines stayed on your chest for about a week. But then that’s another story in itself.
When I arrived at college, crinolines had completely vanished. To be free of those things was magnificent.
Do I have any crinolines? Absolutely not. I have worn them in vintage style shows but for owning any, that would be a definite no. If you google crinolines, you will find them under the tab “vintage.” Holy cow, just think: The crinolines we wore are now labeled that. Sort of petrifying isn’t it?
If you wore these crinolines, hold tight to your memories for no one today has a clue as to what they were—or how much they were at first lusted after and later despised. As for my feelings, I’m so thankful that they are a thing of the past but hey wearing one or two was certainly a blast way back when!
Sherry Hill
Copyright © 2014
Sherry Hill
All Rights Reserved


Every female used to dread hearing “You’re slip is showing.”
It meant that it was darned near socially unacceptable.  And off a girl or woman would rush to some restroom or a place where not to be seen, to pull up that blasted slip. Either the thing was doubled up around the waist or if it were a long slip, a safety pin came in handy.  Long slips had straps that could be adjusted just like some bras have. Course sometimes those straps didn’t work.   Do I remember wearing a slip?  Heck yes. Started wearing one when I was eleven: It was the norm for young girls and those older.

Slips were made of nylon and came in the colors of white, black and tan.  But as for me, when I was eleven and onward, I had to wear white ones.  They were either half- slips that looked like a skirt or full slips that in today’s world, would look like a sun dress.  I had to wear one or the other and dreaded it. Imagine if you can wearing underwear, then a garter belt, that blasted slip and a dress or skirt with a belt to top it off. That was four layers around a waist—or five if you had on a half-slip.  It’s a wonder that none of us, including me, didn’t pass out from the pressure around our waists.

Personally, I hated wearing either of these types of slips. And why were they foisted upon females? Why someone might see through a wool skirt, a corduroy one or a dark cotton skirt and the horror of that. How could anyone see through those three types of material?  Well they couldn’t.  But it didn’t matter because it was the acceptable thing to wear.

In my teenage years, some manufacturer came out with colorful full slips:  They were beautiful with lace and of course, made of nylon. I well remember having a purple slip that was drop dead gorgeous. And it was drop dead hot when I wore it. But wearing it made me feel glamorous. Had so many in so many different colors. Of course, the same problem existed: If the slip showed, it was decadent!  Couldn’t count the times I had to rush into a bathroom or somewhere to pull up the straps.  The repetition of this got old really fast. But then every female was bound by the same rule: A female has to wear a slip.

Forward into my twenties and those long polyester dresses were the thing to wear:  They came down to your feet.  Hot as blazes but it was the cool thing to wear.  And then another invention was made:  A long half-slip that almost touched the ground.  The same old problem existed for if the slip were showing, heaven forbid:  It was off to secrecy to fold over the top of that thing and it made your waist look lumpy. Dreadful.

Years went by of wearing half-slips or full slips until about eighteen years ago or so when I realized, along with other women, that it was absurd to wear either. In essence, it was plain torture and something out of the 1800’s passed down but ah the tradition was losing ground.

I haven’t worn a slip in forever nor will I.  Do I still have any slips? Yes, in a drawer there are some but they really need to be thrown away.  Today’s young females know nothing of slips and I hope that they are grateful.  And after all, if you look at what they wear dress-wise, why it’s a disguised slip—a full one that is.

Thank heavens I will never hear “Excuse me, your slip is showing.” I don’t wear one and I’m sure that most females don’t—at least in most countries. I can only hope that this tradition will go down the tubes if you are forced to wear one.

Slips were just disgusting.  No other way to say it.

Sherry Hill

Copyright © 2014
Sherry Hill
All Rights Reserved
By the way, I couldn’t find any images of a slip. What does that say?

Monday, September 1, 2014


Labor Day is a national holiday here in the United States. It's a day set aside to honor all those before us and those of today that have worked and/or are working.  Some jobs here require a lot of human strength where lifting, digging and carrying are the norm. Think farmers, coal miners, builders or any job that takes a toil on the human body.  It's not to say that those that work don't use their strength for any job that requires thinking and producing  for those can be as hard as well.

On my part as a former teacher, I did lift, carry but did more of the thinking and hopefully instilling of tools for learning.

To all of you who work, I admire you. And I thank you for what you have done or are doing.

Love this quote from Thomas Edison:

“I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work.” 

Don't ever think yourself a failure.  Keep trying but most all today, rest.  Enjoy your special day.

Sherry Hill

Copyright © 2014
Sherry Hill

All Rights Reserved