We are the Whitney's!: Pasta!

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Pasta!

We had pasta for dinner the other night and Joe managed to get the cutest pictures of Cameron once she was done eating! This is a regular occurance around our household, as she is the messiest eater IN THE WORLD!! She refuses to learn or try to use a fork or spoon, no matter how many times I give her one - she looks me square in the face, picks it up, and tosses it onto the floor! She's lucky she's so stinking cute!! Anywho, words wont do her justice so here she is!!...

Poem by my Grandma Dorothy Smith

no matter what else you are doing
from cradle right down to the end
you are writing your lifes secret story
each night a new page is penned
each month is the end of a chapter
each year the end of a part
and never a word is misstated
not even a wish of the heart

each morn when you awake the book opens
revealing a page clean and white
each thought, each word, and each act,
reveal on its pages by night
God leaves that to you, youre the writer
and never a word will be dimmed
until some day you write the word "finish"
and give the book back to Him.

O Captain! My Captain! (Walt Whitman)

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart!O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills;For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head; It is some dream that on the deck,You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

The Road Not Taken (Robert Frost)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

House By The Side of The Road

by Sam Walter Foss

There are hermit souls that live withdrawnIn the place of their self-content;There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,In a fellowless firmament;There are pioneer souls that blaze the pathsWhere highways never ran-But let me live by the side of the roadAnd be a friend to man.
Let me live in a house by the side of the roadWhere the race of men go by-The men who are good and the men who are bad,As good and as bad as I.I would not sit in the scorner's seatNor hurl the cynic's ban-Let me live in a house by the side of the roadAnd be a friend to man.
I see from my house by the side of the roadBy the side of the highway of life,The men who press with the ardor of hope,The men who are faint with the strife,But I turn not away from their smiles and tears,Both parts of an infinite plan-Let me live in a house by the side of the roadAnd be a friend to man.
I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead,And mountains of wearisome height;That the road passes on through the long afternoonAnd stretches away to the night.And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoiceAnd weep with the strangers that moan,Nor live in my house by the side of the roadLike a man who dwells alone.
Let me live in my house by the side of the road,Where the race of men go by-They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,Wise, foolish - so am I.Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat,Or hurl the cynic's ban?Let me live in my house by the side of the roadAnd be a friend to man.

Quotes I like...

"If someone were to ask whether communications skills or meekness is most important to a marriage, I'd answer meekness, hands down. You can be a superb communicator but still never have the humility to ask, 'Is it I?' Communication skills are no substitute for Christlike attributes. As Dr. Douglas Brinley has observed, 'Without theological perspectives, secular exercises designed to improve our relationship and our communication skills (the common tools of counselors and marriage books) will never work any permanent change in one's heart: they simply develop more clever and skilled fighters!" - Jonh Bytheway

"This is a wonderful time to be living here on earth. Our opportunities are limitless. While there are some things wrong in the world today, there are many things right, such as teachers who teach, ministers who minister, marriages that make it, parents who sacrifice, and friends who help. "We can lift ourselves, and others as well, when we refuse to remain in the realm of negative thought and cultivate within our hearts an attitude of gratitude. If ingratitude be numbered among the serious sins, then gratitude takes its place among the noblest of virtues." - Thomas S. Monson, "An Attitude of Gratitude," Ensign, May 1992, 54

"Knowledge is power and its lightweight" - Dual Survivor: on surviving the wilderness!