April Edition

April Edition

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

The Swing Set


*Today's story is a repost from Spring 2011.  I hope you enjoy and have a beautiful day!  

With Love, Delisa :)



The Swing

How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
“Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!

“Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
Rivers and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside--"

“Till I look down on the garden green
Down on the roof so brown –
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!”

---Robert Louis Stevenson

When I was a little girl, I had a very pronounced lisp and a problem with stuttering. The lisp manifested itself in my inability to properly pronounce the letter "s". 

My solution to the taunts and teases from the other children was to leave the "s" off of words. I reasoned: "If I don't say the letter "s", no one will think I'm saying it wrong. So words such as "sing" or "song" became "ing" and "ong". Pretty soon, I forgot why I was even doing it and couldn't stop.

The teacher contacted my parents and they decided I needed to have some speech therapy. The therapist was a young, pretty woman just out of college, and she came to the house and tutored me for months. 

She concluded that part of my problem stemmed from the fact that my thoughts and imagination, were working faster than my mouth's ability to speak.

She helped me with relaxation exercises and taught me how to slow my speaking, and choose my words deliberately, instead of letting everything in my head just tumble out.  

We did countless exercises that helped me understand how to properly form letters and sounds with my tongue.

She told my parents it was important to help me focus, by giving me goals and rewards to work toward.

The thing I wanted more than anything was a backyard swing set, like the one many of my neighborhood playmates had.
Having my own swing set seemed so big to me.  It was the kind of thing I thought I could only dream about and never actually have.

Even though I had never asked for one, my mother knew. She always seemed to know and understand my unspoken dreams.  One evening, my parents called me in to sit down at the kitchen table. I knew whatever it was they had to say was going to be important.

Dad knelt down in front of me and putting his hands on my shoulders said seriously: "Tinkie," (That was his special nick name for me) your mother and I have talked and we have decided that when you can say "swing set", we will get you one."

I was so excited I just about popped and doubled all my efforts. I practiced and practiced. The therapist had given me a pretty pink hand mirror to hold up to my face so that I could look at my mouth as I formed my words. "Ing et, wing s s s set. S sssswing set. Swing set!" I startled myself like a puppy who suddenly hears his first bark.

"Swing set, swing set!" I ran into my brother's room. "You did it, you did it! Go tell Mom!" He cried. "Swing set, swing set!" I shouted running down hall and into the kitchen. Mom laughed and hugged me close. "Go run, tell your Daddy, he's out in the garage!"

I have never forgot how happy that first feeling of accomplishment felt. The first time I worked toward a goal and met it.

Dad was true to his word and got me the swing set. It was made of metal, painted red and white. It had two swings with white plastic seats, a special little swinging carriage which held four children; two on each side, a teeter totter and a slide!

After Dad put it together, the news spread like wildfire. The neighborhood children descended on our backyard like summer ants on a spilled ice cream cone. By the end of the day they had broken the little carriage and cracked all the plastic seats on the swings.

Dad managed to duck tape them all back together so that I could use them. It never mattered to me that the swing was broken. I played on it happily for years.

In the end, it wasn't even about the swing set at all but the fact that my Mom and Dad had kept their word to me, and that my family shared in the joy of my success. It suddenly didn't matter so much what the other kids said or thought about me. How invaluable that knowledge was to be in the years to come.

It's 40 some odd years later and I still stutter a bit if I get excited, talk too fast or when my imagination runs away with itself. I still use many of the techniques the pretty speech therapist taught me all those years ago and I still love to swing high on a swing, every chance I get!

Monday, April 21, 2014

"My Green Thumb..."



"My green thumb came
only as a result
of the mistakes I made
while learning to see
things from the
plant's point of view. "

~H. Fred Dale


Friday, April 18, 2014

"Sense of the Beautiful..."



"A man should hear a
little music,
read a little poetry,
and see a fine picture
every day of his life,
in order that worldly cares,
may not obliterate the
sense of the beautiful
implanted in the human soul."

--Johann Wolfgang Goethe

Thursday, April 17, 2014

"When Writing..."



"Write about what everyday
life offers you;
the thoughts that pass
through your mind
and your belief in some
kind of beauty--
describe all these with
heartfelt, silent, humble
sincerity and, when you
express yourself,
use the things around you,
the images from your
dreams, and the
objects and the people
you remember."

--Rainer Maria Rilke


Wednesday, April 16, 2014

"How Well We Bounce..."



"Life is not about how fast
you run or how high
you climb but how
well you bounce!"

~Vivian Komori



Sunday, April 13, 2014

"My Appreciation"




My Appreciation

I never feel alone in the woods,
For there in the quiet, one can hear
Without distraction the voice
Of our Father, whisper to
The listening heart.
Or, when walking through
The forest after a storm,
As sun beams penetrate the
Thick canopy of branches
And thousands of drops
Of water roll and fall
From leaf to leaf.
When my subtle senses
Are once more awakened
By the sweet smells of
Damp earth, pine needles,
And soft, fragrant mosses
And I am reminded
Of the miracle:
That is my life.

Delisa Marchetti


Friday, April 11, 2014

"The Poetry In A Pot Of Tea"




"Each cup of tea represents
an imaginary voyage."
~Catherine Douzel




"There is a great deal of poetry
and fine sentiment in a chest of tea."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson


"Strange how a teapot can
represent at the same time
the comforts of solitude and
the pleasures of company."

~Author Unknown