Bring Me That Horizon

Welcome to jennyweber dot com

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Home of Jenny the Pirate

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Our four children

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Our eight grandchildren

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This will go better if you

check your expectations at the door.

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We're not big on logic

but there's no shortage of irony.

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 Nice is different than good.

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Oh and ...

I flunked charm school.

So what.

Can't write anything.

> Jennifer <

Causing considerable consternation
to many fine folk since 1957

Pepper and me ... Seattle 1962

  

In The Market, As It Were

 

 

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Contributor to

American Cemetery

published by Kates-Boylston

Hoist The Colors

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Insist on yourself; never imitate.

Your own gift you can present

every moment

with the cumulative force

of a whole life’s cultivation;

but of the adopted talent of another

you have only an extemporaneous

half possession.

That which each can do best,

none but his Maker can teach him.

> Ralph Waldo Emerson <

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Represent:

The Black Velvet Coat

Belay That!

This blog does not contain and its author will not condone profanity, crude language, or verbal abuse. Commenters, you are welcome to speak your mind but do not cuss or I will delete either the word or your entire comment, depending on my mood. Continued use of bad words or inappropriate sentiments will result in the offending individual being banned, after which they'll be obliged to walk the plank. Thankee for your understanding and compliance.

> Jenny the Pirate <

A Pistol With One Shot

Ecstatically shooting everything in sight using my beloved Nikon D3100 with AF-S DX Nikkor 18-55mm 1:3.5-5.6G VR kit lens and AF-S Nikkor 50mm f/1.8 G prime lens.

Also capturing outrageous beauty left and right with my Nikon D7000 blissfully married to my Nikkor 85mm f/1.4D AF prime glass. Don't be jeal.

And then there was the Nikon AF-S DX NIKKOR 18-200mm f:3.5-5.6G ED VR II zoom. We're done here.

Dying Is A Day Worth Living For

I am a taphophile

Word. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

Great things are happening at

Find A Grave

If you don't believe me, click the pics.

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Dying is a wild night

and a new road.

Emily Dickinson

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REMEMBRANCE

When I am gone

Please remember me

 As a heartfelt laugh,

 As a tenderness.

 Hold fast to the image of me

When my soul was on fire,

The light of love shining

Through my eyes.

Remember me when I was singing

And seemed to know my way.

Remember always

When we were together

And time stood still.

Remember most not what I did,

Or who I was;

Oh please remember me

For what I always desired to be:

A smile on the face of God.

David Robert Brooks

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 Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.

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Keep To The Code

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You Want To Find This
The Promise Of Redemption

Therefore seeing we have this ministry, as we have received mercy, we faint not;

But have renounced the hidden things of dishonesty, not walking in craftiness, nor handling the word of God deceitfully; but by manifestation of the truth commending ourselves to every man's conscience in the sight of God.

But if our gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost:

In whom the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not, lest the light of the glorious gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine unto them.

For we preach not ourselves, but Christ Jesus the Lord; and ourselves your servants for Jesus' sake.

For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.

We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair;

Persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed;

Always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body.

For we which live are alway delivered unto death for Jesus' sake, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our mortal flesh.

So then death worketh in us, but life in you.

We having the same spirit of faith, according as it is written, I BELIEVED, AND THEREFORE HAVE I SPOKEN; we also believe, and therefore speak;

Knowing that he which raised up the Lord Jesus shall raise up us also by Jesus, and shall present us with you.

For all things are for your sakes, that the abundant grace might through the thanksgiving of many redound to the glory of God.

For which cause we faint not; but though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day.

For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory;

While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.

II Corinthians 4

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THE DREAMERS

In the dawn of the day of ages,
 In the youth of a wondrous race,
 'Twas the dreamer who saw the marvel,
 'Twas the dreamer who saw God's face.


On the mountains and in the valleys,
By the banks of the crystal stream,
He wandered whose eyes grew heavy
With the grandeur of his dream.

The seer whose grave none knoweth,
The leader who rent the sea,
The lover of men who, smiling,
Walked safe on Galilee --

All dreamed their dreams and whispered
To the weary and worn and sad
Of a vision that passeth knowledge.
They said to the world: "Be glad!

"Be glad for the words we utter,
Be glad for the dreams we dream;
Be glad, for the shadows fleeing
Shall let God's sunlight beam."

But the dreams and the dreamers vanish,
The world with its cares grows old;
The night, with the stars that gem it,
Is passing fair, but cold.

What light in the heavens shining
Shall the eye of the dreamer see?
Was the glory of old a phantom,
The wraith of a mockery?

Oh, man, with your soul that crieth
In gloom for a guiding gleam,
To you are the voices speaking
Of those who dream their dream.

If their vision be false and fleeting,
If its glory delude their sight --
Ah, well, 'tis a dream shall brighten
The long, dark hours of night.

> Edward Sims Van Zile <

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Freedom is a fragile thing and is never more than one generation away from extinction. It is not ours by inheritance; it must be fought for and defended constantly by each generation, for it comes only once to a people. Those who have known freedom and then lost it, have never known it again.

~ Ronald Reagan

Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

Not Without My Effects

My Compass Works Fine

The Courage Of Our Hearts

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Daft Like Jack

 "I can name fingers and point names ..."

And We'll Sing It All The Time
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That Dog Is Never Going To Move

~ RIP JAVIER ~

1999 - 2016

Columbia's Finest Chihuahua

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~ RIP SHILOH ~

2017 - 2021

My Tar Heel Granddog

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~ RIP RAMBO ~

2008 - 2022

Andrew's Beloved Pet

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« He, A Rose | Main | March Sadness »
Friday
Mar262010

A Sunday kind of love

Romance. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010I'm the poster child for hopeless romantic.

What's that you say? I'm simply hopeless?

Well, incurable romantic, then.

When it comes to romantic love, you can't get it sappy enough for me. Impossible.

To quote Mary Engelbreit: Too much of a good thing is wonderful.

(Unless you're talking about a Nicholas Sparks novel -- or the unfortunate movie adaptation of a Nicholas Sparks novel.)

There is, after all, an exception to every rule.

But I digress.

For example -- and this is the truth so listen up -- I sense romance in the produce department at the grocery store.

Like I said, no lie, and I'll thank you not to snicker.

I look at cauliflower and see a bridal bouquet. The apples are blushing flirtatiously; the bell peppers are canoodling in the cool mist. Nobody can convince me otherwise.

We live in a disposable society.

If you are out and about and you happen to see me, go ahead and tell yourself you can read my mind ... because you can.

Nine hundred ninety-nine times out of a thousand, I'm thinking about romance.

If I'm not doing that, of course I am praying. For you.

You know how most little girls dream of someday being a bride? I wasn't that kind of little girl.

As a girl I dreamt of being loved as passionately as Mr. Rochester loved Jane Eyre.

I dreamt of a Heathcliff-and-Cathy variety of romance; the kind that endures past even the gossamer scrim of time and mortality.

I've been known to brood for hours over the eternal love of Captain Gregg for Lucy Muir.

(I still cry when Lucy's young, beautiful ghost rises up from her old, withered body and she rejoins her late lamented but still-faithful man, and the door to her house by the sea opens all by itself and they walk out into the clouds, holding hands.)

That's what I'm talking about.

We live in a disposable society. Life is no longer precious, and neither are commitments. People take sacred vows before God and everybody, then break them at whatever point in time it becomes expedient for them to do so.

Things didn't work out in your marriage? Hey, don't waste your time grieving over that failure! Better yet, don't even consider it a failure. Move on, and the sooner the better.

Half of marriages end in divorce; am I right? It's no big deal anymore.

Besides, everybody who matters knows you're not to blame. It was the other person.

(News flash: God's law of sowing and reaping applies to marriage. As in, you get what you give.)

But that's how we roll in this brave new heartless world where hardly anything or anyone is safe ... even in places where once upon a time a person could take safety at least a little bit for granted, like the womb and the school room and the church house and the Christian home.

Still crazy after all these years.

By the way ... when I did begin fantasizing about marriage, I fixed my hopes on achieving an Austenesque "incandescent" one.

Because I know that, although Miss Austen's heroines are fictional, those kinds of marriages do exist.

For purely magical romantic mystery, only a few occasions in my life rival the moment when I looked through the little oblong window in the vestibule door at Forrest Hills Baptist Church in Decatur, Georgia, at high noon on June 16, 1979, and saw TG standing at the altar, waiting for me.

Standing there tall and handsome in black cutaway tails, waiting for me to come to him so that he could make me his wife.

Because although he probably could have survived without me, he didn't want to.

Why, he told me just the other day ... never mind. Suffice it to say that if he can be believed, he'd still rather not live without me. And God in heaven knows, I won't make it without him either.

Still crazy after all these years.

Thanks babe, for giving me a Sunday kind of love. You're not perfect and neither is your wife, but you'll do until something better comes along ... and I can say that without a trace of irony because I know full well that nothing better ever will.

How many husbands and wives who haven't made it and who won't make it, could -- if they purposed in their respective hearts to grant one another a Sunday kind of love?

It's the one thing everyone wants to get ... and which everyone has the power to give.

If only they would.

NOTE: I apologize for the offensive Google ads that appear on the YouTube. I hate them but I've tried everything and cannot figure out how to remove the code. Just click the little "x" and it'll go away.

Reader Comments (4)

Awww, great post! And thank you for stating the truth.

I've always wanted a Mr. Darcy/Elizabeth Bennet kind of love. Hating each other at the start and then as time goes on you just can't deny your devotion, love and passion for each other. "You have bewitched me, body and soul...and I love you." (sigh) I'm still waiting to hear that.

March 27, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterAudrey

Audge, you may not hear those very words, but you'll hear words to that effect. Count on it. And when it's right and pure and the depth of feeling is there, it's well worth the wait.

p.s. Darcy and Elizabeth sure went at it hammer and tongs at the beginning, didn't they? But what a moment when the truth comes out and they both know they're hopelessly and eternally bound to one another. Good stuff.

March 27, 2010 | Registered CommenterJennifer

Congrats. I know more who've tried and failed, than have succeeded in building that house of romance, room by room, built on promises made, kept, tears, confusion, debate, and a whole lot of heart and commitment that, no matter the intensity of the storm, it will be ridden out to the sunshine.

I likely lost my best chance a quarter century ago; then again, last I knew, she was happily married to the guy who won the competition I lost for her heart. And back then, I walked away, wounded that I'd lost, yet trying to find solace in the thought that if what I felt for her was real, I would accept her choice.

Time came that I finally did.

So I reckon that once, I really loved.

If never again, I can say at the end, once, I really loved. And that's okay.

March 27, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterSkunkfeathers

Skunky, you made me cry. Happens often when I "read" you, but usually you have me cracking up to the point I'm crying the other kind of tears ... the funny-bone-tickling kind.

I have a feeling you'll love again.

And don't forget ... you'll always have Seymour!

March 27, 2010 | Registered CommenterJennifer

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