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Musings on a Saturday Morning

Story ID:9405
Written by:Suzana Margaret Megles (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:Musings, Essays and Such
Location:Lakewood Ohio USA
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Saturday morning and I thought I would sleep late. As fate would
have it, I was up bright and early even though liturgy would be at
4 in the afternoon today. You probably experience something like
this on your Saturday mornings when you don't have to get up for
work and are up at the crack of dawn all the same. Are we wired
for this happenstance?

My two upstairs cats are always glad when this happens because they
eagerly wait for me to crack open a couple of small cans of food for
them. For me -some coffee and hot oatmeal spread liberally with milled
flax seed -good source of omega-3 fatty acids for this vegan. I also
add some prunes which I always find makes those spoonfuls containing
them extra special and delicious.

Well, I thought -might as well check the computer and read any new
e-mails as well as the news I find re Cleveland on the internet. I
don't have to haul in the Cleveland Plain Dealer from my porch every
day though now I understand that it is only delivered on some days.


But of course, the internet version is an abreviated form of the paper,
and I do miss some good stories. Recently, my sister shared her Sunday
Plain Dealer with me, and I was surprised and pleased to find an account
of George Shuba, baseball player, who on April 18, 1946 was pictured
shaking the hand of Jackie Robinson after he homered in one of his early

What's so special about that? For those of us who lived at this time,
we all knew that Robinson, as the first black player in the major
leagues, was not generally welcomed either by fellow players or white
spectators at the games. So I was proud of this player who hailed
from Youngstown, Ohio, the product of Slovak immigrants as myself
who obviously had no racist leanings.

This was not yet the major leagues for Jackie Robinson or Shuba but an
opportunity for both to season themselves against International League
pitching with the Montreal Royals, an affiliate of the Brooklyn Dodgers.

When Robinson faced the Jersey City Giants at Roosevelt Stadium and hit
a home run, George Shuba next in line to bat walked to the plate to
congratulate his teammate.

Lasting only a second, this handshake with little fanfare is known as
the first interracial handshake in a professional baseball game. Mike,
George's son calls the photograph of this event "A Handshake for the
Century." Of it, George Shuba said that he could see in Jack's yes that
he was happy I was there to shake his hand. He also remembered that a
few guys didn't even want to bat after Jackie. Thank God those racist
days are over.

When his baseball career was over, George Shuba returned to Ohio and
today at 89 lives in Youngstown.


One part of today's computer news was very sad. Finally, the murder of
Emilliano, a sweet-looking young black boy of 3 who was killed and found in
a landfill was resolved. His young 21-year old mother was found guilty
of killing him after calling the police claiming that he had disappeared
while they were at the playground.

Though the killing was not planned, Camilia Terry was found guilty of
purposely killing her son whom the prosecutors argued she had never
bonded with and had wanted him out of her life. She also has a five-year
old son and an infant. She showed no emotion upon hearing the verdict.
Her lawyers said they were disappointed and will appeal the judgment.


Now I needed to read something lighter and refreshing. I found it among
my all too many Favorites which need serious culling. It is called "Grow
Old With Dogs." I believe that dogs are very special and anyone who has
loved a dog knows what I mean.

When I am old...
I will wear soft gray sweatshirts...
and a bandana over my silver hair...
and I will spend my social security checks on wine and my dogs.

I will sit in my house on my well-worn chair
and listen to my dogs' breathing.
I will sneak out in the middle of a warm summer night
and take my dogs for a run, if my old bones will allow..

When people come to call, I will smile
and nod as I show them my dogs...
and talk of them and about them...
...the ones so beloved of the past
and the ones so beloved of today....

I will still work hard cleaning after them,
mopping and feeding them and
whispering their names in a soft loving way.

I will wear the gleaming sweat on my throat,
like a jewel and I will be an embarrassment to all...
especially my family...
who have not yet found the peace in being free
to have dogs as your best friends....

These friends who always wait, at any hour, for your footfall...
and eagerly jump to their feet out of a sound sleep,
to greet you as if you are a God.

With warm eyes full of adoring love and hope
that you will always stay,
I'll hug their big strong necks...
I'll kiss their dear sweet heads...
and whisper in their very special company....

I look in the Mirror...and see I am getting old...
this is the kind of person I am...and have always been,
Loving dogs is easy,
they are part of me.

Please accept me for who I am.
My dogs appreciate my presence in their lives...
they love my presence in their lives.....
When I am old this will be important to me...
You will understand when you are old....
If you have dogs to love too.

Author Unknown

I am saddened that the author is unknown. She is a beautiful
person and should be proud of this simple but eloquent piece
in honor of dogs who have proven over and over again that they
are indeed for us who have them -our best friends.