This Sunday, February 8th, is the 115th Anniversary of the Boy Scouts of America. Scouting came to this country as a direct result of a good turn.  In the early part of the last century a Chicago publisher was lost in a London fog.  A young man in a khaki outfit emerged and offered to help the lost American find the address he was seeking.  Upon arriving at his location the American offered the lad a tip.  No Sir, the lad replied, I am a member of Baden-Powell's Scouts and I cannot take a tip for doing a good turn and with that the lad disappeared into the fog.  To this day his identity is unknown.

The American was so taken with the lad that he looked up Sir Robert Baden-Powell, the founder of the Scouting movement who explained what Scouting was and who gave the American literature to take home.

This American, Willaim Boyce was his name came back to America and along with several other like minded individuals started the Boy Scouts of America on February 8, 1910.

Today's Scouts still serve the youth of our nation from ages 6 to 20.  The upper age group (14-20) is called Venturing and is open to young men and young women. No matter what some think of some of the organization policies, most will agree that Scouting has done much to serve our youth, our communities and our nation.

I myself am an Eagle Scout and have served in many leadership positions as an adult for more than 30 years. I continue to serve our Scouts to this day.

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I've been thinking of creating a bucket list.  Here's what I thought of so far:

Learn to slow dance, learn to play the drums and/or guitar (so long as I don't have to sing), visit all of Europe, especially Ireland and Scotland, visit New England, Alaska and Hawaii. I would also like to learn to ride a horse.

The one I can accomplish everyday is to pray for Peace on Earth and that all of our service men and women come home safely soon. I also have a dear friend on here who is serving hurt men, women and children overseas and I pray for her safe return home soon and that there will soon be no need for her services anywhere in the world.

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The man and woman had just reached the age where they could be considered seniors, at least by society's standard.  They had recently discovered each other and the love between them had quickly grown.

On this day, as a moderate snow fell from the dark skies above, they walked, hand in hand, down the city street admiring the holiday decorations.  They enjoyed the Christmas music that filtered from store front after store front as they strolled the avenue.

Suddenly the man's grip on his lovers hand tightened as he turned down an alley and stepping behind a dumpster, he pushed his lover against the building.  There he pressed his lips against hers with a kiss so passionate it made her head swim.  When he finally removed his lips from hers, she asked, "what was that for?" 

The man, his eyes twinkling as if Christmas lights, simply said, "beause I love you."  He then kissed her again, this time with more passion, his tongue pushing past her lips.  She began to swoon, and placing his arms around her in a tight embrace, he said, "and that one is because I want to make sure you always remember my love."

As they turned to retrace their steps to the avenue, they spied over the top of the dumpster a small crowd that had formed to watch this erotic display and when they stepped from behind the trash resepticle a grand applause exploded from the crowd.

Tags: Kisses in the Snow

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They first met on-line, the two people with hearts so yearning and souls in such pain. Their lives had been both painful and horriblely sad.  They exchanged their pain and their saddness and through the caring both had shown they found a measure of relief from their pain and a droplet of happiness; but was this - would this be - could this be the love they both desired and needed.

Their first meeting, face to face, was to be cordial only.  A drink, a bit to eat, some friendly conversation and, if all went well, a date set to meet again.  That is what it was suppose to be.  When their eyes were first to meet, they both knew that their hearts had found the love so long desired and their souls felt the pain of years of abuse dwindle to a mere afterthought.  All of this, and they had only seen each other's eyes.

These were not young people of the teenage set; these were people who had seen decades of life and had felt decades of pain and sorrow.  These were also people who would spend the rest of their days with no memory of the past, living only in the present, not wishing to remember the pain, any sorrow of the past and not needing to dream of the future, for their lives had become the dream they both had had for as long as either could remember.  They had been blessed with a renewal of life - life both had supposed was gone forever.

Tags: Love Found

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The passion caged within the man grew and grew, but he could find no way to release it. He needed that special someone to share it with - that special someone who could and would appreciate the romance, the love, yes the passion that was locked away with his body, his mind, his heart, his very soul. That special someone who owned the key to the cage that inprisioned his passion.

Day after day the passionate feelings grew within him.  His brain looked for ways to release the pressure it brought.  His whole body ached from the continual need for a passionate explosion.  His heart ached to love and to be loved, but the passionate feelings remained locked deep inside of him.

So the man lived on in the shadows of life, in relative lonliness, in a dullness where the sun seldom shone until that day, years later, that a welcome death finally released his passions from their cage.

Tags: A Sad and Dark Story

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The Viking warrior arrive home from sacking Scotland.  As he stepped onto land, he felt the pain in his side, where the Scot swordsman had sliced him, just before the Viking ran him through with his sword.  His hand instinctively felt the wound and it was still oozing blood.

His eyes brightened as he spied is wife running towards him.  He saw her long blonde hair, her blue eyes and her boosoms as they sprung with each step of her gait.  His left arm raised to embrace her, but he could not raise his right arm far enough due to the drying blood on his right side.

You are hurt, my darling, screamed the Viking's woman, here let me look at the wound, she added, not missing a beat in her speech.

She laid him next to his boat, removed his top and being the strong Viking's woman that she was, she immediately started to clean the wound and to dress it with moss and mud. She helped her Viking to stand and steadied him back to their hut.  There she helped him to his bed, cooked him some warm broth, which she fed him, stopping only to kiss his lips.  That night she allowed him to lay on his back as she did what came naturally to her everytime her Viking returned from a raid.

And thus the victor saviored the rewards of a hot, passionate kiss while the brave Knight in loss could only pass to his maker, alone, with a prayer on his lips.

Tags: The Price of being a Viking Warrior

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The Scots warrior lay against a tree, his hands holding his middle where the Viking's sword had pierced his gut.  His life's blood running through his fingers, he looked to the sky above. In a voice that yet retained its vigor he spoke.

"Oh Lord above, I will soon come to sit at your side.  I have done my best to protect my King and country.  I leave behind a wife and daughter who know not that I will soon be joining you.  If my life is to have any worth, please, grant my dying wish, that they, the woman who bore the child of my blood, and the female child that carries that blood, live long and happy lives and that my brother warriors beat back the Viking Hoarde, saving my country from ruin.  I ask nothing for myself, only for those I love most and for the country of my birth and now - his voice fading away to a whisper - my death.

The Scots warrior closed his eyes one last time and with one last twitch of pain, his breath girgled and his chest stopped raising.

Tags: A Warrior's Death

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As we walked through the countryside, I looked down and spied the goose feather.  It was long and white, and it still retained its' softness.  I leaned over and with one quick movement of my hand swooped it up.

When I looked at my love, terror shone in her beautiful blue eyes, but the sparkle that eluminated them told me that she hoped I would do what my naughty self had in mind.

I swooped her into my arms and laid her gently on a patch of unmown grass, long and gentle to the touch.  Sitting on her legs, my back to her face, I reached down and reoved her shoes and scoks.  At first I gently ran the feather up them down one foot then the other, enough only to get her to giggle.  When her giggling increased to almost a laugh, I sped my motions up and soon my loving, beautiful, sexy girl was in full laughter.

Turning around quickly, so not to allow her time to mover legs out from under me, I softly moved the feather up and down her legs, laid bare by the short skirt she had worn that warm and sunny afternoon.

She laughed and she cried, she yelled for me to stop and then for me to continue and when I saw in her eyes that she could not take anymore I dropped the feather and laying down next to her I planted my lips to hers and we kissed and kissed and.......

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Sometimes it makes me blue,

not to be able to do more,

for those that hurt,

for those that cry.

Sometimes it makes feel blue,

to know how little I can do,

for those that hurt,

for those that cry.

Sometimes it makes me blue,

that the computer brings us together,

but will not allow us to hold hands,

will not allow us even to hug.

Sometimes it makes me blue

do know how little I can do,

for those that hurt,

for those that cry.

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