"Major in unafraid"

Nelly
iloveyoulessthanpunk:

wenchymcwench:


We enter a little coffeehouse with a friend of mine and give our order. While we’re aproaching our table two people come in and they go to the counter: ‘Five coffees, please. Two of them for us and three suspended’ They pay for their order, take the two and leave.  I ask my friend: “What are those ‘suspended’ coffees?” My friend: “Wait for it and you will see.” Some more people enter. Two girls ask for one coffee each, pay and go. The next order was for seven coffees and it was made by three lawyers - three for them and four ‘suspended’. While I still wonder what’s the deal with those ‘suspended’ coffees I enjoy the sunny weather and the beautiful view towards the square infront of the café. Suddenly a man dressed in shabby clothes who looks like a beggar comes in throught the door and kindly asks ‘Do you have a suspended coffee ?’ It’s simple - people pay in advance for a coffee meant for someone who can not afford a warm bevarage. The tradition with the suspended coffees started in Naples, but it has spread all over the world and in some places you can order not only a suspended coffee, but also a sandwitch or a whole meal. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have such cafés or even grocery stores in every town where the less fortunate will find hope and support ? If you own a business why don’t you offer it to your clients… I am sure many of them will like it.
 
Source : [x]

I just saw this and thought it would be incredible to share this so maybe it  could catch on wherever you may live 

Well now I’m crying, this is great.

iloveyoulessthanpunk:

wenchymcwench:

We enter a little coffeehouse with a friend of mine and give our order. While we’re aproaching our table two people come in and they go to the counter:
‘Five coffees, please. Two of them for us and three suspended’ They pay for their order, take the two and leave.

I ask my friend: “What are those ‘suspended’ coffees?”
My friend: “Wait for it and you will see.”

Some more people enter. Two girls ask for one coffee each, pay and go. The next order was for seven coffees and it was made by three lawyers - three for them and four ‘suspended’. While I still wonder what’s the deal with those ‘suspended’ coffees I enjoy the sunny weather and the beautiful view towards the square infront of the café. Suddenly a man dressed in shabby clothes who looks like a beggar comes in throught the door and kindly asks
‘Do you have a suspended coffee ?’

It’s simple - people pay in advance for a coffee meant for someone who can not afford a warm bevarage. The tradition with the suspended coffees started in Naples, but it has spread all over the world and in some places you can order not only a suspended coffee, but also a sandwitch or a whole meal.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have such cafés or even grocery stores in every town where the less fortunate will find hope and support ? If you own a business why don’t you offer it to your clients… I am sure many of them will like it.

 

Source : [x]

I just saw this and thought it would be incredible to share this so maybe it  could catch on wherever you may live

Well now I’m crying, this is great.

(via beccaliving)

bygrace-forglory:

anewstartt:

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.Later, when the nurses were going through his meagre possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet. Cranky Old ManWhat do you see nurses? What do you see?What are you thinking when you’re looking at me?A cranky old man, not very wise,Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?Who dribbles his food and makes no reply.When you say in a loud voice, ‘I do wish you’d try!’Who seems not to notice the things that you do.And forever is losing a sock or shoe?Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill?Is that what you’re thinking? Is that what you see?Then open your eyes, nurse. You’re not looking at me.I’ll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.I’m a small child of ten, with a father and mother,Brothers and sisters who love one anotherA young boy of sixteen with wings on his feetDreaming that soon now  a lover he’ll meet.A groom soon at twenty my heart gives a leap.Remembering, the vows that I promised to keep.At twenty-five, now I have young of my own.Who need me to guide and a secure happy home.A man of thirty, my young now grown fast,Bound to each other with ties that should last.At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,But my woman is beside me to see I don’t mourn.At fifty, once more, babies play ‘round my knee,Again, we know children, my loved one and me.Dark days are upon me. My wife is now dead.I look at the future. I shudder with dread.For my young are all rearing young of their own.And I think of the years, and the love that I’ve known.I’m now an old man and nature is cruel.It’s jest to make old age look like a fool.The body, it crumbles. Grace and vigour, depart.There is now a stone where I once had a heart.But inside this old carcass, A young man still dwells,And now and again my battered heart swells.I remember the joys, I remember the pain.And I’m loving and living life over again.I think of the years, all too few, gone too fast.And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.So open your eyes, people. Open and see.Not a cranky old man.Look closer .. See.. Me. Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all one day be there too!

This slipped straight in to my heart and moved me to tears before the end.

bygrace-forglory:

anewstartt:

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meagre possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet. 

Cranky Old Man

What do you see nurses? What do you see?
What are you thinking when you’re looking at me?
A cranky old man, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice, ‘I do wish you’d try!’
Who seems not to notice the things that you do.
And forever is losing a sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse. You’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of ten, with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters who love one another
A young boy of sixteen with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now  a lover he’ll meet.
A groom soon at twenty my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five, now I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide and a secure happy home.
A man of thirty, my young now grown fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my woman is beside me to see I don’t mourn.
At fifty, once more, babies play ‘round my knee,
Again, we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me. My wife is now dead.
I look at the future. I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own.
And I think of the years, and the love that I’ve known.
I’m now an old man and nature is cruel.
It’s jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles. Grace and vigour, depart.
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass, A young man still dwells,
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain.
And I’m loving and living life over again.
I think of the years, all too few, gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people. Open and see.
Not a cranky old man.
Look closer .. See.. Me. 

Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all one day be there too!

This slipped straight in to my heart and moved me to tears before the end.

pllprettylittleliars:

“You bought him groceries?”
“It was not groceries, it was two sandwiches. And believe me, I’m still paying for it. You should have seen the look that he gave me.”
“Well he’s your boyfriend, Aria, he’s not a baby squirrel.”
“I was just trying to do the right thing.”
“Totally wrong. Look, I’ve been there, I’ve done that. Every time you baby squirrel Ezra, you’re taking away his nuts.”

(Source: 5hbettertogether)

Racism isn’t born, folks. It’s taught. I have a 2-year-old son. Know what he hates? Naps. End of list.

—Denis Leary, 1992 (via thedaddycomplex)

I can’t believe. I’m 20 and I love naps.

This is wrong.

(via 42violethill)

(via 42violethill)