...just 88 minutes apart.
James and Marjorie Landis of Westmont, Pa., were married for 65 years and, friends say, were almost always together.
This week, Marjorie died at age 87 and, just 88 minutes later, James, 89, also passed away, suffering from a heart attack, TheTribune Democrat says.
The newspaper quotes granddaughter Erin Miller as saying James was at his wife's side when she died on Monday.
"The last thing he said to her was, 'It's OK. I love you. We had many good years together. I will see you real soon,'" Miller says.
It's as if the husband willed himself to death, so great was his anguish at being away from his beloved wife.
What a wonderful thing, to have that powerful a love in your life.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Friday, February 10, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Well Put!
Found this on OK Cupid:
A Quick Bible Lesson...in the Bible, Ruth patiently waited for her mate Boaz. While waiting on MY Boaz, I won't settle for ANY of his relatives: Brokeaz, Poaz, Lyinaz, Cheatinaz, Dumbaz, Downlowaz, Cheapaz, Lockedupaz, Goodfornothinaz, Lazyaz or Marriedaz! And especially his third cousin Beatinyoaz. I will wait on my Boaz & make sure he respects Myaz!
(found on a white girl's profile, but reads like it originally came from a black girl's profile.)
A Quick Bible Lesson...in the Bible, Ruth patiently waited for her mate Boaz. While waiting on MY Boaz, I won't settle for ANY of his relatives: Brokeaz, Poaz, Lyinaz, Cheatinaz, Dumbaz, Downlowaz, Cheapaz, Lockedupaz, Goodfornothinaz, Lazyaz or Marriedaz! And especially his third cousin Beatinyoaz. I will wait on my Boaz & make sure he respects Myaz!
(found on a white girl's profile, but reads like it originally came from a black girl's profile.)
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
You Think YOU Have It Bad?
Be lucky you're not like the man from League City, Texas, who fell down a manhole, was bitten by spiders and snakes and, after that misadventure, was attacked by his girlfriend, who went upside his head with a baseball bat.
I guess the GF is something of a cougar, since she is 51 and he is 26. Or maybe he's just such a mope that she was all he could get in the way of GF's.
I guess the GF is something of a cougar, since she is 51 and he is 26. Or maybe he's just such a mope that she was all he could get in the way of GF's.
Monday, November 14, 2011
They Lived Together, and Died Together
Because when you spend 48 years of your life together, you don't want to be parted by death.
Allan DeLaine told "Rhoe," when he visited her in the hospital a few weeks ago, that "Rabbit" - her husband - wouldn't last long in this world without her. After 48 years, 11 months of marriage, the couple had become as one, not only to all the people who knew them in their Clayton community, but to each other.
Rhoe didn't dispute him.
"She agreed with me. She said 'I know,' " DeLaine told me last week in the parking lot of Johnston Piney Grove Missionary Baptist Church. "I just knew he wasn't going to be able to make it without her. I had no idea he would go as quickly after her as he did."
A few feet from where we stood talking, two long, shiny black hearses were warming their engines at the head of a procession, preparing to take Cynthia Rhoenna Gardner Sanders and Augustus Cromwell Sanders to the cemetery where, side by side, they'd spend eternity - or at least until that great gettin' up mornin' that Mahalia Jackson sang about.
Sometimes it seems like later generations have lost that devotion and sense of commitment that the Sanders obviously had for each other. Great story, click the link to read the rest.
Allan DeLaine told "Rhoe," when he visited her in the hospital a few weeks ago, that "Rabbit" - her husband - wouldn't last long in this world without her. After 48 years, 11 months of marriage, the couple had become as one, not only to all the people who knew them in their Clayton community, but to each other.
Rhoe didn't dispute him.
"She agreed with me. She said 'I know,' " DeLaine told me last week in the parking lot of Johnston Piney Grove Missionary Baptist Church. "I just knew he wasn't going to be able to make it without her. I had no idea he would go as quickly after her as he did."
A few feet from where we stood talking, two long, shiny black hearses were warming their engines at the head of a procession, preparing to take Cynthia Rhoenna Gardner Sanders and Augustus Cromwell Sanders to the cemetery where, side by side, they'd spend eternity - or at least until that great gettin' up mornin' that Mahalia Jackson sang about.
Sometimes it seems like later generations have lost that devotion and sense of commitment that the Sanders obviously had for each other. Great story, click the link to read the rest.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
If You're Engaged To A Pasta Heiress...
...you'd best avoid that guided factory tour.
You might end up like this:
"This'll Interest You," He Said...
You might end up like this:
Monday, August 30, 2010
"I Love You," He Said...
...as he pushed her to safety away from the oncoming freight train.
The freight train that killed him.
Greater love has no man...
The freight train that killed him.
Greater love has no man...
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Man Broke Into Funeral Home To Be With Love
An unrequited love, since she was not his girlfriend or wife.
Still, it reminds me of a passage from a favorite book:
We have just said that Quasimodo disappeared from Notre- Dame on the day of the gypsy's and of the archdeacon's death. He was not seen again, in fact; no one knew what had become of him.
During the night which followed the execution of la Esmeralda, the night men had detached her body from the gibbet, and had carried it, according to custom, to the cellar of Montfauçon.
Montfauçon was, as Sauval says, "the most ancient and the most superb gibbet in the kingdom." Between the faubourgs of the Temple and Saint Martin, about a hundred and sixty toises from the walls of Paris, a few bow shots from La Courtille, there was to be seen on the crest of a gentle, almost imperceptible eminence, but sufficiently elevated to be seen for several leagues round about, an edifice of strange form, bearing considerable resemblance to a Celtic cromlech, and where also human sacrifices were offered.
Let the reader picture to himself, crowning a limestone hillock, an oblong mass of masonry fifteen feet in height, thirty wide, forty long, with a gate, an external railing and a platform; on this platform sixteen enormous pillars of rough hewn stone, thirty feet in height, arranged in a colonnade round three of the four sides of the mass which support them, bound together at their summits by heavy beams, whence hung chains at intervals; on all these chains, skeletons; in the vicinity, on the plain, a stone cross and two gibbets of secondary importance, which seemed to have sprung up as shoots around the central gallows; above all this, in the sky, a perpetual flock of crows; that was Montfauçon.
At the end of the fifteenth century, the formidable gibbet which dated from 1328, was already very much dilapidated; the beams were wormeaten, the chains rusted, the pillars green with mould; the layers of hewn stone were all cracked at their joints, and grass was growing on that platform which no feet touched. The monument made a horrible profile against the sky; especially at night when there was a little moonlight on those white skulls, or when the breeze of evening brushed the chains and the skeletons, and swayed all these in the darkness. The presence of this gibbet sufficed to render gloomy all the surrounding places.
The mass of masonry which served as foundation to the odious edifice was hollow. A huge cellar had been constructed there, closed by an old iron grating, which was out of order, into which were cast not only the human remains, which were taken from the chains of Montfauçon, but also the bodies of all the unfortunates executed on the other permanent gibbets of Paris. To that deep charnel-house, where so many human remains and so many crimes have rotted in company, many great ones of this world, many innocent people, have contributed their bones, from Enguerrand de Marigni, the first victim, and a just man, to Admiral de Coligni, who was its last, and who was also a just man.
As for the mysterious disappearance of Quasimodo, this is all that we have been able to discover.
About eighteen months or two years after the events which terminate this story, when search was made in that cavern for the body of Olivier le Daim, who had been hanged two days previously, and to whom Charles VIII. had granted the favor of being buried in Saint Laurent, in better company, they found among all those hideous carcasses two skeletons, one of which held the other in its embrace. One of these skeletons, which was that of a woman, still had a few strips of a garment which had once been white, and around her neck was to be seen a string of adrézarach beads with a little silk bag ornamented with green glass, which was open and empty. These objects were of so little value that the executioner had probably not cared for them. The other, which held this one in a close embrace, was the skeleton of a man. It was noticed that his spinal column was crooked, his head seated on his shoulder blades, and that one leg was shorter than the other. Moreover, there was no fracture of the vertebrae at the nape of the neck, and it was evident that he had not been hanged. Hence, the man to whom it had belonged had come thither and had died there. When they tried to detach the skeleton which he held in his embrace, he fell to dust.
Still, it reminds me of a passage from a favorite book:
We have just said that Quasimodo disappeared from Notre- Dame on the day of the gypsy's and of the archdeacon's death. He was not seen again, in fact; no one knew what had become of him.
During the night which followed the execution of la Esmeralda, the night men had detached her body from the gibbet, and had carried it, according to custom, to the cellar of Montfauçon.
Montfauçon was, as Sauval says, "the most ancient and the most superb gibbet in the kingdom." Between the faubourgs of the Temple and Saint Martin, about a hundred and sixty toises from the walls of Paris, a few bow shots from La Courtille, there was to be seen on the crest of a gentle, almost imperceptible eminence, but sufficiently elevated to be seen for several leagues round about, an edifice of strange form, bearing considerable resemblance to a Celtic cromlech, and where also human sacrifices were offered.
Let the reader picture to himself, crowning a limestone hillock, an oblong mass of masonry fifteen feet in height, thirty wide, forty long, with a gate, an external railing and a platform; on this platform sixteen enormous pillars of rough hewn stone, thirty feet in height, arranged in a colonnade round three of the four sides of the mass which support them, bound together at their summits by heavy beams, whence hung chains at intervals; on all these chains, skeletons; in the vicinity, on the plain, a stone cross and two gibbets of secondary importance, which seemed to have sprung up as shoots around the central gallows; above all this, in the sky, a perpetual flock of crows; that was Montfauçon.
At the end of the fifteenth century, the formidable gibbet which dated from 1328, was already very much dilapidated; the beams were wormeaten, the chains rusted, the pillars green with mould; the layers of hewn stone were all cracked at their joints, and grass was growing on that platform which no feet touched. The monument made a horrible profile against the sky; especially at night when there was a little moonlight on those white skulls, or when the breeze of evening brushed the chains and the skeletons, and swayed all these in the darkness. The presence of this gibbet sufficed to render gloomy all the surrounding places.
The mass of masonry which served as foundation to the odious edifice was hollow. A huge cellar had been constructed there, closed by an old iron grating, which was out of order, into which were cast not only the human remains, which were taken from the chains of Montfauçon, but also the bodies of all the unfortunates executed on the other permanent gibbets of Paris. To that deep charnel-house, where so many human remains and so many crimes have rotted in company, many great ones of this world, many innocent people, have contributed their bones, from Enguerrand de Marigni, the first victim, and a just man, to Admiral de Coligni, who was its last, and who was also a just man.
As for the mysterious disappearance of Quasimodo, this is all that we have been able to discover.
About eighteen months or two years after the events which terminate this story, when search was made in that cavern for the body of Olivier le Daim, who had been hanged two days previously, and to whom Charles VIII. had granted the favor of being buried in Saint Laurent, in better company, they found among all those hideous carcasses two skeletons, one of which held the other in its embrace. One of these skeletons, which was that of a woman, still had a few strips of a garment which had once been white, and around her neck was to be seen a string of adrézarach beads with a little silk bag ornamented with green glass, which was open and empty. These objects were of so little value that the executioner had probably not cared for them. The other, which held this one in a close embrace, was the skeleton of a man. It was noticed that his spinal column was crooked, his head seated on his shoulder blades, and that one leg was shorter than the other. Moreover, there was no fracture of the vertebrae at the nape of the neck, and it was evident that he had not been hanged. Hence, the man to whom it had belonged had come thither and had died there. When they tried to detach the skeleton which he held in his embrace, he fell to dust.
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