If you can't measure it.....you can't change it!

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Remembering Captain Kwame Waikenda

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A year ago, April rolled in and you were gone. This is my tribute then and my tribute even now. Hope you have met my Suzs. Miss you. Kwame burst into my life with a smile and a witty remark that had me smiling and enthralled for life. He wasn't just Aunty Susan's nephew, he became my nephew too and a friend who loved me for me and always treated me with respect even though he would tease me mercilessly at times, he never at any one time showed me anything but utter respect. He made sure to stay in touch even in the days of handwritten letters, he would take time out and send me a letter or two. In the recent past whenever he landed, he would call me up to say 'hello, Mama Kris I am in town, let's meet' . And it would always be a surprise and I would be amazed by his thoughtfulness and consideration that in the few days he had in town, he would make time to see me. He did not only tell me I was a queen, he treated me as one and I felt honoured by his undivided atte
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Capt. Kwame K. Waikenda

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HIGH FLIGHT Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth And danced the skies on laughter—silvered wings; Sunward I have climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun—spilt clouds, - and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of— Wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence, Hov'ring there I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft though footless halls of air............... Up, up the long, delirious burning blue I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace Where never lark or ever eagle flew— And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod The high un-trespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand, and touched the face of God. - John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
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The Hand That Rocks the Cradle Rules the World by William Ross Wallace (1819-1881)

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Blessings on the hand of women!  Angels guard its strength and grace. In the palace, cottage, hovel,  Oh, no matter where the place; Would that never storms assailed it,  Rainbows ever gently curled,  For the hand that rocks the cradle  Is the hand that rules the world.  Infancy's the tender fountain,  Power may with beauty flow,  Mothers first to guide the streamlets,  From them souls unresting grow —  Grow on for the good or evil,  Sunshine streamed or evil hurled,  For the hand that rocks the cradle  Is the hand that rules the world.  Woman, how divine your mission,  Here upon our natal sod;  Keep – oh, keep the young heart open  Always to the breath of God!  All true trophies of the ages  Are from mother-love impearled,  For the hand that rocks the cradle  Is the hand that rules the world.  Blessings on the hand of women!  Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,  And the sacred song is mingled  With the worship in the sky —  Mingles where no tempest darkens,  Rainbows evermore are hu
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