STORIES & TALES Page 2

Teddy

Her name was Mrs. Thompson. As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children a lie. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same.  But that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.  Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he didn't play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath and Teddy could be unpleasant.

It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at the top of his papers.

At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last.  However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.

Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh.  He does his work neatly and has good manners...he is a joy to be around."

His second grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is an excellent student, well-liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle."

His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's death has been hard on him.  He tries to do his best, but his father doesn't show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."

Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school.  He doesn't have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in class."

By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself.

She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy's.

His was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from the grocery bag.  Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents.  Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing and a bottle that was one quarter full of perfume.

But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist.

Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, "Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to."

After the children left, she cried for at least an hour.  On that very day, she quit teaching reading, writing and arithmetic.

Instead, she began to teach children.

Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy.

As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive.  The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded.  By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and despite the lie, that she loved all children the same, Teddy became one of her "teacher's pets."

A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class and she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honours.  He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favourite teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time, he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further.  The letter explained that she was still the best and favourite teacher he ever had.  But now his name was a little longer...the letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD.

The story doesn't end there.  You see, there was yet another letter that spring.  Teddy said he'd met this girl and was going to be married.  He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree  to sit in the place at the wedding that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom.

Of course, Mrs. Thompson did.  And guess what?  She wore that bracelet, the one with the several rhinestones missing.  And she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.  They hugged each other and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, "Thank you, Mrs. Thompson for believing in me.  Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference."

Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, "Teddy, you have it wrong.  You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you."

Thanx Dee

1000 MARBLES

The older I get, the more I enjoy Saturday mornings. Perhaps it's the quiet solitude that comes with being the first to rise, or maybe it's the unbounded joy of not having to be at work. Either way, the first few hours of a Saturday morning are most enjoyable.

A few weeks ago, I was shuffling toward the basement shack with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. What began as a typical Saturday morning, turned into one of those lessons that life seems to hand you from time to time. Let me tell you about it.

I turned the dial up into the phone portion of the band on my ham radio in order to listen to a Saturday morning swap net. Along the way, I came across an older sounding chap, with a tremendous signal and a golden voice. You know the kind; he sounded like he should be in the broadcasting business. He was telling whomever he was talking with something about "a thousand marbles." I was intrigued and stopped to listen to what he had to say.

"Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you're busy with your job. I'm sure they pay you well, but it's a shame you have to be away from home and your family so much. Hard to believe a young fellow should have to work sixty or seventy hours a week to make ends meet. Too bad you missed your daughter's dance recital. He continued, "Let me tell you something Tom, something that has helped me keep a good perspective on my own priorities."

And that's when he began to explain his theory of a "thousand marbles."

"You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about seventy-five years. I know, some live more and some live less, but on average, folks live about seventy-five years. Now then, I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3900, which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in their entire lifetime. "Now, stick with me, Tom, I'm getting to the important part." "It took me until I was fifty-five years old to think about all this in any detail"; he went on, "and by that time I had lived through over twenty-eight hundred Saturdays. I got to thinking that if I lived to be seventy-five, I only had about a thousand of them left to enjoy!" "So I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had ended up having to visit three toy stores to round up 1000 marbles. I took them home and put them inside of a large, clear plastic container right here in the shack next to my gear. Every Saturday since then,  I have taken one marble out and thrown it away." "I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focus more on the really important things in life.

There is nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get your priorities straight."

"Now let me tell you one last thing before I sign-off with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast. This morning, I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure that if I make it until next Saturday then I have been given a little extra time. And the one thing we can all use is a little more time."

"It was nice to meet you Tom, I hope you spend more time with your family, and I hope to meet you again here on the band. 75 year Old Man, this is K9NZQ, clear and going QRT, good morning!"

You could have heard a pin drop on the band when this fellow signed off. I guess he gave us all a lot to think about. I had planned to work on the antenna that morning, and then I was going to meet up with a few hams to work on the next club newsletter. Instead, I went upstairs and woke my wife up with a kiss. "C'mon honey, I'm taking you and the kids to breakfast."

"What brought this on?" she asked with a smile. "Oh, nothing special, it's just been a long time since we spent a Saturday together with the kids. Hey, can we stop at a toy store while we're out? I need to buy some

marbles....
 

Thanx Dee

I'll be happy when...

We convince ourselves that life will be better after we get married, have a baby, then another. Then we are frustrated that the kids aren't old enough and we'll be more content when they are.
After that, we're frustrated that we have teenagers to deal with. We will certainly be happy when they are out of that stage. We tell ourselves that our life will be complete when our spouse gets his or her act together, when we get a nicer car, when we are able to go on a nice vacation or when we retire.  The truth is there's no better time to be happy than right now.

If not now, when? Your life will always be filled with challenges.

It's best to admit this to yourself and decide to be happy anyway. Happiness is the way. So, treasure every moment that you have and treasure it more because you shared it with someone
special, special enough to spend your time with ... and remember that time waits for no one.

So, stop waiting ...
Until your car or home is paid off.
Until you get a new car or home.
Until your kids leave the house.
Until you go back to school.
Until you finish school.
Until you lose 10 lbs.
Until you gain 10 lbs.
Until you get married.
Until you get a divorce.
Until you have kids.
Until you retire.
Until summer..
Until spring.
Until winter.
Until fall.
Until you die.

There is no better time than right now to be happy. Happiness is a journey, not a destination.  So work like you don't need money, love like you've never been hurt, and, dance like no one's watching.
 

Thanx Raven

VALUES IN LIFE

The Greatest handicap           - FEAR
The Best day                    -TODAY
Hardest thing to do             - TO BEGIN
Easiest thing to do             -FINDING FAULT
Most Useless Asset              -PRIDE
Most useful asset                       -HUMILITY
The Greatest mistake            - GIVING UP
Greatest stumbling block        - EGOTISM
The greatest comfort            - WORK WELL DONE
Most disagreeable person        - THE COMPLAINER
Worst Bankruptcy                        - LOSS OF ENTHUSIASM
Greatest Need                   - COMMON SENSE
Meanest Feeling                 - REGRET AT ANOTHER'S SUCCESS
Best Gift                               -FORGIVENESS
The hardest and most painful to accept - DEFEAT
The greatest moment             - DEATH
The greatest knowledge          - GOD
The greatest Thing              - LOVE
 

Thanx Re

Looking back, it's hard to believe that we have lived as long as we have.

As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags.

Riding in the back of a pickup truck on a warm day was always a special treat.

Our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paint.

We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors, or cabinets, and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets. (Not to mention hitchhiking to town as a young kid!)

We drank water from the garden hose and not from a bottle.

We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then rode down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times we learned to solve the
problem.

We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on. No one was able to reach us all day.

We played dodgeball and sometimes the ball would really hurt.

We ate cupcakes, bread and butter, and drank sugar soda but we were never overweight.... we were always outside playing.

Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment.....

Some students weren't as smart as others so they failed a grade and were held back to repeat the same grade.....

That generation produced some of the best risk-takers and problem solvers.

We had freedom, failure, success, and responsibility, and we learned how to deal with it all.

And you're one of them. Congratulations!
 

Thanx Ecka

 I remember when GROWING UP IN AUSTRALIA................. I'm talking about hide and seek in the park. The corner milk bar, hopscotch, billy carts, cricket in front of the garbage bin, skipping, handstands, footy on the best lawn in the street. British bulldog 1-2-3, go home stay home, slip'n'slide, the trampoline with water on it, hula hoops, pogo sticks, stepping in enormous puddles, mud pies and building dams in the gutter. The smell of the sun and fresh cut grass.

'Big bubbles no troubles' with Hubba Bubba bubble gum. A choc-top Mr Whippy cone on a warm summer night after you've chased him round the block.

When 20 cents worth of mixed lollies was a meal and smoking fags was really cool. Wait....... Watching Saturday morning cartoons...short commercials,The Thunderbirds (if you got up reeeeeally early), the Smurfs, Hey Hey its Saturday, AstroBoy, He-Man, Captain Caveman, Archie, Jem  (truly outrageous!!) and heeeey heeeeey heeeeeeey it's faaaaaaat albert. Or staying up late and sneaking a look at the "AO" on the second telly.

When around the corner seemed far away, and going into town seemed like going somewhere. A million mozzie bites, wasp and bee stings. Sticky fingers. Cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians, riding bikes and catching tadpoles. Marco polo in the neighbours' pool ("fish outta water?!""NOOOO"), drawing all over the road with chalk. Climbing trees and building cubbies out of every sheet your mum had in the cupboard. Walking to school, no matter what the weather.

Running till you were out of breath. Laughing so hard that your stomach hurt. Jumping on the bed. Pillow fights. Spinning around, getting dizzy and falling down was cause for the giggles.

Being tired from playing... Remember that?????? The worst embarrassment was being picked last for a team. Water balloons were the ultimate weapon.

Cricket cards in the spokes transformed any bike into a motorcycle... eating raw jelly, making homemade lemonade and licking on a Funny Face or red Freeza.

Remember when... There were only two types of sneakers - girls and boys. Dunlop volleys with the green 'n' gold or blue and the only time you wore them at school was for "sports day." You knew everyone in your street and so did your parents!

It wasn't odd to have two or three "best" friends. You didn't sleep a wink on Christmas eve. When nobody owned a pure-bred dog. When 50c was decent pocket money. When you'd reach into a muddy gutter for 10c. When nearly everyone's mum was at home when the kids got there from school. It was magic when dad would "remove" his thumb. When it was considered a great privilege to be taken out to dinner at the local Chinese restaurant with your parents.

When any parent could discipline any kid, or feed her or use him to carry groceries and nobody, not even the kid, thought a thing of it. When being sent to the principal's office was nothing compared to the fate that awaited a misbehaving student at home.

Basically, we were in fear for our lives, but it wasn't because of drive-by shootings, drugs, gangs, etc. Our parents and grandparents were a much bigger threat! Some of us are still afraid of them!!!

Didn't that feel good?

Just to go back and say, yeah, I remember that! Remember when...

Decisions were made by going "eeny-meeny-miney-mo" or
scissors, paper, rock. "Race issue" meant arguing about who ran the fastest. Money issues were handled by whoever was the banker in "Monopoly".

The worst thing you could catch from the opposite sex was boy/girl germs, and the worst thing in your day was having to sit next to one. Having a weapon in school, meant being caught with a slingshot.

Nobody was prettier than your Mum. Scrapes and bruises were kissed and made better. Taking drugs meant orange-flavoured chewable vitamin C's. Ice cream was considered a basic food group. Going to the beach and catching a wave was a dream come true. Abilities were discovered because of a "double-dare".

Older siblings were the worst tormentors, but also the fiercest protectors.

If you can remember most of these, then you have LIVED!!!
 

Thanx dragonfire

Grab the tissues...

A Truckers Last Letter

I found this letter on another trucker's wife website. I loved it so much because my husband is also a truck driver. From what I understand this is a true story. So, have tissues ready. It is a tear jerker. Steamboat Mountain is a man killer, and truckers who haul the Alaska Highway treat it with respect.

Particularly in the winter, the road curves and twists over the mountain and sheer cliffs drop away sharply from the icy road. Countless trucks and truckers have been lost there and many more will follow their last tracks.

On one trip up the highway, I came upon the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and several wreckers winching the remains of a semi up the cliff. I parked my rig and went over to the quiet group truckers who were watching the wreckage slowly come into sight. One of the Mounties walked over to us and spoke quietly. "I'm sorry," he said, "the driver was dead when we found him. He must have gone over the side two days ago when we had a bad snowstorm.

There weren't many tracks. It was just a fluke that we noticed the sun shining off some chrome."He shook his head slowly and reached into his parka pocket. "Here, maybe you guys should read this. I guess he lived for a couple of hours until the cold got to him." I'd never seen tears in a cop's eyes before. I always figured they'd seen so much death and despair they were immune to it, but he wiped tears away as he handed me the letter. As I read it, I began to weep. Each driver silently read the words, then quietly walked back to his rig.

The words were burned into my memory and now,years later, that letter is still as vivid as if I were holding it before me. I want to share that letter with you and your families.
~ ~ Rud Kendall ~ ~

Bills Letter

December, 1974

My Darling Wife,

This is a letter that no man ever wants to write, but I'm lucky enough to have some time to say what I've forgotten to say so many times. I love you, sweetheart. You used to kid me that I loved the truck more than you because I spent more time with her. I do love this piece of iron-she's been good to me. She's seen me through tough times and tough places. I could always count on her in a long haul and she was speedy in the stretches. She never let me down.

But you want to know something? I love you for the same reasons. You've seen me through the tough times and places, too. Remember the first truck? That run down "ol' cornbinder" that kept
us broke all the time but always made just enough money to keep us eating? You went out and got a job so that we could pay the rent and the bills. Every cent I made went into the truck while your money kept us in food with a roof over our heads.

I remember that I complained about the truck, but I don't remember you ever complaining when you came home tired from work and I asked you for money to go on the road again. If you did complain, I guess I didn't hear you. I was too wrapped up with my problems to think of yours. I think now of all the things you gave up for me. The clothes, the holidays, the parties, the friends. You never complained and somehow I never remembered to thank you for being you. When I sat having coffee with the boys, I always talked about the truck, my rig, my payments. I guess I forgot you were my partner even if you weren't in the cab with me.

It was your sacrifices and determination as much as mine that finally got the new truck. I was so proud of that truck I was bursting. I was proud of you, too, but I never told you that. I took it for granted you knew, but if I had spent as much time talking with you as I did polishing chrome, perhaps I would have. In all the years I've pounded the pavement, I always knew your prayers rode with me. But this time they weren't enough. I'm hurt and it's bad. I've made my last mile and I want to say the things that should have been said so many times before. The things that were forgotten because I was too concerned about the truck and the job. I'm thinking about the missed anniversaries and birthdays. The school plays and hockey games that you went to alone because I was on the road.

I'm thinking about the lonely nights you spent alone, wondering where I was and how things were going. I'm thinking of all the times I thought of calling you just to say hello and somehow didn't get around to. I'm thinking of the peace of mind I had knowing that you were at home with the kids, waiting for me. The family dinners where you spent all your time telling your folks why
I couldn't make it. I was busy changing oil; I was busy looking for parts; I was sleeping because I was leaving early the next morning. There was always a reason, but somehow they don't seem very important right now.

When we were married, you didn't know how to change a light bulb. Within a couple of years, you were fixing the furnace in a blizzard while I was waiting for a load in Florida. You became a pretty good mechanic, helping me with repairs, and I was mighty proud of you when you jumped into the cab and backed up over the rose bushes. I was proud of you when I pulled into the yard and saw you sleeping in the car waiting for me. Whether it was two in the morning or two in the afternoon you always looked like a movie star to me. You're beautiful, you know. I guess I haven't told you that lately, but you are.

I made lots of mistakes in my life, but if I only ever made one good decision, it was when I asked you to marry me. You never could understand what it was that kept me trucking. I couldn't either, but it was my way of life and you stuck with me. Good times, bad times, you were always there. I love you, sweetheart, and I love the kids. My body hurts but my heart hurts even more. You won't be there when I end this trip.

For the first time since we've been together, I'm really alone and it scares me. I need you so badly, and I know it's too late. It's funny I guess, but what I have now is the truck. This damned truck that ruled our lives for so long. This twisted hunk of steel that I lived in and with for so
many years. But it can't return my love. Only you can do that. You're a thousand miles away but I feel you here with me. I can see your face and feel your love and I'm scared to make the final run alone. Tell the kids that I love them very much and don't let the boys drive any truck for a living. I guess thats about it, honey. My God, but I love you very much.

Take care of yourself and always remember that I loved you more than anything in life. I just forgot to tell you. I love you, Bill.

Thanx Dee

A farmer had some puppies he needed to sell. He painted a sign advertising the pups. And set about nailing it to a post on the edge of his yard. As he was driving the last nail into the post, he felt a tug on his overalls. He looked down into the eyes of a little boy.

"Mister," he said, "I want to buy one of your puppies."

"Well," said the farmer, as he rubbed the sweat off the back of his neck, "These puppies come from fine parents and cost a good deal of money."

The boy dropped his head for a moment. Then reaching deep into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change and held it up to the farmer. "I've got thirty-nine cents. Is that enough to take a look?"

"Sure," said the farmer. And with that he let out a whistle. "Here, Dolly!" he called. Out from the doghouse and down the ramp ran Dolly followed by four little balls of fur.

The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence. His eyes danced with delight. As the dogs made their way to the fence, the little boy noticed something else
stirring inside the doghouse. Slowly another little ball appeared, this one noticeably smaller. Down the ramp it slid. Then in a somewhat awkward manner, the little pup began hobbling toward the others, doing its best to catch up....

"I want that one," the little boy said, pointing to the runt. The farmer knelt down at the boy's side and said, "Son, you don't want that puppy. He will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs would."

With that the little boy stepped back from the fence, reached down, and began rolling up one leg of his trousers. In doing so he revealed a steel brace running down both sides of his leg attaching itself to a specially made shoe.

Looking back up at the farmer, he said, "You see sir, I don't run too well myself, and he will need  someone who understands."
 

Thanx Terrierx
 

THE HOLE
by Eric Partridge

In an outer suburb of London - or, as it might be, Liverpool or Birmingham or Glasgow or Belfast - two friends had adjoining houses. The wives became friends. They were, in short, all friends together.

They were also rivals, the Smiths and the Robinsons. Oh! in the nicest, most harmless way. They were gardeners, keen and industrious and well-informed. If the Smiths succeeded with roses, the Robinsons promptly ascertained whether they could do the same; naturally, they did. If the Robinsons proved that with the most niggling and delicate plants they had the greenest of green thumbs, the Smiths immediately showed that their thumbs were no less green.

This happy and prosperous rivalry extended to what is quaintly known as 'garden furniture'. Chairs rivalled chairs, rural bench vied with rural bench; gnomes with elves, rabbits and squirrels, urns and sundials, strove in stone to attain an improbable supremacy.

And then, one glowing day, Mrs Smith had a "marvellous" idea. At the week-end, she and her husband dug a very large hole in the middle of the front lawn. The Robinsons waited to see what their neighbours were going to do with this hole. "Lily pond, do you think? or perhaps a tiny sunken garden?" But the Smiths did nothing with the hole, except to prevent it from silting up. The Robinsons, after several agonising weeks, decided that this hole must represent something emblematic "or do we mean symbolic?"

There was nothing for it, the Robinsons thought, but to have, in their front lawn, a hole that should resemble, as nearly as possible, that in the Smiths' lawn. But Mr and Mrs Robinson shared an aversion to digging as strenuous as this. So they, or rather Mrs Robinson, wrote to a well-known firm of landscape gardeners and ordered a hole, so many feet in diameter and so many in depth.

Two days later she received a letter.

DEAR MADAM,

We regret to say that, at the moment, we have not in stock a hole of the dimensions you require. But, if you wish us to do so, we will advise you when one becomes available.

Yours faithfully,

The Robinsons waited, not very patiently. Sooner than they expected, they received a second letter:

DEAR MADAM,

We count ourselves fortunate in being able to offer you, not exactly what you required but something we hope will serve equally well and perhaps better: a hole one foot deeper and eighteen inches more in diameter. The client who had ordered it has had to cancel his order, for he is emigrating to Kenya and selling his house.

To accommodate you, we are prepared to charge for this larger hole the same price we should have charged for one of the size you specified.

Awaiting your esteemed instructions,

Yours faithfully,

The Robinsons were so excited that they wired their acceptance. The same day, the reply came: "Delivery tomorrow afternoon."

The hole was being transported in a huge truck, driven by Alf, accompanied by Bert, who would keep his eye on the valuable load. They took their work very seriously, theset wo, and Alf constantly asked Bert whether the hole was safe. For instance, when they approached a railway bridge, "Height twelve feet", they anxiously debated whether the clearance was sufficient. Bert, having measured the total height of the truck and load, said, "Six inches to spare," and Alf replied, "I'll have to drive very smoothly, or I'll knock the head off that blinking hole."

He did, and all was well. All continued to go well until, only two and a quarter miles from their destination, they came to a very steep hill.

"Watch it, Bert. We don't want the thing slipping from its moorings."

"All right."

Just before they reached the crest and while, in fact, they were congratulating each other on having 'done it,' they heard a very odd noise, as of something plopping on to the road behind them.

"Strike a light, Alf, that (unmentionable) hole has fallen off. You'll have to pull up at the top, and I'll go and see what's the matter."
"Cor! What a thing to happen, Bert! The boss won't half be wild if we've lost that (equally unmentionable) hole."

At the top of the rise, Alf pulled up. Bert hastily descended and ran back to where they had heard that queer plopping noise.

Bert did not return. Alf became anxious and then more and more alarmed. Finally he walked back to find out what had happened; but his pal was never seen again.

Bert had fallen down the hole.
 
 

Taken from Ed. Michael Rosen, "Funny Stories", London: Kingfisher Books, 1988.

(Thanx Moofie)

THE YELLOW ROSES

I walked into the grocery store not particularly interested in buying groceries. I wasn't hungry. The pain of losing my husband of 7 years was still too raw. And this grocery store held so many sweet memories. He often came with me and almost every time he'd pretend to go off and look for something special. I knew what he was up to. I'd always spot him walking down the aisle with the three yellow roses in his hands. He knew I loved yellow roses.

With a heart filled with grief, I only wanted to buy my few items and leave, but even grocery shopping was different since he had passed on. Shopping for one took time, a little more thought than it had for two. Standing by the meat, I searched for the perfect small steak and remembered how he had loved his steak. Suddenly a woman came beside me. She was blonde, slim and lovely in a soft green pantsuit. I watched as she picked up a large pack of T- bones, dropped them in her basket, hesitated, and then put them back. She turned to go and once again reached for the pack of steaks. She saw me watching her and she smiled. "My husband loves T-bones, but honestly, at these prices, I don't know." I swallowed the emotion down my throat and met her pale blue eyes. "My husband passed away eight days ago," I told her. Glancing at the package in her hands, I fought to control the tremble in my voice. "Buy him the steaks. And cherish every moment you have together." She shook her head and I saw the emotion in her eyes as she placed the package in her basket and wheeled away.

I turned and pushed my cart across the length of the store to the dairy products. There I stood, trying to decide which size milk I should buy. Quart, I finally decided and moved on to the ice cream. If nothing else, I could always fix myself an ice cream cone. I placed the ice cream in my cart and looked down the aisle toward the front.

I saw first the green suit, then recognized the pretty lady coming towards me. In her arms she carried a package. On her face was the brightest smile I had ever seen. I would swear a soft halo encircled her blonde hair as she kept walking toward me, her eyes holding mine. As she came closer, I saw what she held and tears began misting in my eyes. "These are for you," she said and placed three beautiful long stemmed yellow roses in my arms. "When you go through the line, they will know these are paid for." She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, then smiled again. I wanted to tell her what she'd done, what the roses meant, but still unable to speak, I watched as she walked away as tears clouded my vision. I looked down at the beautiful roses nestled in the green tissue wrapping and found it almost unreal. How did she know? Suddenly the answer seemed so clear. I wasn't alone..

Oh, you haven't forgotten me, have you? I whispered, with tears in my eyes. He was still with me, and she was his angel.

Every day be thankful for what you have and who you are.
 

(Thanx Terrierx)

ATTITUDE

The 92-year-old, petite, well-poised and proud lady, who is fully dressed each morning by eight o'clock, with her hair fashionably coifed and makeup perfectly applied, even though she is legally blind, moved to a nursing home today. Her husband of 70 years recently passed away, making the move necessary.

After many hours of waiting patiently in the lobby of the nursing home, she smiled sweetly when told her room was ready.

As she maneuvered her walker to the elevator, I provided a visual description of her tiny room, including the eyelet sheets that had been hung on her window. "I love it," she stated with the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old having just been presented with a new puppy.

"Mrs. Jones, you haven't seen the room .... just wait."

"That doesn't have anything to do with it," she replied. "Happiness is something you decide on ahead of time. Whether I like my room or not doesn't depend on how the furniture is arranged ... it's how I arrange my mind. I already decided to love it ... It's a decision I make every morning when I wake up. I have a choice; I can spend the day in bed recounting the difficulty I have with the parts of my body that no longer work, or get out of bed and be thankful for the ones that do. Each day is a gift, and as long as my eyes open I'll focus on the new day and all the happy memories I've stored away ... just for this time in my life."

Old age is like a bank account ... you withdraw from what you've put in ..
So, my advice to you would be to deposit a lot of happiness in the bank account of memories.

Remember the five simple rules to be happy:

1. Free your heart from hatred.
2. Free your mind from worries.
3. Live simply.
4. Give more.
5. Expect less.
 

(Thanx Terrierx)