He Never Drove A Car

Well, that's not quite right. I should say I never saw him drive a car.

He quit driving in 1927, when he was 25 years old, and the last car he drove was a 1926 Whippet.

"In those days," he told me when he was in his 90s, "to drive a car you had to do things with your hands, and do things with your feet, and look every which way, and I decided you could walk through life and enjoy it or drive through life and miss it."

At which point my mother, a sometimes salty Irishwoman, chimed in: "Oh, bull----!" she said. "He hit a horse."

"Well," my father said, "there was that, too."

So my brother and I grew up in a household without a car. The neighbors all had cars -- the Kollingses next door had a green 1941 Dodge, the VanLaninghams across the street a gray 1936 Plymouth, the Hopsons two doors down a black 1941 Ford -- but we had none.

My father, a newspaperman in Des Moines, would take the streetcar to work and, often as not, walk the 3 miles home. If he took the streetcar home, my mother and brother and I would walk the three blocks to the streetcar stop, meet him and walk home together.

My brother, David, was born in 1935, and I was born in 1938, and sometimes, at dinner, we'd ask how come all the neighbors had cars but we had none. "No one in the family drives," my mother would explain, and that was that.

But, sometimes, my father would say, "But as soon as one of you boys turns 16, we'll get one." It was as if he wasn't sure which one of us would turn 16 first.

But, sure enough , my brother turned 16 before I did, so in 1951 my parents bought a used 1950 Chevrolet from a friend who ran the parts department at a Chevy dealership downtown.

It was a four-door, white model, stick shift, fender skirts, loaded with everything, and, since my parents didn't drive, it more or less became my brother's car.

Having a car but not being able to drive didn't bother my father, but it didn't make sense to my mother.

So in 1952, when she was 43 years old, she asked a friend to teach her to drive. She learned in a nearby cemetery, the place where I learned to drive the following year and where, a generation later, I took my two sons to practice driving. The cemetery probably was my father's idea. "Who can your mother hurt in the cemetery?" I remember him saying more than once.

For the next 45 years or so, until she was 90, my mother was the driver in the family. Neither she nor my father had any sense of direction, but he loaded up on maps -- though they seldom left the city limits -- and appointed himself navigator. It seemed to work.

Still, they both continued to walk a lot. My mother was a devout Catholic, and my father an equally devout agnostic, an arrangement that didn't seem to bother either of them through their 75 years of marriage.

(Yes, 75 years, and they were deeply in love the entire time.)

He retired when he was 70, and nearly every morning for the next 20 years or so, he would walk with her the mile to St. Augustin's Church. She would walk down and sit in the front pew, and he would wait in the back until he saw which of the parish's two priests was on duty that morning. If it was the pastor, my father then would go out and take a 2-mile walk, meeting my mother at the end of the service and walking her home.

If it was the assistant pastor, he'd take just a 1-mile walk and then head back to the church. He called the priests "Father Fast" and "Father Slow."

After he retired, my father almost always accompanied my mother whenever she drove anywhere, even if he had no reason to go along. If she were going to the beauty parlor, he'd sit in the car and read, or go take a stroll or, if it was summer, have her keep the engine running so he could listen to the Cubs game on the radio. In the evening, then, when I'd stop by, he'd explain: "The Cubs lost again. The millionaire on second base made a bad throw to the millionaire on first base, so the multimillionaire on third base scored."

If she were going to the grocery store, he would go along to carry the bags out -- and to make sure she loaded up on ice cream. As I said, he was always the navigator, and once, when he was 95 and she was 88 and still driving, he said to me, "Do you want to know the secret of a long life?"

"I guess so," I said, knowing it probably would be something bizarre.

"No left turns," he said.

"What?" I asked.

"No left turns," he repeated. "Several years ago, your mother and I read an article that said most accidents that old people are in happen when they turn left in front of oncoming traffic.

As you get older, your eyesight worsens, and you can lose your depth perception, it said. So your mother and I decided never again to make a left turn."

"What?" I said again.

"No left turns," he said. "Think about it. Three rights are the same as a left, and that's a lot safer. So we always make three rights."

"You're kidding!" I said, and I turned to my mother for support "No," she said, "your father is right. We make three rights. It works." But then she added: "Except when your father loses count."

I was driving at the time, and I almost drove off the road as I started laughing.

"Loses count?" I asked.

"Yes," my father admitted, "that sometimes happens. But it's not a problem. You just make seven rights, and you're okay again."

I couldn't resist. "Do you ever go for 11?" I asked.

"No," he said " If we miss it at seven, we just come home and call it a bad day. Besides, nothing in life is so important it can't be put off another day or another week."

My mother was never in an accident, but one evening she handed me her car keys and said she had decided to quit driving. That was in 1999, when she was 90.

She lived four more years, until 2003. My father died the next year, at 102.

They both died in the bungalow they had moved into in 1937 and bought a few years later for $3,000. (Sixty years later, my brother and I paid $8,000 to have a shower put in the tiny bathroom -- the house had never had one. My father would have died then and there if he knew the shower cost nearly three times what he paid for the house.)

He continued to walk daily -- he had me get him a treadmill when he was 101 because he was afraid he'd fall on the icy sidewalks but wanted to keep exercising -- and he was of sound mind and sound body until the moment he died.

One September afternoon in 2004, he and my son went with me when I had to give a talk in a neighboring town, and it was clear to all three of us that he was wearing out, though we had the usual wide-ranging conversation about politics and newspapers and things in the news.

A few weeks earlier, he had told my son, "You know, Mike, the first hundred years are a lot easier than the second hundred." At one point in our drive that Saturday, he said, "You know, I'm probably not going to live much longer."

"You're probably right," I said.

"Why would you say that?" He countered, somewhat irritated.

"Because you're 102 years old," I said.

"Yes," he said, "you're right." He stayed in bed all the next day.

That night, I suggested to my son and daughter that we sit up with him through the night.

He appreciated it, he said, though at one point, apparently seeing us look gloomy, he said:

"I would like to make an announcement. No one in this room is dead yet"

An hour or so later, he spoke his last words:

"I want you to know," he said, clearly and lucidly, "that I am in no pain. I am very comfortable. And I have had as happy a life as anyone on this earth could ever have."

A short time later, he died.

I miss him a lot, and I think about him a lot. I've wondered now and then how it was that my family and I were so lucky that he lived so long.

I can't figure out if it was because he walked through life, Or because he quit taking left turns. "

Life is too short to wake up with regrets. So love the people who treat you right. Forget about those who don't. Believe everything happens for a reason. If you get a chance, take it. If it changes your life, let it. Nobody said life would be easy, they just promised it would most likely be worth it."

Written By Michael Gartner, president of NBC News

In her Mother's Dress

"Do you like my dress?" she asked of a passing stranger. "My mommy made it just for me." She said with a tear in her eye.

"Well, I think it's very pretty, so tell me little one, why are you crying?"

With a quiver in her voice the little girl answered. "After Mommy made me this dress, she had to go away."

"Well, now," said the lady, "with a little girl like you waiting for her, I'm sure she'll be right back."

"No ma'am, you don't understand," said the child through her tears, "My Daddy said that she's up in heaven now with Grandfather."

Finally the woman realized what the child meant, and why she was crying. Kneeling down she gently cradled the child in her arms and together they cried for the mommy that was gone.

Then suddenly the little girl did something that the woman thought was a bit strange. She stopped crying, stepped back from the woman and began to sing.

She sang so softly that it was almost a whisper. It was the sweetest sound the woman had ever heard, almost like the song of a very small bird.

After the child stopped singing she explained to the lady, "My mommy used to sing that song to me before she went away, and she made me promise to sing it whenever I started crying and it would make me stop."

"See," she exclaimed, "it did, and now my eyes are dry!"

As the woman turned to go, the little girl grabbed her sleeve, "Lady, can you stay just a minute? I want to show you something."

"Of course," she answered, "what do you want me to see?"

Pointing to a spot on her dress, she said, "Right here is where my Mommy kissed my dress, and here," pointing to another spot, "and here is another kiss, and here, and here. Mommy said that she put all those kisses on my dress so that I would have her kisses for every boo-boo that made me cry."

Then the lady realized that she wasn't just looking at a dress, no, she was looking at a Mother ... Who knew that she was going away and would not be there to kiss away the hurts that she knew her daughter would get.

So she took all the love she had for her beautiful little girl and put them into this dress, that her child now so proudly wore. She no longer saw a little girl in a simple dress. She saw a child wrapped ...

In her Mother's love.

No Regrets

If I knew it would be the last time that I'd see you fall asleep,

I would tuck you in more tightly and pray the Lord, your soul to keep.

If I knew it would be the last time that I see you walk out the door,

I would give you a hug and kiss and call you back for just one more.

If I knew it would be the last time I'd hear your voice lifted up in praise,

I would video tape each action and word, so I could play them back day after day.

If I knew it would be the last time, I could spare an extra minute or two to stop and say "I love you,"

Instead of assuming you would know I do.

If I knew it would be the last time I would be there to share your day,

Well, I'm sure you'll have so many more, I can let just this one slip away.

For surely there's always tomorrow to make up for an oversight,

And we always get a second chance to make everything right.

There will always be another day to say our "I love you's,"

And certainly there's another chance to say our "Anything I can do's?"

But just in case I might be wrong, and today is all I get,

I'd like to say how much I love you and I hope we never forget,

Tomorrow is not promised to anyone, young or old alike,

Today may be the last chance you get to hold your loved one tight.

So if you're waiting for tomorrow, why not do it today?

For if tomorrow never comes, you'll surely regret the day,

That you didn't take that extra time for a smile, a hug, or a kiss,

Too busy to grant someone what turned out to be their last wish.

So hold your loved ones close today, whisper in their ear,

Tell them how much you love them and that you'll always hold them dear.

Take time to say "I'm sorry," "Please forgive me," "Thank you" or "It's okay".

And if tomorrow never comes, you'll have no regrets about today.

-Author Unknown-

The Pancake Lesson

Six-year-old Brandon decided one Saturday morning to fix his parents pancakes. He found a big bowl and spoon, pulled a chair to the counter, opened the cupboard and pulled out the heavy flour canister, spilling it on the floor.

He scooped some of the flour into the bowl with his hands, mixed in most of a cup of milk and added some sugar, leaving a floury trail on the floor which by now had a few tracks left by his kitten.

Brandon was covered with flour and getting frustrated. He wanted this to be something very good for Mom and Dad, but it was getting very bad. He didn't know what to do next, whether to put it all into the oven or on the stove (and he didn't know how the stove worked!).

Suddenly he saw his kitten licking from the bowl of mix and reached to push her away, knocking the egg carton to the floor.

Frantically he tried to clean up this monumental mess but slipped on the eggs, getting his pajamas white and sticky. And just then he saw Dad standing at the door. Big crocodile tears welled up in Brandon's eyes. All he'd wanted to do was good, but he'd made a terrible mess. He was sure a scolding was coming, maybe even a spanking. But his father just watched him.

Then, walking through the mess, he picked up his crying son, hugged him and loved him, getting his own pajamas white and sticky in the process.

That's how God deals with us. We try to do something good in life, but it turns into a mess. Our marriage gets all sticky or we insult a friend, or we can't stand our job, or our health goes sour.

Sometimes we just stand there in tears because we can't think of anything else to do. That's when God picks us up and loves us and forgives us, even though some of our mess gets all over Him. But just because we might mess up, we can't stop trying to "make pancakes" for God or for others. Sooner or later we'll get it right, and then they'll be glad we tried...

I was thinking... and I wondered if I had any wounds needing to be healed, friendships that need rekindling or three words needing to be said, sometimes, "I love you" can heal & bless.

Remind every one of your friends that you love them, Even if you think they don't love back, you would be amazed at what those three little words, a smile, and a reminder like can do.


-Author Unknown-

The Girl in the Pink Dress

There was this little girl sitting by herself in the park. Everyone
passed by her and never stopped to see why she looked so sad. Dressed in
a worn pink dress, barefoot and dirty, the girl just sat and watched the
people go by. She never tried to speak. She never said a word. Many
people passed by her, but no one would stop.

The next day I decided to go back to the park in curiosity to see if the
little girl would still be there. Yes, she was there, right in the very
spot where she was yesterday, and still with the same sad look in her
eyes.

Today I was to make my own move and walk over to the little girl. For as
we all know, a park full of strange people is not a place for young
children to play alone. As I got closer I could see the back of the
little girl's dress was grotesquely shaped. I figured that was the
reason people just passed by and made no effort to speak to her.

As I got closer, the little girl lowered her eyes slightly to avoid my
intent stare. As I approached her, I could see the shape of her back
more clearly. She was grotesquely shaped in a humped-over form.

I smiled to let her know it was OK; I was there to help, to talk. I sat
down beside her and opened with a simple, "Hello." The little girl
acted shocked, and stammered a "hi," after a long stare into my eyes. I
smiled and she shyly smiled back.

We talked until darkness fell and the park was completely empty. I asked
the girl why she was so sad. The little girl looked at me with a sad
face said, "Because I'm different." I immediately said, "That you are!"
and smiled. The little girl acted even sadder and said, "I know."

"Little girl," I said, "you remind me of an angel, sweet and innocent."
She looked at me and smiled, then slowly she got to her feet and said,
"Really?"

"Yes, you're like a little Guardian Angel sent to watch over all those
people walking by." She nodded her head yes, and smiled. With that she
opened the back of her pink dress and allowed her wings to spread, then
she said "I am. I'm your Guardian Angel," with a twinkle in her eye. I
was speechless -- sure I was seeing things.

She said, "For once you thought of someone other than yourself. My job
here is done."

I got to my feet and said, "Wait, why did no one stop to help an angel?"
She looked at me, smiled, and said, "You are the only one that could see
me," and then she was gone. And with that, my life was changed
dramatically. So, when you think you're all you have, remember, your
angel is always watching over you.

-Author Unknown-

Makes Me Think

If you have time, please click the following link to read a very beautiful story. Take care and have a nice day!

Makes Me Think

One from 1885

It was an early Easter. Sledding was only just over; snow still lay in the yards; and water ran in streams down the Russian village street. Two little girls happened to meet in a lane between two homes, where the dirty water had formed a large puddle after running through the farm-yards.

One girl was very small, the other a little bigger. Their mothers had dressed them both in new Easter dresses. The little one wore a blue frock and the other a yellow print, and both had red kerchiefs on their heads.

They had just come from church when they met, and first they showed each other their finery, and then they began to play. Soon their playing took them to splash about in the water, and the smaller one was going to step into the puddle, shoes and all, when the elder stopped her saying:

"Don't go in so, Malásha," said she, "your mother will scold you. I will take off my shoes and stockings, and you take off yours."

They did so, and then, picking up their skirts, began walking towards each other through the puddle.

"Mind, Malásha, don't splash. Walk carefully!"

She had hardly said this, when Malásha stomped down her foot so that the water splashed right on to Akoúlya's dress. The frock was splashed, and so were Akoúlya's eyes and nose.

When she saw the muddy water on her frock, she was angry and ran after Malásha to strike her. Malásha was frightened, and seeing that she had got herself into big trouble, she scrambled out of the puddle, and prepared to run home.

Just then Akoúlya's mother happened to be passing, and seeing that her daughter's skirt and sleeves were dirty, she said:

"You naughty, dirty girl, what have you been doing?"

"Malásha did it on purpose," replied the girl.

At this Akoúlya's mother seized Malásha, and struck her lightly on the back of her neck. Malásha began to cry so that she could be heard all down the street. Her mother came out.

"What did you hit my girl for?" said she; and began scolding her neighbour. One word led to another and they had an angry quarrel.

The men came out and a crowd collected in the street, every one shouting and no one listening. They all went on quarrelling, till one gave another a push, and the affair had very nearly come to blows, when Akoúlya's old grandmother, stepping in among them, tried to calm them.

"What are you thinking of, friends? Is it right to behave so? On an Easter Sunday like this, too! It is a time for rejoicing, and not for such folly as this."

They would not listen to the old woman and nearly brushed her off her feet. And she would not have been able to quiet the crowd, if it had not been for Akoúlya and Malásha themselves.

While the women were arguing with each other, Akoúlya had wiped the mud off her frock, and gone back to the puddle. She took a stone and began scraping away the earth in front of the puddle to make a channel through which the water could run out into the street.

Presently Malásha joined her, and with a chip of wood helped her dig the channel. Just as the men were beginning to quarrel, the water from the little girls' channel ran streaming into the street towards the very place where the old woman was trying to pacify the men. The girls followed it; one running each side of the little stream.

"Catch it, Malásha! Catch it!" shouted Akoúlya; while Malásha could not speak for laughing. Highly delighted, and watching the wooden chip float along on their stream, the little girls ran straight into the group of men. The old woman, seeing them, said to the men:

"Are you men not ashamed of yourselves? To go fighting on account of these young girls, when they themselves have forgotten all about it, and are playing happily together. Dear little souls! They are wiser than you!"

The men looked at the little girls, and were ashamed, and, laughing at themselves, went back each to his own home.

"Unless you change and become like little children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven."

Written by Leo Tolstoy in 1885

Thinking Out of the Box?

There was a man who had worked all of his life, had saved all of his money, and was a real miser when it came to his money.

Just before he died, he said to his wife,

"When I die, I want you to take all my money and put it in the casket with me. I want to take my money to the afterlife with me."

And so he got his wife to promise him with all of her heart that when he died, she would put all of the money in the casket with him. Well,he died.

He was stretched out in the casket, his wife was sitting there in black, and her friend was sitting next to her.

When they finished the ceremony, just before the undertakers gotready ! to close the casket, the wife said, "Wait just a minute!"

She had a box with her; she came over with the box and put it in the casket. Then the undertakers locked the casket down, and they rolled it away.

So her friend said, "Girl, I know you weren't fool enough to put all that money in there with your husband."

The loyal wife replied, "Listen, I'm a Christian, I can't go back on my word. I promised him that I was going to put that money in that casket with him."

"You mean to tell me you put that money in the casket with him!!!!?"

"I sure did," said the wife. "I got it all together, put it into my account and wrote him a cheque.

If he can cash it, he can spend it!"

The Sweet Old Soul

Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out patients at the clinic.

One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. "Why, he's hardly taller than my eight year old," I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body.

But the appalling thing was his face lopsided from swelling, red and raw. Yet his voice was pleasant as he said,

"Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning."

He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success, no one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face...I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments..." For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me:

"I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning."

I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us.

"No thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag.

When I finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn't take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury.

He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was preface with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.

At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said:

"Could I please come back and stay next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit, I can sleep fine in a chair." He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grown-ups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind."

I told him he was welcome to come again.

On his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00 am and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.

In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed.

Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious. When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning.

"Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!"

Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they could have known him. I know our family will always be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.

Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket. I thought to myself,

"If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!" My friend changed my mind.

"I ran short of pots," she explained, "and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden."

She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in heaven.

"Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman.

"He won't mind starting in this small body."

All this happened long ago and now, in God's garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand.

The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.

Author Unknown

The Mountaineer

Once upon a time, lived a mountaineer who, desperate to conquer the Aconcagua, initiated his climb after years of preparation. But he wanted the glory to himself, therefore, he went up alone. He started climbing and it was becoming later, and later. He did not prepare for camping, but decided to keep on going.

Soon it got dark. Night fell with heaviness at a very high altitude. Visibility was zero. Everything was black. There was no moon, and the stars were covered by clouds.

As he was climbing a ridge at about 100 meters from the top, he slipped and fell. Falling rapidly he could only see blotches of darkness that passed. He felt a terrible sensation of being sucked in by gravity. He kept falling... and in those anguishing moments good and bad memories passed through his mind. He thought certainly he would die.

But then he felt a jolt that almost tore him in half. Yes! Like any good mountain climber he had staked himself with a long rope tied to his waist. In those moments of stillness, suspended in the air he had no other choice but to shout: "HELP ME GOD. HELP ME!"

All of a sudden he heard a deep voice from heaven... "What do you want me to do?"

"SAVE ME."

"Do you REALLY think that I can save you?"

"OF COURSE, MY GOD."

"Then cut the rope that is holding you up."

There was another moment of silence and stillness. The man just held tighter to the rope. The rescue team says that the next day they found a frozen mountain climber hanging strongly to a rope...

TWO FEET OFF THE GROUND.

-Author Unknown-
------------

How about you? How trusting are you in that rope? Why don't you let it go? I tell you, God has great and marvelous things planned for you.

CUT THE ROPE AND SIMPLY TRUST IN HIM.

The Lesson from the Speeding Ticket

Thanks to SK Tio who sent me the following post.

Be who you are and say what you feel... because those that matter don't mind...
and those that mind don't matter!

Read This Slowly

Jack took a long look at his speedometer
Before slowing down: 73 in a 55 zone.
Fourth time in as many months..
How could a guy get caught so often?

When his car had slowed to 10 miles an hour,
Jack pulled over, but only partially.
Let the cop worry about the potential traffic hazard..
Maybe some other car will tweak his backside with a mirror.
The cop was stepping out of his car,
The big pad in hand..

Bob? Bob from Church?
Jack sunk farther into his trench coat.
This was worse than the coming ticket.
A cop catching a guy from his own church.
A guy who happened to be a little eager
To get home after a long day at the office..
A guy he was about to play golf with tomorrow.


Jumping out of the car,
He approached a man he saw every Sunday,
A man he'd never seen in uniform.

'Hi, Bob. Fancy meeting you like this.'

'Hello, Jack.' No smile.

'Guess you caught me red-handed
In a rush to see my wife and kids.'

'Yeah, I guess.' Bob seemed uncertain.
Good.

'I've seen some long days at the office lately.
I'm afraid I bent the rules a bit -just this once.'

Jack toed at a pebble on the pavement.
'Diane said something about roast beef and potatoes tonight.
Know what I mean?'

'I know what you mean.
I also know that you have a reputation in our precinct .'
Ouch.
This was not going in the right direction.
Time to change tactics.

'What'd you clock me at?'

'Seventy. Would you sit back in your car please?'
'Now wait a minute here, Bob.
I checked as soon as I saw you.
I was barely nudging 65.'
The lie seemed to come easier with every ticket.

'Please, Jack, in the car'

Flustered, Jack hunched himself through the still-open door. Slamming it shut, he stared at the dashboard..
He was in no rush to open the window.

The minutes ticked by..
Bob scribbled away on the pad..

Why hadn't he asked for a driver's license?

Whatever the reason,
It would be a month of Sundays
Before Jack ever sat near this cop again.

A tap on the door jerked his head to the left.
There was Bob, a folded paper in hand
Jack rolled down the window a mere two inches,
Just enough room for Bob to pass him the slip.

'Thanks..'
Jack could not quite keep the sneer out of his voice.

Bob returned to his police car without a word.
Jack watched his retreat in the mirror.
Jack unfolded the sheet of paper.
How much was this one going to cost?

Wait a minute.
What was this? Some kind of joke?

Certainly not a ticket. Jack began to read:

'Dear Jack, Once upon a time I had a daughter..
She was six when killed by a car.
You guessed it - a speeding driver.
A fine and three months in jail, and the man was free.
Free to hug his daughters, all three of them.
I only had one, and I'm going to have to wait until Heaven
Before I can ever hug her again.

A thousand times I've tried to forgive that man.
A thousand times I thought I had.
Maybe I did, but I need to do it again.
Even now.
Pray for me.
And be careful, Jack,
my son is all I have left.'

'Bob'

Jack turned around in time to see Bob's car
pull away and head down the road.
Jack watched until it disappeared.
A full 15 minutes later, he too,
pulled away and drove slowly home,
praying for forgiveness and
hugging a surprised wife and kids when he arrived....

Life is precious.
Handle with care.
This is an important message;
please pass it along to your friends.
Drive safely and carefully.
Remember, cars are not the only things
recalled by their maker.

Singapore Red Cross Home for the Disabled

An aspect of Singapore hardly ever seen, and hardly ever discussed, are the handicapped. Let alone, the severely handicapped. They always seem forgotten.
The average, the below average, and especially the above average Singaporean simply has no time to bother themselves with taking time off to help with such projects.
The Video was created to coincide with the launch of the New Home for the Disabled.

Filmed in just 5 days, and edited in under a week, this short Promo was designed to touch hearts. It was filmed only using consumer cameras, and edited using consumer Computers. And it centered around the moving from the old home to the new one. Judiciously showing a "before and after" in the process.

We invite people to get their hands dirty, helping others in any selfless way they can. Not just giving money, but more so, giving their time, which is far more valuable and precious. Amateur filmmakers can also help, by documenting event special to them, and making such Videos available to the public for a better tomorrow.

CLICK HERE TO WATCH THE VIDEO that was produced by Dr. Michael Chick. Kudos Dr. Michael for a brilliant job and more importantly for your heart that cares!

Fantastic Facts

Baby robins eat 14 feet of earthworms everyday!!

The Bird of Paradise can sleep upside down.

Female turtles can store sperm up to four years before laying viable eggs.

The elephant is one of the few animals that cannot jump.

The poison-arrow frog has enough poison to kill 2 200 people.

The praying manthis is the only insect that can turn its head.

THE SEVEN WONDERS OF THE WORLD

Junior high school students in Chicago were studying the Seven Wonders of the World. At the end of the lesson, the students were asked to list what they considered to be the Seven Wonders of the World. Though there was some disagreement, the following received the most votes:

1. Egypt's Great Pyramids
2. The Taj Mahal in India
3. The Grand Canyon in Arizona
4. The Panama Canal
5. The Empire State Building
6. St. Peter's Basilica
7. China's Great Wall

While gathering the votes, the teacher noted that one student, a quiet girl, hadn't turned in her paper yet. So she asked the girl if she was having trouble with her list. The quiet girl replied, "Yes, a little. I couldn't quite make up my mind because there were so many." The teacher said, "Well, tell us what you have, and maybe we can help."

The girl hesitated, then read, "I think the Seven Wonders of the World are:

1. to touch...
2. to taste...
3. to see...
4. to hear... (She hesitated a little, and then added...)
5. to feel...
6. to laugh...
7. and to love.

The room was so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop.

May this story serve as a gentle reminder to all of us that the things we overlook as simple and ordinary are often the most wonderful - and we don't have to travel anywhere special to experience them.

Enjoy your gifts!

THE SANDS OF FORGIVENESS

A story tells that two friends were walking through the desert. During some point of the journey they had an argument, and one friend slapped the other one in the face.

The one who got slapped was hurt, but without saying anything, wrote in the sand:

TODAY MY BEST FRIEND SLAPPED ME IN THE FACE.

They kept on walking until they found an oasis, where they decided to take a bath. The one who had been slapped got stuck in the mire and started drowning, but the friend saved him.

After he recovered from the near drowning, he wrote on a stone:

TODAY MY BEST FRIEND SAVED MY LIFE.

The friend who had slapped and saved his best friend asked him, "After I hurt you, you wrote in the sand and now, you write on a stone, why?"

The other friend replied "When someone hurts us we should write it down in sand where winds of forgiveness can erase it away. But, when someone does something good for us, we must engrave it in stone where no wind can ever erase it."

LEARN TO WRITE YOUR HURTS IN THE SAND AND TO CARVE YOUR BENEFITS IN STONE.


-Author Unknown-

EIGHT GIFTS THAT DON'T COST A CENT

Christmas is just round the corner and many have started their Christmas shopping. I have also received a few presents already even though it's still slightly more than a week to Christmas. In case, you have run out of ideas for presents, here are some ideas for gifts that don't cost a cent...and the best part is - these will multiply when you give them. Take care and have a blessed season and a great day!

1. THE GIFT OF LISTENING...

But you must REALLY listen. No interrupting, no daydreaming, no planning your response. Just listening.

2. THE GIFT OF AFFECTION...

Be generous with appropriate hugs, kisses, pats on the back and holds. Let these small actions demonstrate the love you have for family and friends.

3. THE GIFT OF LAUGHTER...

Clip cartoons. Share articles and funny stories. Your gift will say, "I love to laugh with you."

4. THE GIFT OF A WRITTEN NOTE...

It can be a simple "Thanks for the help" note or a full sonnet. A brief, handwritten note may be remembered for a lifetime, and may even change a life.

5. THE GIFT OF A COMPLIMENT...

A simple and sincere, "You look great in red," "You did a super job" or "That was a wonderful meal" can make someone's day.

6. THE GIFT OF A FAVOR...

Every day, go out of your way to do something kind.

7. THE GIFT OF SOLITUDE...

There are times when we want nothing better than to be left alone. Be sensitive to those times and give the gift of solitude to others.

8. THE GIFT OF A CHEERFUL DISPOSITION...

The easiest way to feel good is to extend a kind word to someone, really it's not that hard to say, Hello or Thank You.

Take care and remember to smile a lot and be happy always...Have a lovely weekend!

MOMENTS OF REASONING

My dear friend, Angela, sent me the following set of slides recently.

Please CLICK ON THIS LINK to view this beautiful set of slides on growing old.

Thanks and have a nice day!

RED MARBLES

I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes, but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.

Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me..

'Hello, Barry, how are you today?'

'Hello, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank you. Just admiring them peas. They sure look good.'

'They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?'

'Fine. Getting stronger all the time.'

'Good. Anything I can help you with?'

'No, Sir. Just admiring the peas..'

'Would you like to take some home?' asked Mr. Miller.

'No, sir. Got nothing to pay for 'em with.'
Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?'

'All I have is my prize marble here.'

'Is that right? Let me see it,' said Miller.

'Here 'tis. She's a dandy.'

'I can see that. Hmm mmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?' the store owner asked.

'Not 'zackley, but almost.'

'Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble,' Mr. Miller told the boy.

'Sure will. Thanks, Mr. Miller.'

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.

With a smile, she said, 'There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store.'

I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys and their bartering for marbles.

Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community, and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his visitation that evening, and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary, we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.

Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts.. All were very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket.

Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's bartering for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

'Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded' them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size, they came to pay their debt. We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,' she confided, 'but right now Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho.'

With loving gentleness, she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

The Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.

Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ~ A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself; An unexpected phone call from an old friend; Green stoplights on your way to work; The fastest line at the grocery store; A good sing-along song on the radio; Your keys found right where you left them.

If you don't send it to anyone, it means you are in way too much of a hurry to even notice the ordinary miracles when they occur. Send this to the people you'll never forget. I just did.

IT'S NOT WHAT YOU GATHER, BUT WHAT YOU SCATTER THAT TELLS WHAT KIND OF LIFE YOU HAVE LIVED!

THE COLOR OF FRIENDSHIP

Once upon a time the colors of the world started to quarrel.
All claimed that they were the best.
The most important.
The most useful.
The favorite.

Green said:
"Clearly I am the most important. I am the sign of life and of hope. I was chosen for grass, trees and leaves. Without me, all animals would die. Look over the countryside and you will see that I am in the majority."

Blue interrupted:
"You only think about the earth, but consider the sky and the sea. It is the water that is the basis of life and drawn up by the clouds from the deep sea. The sky gives space and peace and serenity. Without my peace, you would all be nothing."

Yellow chuckled:
"You are all so serious. I bring laughter, gaiety, and warmth into the world. The sun is yellow, the moon is yellow, the stars are yellow. Every time you look at a sunflower, the whole world starts to smile. Without me there would be no fun."

Orange started next to blow her trumpet:
"I am the color of health and strength. I may be scarce, but I am precious for I serve the needs of human life. I carry the most important vitamins. Think of carrots, pumpkins, oranges, mangoes, and papayas. I don't hang around all the time, but when I fill the sky at sunrise or sunset, my beauty is so striking that no one gives another thought to any of you."

Red could stand it no longer he shouted out:
"I am the ruler of all of you. I am blood - life's blood! I am the color of danger and of bravery. I am willing to fight for a cause. I bring fire into the blood. Without me, the earth would be as empty as the moon. I am the color of passion and of love, the red rose, the poinsettia and the poppy."

Purple rose up to his full height:
He was very tall and spoke with great pomp: "I am the color of royalty and power. Kings, chiefs, and bishops have always chosen me for I am the sign of authority and wisdom. People do not question me! They listen and obey."

Finally Indigo spoke, much more quietly than all the others, but with just as much determination: "Think of me. I am the color of silence. You hardly notice me, but without me you all become superficial. I represent thought and reflection, twilight and deep water. You need me for balance and contrast, for prayer and inner peace."

And so the colors went on boasting, each convinced of his or her own superiority. Their quarreling became louder and louder. Suddenly there was a startling flash of bright lightening thunder rolled and boomed. Rain started to pour down relentlessly. The colors crouched down in fear, drawing close to one another for comfort.

In the midst of the clamor, rain began to speak:
"You foolish colors, fighting amongst yourselves, each trying to dominate the rest. Don't you know that you were each made for a special purpose, unique and different? Join hands with one another and come to me."

Doing as they were told, the colors united and joined hands.

The rain continued:
"From now on, when it rains, each of you will stretch across the sky in a great bow of color as a reminder that you can all live in peace. The Rainbow is a sign of hope for tomorrow." And so, whenever a good rain washes the world, and a Rainbow appears in the sky, let us remember to appreciate one another.

-Author and Source Unknown-

HAPPINESS IS A CHOICE

The basis of your life is choice; the purpose of your life is happiness.

You can choose to discover what makes you happy or you can choose a to go down a path of misery. If you should choose to discover happiness, your happiness will allow you to find peace and you will spread joy around you. If you should choose a life of confusion and misery, you will grow, but the growth will be in despair and you will spread this despair to those around you.

Happiness is a choice. You can chose to be happy or you can chose to be angry. The choice is always yours. It is as easy to be happy, as it is easy to be angry. All you have to do is make the choice as to the path you will take.

Imagine happiness and it will be yours. Ask yourself what makes you happy and then think why you want it. When you do this the essence of your desire will be activated. You will start to uncover inner feelings about yourself. Listen to your inner voice. You will start to understand your desires and you will be able to act on them. Remember never to assume anything. You do not know what others think and 9 out of 10 you will be wrong. Being judgement only leads you to judge yourself. All of those imperfections that you see in others are only reflections of what you fear yourself to be. This only leads to anger and resentment

Anger, resentment, despair, all of these things need to be let go. These feelings will do you no good and only bring you misery. Try to look at everything in life in a positive way. Believe it or not, there is always something positive in anything we deem negative.

Give yourself a chance to be happy. Love yourself, be kind to yourself, and remember everyone deserves to be happy.

-author unknown-