When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person - her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. "Information Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information." "I hurt my finger." I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience. "Isn't your mother home?" came the question. "Nobody's home but me," I blubbered. "Are you bleeding?" "No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts. "Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice. After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts. Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "Information Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was un-consoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?" She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please." "Information," said the now familiar voice. "How do you spell fix?" I asked. All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, and somehow I never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane touched down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then, without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information, Please." Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information." I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?" There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now." I laughed. "So it's really still you, "I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time." "I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls." I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister. "Please do, she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered "Information." I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" she asked. "Yes, a very old friend," I answered. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said, "Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago." Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Is your name Paul?" "Yes." "Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you." The note says, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean." I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
There's something in a simple hug
That always warms the heart;
It welcomes us back home
And makes it easier to part.
A hug's a way to share the joy
And sad times we go through,
Or just a way for friends to say
They like you 'cause you're you.
Hugs are meant for anyone
For whom we really care,
From your grandma to your neighbor,
Or a cuddly teddy bear.
A hug is an amazing thing -
It's just the perfect way
To show the love we're feeling
But can't find the words to say.
It's funny how a little hug
Makes everyone feel good;
In every place and language,
It's always understood.
And hugs don't need new equipment,
Special batteries or parts -
Just open up your arms
And open up your hearts.
I would have talked less and listened more. I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded. I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about he dirt when someone want to light a fire in the fireplace. I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth. I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed. I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage. I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains. I would have cried and laughed less while watching television - and more while watching life.
I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband. I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day. I would never have anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime. Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle. When my kids kissed my impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner." There would have been more "I love yous"..more "I'm sorrys" but mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute.......look at it and really see it...live it.....and never give it back.
Last week I took my children to a restaurant. My six-year-old son asked if he could say grace. As we bowed our heads, he said, "God is good. God is great. Thank you for the food, and I would even thank you more if mom gets us ice cream for dessert. And liberty and justice for all! Amen!"
Along with laughter from the other customers nearby, I heard a woman remark, "That's what's wrong with this country? Kids today don't even know how to pray. Asking God for ice cream! Why, I never!" Hearing this, my son burst into tears and asked me, "Did I do it wrong? Is God mad at me?" As I held him and assured him that he had done a terrific job and God was certainly not mad at him, an elderly gentleman approached the table. He winked at my son and said, "I happen to know that God thought that was a great prayer." "Really?" my son asked. "Cross my heart." Then in a theatrical whisper the gentleman added (indicating the woman whose remark had started this whole thing), "Too bad she never asks God for ice cream. A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes."
Naturally, I bought my kids ice cream at the end of the meal. My son stared at his for a moment and then did something I will remember the rest of my life. He picked up his sundae and without a word walked over and placed it in front of the woman. With a big smile he told her, "Here, this is for you. Ice cream is good for the soul sometimes, and my soul is already good."
1. I've learned that you cannot make someone love you. All you can do is be someone who can be loved. The rest is up to them.
2. I've learned that no matter how much I care, some people just don't care back.
3. I've learned that it takes years to build up trust, and only seconds to destroy it.
4. I've learned that it's not what you have in your life, but who you have in your life that counts.
5. I've learned that you can get by on charm for about 15 minutes. After that, you'd better know something.
6. I've learned that you shouldn't compare yourself to the best others can do, but to the best you can do.
7. I've learned that it's not what happens to people that's important. It's what they do about it.
8. I've learned that you can do something in an instant that will give you a heartache for life.
9. I've learned that no matter how thin you slice it, there are always two sides.
10. I've learned that it's taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.
11. I've learned that it's a lot easier to react than it is to think.
12. I've learned that you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time you see them.
13. I've learned that you can keep going long after you think you can't.
14. I've learned that we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.
15. I've learned that either you control your attitude or it controls you.
16. I've learned that heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences.
17. I've learned that learning to forgive takes practice.
18. I've learned that there are people who love you dearly, but just don't know how to show it.
19. I've learned that money is a lousy way of keeping score.
20. I've learned that my best friend and I can do anything or nothing and have the best time.
21. I've learned that sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you're down may be the ones to help you get back up.
22. I've learned that I'm getting more and more like my father, and I'm kinda happy about it.
23. I've learned that true friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance. Same goes for true love.
24. I've learned that just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.
25. I've learned that maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you've had and what you've learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you've celebrated.
26. I've learned that you should never tell a child their dreams are unlikely or outlandish. Few things are more humiliating, and what a tragedy it would be if they believed it. I've learned that no matter how good a friend someone is, they're going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.
27. I've learned that it isn't always enough to be forgiven by others. Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.
28. I've learned that no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn't stop for your grief.
29.I've learned that our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become.
Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could to help her 3 year old son Michael, prepare for a new sibling. They found out that the new baby is going to be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael sings to his sister in Mommy's tummy.
The pregnancy progresses normally for Karen, an active member of the Panther Creek United Methodist church in Morristown, TN. Then the labor pains come. Every five minutes.....every minute. Complications arise during delivery. Hours of labor. Would a C-section be required? Finally, Michael's little sister is born. But she is in serious condition. With sirens howling in the night, the ambulance rushes the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Mary's hospital, Knoxville, TN. The days inch by. The little girl gets worse. The pediatric specialist tells the parents, "There is very little hope. Be prepared for the worst."
Karen and her husband contact a local cemetery about a burial plot. They have fixed up a special room in their home for the new baby and now they plan a funeral. Michael keeps begging his parents to let him see his sister. "I want to sing to her," he says. Week two in intensive care. It looks as if a funeral will come before the week is over. Michael keeps nagging about singing to his sister but kids are never allowed in Intensive Care. Karen makes up her mind. She will take Michael whether they like it or not. If he doesn't see his sister now, he may never see her alive.
She dresses him in an oversized scrub suit and marches him into ICU. He looks like a walking laundry basket, but the head nurse recognizes him as a child and bellows, "Get that kid out of here now! No children are allowed!" The mother rises up strong in Karen, and the usually mild-mannered lady glares steel-eyed into the head nurse's face, her lips a firm line. "He is not leaving until he sings to his sister!" Karen tows Michael to his sister's bedside. He gazes at the tiny infant losing the battle to live. He begins to sing. In the pure hearted voice of a 3 year old, Michael sings: "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray - - -" Instantly the baby girl responds. The pulse rate becomes calm and steady. "Keep on singing, Michael." "You never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away-- -" The ragged, strained breathing becomes as smooth as a kitten's purr. "Keep on singing, Michael." "The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms..." Michael's little sister relaxes as rest, healing rest, seems to sweep over her. "Keep on singing, Michael." Tears conquer the face of the bossy head nurse. Karen glows. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Please don't take my sunshine away."
Funeral plans are scrapped. The very next day, the little girl is well enough to go home! Woman's Day magazine called it "the miracle of a brother's song". The medical staff just called it a miracle. Karen called it a miracle of God's love!
NEVER GIVE UP ON THE PEOPLE YOU LOVE
There's something in a simple hug
That always warms the heart;
It welcomes us back home
And makes it easier to part.
A hug's a way to share the joy
And sad times we go through,
Or just a way for friends to say
They like you 'cause you're you.
Hugs are meant for anyone
For whom we really care,
From your grandma to your neighbor,
Or a cuddly teddy bear.
A hug is an amazing thing -
It's just the perfect way
To show the love we're feeling
But can't find the words to say.
It's funny how a little hug
Makes everyone feel good;
In every place and language,
It's always understood.
And hugs don't need new equipment,
Special batteries or parts -
Just open up your arms
And open up your hearts.
Jerry is the kind of guy you love to hate. He is always in a good mood and always has something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, "If I were any better, I would be twins!" He was a unique manager because he had several waiters who had followed him around from restaurant to restaurant. The reason the waiters followed Jerry was because of his attitude. He was a natural motivator. If an employee was having a bad day, Jerry was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation.
Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Jerry and asked him, I don't get it! You can't be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?" Jerry replied, "Each morning I wake up and say to myself, Jerry, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or you can choose to be in a bad mood. I choose to be in a good mood. Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it. Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life. "Yeah, right, it's not that easy," I protested. "Yes it is," Jerry said. "Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people will affect your mood. You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It's your choice how you live life." I reflected on what Jerry said.
Soon thereafter, I left the restaurant industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it. Several years later, I heard that Jerry did something you are never supposed to do in a restaurant business: he left the back door open one morning and was held up at gunpoint by three armed robbers. While trying to open the safe, his hand, shaking from nervousness, slipped off the combination. The robbers panicked and shot him. Luckily, Jerry was found relatively quickly and rushed to the local trauma center. After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, Jerry was released from the hospital with fragments of the bullets still in his body.
I saw Jerry about six months after the accident. When I asked him how he was, he replied, "If I were any better, I'd be twins. Wanna see my scars?" I declined to see his wounds, but did ask him what had gone through his mind as the robbery took place. "The first thing that went through my mind was that I should have locked the back door," Jerry replied. "Then, as I lay on the floor, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live or I could choose to die. I chose to live." "Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?" I asked. Jerry continued, "...the paramedics were great. They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the ER and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read 'he's a dead man'. I knew I needed to take action." "What did you do?" I asked. "Well, there was a big burly nurse shouting questions at me," said Jerry. "She asked if I was allergic to anything. 'Yes' I replied. The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, 'Bullets!' Over their laughter, I told them, 'I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead'."
Jerry lived thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude. I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully. Attitude, after all, is everything.
Author anonymous
An anti-depression kit contains the following : An eraser, so you can make all your troubles disappear. A penny, so you never need to say you are broke. A marble, in case someone says you've lost all of yours . A rubber band, to stretch yourself beyond your limits. A string, to tie things together when everything falls apart. And hugs and kisses to remind you that someone, somewhere, cares.
Work like you don't need money, Love like you've never been hurt, And dance like no one's watching.
There was this lil' girl one day sitting in the park. Everyone passed and never stopped to see why she looked so sad. Dressed in a worn pink dress, bare foot 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, but never did one person stop. Just so happens the next day I decided to go back to the park, in curiosity, to see if the lil' girl would still be there. Right in the very spot as she was yesterday she sat perched on high, with the saddest look in her eyes.
Today I was to make my own move and walk over to the lil' 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 lil' girls dress was obscenely shaped. I figured that was a reason the people just passed by and made no effort to help. Deformities was a low blow to our society and, "so help you" if you make a step toward assisting someone who is different.
As I go closer the lil' girl slightly lowered her eyes to avoid my intent stare. As I approached her, I could see the obscene shape of her back more clearly. 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 lil' girl acted shocked and stammered a "Hi" after a long stare into my eyes. I smiled and she shyly smiled back.
We talked till darkness fell and the park was completely empty. Everyone was gone and we at once were alone. I asked the girl why she was so sad. The lil' girl looked at me and with a sad face said, "Because I'm different." I immediately said, "That you are!" and smiled. The lil' girl acted even sadder, she said, "I know." "Lil' girl," I said, "You remind me of an angel, sweet and innocent." She looked at me and smiled, slowly she got to her feet and said, "Really?"
"Yes ma'am, you're like a lil' guardian angel sent to watch over all those people walking by." She shook her head yes and smiled, with that she spread her wings and said, "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 jumped to my feet and said, "Wait, so why did no one stop to help an angel?" She looked at me and smiled, "You're the only one that could see me, you believe, it's in your heart." And 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. Pass this to everyone that means anything at all to you...make sure you send it back to the person that sent it to you, to let them know you're glad they care about you... like the story says, we all need someone. Everyone of your friends is an angel in their own way.
As I walked home one freezing day, I stumbled on a wallet someone had lost in the street. I picked it up and looked inside to find some identification so I could call the owner. But the wallet contained only three dollars and a crumpled letter that looked as if it had been in there for years. The envelope was worn and the only thing that was legible on it was the return address. I started to open the letter, hoping to find some clue. Then I saw the dateline--1924. The letter had been written almost sixty years ago. It was written in a beautiful feminine handwriting on powder blue stationery with a little flower in the left-hand corner. It was a "Dear John" letter that told the recipient, whose name appeared to be Michael, that the writer could not see him any more because her mother forbade it. Even so, she wrote that she would always love him.It was signed, Hannah.
It was a beautiful letter, but there was no way except for the name Michael, that the owner could be identified. Maybe if I called information, the operator could find a phone listing for the address on the envelope. "Operator," I began, "this is an unusual request. I'm trying to find the owner of a wallet that I found. Is there anyway you can tell me if there is a phone number for an address that was on an envelope in the wallet?" She suggested I speak with her supervisor, who hesitated for a moment then said, "Well, there is a phone listing at that address, but I can't give you the number." She said, as a courtesy, she would call that number, explain my story and would ask them if they wanted her to connect me. I waited a few minutes and then she was back on the line. "I have a party who will speak with you."
I asked the woman on the other end of the line if she knew anyone by the name of Hannah. She gasped, "Oh! We bought this house from a family who had a daughter named Hannah. But that was 30 years ago!" . "Would you know where that family could be located now?" I asked. "I remember that Hannah had to place her mother in a nursing home some years ago," the woman said. "Maybe if you got in touch with them they might be able to track down the daughter."
She gave me the name of the nursing home and I called the number. They told me the old lady had passed away some years ago but they did have a phone number for where they thought the daughter might be living. I thanked them and phoned.
The woman who answered explained that Hannah herself was now living in a nursing home. This whole thing was stupid, I thought to myself. Why was I making such a big deal over finding the owner of a wallet that had only three dollars and a letter that was almost 60 years old? Nevertheless, I called the nursing home in which Hannah was supposed to be living and the man who answered the phone told me, "Yes, Hannah is staying with us. " Even though it was already 10 p.m., I asked if I could come by to see her. "Well," he said hesitatingly, "if you want to take a chance, she might be in the day room watching television." I thanked him and drove over to the nursing home.
The night nurse and a guard greeted me at the door. We went up to the third floor of the large building. In the day room, the nurse introduced me to Hannah. She was a sweet, silver-haired old timer with a warm smile and a twinkle in her eye. I told her about finding the wallet and showed her the letter. The second she saw the powder blue envelope with that little flower on the left, she took a deep breath and said, "Young man, this letter was the last contact I ever had with Michael." She looked away for a moment deep in thought and then said Softly, "I loved him very much. But I was only 16 at the time and my mother felt I was too young. Oh, he was so handsome. He looked like Sean Connery, the actor." Yes," she continued. "Michael Goldstein was a wonderful person. If you should find him, tell him I think of him often. And," she hesitated for a moment, almost biting her lip, "tell him I still love him. You know," she said smiling as tears began to well up in her eyes, "I never did marry.
I guess no one ever matched up to Michael..." I thanked Hannah and said goodbye. I took the elevator to the first floor and as I stood by the door, the guard there asked, "Was the old lady able to help you?" I told him she had given me a lead. "At least I have a last name. But I think I'll let it go for a while. I spent almost the whole day trying to find the owner of this wallet." I had taken out the wallet, which was a simple brown leather case with red lacing on the side. When the guard saw it, he said, "Hey, wait a minute! That's Mr. Goldstein's wallet. I'd know it anywhere with that bright red lacing. He's always losing that wallet. I must have found it in the halls at least three times." "Who's Mr. Goldstein?" I asked as my hand began to shake. "He's one of the old timers on the 8th floor. That's Mike Goldstein's wallet for sure. He must have lost it on one of his walks."
I thanked the guard and quickly ran back to the nurse's office. I told her what the guard had said. We went back to the elevator and got on. I prayed that Mr. Goldstein would be up. On the eighth floor, the floor nurse said, "I think he's still in the day room. He likes to read at night. He's a darling old man." We went to the only room that had any lights on and there was a man reading a book. The nurse went over to him and asked if he had lost his wallet. Mr. Goldstein looked up with surprise, put his hand in his back pocket and said, "Oh, it is missing!" This kind gentleman found a wallet and we wondered if it could be yours?" I handed Mr. Goldstein the wallet and the second he saw it, he smiled with relief and said, "Yes, that's it! It must have dropped out of my pocket this afternoon. I want to give you a reward." "No, thank you," I said. "But I have to tell you something. I read the letter in the hope of finding out who owned the wallet." The smile on his face suddenly disappeared. "You read that letter?" "Not only did I read it, I think I know where Hannah is."
He suddenly grew pale. "Hannah? You know where she is? How is she? still as pretty was? Please, please tell me," he begged.'s fine...just when knew her." I said softly. The old man smiled with anticipation and asked, "Could me want to call her tomorrow. grabbed my hand said, something, mister, was so in love that girl letter came, life literally ended. never married. guess've always loved " "Mr. Goldstein, "Come me."
The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings, but shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints; we spend more, but have less; we buy more, but enjoy it less. We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time; we have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, but more problems; more medicine, but less wellness.
We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We've learned how to make a living, but not a life; We've added years to life, not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbour. We've conquered outer space, but not inner space; We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul; We've split the atom, but not our prejudice; We have higher incomes, but lower morals; We've become long on quantity, but short on quality.
These are the times of tall men, and short character; steep profits, and shallow relationships. These are the times of world peace, but domestic warfare; more leisure, but less fun; more kinds of food, but less nutrition. These are days of two incomes, but more divorce; of fancier houses, but broken homes. It is a time when there is much in the show window and nothing in the stockroom; a time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to make a difference, or to just hit delete...
