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**Elena**
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SHORT STORY

Post by **Elena** » Thu Jul 05, 2007 10:12 am

Appointment With Love

Six minutes to six, said the clock over the information booth in New York's Grand Central Station. The tall young Army Officer lifted his sun-burned face and narrowed his eyes to note the exact time. His heart was pounding with a beat that shocked him. In six minutes he would see the woman who had filled such a special place in his life for the past thirteen months, the woman he had never seen, yet whose written words had sustained him faithfully.

Lt. Blanford remembered one day in particular, with worst of the fighting when his plane had been caught in the midst of a pack of enemy planes.


In one of his letters, he had confessed to her that he often felt fear, and only a few days before this battle, he had received her answer: "Of course you fear … all brave men do. Next time you doubt yourself, I want you to hear my voice reciting to you: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me… " He had remembered, and it had renewed his strength.

Now he was going to hear her real voice. Four minutes to six.
A girl passed close to him, and Lt. Blanford stared. She was wearing a flower, but it was not the little red rose they had agreed upon. Besides, this girl was only about 18, and Hollis Maynell had told him she was 30. "What of it?" he had answered. "I'm 32." He was 29. His mind went back to that book he had read in the training camp. "Of Human Bondage" and throughout the book there were notes in a woman's writing. He had never believed that a woman could see into a man's heart, so tenderly, so understandingly. Her name was on the book plate: Hollis Maynell. He got hold of a New York City telephone book and found her address. He had written, she had answered. The next day he had been shipped out, but they had gone on writing. For thirteen months she had faithfully replied. When his letters did not arrive, she wrote anyway and now he believed he loved her and she loved him.


But she had refused all his pleas to send him her photograph. She had explained. "If your feeling for me had any reality, what I look like won't matter. Suppose I'm beautiful. I'd always be haunted that you had been taking a chance on just that, and that kind of love would disgust me. Suppose I'm plain, (and you must admit that this is more likely), then, I'd always fear that you were only writing because you were lonely and had no one else. No, don't ask for my picture. When you come to New York, you shall see me and then you shall make your own decision."

One minute to six… he flipped the pages of the book he held. Then Lt. Blanford's heart leaped. A young woman was coming toward him. Her figure was long and slim: her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears. Her eyes were blue as flowers, her lips and chin had a gentle firmness. In her pale green suit, she was like springtime come-alive.
He started toward her, forgetting to notice that she was wearing no rose, and as he moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way soldier?" she murmured.

He made one step closer to her, then he saw Hollis Maynell.


She was standing almost directly behind the girl, a woman well past 40, her hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump; her thick-ankled feet were thrust into low-heeled shoes. But she wore a red rose on her rumpled coat. The girl is the green suit was walking quickly away.

Blanford felt as though he were being split in two, so keen was his desire to follow the girl, yet so deep was his longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned and upheld him; and there she stood. He could see that her pale plump face was gentle and sensible; her gray eyes had a worn wrinkle.

Lt. Blanford did not get hostile. His fingers gripped the worn copy of Human Bondage which was to identify him to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, a friendship for which he had been and must be ever grateful…

He squared his shoulders, saluted and held the book out towards the woman, although even while he spoke he felt the bitterness of his disappointment.

"I'm Lt. Blanford and you… Miss Maynell. I'm so glad you could meet me. May…may I take you to dinner?"
The woman's face broadened in a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is all about, son," she answered. That young woman in the green suit who just passed gave me a rose to wear and said that if you asked me to go out with you, I should tell you she is waiting in the restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of a test."




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**Elena**
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A beautiful story from a guy's personal diary

Post by **Elena** » Fri Jul 06, 2007 6:14 am

EIGHT LIES OF MOTHER

1.The story began when I was a child; I was born as a son of a poor family. Even for eating, we often got lack of food. Whenever the time for eating, mother often gave me her portion of rice. While she was removing her rice into my bowl, she would say "Eat this rice, son. I'm not hungry". That was Mother's First Lie.
2.When I was getting to grow up, the persevering mother gave her spare time for fishing in a river near our house, she hoped that from the fishes she got, she could gave me a little bit nutritious food for my growth. After fishing, she would cook the fishes to be a fresh fish soup, which raised my appetite. While I was eating the soup, mother would sit beside me and eat
the rest meat of fish, which was still on the bone of the fish I ate. My heart was touched when I saw it. I then used my chopstick and gave the other fish to her. But she immediately refused it and said "Eat this fish, son. I don't really like fish." That was Mother's Second Lie.
3.Then, when I was in Junior High School, to fund my study, mother went to an economic enterprise to bring some used-matches boxes that would be stuck in. It gave her some money for covering our needs. As the winter came, I woke up from my sleep and looked at my mother who was still awoke, supported by a little candlelight and within her perseverance she continued the work of sticking some used-matches box. I said, "Mother, go to sleep, it's late, tomorrow morning you still have to go for work." Mother smiled
and said "Go to sleep, dear. I'm not tired." That was Mother's Third Lie.
4.At the time of final term, mother asked for a leave from her work in order to accompany me. While the daytime was coming and the heat of the sun was starting to shine, the strong and persevering mother waited for me under the heat of the sun's shine for several hours. As the bell rang, which indicated that the final exam had finished, mother immediately welcomed me and poured me a glass of tea that she had prepared before in a cold bottle. The very thick
tea was not as thick as my mother's love, which was much thicker. Seeing my mother covering with perspiration, I at once gave her my glass and asked her to drink too. Mother said "Drink, son. I'm not thirsty!". That was Mother's Fourth Lie.
5.After the death of my father because of illness, my poor mother had to play her role as a single parent. By held on her former job, she had to fund our needs alone. Our family's life was more complicated. No days without sufferance. Seeing our family's condition that was getting worse, there was a nice uncle who lived near my house came to help us, either in a big problem and a small problem.
Our other neighbors who lived next to us saw that our family's life was so unfortunate, they often advised my mother to marry again. But mother, who was stubborn, didn't care to their advice, she said "I don't need love." That was Mother's Fifth Lie.
6.After I had finished my study and then got a job, it was the time for my old mother to retire. But she didn't want to; she was sincere to go to the marketplace every morning, just to sell some vegetable for fulfilling her needs. I, who worked in the other city, often sent her some money to help her in fulfilling her needs, but she was stubborn for not accepting the money. She even sent the money back to me. She said "I have enough money."
That was Mother's Sixth Lie.
7.After graduated from Bachelor Degree, I then continued my study to Master Degree. I took the degree, which was funded by a company through a scholarship program, from a famous University in America. I finally worked in the company. Within a quite high salary, I intended to take my mother to enjoy her life in America. But my lovely mother didn't want to bother her son, she said to me "I'm not used to."
That was Mother's Seventh Lie.
8.After entering her old age, mother got a flank cancer and had to be hospitalized. I, who lived in miles away and across the ocean, directly went home to visit my dearest mother. She lied down in weakness on her bed after having an operation. Mother, who looked so old, was staring at me in deep yearn. She tried to spread her smile on her face; even it looked so stiff because of the disease she held out. It was clear enough to see how the disease broke my mother's body, thus she looked so weak and thin. I stared at my mother within tears flowing on my face. My heart was hurt, so hurt, seeing my mother on that condition. But mother, with her strength, said "Don't cry, my dear. I'm not in pain."
That was Mother's Eight Lie.
After saying her eighth lie, my dearest mother closed her eyes forever

Melek
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Post by Melek » Sat Jul 07, 2007 11:12 am

spasibo,Elena ,ochen dlinnaya i k tomu je ochen interesnaya istoriya.it really touched me.I have one question,'whose diary is this cut from?' I wonder it very much

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**Elena**
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Post by **Elena** » Sat Jul 07, 2007 11:52 am

Hello!
I dont know whose diary it was, I have found it from the other site.

Best ragards!!!

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Tora
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Post by Tora » Fri Jul 13, 2007 8:07 pm

yay! really really very nice! You wrote that?? FANTASTIC!!!
do you really believe this can happen though? I doubt that, but the idea itself is encouraging!






nice to see moscovites in EC :wink:

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**Elena**
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Post by **Elena** » Sat Jul 14, 2007 6:53 am

no no no of course its not my own story, I found it in the Internet and decided to share with all of you :wink: :wink: :wink:

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**Elena**
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~Story of Regret~

Post by **Elena** » Mon Jul 23, 2007 8:00 am

There was this guy who believed very much in true love and decided to take his time to wait for his right girl to appear. He believed that there would definitely be someone special out there for him, but none came.

Every year at Christmas, his ex-girlfriend would return from Vancouver to look him up. He was aware that she still held some hope of re-kindling the past romance with him. He did not wish to mislead her in any way. So he would always get one of his girl friends to pose as his steady whenever she came back. That went on for several years and each year, the guy would get a different girl to pose as his romantic interest. So whenever the ex-girlfriend came to visit him, she would be led into believing that it was all over between her and the guy. The girl took all those rather well, often trying to casually tease him about his different girlfriends, or so, as it seemed! In fact, the girl often wept in secret whenever she saw him with another girl, but she was too proud to admit it. Still, every Christmas, she returned, hoping to re-kindle some form of romance. But each time, she returned to Vancouver feeling disappointed.

Finally she decided that she could not play that game any longer. Therefore, she confronted him and professed that after all those years, he was still the only man that she had ever loved. Although the guy knew of her feelings for him, he was still taken back and have never expected her to react that way. He always thought that she would slowly forget about him over time and come to terms that it was all over between them. Although he was touched by her undying love for him and wanted so much to accept her again, he remembered why he rejected her in the first place-she was not the one he wanted. So he hardened his heart and turned her down cruelly. Since then, three years have passed and the girl never return anymore. They never even wrote to each other. The guy went on with his life..... still searching for the one but somehow deep inside him, he missed the girl.

On the Christmas of 1995, he went to his friend's party alone. "Hey, how come all alone this year? Where are all your girlfriends? What happened to that Vancouver babe who joins you every Christmas?", asked one of his friend. He felt warm and comforted by his friend's queries about her, still he just surged on.
Then, he came upon one of his many girlfriends whom he once requested to pose as his steady. He wanted so much to ignore her ..... not that he was impolite, but because at that moment, he just didn't feel comfortable with those girlfriends anymore. It was almost like he was being judged by them. The girl saw him and shouted across the floor for him. Unable to avoid her, he went up to acknowledge her.

"Hi......how are you? Enjoying the party?" the girl asked.

"Sure.....yeah!", he replied.
She was slightly tipsy..... must be from the whiskey on her hand. She continued,
"Why...? Don't you need someone to pose as your girlfriend this year?" Then he answered, "No, there is no need for that anymore......"
Before he can continue, he was interrupted, "Oh yes! Must have found a girlfriend! You haven't been searching for one for the past years, right?" The man looked up, as if he has struck gold, his face beamed and looked directly at the drunken girl. He replied, "Yes......you are right! I haven't been looking for anyone for the past years."
With that, the man darted across the floor and out the door, leaving the lady in much bewilderment. He finally realized that he has already found his dream girl, and she was.....the Vancouver girl all along! The drunken lady has said something that awoken him.

All along he has found his girl. That was why he did not bother to look further when he realized she was not coming back. It was not any specific girl he was seeking! It was perfection that he wanted, and yes.....perfection!!
Relationship is something both parties should work on. Realizing that he had let away someone so important in his life, he decided to call her immediately. His whole mind was flooded with fear. He was afraid that she might have found someone new or no longer had the same feelings anymore..... For once, he felt the fear of losing someone.

As it was Christmas Eve, the line was quite hard to get through, especially an overseas call. He tried again and again, never giving up. Finally, he got through......precisely at 1200 midnight. He confessed his love for her and the girl was moved to tears. It seemed that she never got over him! Even after so long, she was still waiting for him, never giving up.

He was so excited to meet her and to begin his new chapter of their lives. He decided to fly to Vancouver to join her. It was the happiest time of their lives! But their happy time was short-lived. Two days before he was supposed to fly to Vancouver, he received a call from her father. She had a head-on car collision with a drunken driver. She passed away after 6 hours in a coma.
The guy was devastated, as it was a complete loss. Why did fate played such cruel games with him? He cursed the heaven for taking her away from him, denying even one last look at her! How cruel he cursed! How he damned the Gods...!! How he hated himself....for taking so long to realize his mistake!! That was in 1996.


The moral of this story is :
Treasure what you have...
Time is too slow for those who wait;
Too swift for those who fear;
Too long for those who grief;
Too short for those who rejoice;
But for those who love...
Time is Eternity.

For all you out there with someone special in your heart, cherish that person, cherish every moment that you spend together that special someone, for in life, anything can happen anytime. You may painfully regret, only to realize that it is too late.

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**Elena**
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**A short story**

Post by **Elena** » Mon Jul 23, 2007 12:22 pm

A woman came out of her house and saw 3 old men with long white beards sitting in her front yard. She did not recognize them. She said "I don't think I know you, but you must be hungry. Please come in and have something to eat."
"Is the man of the house home?", they asked.
"No", she replied. "He's out."
"Then we cannot come in", they replied.
In the evening when her husband came home, she told him what had happened.
"Go tell them I am home and invite them in!"
The woman went out and invited the men in"
«We do not go into a House together," they replied.
"Why is that?" she asked.
One of the old men explained: "His name is Wealth," he said pointing to one of his friends, and said pointing to another one, "He is Success, and I am Love." Then he added, "Now go in and discuss with your husband which one of us you want in your home."
The woman went in and told her husband what was said. Her husband was overjoyed. "How nice!!", he said. "Since that is the case, let us invite Wealth. Let him come and fill our home with wealth!"
His wife disagreed. "My dear, why don't we invite Success?"
Their daughter was listening from the other corner of the house. She jumped in with her own suggestion: "Would it not be better to invite Love? Our home will then be filled with love!"
"Let us heed our daughter's advice," said the husband to his wife.
"Go out and invite Love to be our guest."
The woman went out and asked the 3 old men, "Which one of you is Love? Please come in and be our guest."
Love got up and started walking toward the house. The other 2 also got up and followed him. Surprised, the lady asked Wealth and Success: "I only invited Love, Why are you coming in?"
The old men replied together: "If you had invited Wealth or Success, the other two of us would've stayed out, but since you invited Love, wherever He goes, we go with him. Wherever there is Love, there is also Wealth and Success!!!!!!"

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Dixie
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Post by Dixie » Mon Jul 23, 2007 12:31 pm

Very nice.

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**Elena**
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**O. Henry**

Post by **Elena** » Tue Jul 24, 2007 10:41 am

LETS DISCUSS AFTER READING :wink:

The Gift of the Magi

ONE DOLLAR AND EIGHTY-SEVEN CENTS. That was all. And sixty cents of
it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing
the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheek
burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing
implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven
cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing left to do but flop down on the shabby
little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral
reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with
sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the
first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat
at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it
certainly had that word on the look-out for the mendicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would
go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a
ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name 'Mr.
James Dillingham Young.'
The 'Dillingham' had been flung to the breeze during a former
period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week.
Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, the letters of 'Dillingham'
looked blurred, as though they were thinking seriously of contracting
to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young
came home and reached his flat above he was called 'Jim' and greatly
hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as
Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder
rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a grey cat
walking a grey fence in a grey backyard. To-morrow would be Christmas
Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had
been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty
dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had
calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her
Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for
him. Something fine and rare and sterling - something just a little
bit near to being worthy of the honour of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you
have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile
person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of
longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks.
Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass.
Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its colour
within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it
fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in
which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had
been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair.
Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della
would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to
depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the
janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would
have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck
at his beard from envy.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shining
like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made
itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again
nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still
while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a
whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she
fluttered out of the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: 'Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All
Kinds.' One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting.
Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the 'Sofronie.'
'Will you buy my hair?' asked Della.
'I buy hair,' said Madame. 'Take yer hat off and let's have a sight
at the looks of it.'
Down rippled the brown cascade.
'Twenty dollars,' said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised
hand.
'Give it to me quick,' said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the
hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one
else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had
turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and
chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone
and not by meretricious ornamentation - as all good things should do.
It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that
it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value - the
description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for
it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his
watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time m any company.
Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on
account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to
prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas
and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to
love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends - a mammoth
task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, closelying
curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. Me
looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and
critically.
'If Jim doesn't kill me,' she said to herself, 'before he takes a
second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl.
But what could I do - oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-
seven cents?'
At seven o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on he
back of the stove, hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and ,at
on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. then
she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she
turned white for just a moment. She had a habit of saying little
silent prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now she
whispered: 'Please God, make him think I am still pretty.'
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin
and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two - and to be
burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without
gloves.
Jim stepped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent
of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression
in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not
anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the
sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her
fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
'Jim, darling,' she cried, 'don't look at me that way. I had my
hair cut off and sold it because I couldn't have lived through
Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again - you
won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast.
Say "Merry Christmas!" Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a
nice - what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you.'
'You've cut off your hair?' asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had
not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental
labour.
'Cut it off and sold it,' said Della. 'Don't you like me just as
well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?'
Jim looked about the room curiously.
'You say your hair is gone?' he said with an air almost of idiocy.
'You needn't look for it,' said Della. 'It's sold, I tell you -
sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it
went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered,' she went on
with a sudden serious sweetness, 'but nobody could ever count my love
for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?'
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his
Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some
inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or
a million a year - what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit
would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but
that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later
on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the
table.
'Don't make any mistake, Dell,' he said, 'about me. I don't think
there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that
could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package
you may see why you had me going awhile at first.'
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an
ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to
hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of
all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs - the set of combs, side and back, that
Della had worshipped for long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs,
pure tortoiseshell, with jewelled rims - just the shade to wear in the
beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her
heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope
of possession. And now they were hers, but the tresses that should
have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to
look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: 'My hair grows so fast,
Jim!'
And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, 'Oh,
oh!'
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him
eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash
with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
'Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll
have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your
watch. I want to see how it looks on it.'
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands
under the back of his head and smiled.
'Dell,' said he, 'let's put our Christmas presents away and keep
'em awhile. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch
to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops
on.'
The magi, as you know, were wise men - wonderfully wise men - who
brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of
giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise
ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of
duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful
chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely
sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But
in a last word to the wise of these days, let it be said that of all
who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive
gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are
the magi.

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Dexter
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Post by Dexter » Tue Jul 24, 2007 10:25 pm

I like this story very much!

Thanks for posting it here, Elena, you made me read it once again! :D

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Bambang
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Post by Bambang » Wed Aug 08, 2007 3:50 am

Dera Elena,

Keep posting short stories.

I like them.

Thank you.

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Bambang
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Post by Bambang » Wed Aug 08, 2007 3:57 am

Well written.

I like this.

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Post by Bambang » Wed Aug 08, 2007 3:59 am

Great :!:

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Post by Bambang » Wed Aug 08, 2007 4:08 am

a very touching diary.

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**Elena**
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**Collection of stories**

Post by **Elena** » Thu Aug 09, 2007 6:31 am

Hello! A person from forum told me abt his need in stories, I promised to help so I am going to keep my promises :wink:

Funny True Story

On a weekend in Atlantic City, a woman won a bucketful of quarters at a slot machine. She was ready to take a break from the slots for dinner with her husband in the hotel dining room. But first she wanted to stash the quarters in her room. "I'll be right back and we'll go to eat," she told her husband and carried the coin-laden bucket to the elevator.
As she was about to walk into the elevator she noticed two men already aboard. Both were black. One of them was big, very big. . . an intimidating figure. The woman froze. Her first thought was: These two are going to rob me. Her next thought was: Don't be a bigot, they look like perfectly nice gentlemen. But racial stereotypes are powerful, and fear immobilized her. She stood and stared at the two men.
She felt anxious, flustered and ashamed. She hoped they didn't read her mind-but God, they had to know what she was thinking! Her hesitation about joining them in the elevator was all too obvious now. Her face was flushed. She couldn't just stand there, so with a mighty effort of will she picked up one foot and stepped forward and followed with the other foot and was on the elevator. Avoiding eye contact, she turned around stiffly and faced the elevator doors as they closed. A second passed, and then another second, and then another.
Her fear increased! The elevator didn't move. Panic consumed her. My God, she thought, I'm trapped and about to be robbed! Her heart plummeted. Perspiration poured from every pore.
Then one of the men said, "Hit the floor." Instinct told her to do what they told her. The bucket of quarters flew upwards as she threw out her arms and collapsed on the elevator floor. A shower of coins rained down on her. Take my money and spare me, she prayed.
More seconds passed. She heard one of the men say politely, "Ma'am, if you'll just tell us what floor you're going to, we'll push the button." The one who said it had a little trouble getting the words out. He was trying mightily to hold in a belly laugh. The woman lifted her head and looked up at the two men. They reached down to help her up.
Confused, she struggled to her feet. "When I told my friend here to hit the floor," said the average-sized one, "I meant that he should hit the elevator button for our floor. I didn't mean for you to hit the floor, ma'am." Hespoke genially. He bit his lip. It was obvious he was having a hard time not laughing.
The woman thought: My God, what a spectacle I've made of myself. She was too humiliated to speak. She wanted to blurt out an apology, but words failed her. How do you apologize to two perfectly respectable gentlemen for behaving as though they were going to rob you? She didn't know what to say.
The three of them gathered up the strewn quarters and refilled her bucket. When the elevator arrived at her floor they insisted on walking her to her room. She seemed a little unsteady on her feet, and they were afraid she might not make it down the corridor. At her door they bid her a good evening.
As she slipped into her room she could hear them roaring with laughter as they walked back to the elevator. The woman brushed herself off. She pulled herself together and went downstairs for dinner with her husband.
The next morning flowers were delivered to her room-a dozen roses. Attached to EACH rose was a crisp one hundred dollar bill. The card said: "Thanks for the best laugh we've had in years." It was signed, Eddie Murphy and Michael Jordan. :lol: :lol: :lol:
Last edited by **Elena** on Thu Aug 09, 2007 6:41 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Post by **Elena** » Thu Aug 09, 2007 6:35 am

A lady in a faded gingham dress and her husband,dressed in a homespun threadbare suit, stepped off the train in Boston, and walked timidly without an appointment into the president of Harvard's outer office. The secretary could tell in a moment that such backwoods, country hicks had no business at Harvard and probably didn't even deserve to be in Cambridge.
She frowned. "We want to see the president," the man said softly. "He'll be busy all day," the secretary snapped. "We'll wait," the lady replied. For hours, the secretary ignored them, hoping that the couple would finally become discouraged and go away.
They didn't. And the secretary grew frustrated and finally decided to disturb the president, even though it was a chore she always regretted to do. "Maybe if they just see you for a few minutes, they'll leave," she told him.
And he sighed in exasperation and nodded. Someone of his importance obviously didn't have the time to spend with them, but he detested gingham dresses and homespun suits cluttering up his outer office. The president, stern-faced with dignity, strutted toward the couple. The lady told him, "We had a son that attended Harvard for one year. He loved Harvard. He was happy here. But about a year ago, he was accidentally killed. And my husband and I would like to erect a memorial to him, somewhere on campus."
The president wasn't touched, he was shocked.
"Madam," he said gruffly. "We can't put up a statue for every person who attended Harvard and died. If we did, this place would look like a cemetery". "Oh, no," the lady explained quickly. "We don't want to erect a statue.
We thought we would like to give a building to Harvard." The president rolled his eyes. He glanced at the gingham dress and homespun suit, then exclaimed, "A building! Do you have any earthly idea how much a building costs? We have over seven and a half million dollars in the physical plant at Harvard." For a moment the lady was silent. The president was pleased. He could get rid of them now. And the lady turned to her husband and said quietly, "Is that all it costs to start a University? Why don't we just start our own?" Her husband nodded. The president's face wilted in confusion and bewilderment. And Mr. and Mrs. Leland Stanford walked away, traveling to Palo Alto, California where they established the University that bears their name, a memorial to a son that Harvard no longer cared about.

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Post by **Elena** » Thu Aug 09, 2007 6:38 am

A thriller Love story

Jane is a typical college girl who enjoys life to the fullest. She loves her boyfriend so much and texts him every now and then.
Mark is Jane's boyfriend who works in a call center in los angeles. He's always busy doing so many things. He only manage to reply to Jane's texts when he got off from work.
One time Mark receive a message from Jane : "hi baby! how are you? i miss you! call my house when u get home..take care! i love you!"
Mark ignored the message because he always receive the same message whenever it is time for him to go home from work.
"baby, i miss you..did u eat yet?! take care when you get home! ill be waiting for your call..i love you!"
"baby, where are you?! its unfair that you dont reply to my texts... well, im just gonna wait for your call..i love you!"
Mark reaches home and lay on his bed.
The last time he knew is that he's reading Jane's text.
He was so tired he fall asleep and wasn't able to return jane's call. He can still hear his phone beeps but he's too tired to take a glimpse on the message.
When he woke up the next day, he remembers that he needs to call Jane. He ignored the messages and dialed Jane's .. No one's answering in her house. He called up her cellphone and he was surprised that her father answered the call.
In his voice you can feel his tears and hear his heart tearing apart.
"Mark, why havent you called?. Jane was waiting for your call all night!"
"Dad im sorry. i fell asleep being so tired from work... i was calling ur house but no one was answering. where are you? so i can come over."
"Just meet me at jane's house." Mark went to Jane's house and much to his
surprised he saw a lot of people inside.
The house were so lighted but you can see the gloomvon every person you'll meet there. He was greeted by Jane's mom on tears. She hug him tight and cried on his shoulders.
"Jane was waiting for you. She didnt come with us because she was waiting for your call. She was killed by robbers that broke in our house. Shes gone, Mark. She's gone."
"thats impossible..she texted me..how could this happen!"
Mark can't look who's inside the coffin. He can't move and it feels like his whole body is stuck on the chair he's seating on. He wanted to cry
but it seems that something is blocking his tears to fall down. He turned to his phone and read the messages of Jane.

"baby, im not coming with my mom and dad..im just gonna wait for your call.."

"baby..im so scared... it seems like theres someone downstairs..please call me
now!"

"babe..someones here..they might kill me..please call me now, where are you?
i need you here..."

"baby.... i love you!..."

He wanted to shout and cry so loud. It's true that Jane is waiting for his call. Up to her last breath she only thinks about him.
He stared at Jane inside the coffin. Suddenly tears starts flowing down his cheeks. He can't say anything. The only words he uttered...

"My baby, i'm so sorry! I could have known, i could have fought for you! i'm really sorry! I love you so

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Post by Bambang » Fri Aug 10, 2007 3:48 pm

Cool.

Keep posting dear Elena.

Thank you a million.

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Post by **Elena** » Mon Aug 13, 2007 7:09 am

The story begins like this...

'How long will you be poring over that newspaper? Will you come here right away and make your darling daughter eat her food?'

I tossed the paper away and rushed to the scene. My only daughter Sindu looked frightened. Tears were welling up in her eyes. In front of her was a bowl filled to its brim with Curd Rice.

Sindu is a nice child, quite intelligent for her age. She has just turned eight. She particularly detested Curd Rice. My mother and my wife are orthodox, and believe firmly in the 'cooling effects' of Curd Rice!

I cleared my throat, and picked up the bowl. "Sindu, darling, why don't you take a few mouthful of this Curd Rice? Just for Dad's sake, dear. And, if you don't, your Mom will shout at me.'

I could sense my wife's scowl behind my back. Sindu softened a bit, and wiped her tears with the back of her hands. 'OK, Dad. I will eat - not just a few mouthfuls, but the whole lot of this. But, you should...' Sindu hesitated. 'Dad, if I eat this entire Curd Rice, will you give me whatever I ask for?'

'Oh sure, darling'.

'Promise?'

'Promise'. I covered the pink soft hand extended by my daughter with mine, and clinched the deal.

'Ask Mom also to give a similar promise', my daughter insisted. My wife slapped her hand on sindu's, muttering 'Promise', without any emotion.

Now I became a bit anxious. 'Sindumma, you shouldn't insist on getting a computer or any such expensive items. Dad does not have that kind of money right now. OK?'

'No, Dad. I do not want anything expensive'. Slowly and painfully, she finished eating the whole quantity. I was silently angry with my wife and my mother for forcing my child eat something that she detested.

After the ordeal was through, Sindu came to me with her eyes wide with expectation. All our attention was on her. 'Dad, I want to have my head shaved off, this Sunday!' was her demand!

'Atrocious!' shouted my wife, 'a girl child having her head shaved off? Impossible!' .

'Never in our family!' my mother rasped. 'She has been watching too much of television. Our culture is getting totally spoiled with these TV programs!'

'Sindumma, why don't you ask for something else? We will be sad seeing you with a clean-shaven head.'

'No, Dad. I do not want anything else', Sindu said with finality.

'Please, Sindu, why don't you try to understand our feelings?' I tried to plead with her.

'Dad, you saw how difficult it was for me to eat that Curd Rice'. Sindu was in tears. 'And you promised to grant me whatever I ask for. Now, you are going back on your words. Was it not you who told me the story of King Harishchandra, and its moral that we should honour our promises no matter what?'

It was time for me to call the shots. 'Our promise must be kept.'

'Are you out your mind?' chorused my mother and wife.

'No. If we go back on our promises, she will never learn to honour her own. Sindu, your wish will be fulfilled.'

With her head clean-shaven, Sindu had a round-face, and her eyes looked big & beautiful.

On Monday morning, I dropped her at her school. It was a sight to watch my hairless Sindu walking towards her classroom. She turned around and waved. I waved back with a smile. Just then, a boy alighted from a car, and shouted, 'Sinduja, please wait for me!'

What struck me was the hairless head of that boy. 'May be, that is the in-stuff', I thought.

'Sir, your daughter Sinduja is great indeed!' Without introducing herself, a lady got out of the car, and continued, 'That boy who is walking along with your daughter is my son Harish. He is suffering from ... leukaemia.'

She paused to muffle her sobs. 'Harish could not attend the school for the whole of the last month. He lost all his hair due to the side effects of the chemotherapy. He refused to come back to school fearing the unintentional but cruel teasing of the schoolmates. Sinduja visited him last week, and promised him that she will take care of the teasing issue. But, I never imagined she would sacrifice her lovely hair for the sake of my son! Sir, you and your wife are blessed to have such a noble soul as your daughter.'

I stood transfixed. And then, I wept. 'My little Angel, will you grant me a boon? Should there be another birth for me, will you be my mother, and teach me what Love is?'

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Post by Bambang » Mon Aug 13, 2007 7:55 am

Great.

Keep postinggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg.

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**Elena**
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Post by **Elena** » Mon Aug 13, 2007 8:35 am

YES, SIR!!! :D

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash, and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox.
And there's one more - that's seventeen!
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue-
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke
I'm sure that my left leg is broke.
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb,
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my spine is weak.
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent - my spine ain't straight.
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is-
...WHAT?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is...Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"
by Shel Silverstein

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Post by **Elena** » Mon Aug 13, 2007 8:47 am

A FATHER'S AGONIZING DECISION

At the beginning of a church service, the pastor briefly introduced his guest speaker. An elderly man stepped up to the pulpit and told this story:

"A father, his son, and a friend of his son were sailing off the Pacific Coast," he began, "when a fast-approaching storm blocked any attempt to get back to shore. The waves were so high that even though the father was an experienced sailor, he could not keep the boat upright. The three were swept into the ocean."

The old man hesitated for a moment, making eye contact with two young men in the crowd who were beginning to look somewhat interested in his story.

"The father made it back to the overturned boat and grabbed the only remaining rescue line," he continued. "Then he had to make the most excruciating decision of his life: To which boy would he throw the other end of the rescue line? He only had seconds to make the decision.

"The father knew that his son had received Jesus as his Savior, and he also knew that his son's friend had not. The agony of his decision could not be matched by the torrent of waves. The father yelled out, 'I love you, son!' Then he threw the line to his son's friend. By the time he pulled the other boy back to the capsized boat, his son had disappeared beneath the raging swells. His body was never recovered."

To which boy would he throw the other end of the rescue line? He only had seconds to make the decision.

By this time, the two young men were decidedly attentive, sitting up straight and waiting anxiously for the next words to come out of the old man's mouth.

"The father," he continued, "knew his son would step into eternity with Jesus, and he could not bear the thought of his son's friend stepping into an eternity without Jesus. Therefore, he sacrificed his son."

Pausing for just a moment, the old man then finished with this thought: "How great is the love of God, that He should do the same for us."

Silence filled the room as the old man stepped down from the pulpit and went back to his seat.

Within minutes after the service ended, the two young men were at the old man's side. "That was a nice story," one of the boys said, "but I don't think it was very realistic to say that a father would give up his son's life in hopes that the other boy would become a Christian."

"Well, you've got a point there," the old man replied, glancing down at his worn Bible. A big smile broadened his face as he looked up at the boys and said, "It doesn't seem possible, does it? But that story gives me a glimpse of what it must have been like for God to give His Son for me. You see, I was the son's friend."

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Post by **Elena** » Tue Aug 14, 2007 6:28 am

My mother used to ask me: "What is the most important part of the body?"

Through the years I would take a guess at what I thought was the correct answer. When I was younger, I thought sound was very important to us as humans, so I said, "My ears, Mommy."

Mother said, "No Many people are deaf. But you keep thinking about it and I will ask you again soon."

Several years passed before she asked me again. Since making my first attempt, I had contemplated the correct answer. So this time I told her, "Mommy, sight is very important to everybody, so it must be our eyes." Mother looked at me and told me, "You are learning fast, but the answer is not correct because there are many people who are blind."

Stumped again, I continued my quest for knowledge. Over the years, Mother asked me a couple more times and always her answer was, "No, but you are getting smarter every year, my child."

Then last year, my grandpa died. Everybody was hurt. Everybody was crying. Even my father cried. I remember that especially because it was only the second time I saw him cry. My Mom looked at me when it was our turn to say our final good-bye to Grandpa.

Mother asked me, "Do you know the most important body part yet, my dear?"

I was shocked when she asked me this now. I always thought this was a game between her and me. Mother saw the confusion on my face and told me, "This question is very important. It shows that you have really lived in your life. For every body part you gave me in the past, I have told you was wrong and I have given you an example why. But today is the day you need to learn this important lesson."

Mother looked down at me as only a mother can. I saw her eyes well up with tears. Mother said, "My dear, the most important body part is your shoulder."

I asked, "Is it because it holds up my head?"

Mother replied, "No, it is because it can hold the head of a friend or a loved one when they cry. Everybody needs a shoulder to cry on sometime in life, my dear. I only hope that you have enough love and friends that you will always have a shoulder to cry on when you need it."

Then and there I knew the most important body part is not a selfish one. It is sympathetic to the pain of others. People will forget what you said... People will forget what you did.... But people will NEVER forget how you made them feel.

True or not, the story makes you stop and think. Be blessed. Be a blessing. Get your shoulder ready.

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Post by iamvitaly » Tue Aug 14, 2007 10:37 am

Interesting topic! Interesting stories... Thank you, Lena! I have a question for you... Is these your stories? You wrote them? :D

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Post by **Elena** » Tue Aug 14, 2007 10:44 am

iamvitaly wrote:Interesting topic! Interesting stories... Thank you, Lena! I have a question for you... Is these your stories? You wrote them? :D
no, unfortunately, I am not so gifted like you think! :wink: but anyway thanks for compliment :D

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Post by Bambang » Wed Aug 15, 2007 4:54 pm

**Elena** wrote:
iamvitaly wrote:Interesting topic! Interesting stories... Thank you, Lena! I have a question for you... Is these your stories? You wrote them? :D
no, unfortunately, I am not so gifted like you think! :wink: but anyway thanks for compliment :D

Whoever the writer, I like these stories.

Keep postinggggggggggggggggggggggggggg.

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Post by Bambang » Thu Aug 16, 2007 4:35 am

**Elena** wrote:My mother used to ask me: "What is the most important part of the body?"

Through the years I would take a guess at what I thought was the correct answer. When I was younger, I thought sound was very important to us as humans, so I said, "My ears, Mommy."

Mother said, "No Many people are deaf. But you keep thinking about it and I will ask you again soon."

Several years passed before she asked me again. Since making my first attempt, I had contemplated the correct answer. So this time I told her, "Mommy, sight is very important to everybody, so it must be our eyes." Mother looked at me and told me, "You are learning fast, but the answer is not correct because there are many people who are blind."

Stumped again, I continued my quest for knowledge. Over the years, Mother asked me a couple more times and always her answer was, "No, but you are getting smarter every year, my child."

Then last year, my grandpa died. Everybody was hurt. Everybody was crying. Even my father cried. I remember that especially because it was only the second time I saw him cry. My Mom looked at me when it was our turn to say our final good-bye to Grandpa.

Mother asked me, "Do you know the most important body part yet, my dear?"

I was shocked when she asked me this now. I always thought this was a game between her and me. Mother saw the confusion on my face and told me, "This question is very important. It shows that you have really lived in your life. For every body part you gave me in the past, I have told you was wrong and I have given you an example why. But today is the day you need to learn this important lesson."

Mother looked down at me as only a mother can. I saw her eyes well up with tears. Mother said, "My dear, the most important body part is your shoulder."

I asked, "Is it because it holds up my head?"

Mother replied, "No, it is because it can hold the head of a friend or a loved one when they cry. Everybody needs a shoulder to cry on sometime in life, my dear. I only hope that you have enough love and friends that you will always have a shoulder to cry on when you need it."

Then and there I knew the most important body part is not a selfish one. It is sympathetic to the pain of others. People will forget what you said... People will forget what you did.... But people will NEVER forget how you made them feel.

True or not, the story makes you stop and think. Be blessed. Be a blessing. Get your shoulder ready.

Need a shoulder to cry on? Mine is ready.

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Post by basmla » Thu Aug 16, 2007 4:37 am

hi

Thank you for this nice story

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Post by **Elena** » Thu Aug 16, 2007 7:04 am

bambang wrote:
**Elena** wrote:My mother used to ask me: "What is the most important part of the body?"

Through the years I would take a guess at what I thought was the correct answer. When I was younger, I thought sound was very important to us as humans, so I said, "My ears, Mommy."

Mother said, "No Many people are deaf. But you keep thinking about it and I will ask you again soon."

Several years passed before she asked me again. Since making my first attempt, I had contemplated the correct answer. So this time I told her, "Mommy, sight is very important to everybody, so it must be our eyes." Mother looked at me and told me, "You are learning fast, but the answer is not correct because there are many people who are blind."

Stumped again, I continued my quest for knowledge. Over the years, Mother asked me a couple more times and always her answer was, "No, but you are getting smarter every year, my child."

Then last year, my grandpa died. Everybody was hurt. Everybody was crying. Even my father cried. I remember that especially because it was only the second time I saw him cry. My Mom looked at me when it was our turn to say our final good-bye to Grandpa.

Mother asked me, "Do you know the most important body part yet, my dear?"

I was shocked when she asked me this now. I always thought this was a game between her and me. Mother saw the confusion on my face and told me, "This question is very important. It shows that you have really lived in your life. For every body part you gave me in the past, I have told you was wrong and I have given you an example why. But today is the day you need to learn this important lesson."

Mother looked down at me as only a mother can. I saw her eyes well up with tears. Mother said, "My dear, the most important body part is your shoulder."

I asked, "Is it because it holds up my head?"

Mother replied, "No, it is because it can hold the head of a friend or a loved one when they cry. Everybody needs a shoulder to cry on sometime in life, my dear. I only hope that you have enough love and friends that you will always have a shoulder to cry on when you need it."

Then and there I knew the most important body part is not a selfish one. It is sympathetic to the pain of others. People will forget what you said... People will forget what you did.... But people will NEVER forget how you made them feel.

True or not, the story makes you stop and think. Be blessed. Be a blessing. Get your shoulder ready.

Need a shoulder to cry on? Mine is ready.
thanks buddy!

Realise

There was once this guy who is very much in love with his girl. This
romantic guy folded 1,000 pieces of paper cranes as a gift to his girl. Although, at that time he was just a small fry in his company, his future doesn't seem too bright, they were very happy together. Until one day, his girl told him she was going to Paris and will never come back. She also told him that she cannot visualize any future for the both of them, so they went their own ways there and then...Heartbroken, the guy agreed. But when he regained his confidence, he worked hard day and night, slogging his body and mind just to make something out of himself. Finally with all the hard work and the help of friends, this guy had set up his own company ...
You never fail until you stop trying. One rainy day, while this guy was driving, he saw an elderly couple sharing an umbrella in the rain
walking to some destination. Even with the umbrella, they were still drenched. It didn't take him long to realize they were his girl's parents. With a heart in getting back at them, he drove slowly beside the couple,wanting them to spot him in his luxury sedan. He wanted them to know that he wasn't the same any more; he had his own company, car, condo, etc. He made it! What he saw next confused him, the couple was walking towards a cemetery, and so he got out of his car and followed...and he saw his girl, a photograph of her smiling sweetly as ever at him from her tombstone and he saw his paper cranes right beside her...Her parents saw him. He asked them why this had happened. They explained, she did not leave for France at all. She was ill with cancer. She had believed that he will make it someday, but she did not want to be his obstacle... therefore she had chosen to leave him. 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. She had wanted her parents to put his paper cranes beside her, because, if the day comes when fate brings him to her again...he can take some of those back with him... Once you have loved, you will always love. For what's in your mind may escape but what's in your heart will remain forever. The guy just wept...The worst way to miss someone is to be sitting right beside her knowing you can't have her, see her or be with her ever again.........hope you understand.
Find time to realize that there is one person who means so much to you, for you might wake up one morning losing that person who you thought meant nothing to you.


KINDNESS

One day, a poor boy who was selling goods from door to door to pay his
way through school, found he had only one thin dime left, and he was hungry.He decided he would ask for a meal at the next house. However, he lost his nerve when a lovely young woman opened the door. Instead of a meal he asked for a drink of water. She thought he looked hungry so brought him a large glass of milk. He drank it slowly, and then asked, "How much do I owe you?" "You don't owe me anything," she replied "Mother has taught us never to accept payment for a kindness." He said... "Then I thank you from my heart."
As Howard Kelly left that house, he not only felt; stronger physically, but his faith in God and man was strong also. He had been ready to give up and quit.Years later that young woman became critically ill. The local doctors were baffled. They finally sent her to the big city, where they called in specialists to study her rare disease. Dr. Howard Kelly was called in for the consultation. When he heard the name of the town she came from, a strange light filled his eyes. Immediately he rose and went down the hall of the hospital to her room. Dressed in his doctor's gown he went in to see her. He recognized her at once. He went back to the consultation room determined to do his best to save her life. From that day he gave special attention to the case. After a long struggle, the battle was won. Dr. Kelly requested the business office to pass the final bill to him for approval. He looked at it, then wrote something on the edge and the bill was sent to her room. She feared to open it, for she was sure it would take the rest of her life to pay for it all. Finally, she looked, and something caught ; her attention on the side as She read these words..... "Paid in full with one glass of milk." (Signed) Dr. Howard Kelly. Tears of joy flooded her eyes as her happy heart prayed: "Thank You, GOD, that Your love has spread abroad through human hearts and hands."

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**Elena**
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Post by **Elena** » Thu Aug 16, 2007 7:11 am

Once upon a time there was a Prince who, through no fault of his own was cast under a spell by an evil witch. The curse was that the Prince could speak only one word each year. However, he could save up the words so that if he did not speak for a whole year, then the following year he was allowed to speak two words. (This was before the time of letter writing or signlanguage.)

One day he met abeautiful princess (ruby lips, golden hair, sapphire eyes,) and fell madly in love. With the greatest difficulty he decided to refrain from speakingfor two whole years so that he could look at her and say "my darling". But at the end of the two years he wished to tell her that he loved her.

Because of this he waited three more years without speaking (bringing the total number of silent years to 5).But at the end of these five years he realized that he had to ask her to marry him. So he waited ANOTHER four years without speaking.

Finally as the ninth year of ! silence ended, his joy knew no bounds.
Leading the lovely princess to the most secluded and romantic place in that beautiful royal garden the prince heaped a hundred red roses on her lap, knelt before her, and taking her hand in his, said huskily, "My darling,I love you! Will you marry me?" And the princess tucked a strand of golden hair behind a dainty ear, opened her sapphire eyes in wonder, and parting her ruby lips, said:



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scroll down......

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......Well, guess what she said ...........

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......come on, guess what could she have said ......

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"Pardon . . . ?

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Post by **Elena** » Thu Aug 16, 2007 7:16 am

"Mom" I said to her each day "I love you with all my heart"
"but I'm afraid if you left it would tear my life apart"
Then she smiled and looked at me and said "I will never leave"
I would smile and hug her tight and she would say "Only if you believe"
"Believe in what?" I asked her then
And the only answer she gave was "You just wait and see"
And soon the time came for me to move away and be out on my own.
The thought of being away from home scared me oh so much
But my mom smiled and said to me "Honey, just believe"
As I walked out into the world with my mother no longer by my side
I said to myself, "Honey, just believe"
and with those words I was comforted .

Soon I had a family and a life all my own.
My mother was still my friend but now I'd always say
"Mother, I love you so much. Don't you ever leave!"
Then of course she'd say to me "Honey, just believe."
Soon my mother became old and sick and couldn't be on her own.
So she moved in my house with me and my new family.
Everyone loved her so much.

She was such a delight until one day she started losing her fight.
She became very ill and couldn't get out of bed
So every night I'd sit with her until one night when she said
"Honey now I must go but you will not be alone as I said
I will never leave only if you believe"
"Mother don't go" I cried as I held her in my arms
"I love you too much to let you go. Please don't leave me here alone"
"Honey you will never be alone," she said crying along with me
"I love you more than life itself you just have to believe"

My mother fell limp in my arms and I screamed out with pain.
Pain in my heart that hurt so bad cause she left me all alone
Soon I became so sad and no one could comfort me.
Everyday I'd sit and think she left me all alone.
Then one day I heard a voice saying "Honey, just believe"
"Just believe" I thought to myself
"But believe in what?" I said
Then I realized all along
I'd never been alone cause the voice that whispered
to believe was my mother in my heart.
So now I tell my Sely each day
"You will never be alone honey. Just believe"

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Post by **Elena** » Thu Aug 16, 2007 7:33 am

A touching story and A good reminder: "Take time to appreciate what you have now." -- Don't miss reading this one SOURCE UNKNOWN...
nevertheless... really good.

On the last day before Christmas, I hurried to go to the supermarket to buy the remaining of the gift I didn't manage to buy earlier.
When I saw all the people there, I started to complain tomyself,"It is going to take forever here and I still have so many other places to go.
Christmas really is getting more and more annoying every year.How I wish I could just lie down, go to sleep and only wake up after it..."
Nonetheless, I made my way to the toy section, and there I started to curse the prices, wondering if after all kids really playwith such expensive toys.

While looking in the toy section, I noticed a small boy of about 5 years old, pressing a doll against his chest. He kept on touching the hair of the
doll and looked so sad. I wondered who was this doll for. Then the little boy turned to the old woman next to him, "Granny, are you sure I don't have
enough money?"

The old lady replied, "You know that you don't have enough money to buy this doll, my dear."

Then she asked him to stay here for 5 minutes while she went to look around. She left quickly. The little boy was still holding the doll in his hand.

Finally, I started to walk toward him and I asked him who did he want to give this doll to.
"It is the doll that my sister loved most and wanted so much for this Christmas. She was so sure that Santa Claus would bring it to her."

I replied to him that may be Santa Claus will bring it to her, after all, and not to worry.
But he replied to me sadly. "No, Santa Claus can not bring it to her where she is now. I have to give the doll to my mother so that she can give it to her when she goes there."His eyes were so sad while saying this. "My sister has gone to be with God. Daddy says that Mummy will also go to see God very
soon, so I thought that she could bring the doll with her to give it to my sister."

My heart nearly stopped. The little boy looked up at me and said, "I told daddy to tell mummy not to go yet. I asked him to wait until I come back from the supermarket."
Then he showed me a very nice photo of him where he was laughing. He then told me, "I also want mummy to take this photo with her so that she will not forget me." I love my mummy and I wish she doesn't have to leave me but daddy says that she has to go to be with
my little sister."
Then he looked again at the doll with sad eyes, very quietly.I quickly reached for my wallet and took a few notes and said to the boy, "What if we
checked again, just in case if you have enough money?"

"Ok," he said. "I hope that I have enough."

I added some of my money to his without him seeing and we started to count it. There was enough for the doll, and even some spare money. The little boy said, "Thank you God for giving me enough money."
Then he looked at me and added, "I asked yesterday before I slept for God to make sure I have enough money to buy this doll so that mummy can give it
to my sister. He heard me." "I also wanted to have enough money to buy a white rose for my mummy, but I didn't dare to ask God too much. But He gave
me enough to buy the doll and the white rose."

"You know, my mummy loves white rose."

A few minutes later, the old lady came again and I left with my trolley. I finished my shopping in a totally different state from when I started. I couldn't get the little boy out of my mind.

Then I remembered a local newspaper article 2 days ago, which mentioned of a drunk man in a truck who hit a car where there was one young lady and a
little girl. The little girl died right away, and the mother was left in a critical state. The family had to decide whether to pull the plug on the
life-assisting machine, because the young lady would not be able to get out of the coma.

Was this the family of the little boy?

Two days after this encounter with the little boy, I read in the newspaper that the young lady had passed away.I couldn't stop myself and went to buy a bunch of white roses and I went to the mortuary where the body of the young woman was exposed for people to see and make last wish before burial.

She was there, in her coffin, holding a beautiful white rosein her hand with the photo of the little boy and the doll placed over her chest. I left the place crying, feeling that my life had been changed forever. The love that this little boy had for his mother and his sister is still, to that day, hard to imagine. And in a fraction of a second, a drunk man
had taken all this away from him.

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Post by Bambang » Thu Aug 16, 2007 2:07 pm

Thank you for the stories.

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Post by Bambang » Sat Aug 18, 2007 8:17 am

**Elena** wrote:YES, SIR!!! :D

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash, and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox.
And there's one more - that's seventeen!
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue-
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke
I'm sure that my left leg is broke.
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb,
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my spine is weak.
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent - my spine ain't straight.
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is-
...WHAT?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is...Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"
by Shel Silverstein

Such a creative kid :!:

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Post by **Elena** » Mon Aug 20, 2007 7:22 am

There is very instructive incident involving the life of Alexander, the great Greek king.

Alexander, after conquering many kingdoms, was returning home. On the way, he fell ill and it took him to his death bed. With death staring him in his face, Alexander realized how his conquests, his great army, his sharp sword and all his wealth were of no consequence.

He now longed to reach home to see his mother's face and bid her his last adieu. But, he had to accept the fact that his sinking health would not permit Him to reach his distant homeland. So,
the mighty conqueror lay prostrate and pale, helplessly waiting to breathe his last. He called his generals and said, "I will depart from this world soon,

I have three wishes, please carry them out without fail." With tears flowing down .Their cheeks, the generals agreed to abide by their king's last wishes.

"My first desire is that," said Alexander, "My physicians alone must carry my coffin." After a pause, he continued, "Secondly, I desire that when my coffin is being carried to the grave, the path leading to the graveyard be strewn with gold, silver and precious stones which I have collected in my treasury.

" The king felt exhausted after saying this. He took a minute's rest and continued. "My third and last wish is that both my hands be kept dangling out of my coffin."

The people who had gathered there wondered at the king's strange wishes. But no one dare bring the question to their lips. Alexander's favorite general kissed his hand and pressed them to his heart. "O king, we assure you that your wishes will all be fulfilled. But tell us why do you make such strange wishes?"

At this Alexander took a deep breath and said: "I would like the world to know of the three lessons I have just learnt. I want my physicians to carry my coffin because people should realize that no doctor can really cure any body. They are powerless and cannot save a person from the clutches of death. So let not people take life for granted.


The second wish of strewing gold, silver and other riches on the way to the graveyard is to tell People that not even a fraction of gold will come with me. I spent all my life earning riches but cannot take anything with me. Let people realize that it is a sheer waste of time to chase wealth.

And about my third wish of having my hands dangling out of the coffin, I wish people to know that I came empty handed into this world and empty handed I go out of this world."

With these words, the king closed his eyes. Soon he let death conquer him and breathed his last. . . . .

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Post by Bambang » Mon Aug 20, 2007 7:39 am

**Elena** wrote:The story begins like this...

'How long will you be poring over that newspaper? Will you come here right away and make your darling daughter eat her food?'

I tossed the paper away and rushed to the scene. My only daughter Sindu looked frightened. Tears were welling up in her eyes. In front of her was a bowl filled to its brim with Curd Rice.

Sindu is a nice child, quite intelligent for her age. She has just turned eight. She particularly detested Curd Rice. My mother and my wife are orthodox, and believe firmly in the 'cooling effects' of Curd Rice!

I cleared my throat, and picked up the bowl. "Sindu, darling, why don't you take a few mouthful of this Curd Rice? Just for Dad's sake, dear. And, if you don't, your Mom will shout at me.'

I could sense my wife's scowl behind my back. Sindu softened a bit, and wiped her tears with the back of her hands. 'OK, Dad. I will eat - not just a few mouthfuls, but the whole lot of this. But, you should...' Sindu hesitated. 'Dad, if I eat this entire Curd Rice, will you give me whatever I ask for?'

'Oh sure, darling'.

'Promise?'

'Promise'. I covered the pink soft hand extended by my daughter with mine, and clinched the deal.

'Ask Mom also to give a similar promise', my daughter insisted. My wife slapped her hand on sindu's, muttering 'Promise', without any emotion.

Now I became a bit anxious. 'Sindumma, you shouldn't insist on getting a computer or any such expensive items. Dad does not have that kind of money right now. OK?'

'No, Dad. I do not want anything expensive'. Slowly and painfully, she finished eating the whole quantity. I was silently angry with my wife and my mother for forcing my child eat something that she detested.

After the ordeal was through, Sindu came to me with her eyes wide with expectation. All our attention was on her. 'Dad, I want to have my head shaved off, this Sunday!' was her demand!

'Atrocious!' shouted my wife, 'a girl child having her head shaved off? Impossible!' .

'Never in our family!' my mother rasped. 'She has been watching too much of television. Our culture is getting totally spoiled with these TV programs!'

'Sindumma, why don't you ask for something else? We will be sad seeing you with a clean-shaven head.'

'No, Dad. I do not want anything else', Sindu said with finality.

'Please, Sindu, why don't you try to understand our feelings?' I tried to plead with her.

'Dad, you saw how difficult it was for me to eat that Curd Rice'. Sindu was in tears. 'And you promised to grant me whatever I ask for. Now, you are going back on your words. Was it not you who told me the story of King Harishchandra, and its moral that we should honour our promises no matter what?'

It was time for me to call the shots. 'Our promise must be kept.'

'Are you out your mind?' chorused my mother and wife.

'No. If we go back on our promises, she will never learn to honour her own. Sindu, your wish will be fulfilled.'

With her head clean-shaven, Sindu had a round-face, and her eyes looked big & beautiful.

On Monday morning, I dropped her at her school. It was a sight to watch my hairless Sindu walking towards her classroom. She turned around and waved. I waved back with a smile. Just then, a boy alighted from a car, and shouted, 'Sinduja, please wait for me!'

What struck me was the hairless head of that boy. 'May be, that is the in-stuff', I thought.

'Sir, your daughter Sinduja is great indeed!' Without introducing herself, a lady got out of the car, and continued, 'That boy who is walking along with your daughter is my son Harish. He is suffering from ... leukaemia.'

She paused to muffle her sobs. 'Harish could not attend the school for the whole of the last month. He lost all his hair due to the side effects of the chemotherapy. He refused to come back to school fearing the unintentional but cruel teasing of the schoolmates. Sinduja visited him last week, and promised him that she will take care of the teasing issue. But, I never imagined she would sacrifice her lovely hair for the sake of my son! Sir, you and your wife are blessed to have such a noble soul as your daughter.'

I stood transfixed. And then, I wept. 'My little Angel, will you grant me a boon? Should there be another birth for me, will you be my mother, and teach me what Love is?'
a very touching story.

This world would be peaceful if it were filled with such little girls.

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Post by Bambang » Mon Aug 20, 2007 7:49 am

**Elena** wrote: Realise

There was once this guy who is very much in love with his girl. This
romantic guy folded 1,000 pieces of paper cranes as a gift to his girl. Although, at that time he was just a small fry in his company, his future doesn't seem too bright, they were very happy together. Until one day, his girl told him she was going to Paris and will never come back. She also told him that she cannot visualize any future for the both of them, so they went their own ways there and then...Heartbroken, the guy agreed. But when he regained his confidence, he worked hard day and night, slogging his body and mind just to make something out of himself. Finally with all the hard work and the help of friends, this guy had set up his own company ...
You never fail until you stop trying. One rainy day, while this guy was driving, he saw an elderly couple sharing an umbrella in the rain
walking to some destination. Even with the umbrella, they were still drenched. It didn't take him long to realize they were his girl's parents. With a heart in getting back at them, he drove slowly beside the couple,wanting them to spot him in his luxury sedan. He wanted them to know that he wasn't the same any more; he had his own company, car, condo, etc. He made it! What he saw next confused him, the couple was walking towards a cemetery, and so he got out of his car and followed...and he saw his girl, a photograph of her smiling sweetly as ever at him from her tombstone and he saw his paper cranes right beside her...Her parents saw him. He asked them why this had happened. They explained, she did not leave for France at all. She was ill with cancer. She had believed that he will make it someday, but she did not want to be his obstacle... therefore she had chosen to leave him. 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. She had wanted her parents to put his paper cranes beside her, because, if the day comes when fate brings him to her again...he can take some of those back with him... Once you have loved, you will always love. For what's in your mind may escape but what's in your heart will remain forever. The guy just wept...The worst way to miss someone is to be sitting right beside her knowing you can't have her, see her or be with her ever again.........hope you understand.
Find time to realize that there is one person who means so much to you, for you might wake up one morning losing that person who you thought meant nothing to you.

That's the real love.

Love doesn't always mean that we have to own the one or the thing.

***Elena*** wrote:KINDNESS

One day, a poor boy who was selling goods from door to door to pay his
way through school, found he had only one thin dime left, and he was hungry.He decided he would ask for a meal at the next house. However, he lost his nerve when a lovely young woman opened the door. Instead of a meal he asked for a drink of water. She thought he looked hungry so brought him a large glass of milk. He drank it slowly, and then asked, "How much do I owe you?" "You don't owe me anything," she replied "Mother has taught us never to accept payment for a kindness." He said... "Then I thank you from my heart."
As Howard Kelly left that house, he not only felt; stronger physically, but his faith in God and man was strong also. He had been ready to give up and quit.Years later that young woman became critically ill. The local doctors were baffled. They finally sent her to the big city, where they called in specialists to study her rare disease. Dr. Howard Kelly was called in for the consultation. When he heard the name of the town she came from, a strange light filled his eyes. Immediately he rose and went down the hall of the hospital to her room. Dressed in his doctor's gown he went in to see her. He recognized her at once. He went back to the consultation room determined to do his best to save her life. From that day he gave special attention to the case. After a long struggle, the battle was won. Dr. Kelly requested the business office to pass the final bill to him for approval. He looked at it, then wrote something on the edge and the bill was sent to her room. She feared to open it, for she was sure it would take the rest of her life to pay for it all. Finally, she looked, and something caught ; her attention on the side as She read these words..... "Paid in full with one glass of milk." (Signed) Dr. Howard Kelly. Tears of joy flooded her eyes as her happy heart prayed: "Thank You, GOD, that Your love has spread abroad through human hearts and hands."
[/quote]

Whatever the good things we are doing now, will be fruitfull in the future, or at least in hearafter life.
Last edited by Bambang on Mon Aug 20, 2007 8:03 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Post by Bambang » Mon Aug 20, 2007 7:51 am

**Elena** wrote:"Mom" I said to her each day "I love you with all my heart"
"but I'm afraid if you left it would tear my life apart"
Then she smiled and looked at me and said "I will never leave"
I would smile and hug her tight and she would say "Only if you believe"
"Believe in what?" I asked her then
And the only answer she gave was "You just wait and see"
And soon the time came for me to move away and be out on my own.
The thought of being away from home scared me oh so much
But my mom smiled and said to me "Honey, just believe"
As I walked out into the world with my mother no longer by my side
I said to myself, "Honey, just believe"
and with those words I was comforted .

Soon I had a family and a life all my own.
My mother was still my friend but now I'd always say
"Mother, I love you so much. Don't you ever leave!"
Then of course she'd say to me "Honey, just believe."
Soon my mother became old and sick and couldn't be on her own.
So she moved in my house with me and my new family.
Everyone loved her so much.

She was such a delight until one day she started losing her fight.
She became very ill and couldn't get out of bed
So every night I'd sit with her until one night when she said
"Honey now I must go but you will not be alone as I said
I will never leave only if you believe"
"Mother don't go" I cried as I held her in my arms
"I love you too much to let you go. Please don't leave me here alone"
"Honey you will never be alone," she said crying along with me
"I love you more than life itself you just have to believe"

My mother fell limp in my arms and I screamed out with pain.
Pain in my heart that hurt so bad cause she left me all alone
Soon I became so sad and no one could comfort me.
Everyday I'd sit and think she left me all alone.
Then one day I heard a voice saying "Honey, just believe"
"Just believe" I thought to myself
"But believe in what?" I said
Then I realized all along
I'd never been alone cause the voice that whispered
to believe was my mother in my heart.
So now I tell my Sely each day
"You will never be alone honey. Just believe"
Love your mother with all your heart, then you'll be blessed.

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Post by Bambang » Mon Aug 20, 2007 7:52 am

**Elena** wrote:A touching story and A good reminder: "Take time to appreciate what you have now." -- Don't miss reading this one SOURCE UNKNOWN...
nevertheless... really good.

On the last day before Christmas, I hurried to go to the supermarket to buy the remaining of the gift I didn't manage to buy earlier.
When I saw all the people there, I started to complain tomyself,"It is going to take forever here and I still have so many other places to go.
Christmas really is getting more and more annoying every year.How I wish I could just lie down, go to sleep and only wake up after it..."
Nonetheless, I made my way to the toy section, and there I started to curse the prices, wondering if after all kids really playwith such expensive toys.

While looking in the toy section, I noticed a small boy of about 5 years old, pressing a doll against his chest. He kept on touching the hair of the
doll and looked so sad. I wondered who was this doll for. Then the little boy turned to the old woman next to him, "Granny, are you sure I don't have
enough money?"

The old lady replied, "You know that you don't have enough money to buy this doll, my dear."

Then she asked him to stay here for 5 minutes while she went to look around. She left quickly. The little boy was still holding the doll in his hand.

Finally, I started to walk toward him and I asked him who did he want to give this doll to.
"It is the doll that my sister loved most and wanted so much for this Christmas. She was so sure that Santa Claus would bring it to her."

I replied to him that may be Santa Claus will bring it to her, after all, and not to worry.
But he replied to me sadly. "No, Santa Claus can not bring it to her where she is now. I have to give the doll to my mother so that she can give it to her when she goes there."His eyes were so sad while saying this. "My sister has gone to be with God. Daddy says that Mummy will also go to see God very
soon, so I thought that she could bring the doll with her to give it to my sister."

My heart nearly stopped. The little boy looked up at me and said, "I told daddy to tell mummy not to go yet. I asked him to wait until I come back from the supermarket."
Then he showed me a very nice photo of him where he was laughing. He then told me, "I also want mummy to take this photo with her so that she will not forget me." I love my mummy and I wish she doesn't have to leave me but daddy says that she has to go to be with
my little sister."
Then he looked again at the doll with sad eyes, very quietly.I quickly reached for my wallet and took a few notes and said to the boy, "What if we
checked again, just in case if you have enough money?"

"Ok," he said. "I hope that I have enough."

I added some of my money to his without him seeing and we started to count it. There was enough for the doll, and even some spare money. The little boy said, "Thank you God for giving me enough money."
Then he looked at me and added, "I asked yesterday before I slept for God to make sure I have enough money to buy this doll so that mummy can give it
to my sister. He heard me." "I also wanted to have enough money to buy a white rose for my mummy, but I didn't dare to ask God too much. But He gave
me enough to buy the doll and the white rose."

"You know, my mummy loves white rose."

A few minutes later, the old lady came again and I left with my trolley. I finished my shopping in a totally different state from when I started. I couldn't get the little boy out of my mind.

Then I remembered a local newspaper article 2 days ago, which mentioned of a drunk man in a truck who hit a car where there was one young lady and a
little girl. The little girl died right away, and the mother was left in a critical state. The family had to decide whether to pull the plug on the
life-assisting machine, because the young lady would not be able to get out of the coma.

Was this the family of the little boy?

Two days after this encounter with the little boy, I read in the newspaper that the young lady had passed away.I couldn't stop myself and went to buy a bunch of white roses and I went to the mortuary where the body of the young woman was exposed for people to see and make last wish before burial.

She was there, in her coffin, holding a beautiful white rosein her hand with the photo of the little boy and the doll placed over her chest. I left the place crying, feeling that my life had been changed forever. The love that this little boy had for his mother and his sister is still, to that day, hard to imagine. And in a fraction of a second, a drunk man
had taken all this away from him.
Love has no border.

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Post by Bambang » Mon Aug 20, 2007 7:58 am

**Elena** wrote:There is very instructive incident involving the life of Alexander, the great Greek king.

Alexander, after conquering many kingdoms, was returning home. On the way, he fell ill and it took him to his death bed. With death staring him in his face, Alexander realized how his conquests, his great army, his sharp sword and all his wealth were of no consequence.

He now longed to reach home to see his mother's face and bid her his last adieu. But, he had to accept the fact that his sinking health would not permit Him to reach his distant homeland. So,
the mighty conqueror lay prostrate and pale, helplessly waiting to breathe his last. He called his generals and said, "I will depart from this world soon,

I have three wishes, please carry them out without fail." With tears flowing down .Their cheeks, the generals agreed to abide by their king's last wishes.

"My first desire is that," said Alexander, "My physicians alone must carry my coffin." After a pause, he continued, "Secondly, I desire that when my coffin is being carried to the grave, the path leading to the graveyard be strewn with gold, silver and precious stones which I have collected in my treasury.

" The king felt exhausted after saying this. He took a minute's rest and continued. "My third and last wish is that both my hands be kept dangling out of my coffin."

The people who had gathered there wondered at the king's strange wishes. But no one dare bring the question to their lips. Alexander's favorite general kissed his hand and pressed them to his heart. "O king, we assure you that your wishes will all be fulfilled. But tell us why do you make such strange wishes?"

At this Alexander took a deep breath and said: "I would like the world to know of the three lessons I have just learnt. I want my physicians to carry my coffin because people should realize that no doctor can really cure any body. They are powerless and cannot save a person from the clutches of death. So let not people take life for granted.


The second wish of strewing gold, silver and other riches on the way to the graveyard is to tell People that not even a fraction of gold will come with me. I spent all my life earning riches but cannot take anything with me. Let people realize that it is a sheer waste of time to chase wealth.

And about my third wish of having my hands dangling out of the coffin, I wish people to know that I came empty handed into this world and empty handed I go out of this world."

With these words, the king closed his eyes. Soon he let death conquer him and breathed his last. . . . .
I like the moral of this story.

First, life and death is God's business.

Second, don't be too greedy in earning money.

Third, We'll bring nothing to the hereafter life except good deeds we do in this temporary world.

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Post by Krisi » Mon Aug 20, 2007 8:59 am

bambang wrote: I like the moral of this story.
First, life and death is God's business.
Second, don't be too greedy in earning money.
Third, We'll bring nothing to the hereafter life except good deeds we do in this temporary world.


Nice words uncle bambang.

I love the story too.

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Post by Krisi » Mon Aug 20, 2007 9:12 am

This is very touching. Felt sad.

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Post by **Elena** » Mon Aug 20, 2007 9:49 am

ITS A VERY NICE AND FUNNY SHORT STORY

The Romance of a Busy Broker by O.Henry

PITCHER, CONFIDENTIAL CLERK in the office of Harvey Maxwell, broker, allowed a look of mild interest and surprise to visit his usually
expressionless countenance when his employer briskly entered at half past nine in company with his young lady stenographer. With a snappy `Good morning, Pitcher,' Maxwell dashed at his desk as though he were intending to leap over it, and then plunged into the great heap of letters and telegrams waiting there for him. The young lady had been Maxwell's stenographer for a year. She was
beautiful in a way that was decidedly unstenographic. She forwent the pomp of the alluring pompadour. She wore no chains, bracelets or lockets. She had not the air of being about to accept an invitation to luncheon. Her dress was grey and plain, but it 8tted her figure with fidelity and discretion. In her neat black turban hat was the gold-green wing of a macaw. On this morning she was softly and shyly radiant. Her eyes were dreamily bright, her cheeks genuine peachblow, her expression a happy one, tinged with reminiscence. Pitcher, still mildly curious, noticed a difference in her ways this morning. Instead of going straight into the adjoining room, where her desk was, she lingered, slightly irresolute, in the outer office. Once she moved over by Maxwell's desk, near enough for him to be aware of her presence. The machine sitting at that desk was no longer a man; it was a busy New York broker, moved by buzzing wheels and uncoiling springs.
`Well - what is it? Anything?' asked Maxwell sharply. His opened mail lay like a bank of stage snow on his crowded desk. His keen grey eye, impersonal and brusque, flashed upon her half impatiently.
`Nothing,' answered the stenographer, moving away with a little smile.
`Mr. Pitcher,' she said to the confidential clerk, `did Mr. Maxwell say anything yesterday about engaging another stenographer?'
`He did,' answered Pitcher. `He told me to get another one. I notified the agency yesterday afternoon to send over a few samples
this morning. It's 9.45 o'clock, and not a single picture hat or piece of pineapple chewing gum has showed up yet.'
`I will do the work as usual, then,' said the young lady, `until someone comes to fill the place.' And she went to her desk at once and hung the black turban hat with the gold-green macaw wing in its accustomed place. He who has been denied the spectacle of a busy Manhattan broker during a rush of business is handicapped for the profession of anthropology. The poet sings of the `crowded hour of glorious life.' The broker's hour is not only crowded, but the minutes and seconds are hanging to all the straps and packing both front and rear platforms. And this day was Harvey Maxwell's busy day. The ticker began to reel out jerkily its fitful coils of tape, the desk telephone had a chronic attack of buzzing. Men began to throng into the office and call at him over the railing, jovially, sharply, viciously, excitedly. Messenger boys ran in and out with messages and telegrams. The clerks in the office jumped about like sailors during a storm. Even Pitcher's face relaxed into something resembling animation. On the Exchange there were hurncanes and landslides and snowstorms and glaciers and volcanoes, and those elemental disturbances were reproduced in miniature in the broker's offices. Maxwell shoved his chair against the wall and transacted business after the manner of a toe-dancer. He jumped from ticker to 'phone, from desk to door with the trained agility of a harlequin. In the midst of this growing and important stress the broker became suddenly aware of a high-rolled fringe of golden hair under a nodding canopy of velvet and ostrich tips, an imitation sealskin sacque and a string of beads as large as hickory nuts, ending near the floor with a silver heart. There was a self possessed young lady connected with these accessories; and Pitcher was there to construe her.
`Lady from the Stenographer's Agency to see about the position,' said Pitcher.
Maxwell turned half around, with his hands full of papers and ticker tape.
`What position?' he asked, with a frown.
`Position of stenographer,' said Pitcher. `You told me yesterday to call them up and have one sent over this morning.
`You are losing your mind, Pitcher,' said Maxwell. `Why should I have given you any such instructions? Miss Leslie has given perfect
satisfaction during the year she has been here. The place is hers as long as she chooses to retain it. There's no place open here, madam. Countermand that order with the agency, Pitcher, and don't bring any more of'em in here.'
The silver heart left the office, swinging and banging itself independently against the office furniture as it indignantly departed.
Pitcher seized a moment to remark to the bookkeeper that the `old man' seemed to get more absent-minded and forgetful every day of the world. The rush and pace of business grew fiercer and faster. On the floor they were pounding half a dozen stocks in which Maxwell's Gustomers were heavy investors. Orders to buy and sell were coming and going as swift as the flight of swallows. Some of his own holdings were imperilled, and the man was working like some high-geared, delicate, strong machine - strung to fall tension, going at fall speed, accurate, never hesitating, with the proper word and decision and act ready and prompt as clockwork. Stocks and bonds, loans and mortgages, margins and securities - here was a world of finance, and there was no room in it for the human world or the world of nature. When the luncheon hour drew near there came a slight lull in the uproar.
Maxwell stood by his desk with his hands full of telegrams and memoranda, with a fountain pen over his right ear and his hair hanging in disorderly strings over his forehead. His window was open, for the beloved janitress Spring had turned on a little warmth through the waking registers of the earth.
And through the window came a wandering - perhaps a lost odour - a delicate, sweet odour of lilac that fixed the broker for a moment immovable. For this odour belonged to Miss Leslie; it was her own, and hers only.
The odour brought her vividly, alinost tangibly before him. The world of finance dwindled suddenly to a speck. And she was in the next room - twenty steps away.
`By George, I'll do it now,' said Maxwell, half aloud. `I'll ask her now. I wonder I didn't do it long ago.'
He dashed into the inner office with the haste of a short trying to cover. He charged upon the desk of the stenographer.
She looked up at him with a smile. A soft pink crept over her cheek, and her eyes were kind and frank. Maxwell leaned one elbow on
her desk. He still clutched fluttering papers with both hands and the pen was above his ear.
`Miss Leslie,' he began hurriedly, `I have but a moment to spare. I want to say something in that moment. Will you be my wife? I haven't had time to make love to you in the ordinary way, but I really do love you. Talk quick, please - those fellows are clubbing the stuffing out of Union Pacific.'
`Oh, what are you talking about?' exclaimed the young lady. She rose to her feet and gazed upon him, round-eyed.
`Don't you understand?' said Maxwell restively. `I want you to marry me. I love you, Miss Leslie. I wanted to tell you, and I
snatched a minute when things had slackened up a bit. They're calling me for the 'phone now. Tell 'em to wait a minute, Pitcher. Won't you, Miss Leslie?'
The stenographer acted very queerly. At first she seemed overcome with amazement; then tears flowed from her wondering eyes; and then she smiled sunnily through them, and one of her arms slid tenderly about the broker's neck.
`I know now,' she said softly. `It's this old business that has driven everything else out of your head for the time. I was frightened
at first. Don't you remember, Harvey? We were married last evening at eight o'clock in the Little Church Around the Corner.'

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Post by Bambang » Mon Aug 20, 2007 3:25 pm

The love of mothers to their children has no border.

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Post by Bambang » Mon Aug 20, 2007 3:36 pm

Bravo.

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Post by **Elena** » Tue Aug 21, 2007 9:29 am

A Service Of Love also by O. Henry

When one loves one's Art no service seems too hard.

That is our premise. This story shall draw a conclusion from it, and show at the same time that the premise is incorrect. That will be a new thing in logic, and a feat in story-telling somewhat older than the great wall of China.
Joe Larrabee came out of the post-oak flats of the Middle West pulsing with a genius for pictorial art. At six he drew a picture of the town pump with a prominent citizen passing it hastily. This effort was framed and hung in the drug store window by the side of the ear of corn with an uneven number of rows. At twenty he left for New York with a flowing necktie and a capital tied up somewhat closer.
Delia Caruthers did things in six octaves so promisingly in a pine- tree village in the South that her relatives chipped in enough in her chip hat for her to go "North" and "finish." They could not see her f--, but that is our story.
Joe and Delia met in an atelier where a number of art and music students had gathered to discuss chiaroscuro, Wagner, music, Rembrandt's works, pictures, Waldteufel, wall paper, Chopin and Oolong.
Joe and Delia became enamoured one of the other, or each of the other, as you please, and in a short time were married--for (see above), when one loves one's Art no service seems too hard.
Mr. and Mrs. Larrabee began housekeeping in a flat. It was a lonesome flat--something like the A sharp way down at the left-hand end of the keyboard. And they were happy; for they had their Art, and they had each other. And my advice to the rich young man would be--sell all thou hast, and give it to the poor--janitor for the privilege of living in a flat with your Art and your Delia.
Flat-dwellers shall indorse my dictum that theirs is the only true happiness. If a home is happy it cannot fit too close--let the dresser collapse and become a billiard table; let the mantel turn to a rowing machine, the escritoire to a spare bedchamber, the washstand to an upright piano; let the four walls come together, if they will, so you and your Delia are between. But if home be the other kind, let it be wide and long--enter you at the Golden Gate, hang your hat on Hatteras, your cape on Cape Horn and go out by the Labrador.
Joe was painting in the class of the great Magister--you know his fame. His fees are high; his lessons are light--his high-lights have brought him renown. Delia was studying under Rosenstock--you know his repute as a disturber of the piano keys.
They were mighty happy as long as their money lasted. So is every-- but I will not be cynical. Their aims were very clear and defined. Joe was to become capable very soon of turning out pictures that old gentlemen with thin side-whiskers and thick pocketbooks would sandbag one another in his studio for the privilege of buying. Delia was to become familiar and then contemptuous with Music, so that when she saw the orchestra seats and boxes unsold she could have sore throat and lobster in a private dining-room and refuse to go on the stage.
But the best, in my opinion, was the home life in the little flat-- the ardent, voluble chats after the day's study; the cozy dinners and fresh, light breakfasts; the interchange of ambitions--ambitions interwoven each with the other's or else inconsiderable--the mutual help and inspiration; and--overlook my artlessness--stuffed olives and cheese sandwiches at 11 p.m.
But after a while Art flagged. It sometimes does, even if some switchman doesn't flag it. Everything going out and nothing coming in, as the vulgarians say. Money was lacking to pay Mr. Magister and Herr Rosenstock their prices. When one loves one's Art no service seems too hard. So, Delia said she must give music lessons to keep the chafing dish bubbling.
For two or three days she went out canvassing for pupils. One evening she came home elated.
"Joe, dear," she said, gleefully, "I've a pupil. And, oh, the loveliest people! General--General A. B. Pinkney's daughter--on Seventy-first street. Such a splendid house, Joe--you ought to see the front door! Byzantine I think you would call it. And inside! Oh, Joe, I never saw anything like it before.
"My pupil is his daughter Clementina. I dearly love her already. She's a delicate thing-dresses always in white; and the sweetest, simplest manners! Only eighteen years old. I'm to give three lessons a week; and, just think, Joe! $5 a lesson. I don't mind it a bit; for when I get two or three more pupils I can resume my lessons with Herr Rosenstock. Now, smooth out that wrinkle between your brows, dear, and let's have a nice supper."
"That's all right for you, Dele," said Joe, attacking a can of peas with a carving knife and a hatchet, "but how about me? Do you think I'm going to let you hustle for wages while I philander in the regions of high art? Not by the bones of Benvenuto Cellini! I guess I can sell papers or lay cobblestones, and bring in a dollar or two."
Delia came and hung about his neck.
"Joe, dear, you are silly. You must keep on at your studies. It is not as if I had quit my music and gone to work at something else. While I teach I learn. I am always with my music. And we can live as happily as millionaires on $15 a week. You mustn't think of leaving Mr. Magister."
"All right," said Joe, reaching for the blue scalloped vegetable dish. "But I hate for you to be giving lessons. It isn't Art. But you're a trump and a dear to do it."
"When one loves one's Art no service seems too hard," said Delia.
"Magister praised the sky in that sketch I made in the park," said Joe. "And Tinkle gave me permission to hang two of them in his window. I may sell one if the right kind of a moneyed idiot sees them."
"I'm sure you will," said Delia, sweetly. "And now let's be thankful for Gen. Pinkney and this veal roast."
During all of the next week the Larrabees had an early breakfast. Joe was enthusiastic about some morning-effect sketches he was doing in Central Park, and Delia packed him off breakfasted, coddled, praised and kissed at 7 o'clock. Art is an engaging mistress. It was most times 7 o'clock when he returned in the evening.
At the end of the week Delia, sweetly proud but languid, triumphantly tossed three five-dollar bills on the 8x10 (inches) centre table of the 8x10 (feet) flat parlour.
Sometimes," she said, a little wearily, "Clementina tries me. I'm afraid she doesn't practise enough, and I have to tell her the same things so often. And then she always dresses entirely in white, and that does get monotonous. But Gen. Pinkney is the dearest old man! I wish you could know him, Joe. He comes in sometimes when I am with Clementina at the piano--he is a widower, you know--and stands there pulling his white goatee. 'And how are the semiquavers and the demisemiquavers progressing?' he always asks.
"I wish you could see the wainscoting in that drawing-room, Joe! And those Astrakhan rug portieres. And Clementina has such a funny little cough. I hope she is stronger than she looks. Oh, I really am getting attached to her, she is so gentle and high bred. Gen. Pinkney's brother was once Minister to Bolivia."
And then Joe, with the air of a Monte Cristo, drew forth a ten, a five, a two and a one--all legal tender notes--and laid them beside Delia's earnings.
"Sold that watercolour of the obelisk to a man from Peoria," he announced overwhelmingly.
"Don't joke with me," said Delia, "not from Peoria!"
"All the way. I wish you could see him, Dele. Fat man with a woollen muffler and a quill toothpick. He saw the sketch in Tinkle's window and thought it was a windmill at first, he was game, though, and bought it anyhow. He ordered another--an oil sketch of the Lackawanna freight depot--to take back with him. Music lessons! Oh, I guess Art is still in it."
"I'm so glad you've kept on," said Delia, heartily. "You're bound to win, dear. Thirty-three dollars! We never had so much to spend before. We'll have oysters to-night."
"And filet mignon with champignons," said Joe. "Were is the olive fork?"
On the next Saturday evening Joe reached home first. He spread his $18 on the parlour table and washed what seemed to be a great deal of dark paint from his hands.
Half an hour later Delia arrived, her right hand tied up in a shapeless bundle of wraps and bandages.
"How is this?" asked Joe after the usual greetings. Delia laughed, but not very joyously.
Clementina," she explained, "insisted upon a Welsh rabbit after her lesson. She is such a queer girl. Welsh rabbits at 5 in the afternoon. The General was there. You should have seen him run for the chafing dish, Joe, just as if there wasn't a servant in the house. I know Clementina isn't in good health; she is so nervous. In serving the rabbit she spilled a great lot of it, boiling hot, over my hand and wrist. It hurt awfully, Joe. And the dear girl was so sorry! But Gen. Pinkney!--Joe, that old man nearly went distracted. He rushed downstairs and sent somebody--they said the furnace man or somebody in the basement--out to a drug store for some oil and things to bind it up with. It doesn't hurt so much now."
"What's this?" asked Joe, taking the hand tenderly and pulling at some white strands beneath the bandages.
"It's something soft," said Delia, "that had oil on it. Oh, Joe, did you sell another sketch?" She had seen the money on the table.
"Did I?" said Joe; "just ask the man from Peoria. He got his depot to-day, and he isn't sure but he thinks he wants another parkscape and a view on the Hudson. What time this afternoon did you burn your hand, Dele?"
"Five o'clock, I think," said Dele, plaintively. "The iron--I mean the rabbit came off the fire about that time. You ought to have seen Gen. Pinkney, Joe, when--"
"Sit down here a moment, Dele," said Joe. He drew her to the couch, sat beside her and put his arm across her shoulders.
"What have you been doing for the last two weeks, Dele?" he asked.
She braved it for a moment or two with an eye full of love and stubbornness, and murmured a phrase or two vaguely of Gen. Pinkney; but at length down went her head and out came the truth and tears.
"I couldn't get any pupils," she confessed. "And I couldn't bear to have you give up your lessons; and I got a place ironing shirts in that big Twentyfourth street laundry. And I think I did very well to make up both General Pinkney and Clementina, don't you, Joe? And when a girl in the laundry set down a hot iron on my hand this afternoon I was all the way home making up that story about the Welsh rabbit. You're not angry, are you, Joe? And if I hadn't got the work you mightn't have sold your sketches to that man from Peoria.
"He wasn't from Peoria," said Joe, slowly.
"Well, it doesn't matter where he was from. How clever you are, Joe --and--kiss me, Joe--and what made you ever suspect that I wasn't giving music lessons to Clementina?"
"I didn't," said Joe, "until to-night. And I wouldn't have then, only I sent up this cotton waste and oil from the engine-room this afternoon for a girl upstairs who had her hand burned with a smoothing-iron. I've been firing the engine in that laundry for the last two weeks."
"And then you didn't--"
"My purchaser from Peoria," said Joe, "and Gen. Pinkney are both creations of the same art--but you wouldn't call it either painting or music.
And then they both laughed, and Joe began:
"When one loves one's Art no service seems--"
But Delia stopped him with her hand on his lips. "No," she said-- "just 'When one loves.'"

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Post by Andrianna » Tue Aug 21, 2007 11:31 am

Oh! I'm crying... :cry: very-very impressive

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Post by Bambang » Wed Aug 22, 2007 4:51 pm

G r e a t

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Krisi
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Post by Krisi » Thu Sep 27, 2007 12:40 am

I love this, Elena...Image...

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:))

Post by Burak » Sat Sep 29, 2007 6:21 pm

Very nice :))

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hi

Post by est » Mon Oct 22, 2007 10:48 pm

great

it's very interesting story

I like it. :roll:

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Post by sweets » Wed Oct 24, 2007 6:05 am

so sweet :)

keep posting :wink:


have a nice day to all

cheeeeeeeeers

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Re: **Collection of stories**

Post by denvinbo » Mon Jan 21, 2008 1:58 am

Peaceful and quiet.... :D :D

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Re: **Collection of stories**

Post by Annaa » Wed Jun 11, 2008 11:59 am

The Rich Man and the Poor Man
A Parable for Thanksgiving




There once was a very rich man. He was so rich, he could have owned many cars, but instead he chose to drive a Ford. He was so rich, he could have owned many computers, but instead he chose an Apple Macintosh. He was so rich, he could have owned many homes---even some in Beverly Hills---but instead he chose to live in East LA.

Because this man was rich, many people in his neighborhood knew him. And also because the man was rich, many people from outside of his neighborhood knew him too. Often, his doorbell would ring, and there on his threshold would stand someone who had come to ask for a donation.

Sometimes when the bell rang, it was a neighbor who had fallen into misfortune. The man would smile, embrace his neighbor, and place a generous sum into their hand.

Sometimes when the bell rang, it was a charity representing the starving children of Tijuana. The man would again smile, embrace the charity worker, and write a generous check.

Sometimes when the bell rang, it was a Jehovah's Witness. Were he like many of us, the man's first instinct would have been to promptly kick them in the butt and shove them back out onto the street. But instead, he once more smiled and embraced the Jehovah's Witness as any other guest upon his threshold.

One evening, when his doorbell was particularly quiet, this man decided to take a stroll. He headed off, idling along wherever the road wound; amongst the quaint homes of his neighborhood, past the threadbare trees lining the park, along walls painted with an array of colorful graffiti tags (remember, this was East LA).

Every once in a while, a car passed, thumping out the latest rage in rap hit, and he soon found himself whistling one of these catchy tunes to himself.

Lost in the tune, he came suddenly upon a homeless bum lying in the midst of the sidewalk. The bum wore a tattered sweater and ripped pants. He had shoes, but they didn't even match. And oh! The smell! I can't even describe that to you here because it would ruin your Thanksgiving dinner.

Well, this unfortunate soul lying on the street saw the man and knew him. Certainly, the bum said to himself. This is the rich man who lives on the lane. Surely he can help me, for he has money at his disposal. But instead of reaching out his hand, the bum was overcome by a sudden bout of shame and hid his face.

The man stood over this tattered figure. He reached down and touched the bum's cheek, but the bum shrank away from him even further. The man's eyes clouded slightly and he cracked a weak smile. Forgetting the tune he once whistled, the man slowly turned and walked back to his home.

Upon hearing the man retreat beyond the corner, the bum opened his eyes and sat up. There at his feet lay a crisp $100.00 dollar bill.

The bum grabbed the money and made a beeline for the nearest 7/11. Like all bums, this one's first thought was to go blow the money on vodka. What a bum!

But, before he entered the store, he remembered the compassion of the man's touch. This inspired him, and the bum decided then and there to turn his life around. The bum promptly bummed two dimes off an old lady (pay phones don't take hundreds). "Well." the lady replied. "You ain't gonna spend this on alcohol?" The bum shook his head and stuck the money into the slot of the nearest telephone.

His broker answered and the bum said, "Hundred dollars. Invest it all in that company with the nerdy looking CEO. Microsoft!"

Since this was, as it turns out, the late-1980s, it took only a short while before the stock skyrocketed. Yes, good can come of evil after all---especially when you're working the stock market---and the bum found himself very well off indeed.

Back in East LA the years passed slowly. The generous man kept to life much as usual---taking evening strolls, whistling rap tunes, answering his door.

One day in particular, his doorbell rang, and there stood a finely dressed gentleman in a three piece suit. Uh oh, the man thought. Jehovah's Witness. But before he could do anything, his guest spoke.

"You're the rich man, aren't you?" his guest asked.

"What can I do for you?" the man responded automatically, so accustomed to being asked for things.

"It is not what you can do for me," answered his guest. "But what you have already done."

"What have I done for you?" the man asked in surprise.

"You've given me a second chance at life. Why, with your generous gift, I was able to invest the money and pull myself out of my poverty. I no longer wallow in the grime and gutters, but I walk along crowded sidewalks with my head held high. I have you to thank for that."

Suddenly, the man recognized his guest. It was the old bum who'd been lying in the street. The man replied, "What I gave you, you did not ask for. I gave it simply because I saw you there and loved you. I would have given it to anyone in your position."

"All the more reason to come and thank you," his guest said.

"But I am rich," replied the man. "I have many gifts to give. I don't expect anything in return."

"Good," his guest said with a nod. "Because I don't have anything to offer in return---whatever I have, you gave to me. All I wanted to do was come and thank you."

The man stared as his guest reached out and took him into an embrace. It was the same gesture the man had so often offered to those at his door, yet this was the first time someone had offered it back.

Tears filled the man's eyes as his guest, a lowly bum off the street, held him in the most satisfying embrace he had ever received.
If you don`t like me remember it's mind over matter..I don't mind and you don't matter..

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