From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Christmas Cheer
Until last year, the greatest sorrow of my life was that my wife Alice and I couldn’t have any children. To make up for this in a small way, we always invited all the children on our street to our house each Christmas morning for breakfast.
We would decorate the house with snowflakes and angels in the windows, a nativity scene and a Christmas tree in the living room, and other ornaments that we hoped would appeal to the children. When our young guests arrived—there were usually ten or fifteen of them—we said grace and served them such delicacies as orange juice garnished with a candy cane. And after the meal we gave each of the youngsters a wrapped toy or game. We used to look forward to these breakfasts with the joyful impatience of children.
But last year, about six weeks before Christmas, Alice died. I could not concentrate at work. I could not force myself to cook anything but the simplest dishes. Sometimes I would sit for hours without moving, and then suddenly find myself crying for no apparent reason.
I decided not to invite the children over for the traditional Christmas breakfast. But Kathy and Peter, my next door neighbors, asked me to join them and their three children for dinner on Christmas Eve. As soon as I arrived and had my coat off, Kathy asked me, “Do you have any milk at your house?”
“Yes,” I replied. “If you need some, I’ll go right away.”
“Oh, that’s all right. Come and sit down. The kids have been waiting for you. Just give Peter your keys.”
So I sat down, prepared for a nice chat with eight-year-old Beth and six-year-old Jimmy. (Their little sister was upstairs sleeping.) But my words wouldn’t come. What if Beth and Jimmy should ask me about my Christmas breakfast? How could I explain to them? Would they think I was just selfish or self-pitying? I began to think they would. Worse, I began to think they would be right.
But neither of them mentioned the breakfast. At first I felt relieved, but then I started to wonder if they remembered it or cared about it. As they prattled on about their toys, their friends and Christmas, I thought they would be reminded of our breakfast tradition, and yet they said nothing. This was strange, I thought, but the more we talked, the more I became convinced that they remembered the breakfast but didn’t want to embarrass Grandpa Melowski (as they called me) by bringing it up.
Dinner was soon ready and afterward we all went to late Mass. After Mass, the Zacks let me out of their car in front of my house. I thanked them and wished them all merry Christmas as I walked toward my front door. Only then did I notice that Peter had left a light on when he borrowed the milk—and that someone had decorated my windows with snowflakes and angels!
When I opened the door, I saw that the whole house had been transformed with a Christmas tree, a nativity scene, candles and all the other decorations of the season. On the dining room table was Alice’s green Christmas tablecloth and her pinecone centerpiece. What a kind gesture! At that moment, I wished that I could still put on the breakfast, but I had made no preparations.
Early the next morning, a five-year-old with a package of sweet rolls rang my bell. Before I could ask him what was going on, he was joined by two of his friends, one with a pound of bacon, the other with a pitcher of orange juice. Within fifteen minutes, my house was alive with all the children on my street, and I had all the food I needed for the usual festive breakfast. I was tremendously pleased, although in the back of my mind I still feared that I would disappoint my guests. I knew my spur-of-the-moment party was missing one important ingredient.
At about nine-thirty, though, I had another surprise. Kathy Zack came to my back door.
“How’s the breakfast?” she asked.
“I’m having the time of my life,” I answered.
“I brought something for you,” she said, setting a shopping bag on the counter.
“More food?”
“No,” she said. “Take a look.”
Inside the bag were individually wrapped packages, each bearing the name of one of the children and signed, “Merry Christmas from Grandpa Melowski.”
My happiness was complete. It was more than just knowing that the children would receive their customary gifts and wouldn’t be disappointed; it was the feeling that everyone cared.
I like to think it’s significant that I received a gift of love on the same day that the world received a sign of God’s love two thousand years ago in Bethlehem. I never found out who to thank for my Christmas present. I said my “Thank you” in my prayers that night—and that spoke of my gratitude more than anything I could ever say to my neighbors.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Saturday, December 27, 2008
The 90/10 Principle
By Stephen Covey
What is the 90/10 Principle?
10% of life is made up of what happens to you. 90% of life is decided by how you react. What does this mean? We really have no control over 10% of what happens to us. We cannot stop the car from breaking down. The plane will be late arriving, which throws our whole schedule off.
A driver may cut us off in traffic. We have no control over this 10%. The other 90% is different. You determine the other 90%. How? By your reaction. You cannot control a red light, but you can control your reaction. Don't let people fool you; YOU can control how you react. Let's use an example.
You are eating breakfast with your family. Your daughter knocks over a cup of coffee onto your business shirt. You have no control over what just what happened. What happens when the next will be determined by how you react.
You curse. You harshly scold your daughter for knocking the cup over. She breaks down in tears. After scolding her, you turn to your spouse and criticize her for placing the cup too close to the edge of the table. A short verbal battle follows. You storm upstairs and change your shirt. Back downstairs, you find your daughter has been too busy crying to finish breakfast and get ready for school. She misses the bus. Your spouse must leave immediately for work. You rush to the car and drive your daughter to school. Because you are late, you drive 40 miles an hour in a 30 mph speed limit. After a 15-minute delay and throwing $60 traffic fine away, you arrive at school. Your daughter runs into the building without saying goodbye. After arriving at the office 20 minutes late, you find you forgot your briefcase. Your day has started terribly. As it continues, it seems to get worse and worse. You look forward to coming home, When you arrive home, you find a small wedge in your relationship with your spouse and daughter. Why? Because of how you reacted in the morning.
Why did you have a bad day?
A) Did the coffee cause it?
B) Did your daughter cause it?
C) Did the policeman cause it?
D) Did you cause it?
The answer is D.
You had no control over what happened with the coffee. How you reacted in those 5 seconds is what caused your bad day. Here is what could have and should have happened.
Coffee splashes over you. Your daughter is about to cry. You gently say, "It's ok honey, you just need, to be more careful next time." Grabbing a towel you rush upstairs. After grabbing a new shirt and your briefcase, you come back down in time to look through the window and see your child getting on the bus. She turns and waves. You arrive 5 minutes early and cheerfully greet the staff. Your boss comments on how good the day you are having.
Notice the difference? Two different scenarios. Both started the same. Both ended different. Why? Because of how you REACTED. You really do not have any control over 10% of what happens. The other 90% was determined by your reaction. Here are some ways to apply the 90/10 principle. If someone says something negative about you, don't be a sponge. Let the attack roll off like water on glass. You don't have to let the negative comment affect you! React properly and it will not ruin your day. A wrong reaction could result in losing a friend, being fired, getting stressed out etc.
How do you react if someone cuts you off in traffic? Do you lose your temper? Pound on the steering wheel? A friend of mine had the steering wheel fall off! Do you curse? Does your blood pressure skyrocket? Do you try and bump them? WHO CARES if you arrive ten seconds later at work? Why let the cars ruin your drive? Remember the 90/10 principle, and do not worry about it. You are told you lost your job. Why lose sleep and get irritated? It will work out. Use your worrying energy and time into finding another job.
The plane is late; it is going to mangle your schedule for the day. Why take out your frustration on the flight attendant? She has no control over what is going on. Use your time to study, get to know the other passenger. Why get stressed out? It will just make things worse.
Now you know the 90-10 principle. Apply it and you will be amazed at the results. You will lose nothing if you try it. The 90-10 principle is incredible. Very few know and apply this principle. The result? Millions of people are suffering from undeserved stress, trials, problems and heartache. There never seem to be a success in life. Bad days follow bad days. Terrible things seem to be constantly happening. There is constant stress, lack of joy, and broken relationships. Worry consumes time. Anger breaks friendships and life seems dreary and is not enjoyed to the fullest. Friends are lost. Life is a bore and often seems cruel. Does this describe you? If so, do not be discouraged. You can be different! Understand and apply the 90/10 principle. It will change your life.
What is the 90/10 Principle?
10% of life is made up of what happens to you. 90% of life is decided by how you react. What does this mean? We really have no control over 10% of what happens to us. We cannot stop the car from breaking down. The plane will be late arriving, which throws our whole schedule off.
A driver may cut us off in traffic. We have no control over this 10%. The other 90% is different. You determine the other 90%. How? By your reaction. You cannot control a red light, but you can control your reaction. Don't let people fool you; YOU can control how you react. Let's use an example.
You are eating breakfast with your family. Your daughter knocks over a cup of coffee onto your business shirt. You have no control over what just what happened. What happens when the next will be determined by how you react.
You curse. You harshly scold your daughter for knocking the cup over. She breaks down in tears. After scolding her, you turn to your spouse and criticize her for placing the cup too close to the edge of the table. A short verbal battle follows. You storm upstairs and change your shirt. Back downstairs, you find your daughter has been too busy crying to finish breakfast and get ready for school. She misses the bus. Your spouse must leave immediately for work. You rush to the car and drive your daughter to school. Because you are late, you drive 40 miles an hour in a 30 mph speed limit. After a 15-minute delay and throwing $60 traffic fine away, you arrive at school. Your daughter runs into the building without saying goodbye. After arriving at the office 20 minutes late, you find you forgot your briefcase. Your day has started terribly. As it continues, it seems to get worse and worse. You look forward to coming home, When you arrive home, you find a small wedge in your relationship with your spouse and daughter. Why? Because of how you reacted in the morning.
Why did you have a bad day?
A) Did the coffee cause it?
B) Did your daughter cause it?
C) Did the policeman cause it?
D) Did you cause it?
The answer is D.
You had no control over what happened with the coffee. How you reacted in those 5 seconds is what caused your bad day. Here is what could have and should have happened.
Coffee splashes over you. Your daughter is about to cry. You gently say, "It's ok honey, you just need, to be more careful next time." Grabbing a towel you rush upstairs. After grabbing a new shirt and your briefcase, you come back down in time to look through the window and see your child getting on the bus. She turns and waves. You arrive 5 minutes early and cheerfully greet the staff. Your boss comments on how good the day you are having.
Notice the difference? Two different scenarios. Both started the same. Both ended different. Why? Because of how you REACTED. You really do not have any control over 10% of what happens. The other 90% was determined by your reaction. Here are some ways to apply the 90/10 principle. If someone says something negative about you, don't be a sponge. Let the attack roll off like water on glass. You don't have to let the negative comment affect you! React properly and it will not ruin your day. A wrong reaction could result in losing a friend, being fired, getting stressed out etc.
How do you react if someone cuts you off in traffic? Do you lose your temper? Pound on the steering wheel? A friend of mine had the steering wheel fall off! Do you curse? Does your blood pressure skyrocket? Do you try and bump them? WHO CARES if you arrive ten seconds later at work? Why let the cars ruin your drive? Remember the 90/10 principle, and do not worry about it. You are told you lost your job. Why lose sleep and get irritated? It will work out. Use your worrying energy and time into finding another job.
The plane is late; it is going to mangle your schedule for the day. Why take out your frustration on the flight attendant? She has no control over what is going on. Use your time to study, get to know the other passenger. Why get stressed out? It will just make things worse.
Now you know the 90-10 principle. Apply it and you will be amazed at the results. You will lose nothing if you try it. The 90-10 principle is incredible. Very few know and apply this principle. The result? Millions of people are suffering from undeserved stress, trials, problems and heartache. There never seem to be a success in life. Bad days follow bad days. Terrible things seem to be constantly happening. There is constant stress, lack of joy, and broken relationships. Worry consumes time. Anger breaks friendships and life seems dreary and is not enjoyed to the fullest. Friends are lost. Life is a bore and often seems cruel. Does this describe you? If so, do not be discouraged. You can be different! Understand and apply the 90/10 principle. It will change your life.
Embarassing Moments
A radio station in the US recently ran a phone-in competition to find the most embarrassing moments in listeners' lives. The following are the final four place getters:
4th place
While in line at the bank one afternoon, my toddler decided to release some pent-up energy and started to run amuck. I was finally able to grab hold of her after receiving looks of disgust and annoyance from other patrons. I told her that if she didn't start behaving herself right now, she would be punished. To my horror, she looked me in the eye and said in a voice just as threatening, "If you don't let me go right now, I will tell Grandma that I saw you kissing Daddy's pee-pee last night!" The silence was deafening, after this enlightening exchange. Even the tellers stopped what they were doing! I mustered the last of my dignity and walked out of the bank with my daughter in tow. The last thing that I heard as the door closed behind me were the screams of laughter.
3rd place
It was the day before my 18th birthday. I was >living at home, but my parents had gone out for the evening, so I invited my girlfriend over for a romantic night alone. As we lay in bed after making love, we heard the telephone ringing downstairs. I suggested to my girlfriend that I give her a piggy-back ride to the phone. Since we didn't want to miss the call, we didn't have time to get dressed. When we got to the bottom of the stairs, the lights suddenly came on and a whole crowd of people yelled "surprise". My entire family, aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins and all of my friends were standing there! My girlfriend and I were frozen to the spot in a state of shock and embarrassment for what seemed like an eternity. Since then, no-one in my family has planned a surprise party again.
2nd place
A lady picked up several items at a discount store. When she finally got up to the checkout, she learned that one of the items had no price tag. Imagine her embarrassment when the checker got on the public address system and boomed out for all the store to hear. "PRICE CHECK ON LANE 13. TAMPAX, SUPERSIZE." That was bad enough, but somebody at the rear of the store apparently misunderstood the word "Tampax" for "Thumbtacks". In a very business-like tone, a voice boomed back over the public address system: DO YOU WANT THE KIND YOU PUSH IN WITH YOUR THUMB OR THE KIND YOU BELT IN WITH A HAMMER?"
AND THE WINNER IS?!
This one actually happened at a major US University in October last year. In a biology lecture, a professor was discussing the high glucose levels found in semen. A young female freshman, raised her hand and asked, "If I understand what you are saying, there is a lot of glucose in male semen, as in sugar?" "That's correct." responded the professor, going on to add some statistical data. Raising her hand again, the girl asked, "Then why doesn't it taste sweet?" After a stunned silence, the whole class burst out laughing, the poor girl turned bright red and as she realized exactly what she had inadvertenlty said (or rather implied), she picked up her books, and without a word and walked out of the class, and never returned. However, as she was going out of the door, the professor's reply was a classic. Totally straight-faced, he answered her question, "It doesn't taste sweet because the taste-buds for sweetness are on the tip of your tongue and not in the back of your
throat!"
4th place
While in line at the bank one afternoon, my toddler decided to release some pent-up energy and started to run amuck. I was finally able to grab hold of her after receiving looks of disgust and annoyance from other patrons. I told her that if she didn't start behaving herself right now, she would be punished. To my horror, she looked me in the eye and said in a voice just as threatening, "If you don't let me go right now, I will tell Grandma that I saw you kissing Daddy's pee-pee last night!" The silence was deafening, after this enlightening exchange. Even the tellers stopped what they were doing! I mustered the last of my dignity and walked out of the bank with my daughter in tow. The last thing that I heard as the door closed behind me were the screams of laughter.
3rd place
It was the day before my 18th birthday. I was >living at home, but my parents had gone out for the evening, so I invited my girlfriend over for a romantic night alone. As we lay in bed after making love, we heard the telephone ringing downstairs. I suggested to my girlfriend that I give her a piggy-back ride to the phone. Since we didn't want to miss the call, we didn't have time to get dressed. When we got to the bottom of the stairs, the lights suddenly came on and a whole crowd of people yelled "surprise". My entire family, aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins and all of my friends were standing there! My girlfriend and I were frozen to the spot in a state of shock and embarrassment for what seemed like an eternity. Since then, no-one in my family has planned a surprise party again.
2nd place
A lady picked up several items at a discount store. When she finally got up to the checkout, she learned that one of the items had no price tag. Imagine her embarrassment when the checker got on the public address system and boomed out for all the store to hear. "PRICE CHECK ON LANE 13. TAMPAX, SUPERSIZE." That was bad enough, but somebody at the rear of the store apparently misunderstood the word "Tampax" for "Thumbtacks". In a very business-like tone, a voice boomed back over the public address system: DO YOU WANT THE KIND YOU PUSH IN WITH YOUR THUMB OR THE KIND YOU BELT IN WITH A HAMMER?"
AND THE WINNER IS?!
This one actually happened at a major US University in October last year. In a biology lecture, a professor was discussing the high glucose levels found in semen. A young female freshman, raised her hand and asked, "If I understand what you are saying, there is a lot of glucose in male semen, as in sugar?" "That's correct." responded the professor, going on to add some statistical data. Raising her hand again, the girl asked, "Then why doesn't it taste sweet?" After a stunned silence, the whole class burst out laughing, the poor girl turned bright red and as she realized exactly what she had inadvertenlty said (or rather implied), she picked up her books, and without a word and walked out of the class, and never returned. However, as she was going out of the door, the professor's reply was a classic. Totally straight-faced, he answered her question, "It doesn't taste sweet because the taste-buds for sweetness are on the tip of your tongue and not in the back of your
throat!"
Wrods
Aoccdrnig to a rseearch at an Elingsh uinervtisy,it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht frist and lsat ltteer is at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae we do not raed ervey lteter by it slef but the wrod as a wlohe.
Love Letter
Dear Joe,
I'm writing about Ben. We're in our twenties and both work in Makati. In fact, we used to be officemates. I've known him for almost two years and all the time, I've been in love with him, although we are just friends and he has a girlfriend he intends to marry.
Joe, I can't help falling in love with him. He's perfect; responsible, intelligent, resourceful, thoughful, loving, sweet,caring, upright, kind, family-oriented and God-fearing individual.His good looks is just an added bonus. I can't believe such a man still exists today and I will forever be thankful for his friendship. It pains me to be soo in-love with him because he and his girlfriend are perfect for each other and are so happy being together. I don't know if he's aware of my feelings for him. But winning his heart, I think, is out of the question.
His girlfriend is too precious for him. Losing her would truly hurt him, and I don't want to see him in pain. I know, however, that a part of me wishes he would reciprocate my love. But he's just too good for me. He deserves someone better, like the girl he has now. Knowing he's happy with her is enough consolation for me. I want this happiness even if it would mean my own despair. Goodness knows how much I'm suffering. Writing this letter alone is already torture. I've been trying very hard to forget him. I've done ways I know to free myself. Pero ang kulit talaga ng puso ko, ayaw sumunod.
Joe, I haven't seen or talked with him for a long time and I thought this absence would somehow cool down the feeling, but it hasn't. I don't want to miss him, but I do miss him terribly. How can I forget him? Whenever I see a place, a thing or a situation, my mind automatically associates it with him. His memories occupy most of my waking and sleeping hours. His face pops into my mind in the middle of my lunch, when I'm talking with my friends, cleaning our house or just doing something which has nothing to remind me of him. Odd, but true.
I'm not bitter Joe, I don't blame myself, him nor God for this situation. As a matter of fact, I'm thankful, painfully odd as it is, this situation has made me the mature person I am now. But I can't help asking myself why should a woman, or a man for that matter, fall for another when they are not meant for each other? Why Joe? Why?
You know Joe, whenever I pray, I always ask God to help me let go of this love. I just want to feel the same way he feels for me - as a friend and nothing more. I know I can get through this because I believe that God wouldn't give me something He knows I couldn't handle. Someday I would be able to smile again without being hurt when I remember him. God has His reason for all of these and until I know the reasons, I want to hear words from you. Please Joe, help me.
Sincerely,
Robert
P.S. Attached is my picture.
~~~
Dear Robert,
Lintek kang bakla ka pinagod mo pa ako sa pagbasa ng letter mo malandi. Tigilan mo na ang ilusyon mo, hindi mo kayang ibigay kay Ben ang kayang ibigay ng girlfriend niya. Sa susunod na sumulat ka pa sa akin ay papatayin kita!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
-Joe D'Mango
I'm writing about Ben. We're in our twenties and both work in Makati. In fact, we used to be officemates. I've known him for almost two years and all the time, I've been in love with him, although we are just friends and he has a girlfriend he intends to marry.
Joe, I can't help falling in love with him. He's perfect; responsible, intelligent, resourceful, thoughful, loving, sweet,caring, upright, kind, family-oriented and God-fearing individual.His good looks is just an added bonus. I can't believe such a man still exists today and I will forever be thankful for his friendship. It pains me to be soo in-love with him because he and his girlfriend are perfect for each other and are so happy being together. I don't know if he's aware of my feelings for him. But winning his heart, I think, is out of the question.
His girlfriend is too precious for him. Losing her would truly hurt him, and I don't want to see him in pain. I know, however, that a part of me wishes he would reciprocate my love. But he's just too good for me. He deserves someone better, like the girl he has now. Knowing he's happy with her is enough consolation for me. I want this happiness even if it would mean my own despair. Goodness knows how much I'm suffering. Writing this letter alone is already torture. I've been trying very hard to forget him. I've done ways I know to free myself. Pero ang kulit talaga ng puso ko, ayaw sumunod.
Joe, I haven't seen or talked with him for a long time and I thought this absence would somehow cool down the feeling, but it hasn't. I don't want to miss him, but I do miss him terribly. How can I forget him? Whenever I see a place, a thing or a situation, my mind automatically associates it with him. His memories occupy most of my waking and sleeping hours. His face pops into my mind in the middle of my lunch, when I'm talking with my friends, cleaning our house or just doing something which has nothing to remind me of him. Odd, but true.
I'm not bitter Joe, I don't blame myself, him nor God for this situation. As a matter of fact, I'm thankful, painfully odd as it is, this situation has made me the mature person I am now. But I can't help asking myself why should a woman, or a man for that matter, fall for another when they are not meant for each other? Why Joe? Why?
You know Joe, whenever I pray, I always ask God to help me let go of this love. I just want to feel the same way he feels for me - as a friend and nothing more. I know I can get through this because I believe that God wouldn't give me something He knows I couldn't handle. Someday I would be able to smile again without being hurt when I remember him. God has His reason for all of these and until I know the reasons, I want to hear words from you. Please Joe, help me.
Sincerely,
Robert
P.S. Attached is my picture.
~~~
Dear Robert,
Lintek kang bakla ka pinagod mo pa ako sa pagbasa ng letter mo malandi. Tigilan mo na ang ilusyon mo, hindi mo kayang ibigay kay Ben ang kayang ibigay ng girlfriend niya. Sa susunod na sumulat ka pa sa akin ay papatayin kita!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
-Joe D'Mango
Will You Pick the Flower for Me?
My husband is an Engineer by profession, I love him for his steady nature, and I love the warm feeling when I lean against his broad shoulders. Three years of courtship and now, two years into marriage, I would have to admit, that I am getting tired of it. The reasons of me loving him before, has now transformed into the cause of all my restlessness. I am a sentimental woman and extremely sensitive when it comes to a relationship and my feelings. I yearn for the romantic moments, like a little girl yearning for candy. My husband is my complete opposite. His lack of sensitivity, and the inability of bringing romantic moments into our marriage has disheartened me about love. One day, I finally decided to tell him my decision, that I wanted a divorce.
"Why?" he asked, shocked.
"I am tired, there are no reasons for everything in the world!" I answered.
He kept silent the whole night, seems to be in deep thought with a lighted cigarette at all times
My feeling of disappointment only increased, here was a man who can't even express his predicament, what else can I hope from him? And finally he asked me:" What can I do to change your mind?" Somebody said it right, it's hard to change a person's personality, and I guess, I have started losing faith in him.
Looking deep into his eyes I slowly answered : "Here is the question, if you can answer and convince my heart, I will change my mind, Let's say, I want a flower located on the face of a mountain cliff, and we both are sure that picking the flower will cause your death, will you do it for me?" He said :" I will give you your answer tomorrow." My hopes just sank by listening to his response.
I woke up the next morning to find him gone, and saw a piece of paper with his scratchy handwriting, underneath a milk glass, on the dining table near the front door, that goes:
"My dear, I would not pick that flower for you, but please allow me to explain the reasons further." This first line was already breaking my heart. I continued reading. "When you use the computer you always mess up the Software programs, and you cry in front of the screen, I have to save my fingers so that I can help to restore the programs.
"You always leave the house keys behind, thus I have to save my legs to rush home to open the door for you. You love traveling but always lose your way in a new city, I have to save my eyes to show you the way.
"You always have the cramps whenever your 'good friend' approaches every month, I have to save my palms so that I can calm the cramps in your tummy. You like to stay indoors, and I worry that you will be infected by infantile autism. I have to save my mouth to tell you jokes and stories to cure your boredom.
"You always stare at the computer, and that will do nothing good for your eyes, I have to save my eyes so that when we grow old, I can help to clip your nails,and help to remove those annoying white hairs. So I can also hold your hand while strolling down the beach, as you enjoy the sunshine and the beautiful sand... and tell you the colour of flowers, just like the color of the glow on your young face...
"Thus, my dear, unless I am sure that there is someone who loves you more than I do... I could not pick that flower yet, and die.. " My tears fell on the letter, and blurred the ink of his handwriting. I continued on reading.
"Now, that you have finished reading my answer, if you are satisfied, please open the front door for I am standing outside bringing your favorite bread and fresh milk."
I rushed to pull open the door, and saw his anxious face, clutching tightly with his hands, the milk bottle and loaf of bread. Now I am very sure that no one will ever love me as much as he does, and I have decided to leave the flower alone.
That's life, and love. When one is surrounded by love, the feeling of excitement fades away, and one tends to ignore the true love that lies in between the peace and dullness. Love shows up in all forms, even very small and cheeky forms, it has never been a model, it could be the most dull and boring form. Flowers, and romantic moments are only used and appear on the surface of the relationship. Under all this, the pillar of true love stands... and that's our life.
"Why?" he asked, shocked.
"I am tired, there are no reasons for everything in the world!" I answered.
He kept silent the whole night, seems to be in deep thought with a lighted cigarette at all times
My feeling of disappointment only increased, here was a man who can't even express his predicament, what else can I hope from him? And finally he asked me:" What can I do to change your mind?" Somebody said it right, it's hard to change a person's personality, and I guess, I have started losing faith in him.
Looking deep into his eyes I slowly answered : "Here is the question, if you can answer and convince my heart, I will change my mind, Let's say, I want a flower located on the face of a mountain cliff, and we both are sure that picking the flower will cause your death, will you do it for me?" He said :" I will give you your answer tomorrow." My hopes just sank by listening to his response.
I woke up the next morning to find him gone, and saw a piece of paper with his scratchy handwriting, underneath a milk glass, on the dining table near the front door, that goes:
"My dear, I would not pick that flower for you, but please allow me to explain the reasons further." This first line was already breaking my heart. I continued reading. "When you use the computer you always mess up the Software programs, and you cry in front of the screen, I have to save my fingers so that I can help to restore the programs.
"You always leave the house keys behind, thus I have to save my legs to rush home to open the door for you. You love traveling but always lose your way in a new city, I have to save my eyes to show you the way.
"You always have the cramps whenever your 'good friend' approaches every month, I have to save my palms so that I can calm the cramps in your tummy. You like to stay indoors, and I worry that you will be infected by infantile autism. I have to save my mouth to tell you jokes and stories to cure your boredom.
"You always stare at the computer, and that will do nothing good for your eyes, I have to save my eyes so that when we grow old, I can help to clip your nails,and help to remove those annoying white hairs. So I can also hold your hand while strolling down the beach, as you enjoy the sunshine and the beautiful sand... and tell you the colour of flowers, just like the color of the glow on your young face...
"Thus, my dear, unless I am sure that there is someone who loves you more than I do... I could not pick that flower yet, and die.. " My tears fell on the letter, and blurred the ink of his handwriting. I continued on reading.
"Now, that you have finished reading my answer, if you are satisfied, please open the front door for I am standing outside bringing your favorite bread and fresh milk."
I rushed to pull open the door, and saw his anxious face, clutching tightly with his hands, the milk bottle and loaf of bread. Now I am very sure that no one will ever love me as much as he does, and I have decided to leave the flower alone.
That's life, and love. When one is surrounded by love, the feeling of excitement fades away, and one tends to ignore the true love that lies in between the peace and dullness. Love shows up in all forms, even very small and cheeky forms, it has never been a model, it could be the most dull and boring form. Flowers, and romantic moments are only used and appear on the surface of the relationship. Under all this, the pillar of true love stands... and that's our life.
Misheard Lyrics
The Greatest Love of All by Whitney Houston
I decided long ago, never to walk in Edu Manzano
(anyone's shadow)
Cry by Mandy Moore
A Walk to remember... it was late afternoon!
(I'll always)
All My Life by K-ci and Jojo
Supposed to be you're like my mother, supposed to be you're like my sister
(you're close to me)
Leaving on a Jetplane
So kiss me and smaffle me...
(so kiss me and smile for me...)
My Boo by Usher & Alicia
And you were my beyblade... It started when we were younger you were nine
(baby, mine)
If I Ain't Got You by Alicia Keys
Some people want tambourines
(diamond rings)
Baby One More Time by Britney Spears
My only nest is killing me... and I........
(loneliness)
Thumbthumping by Chumbawumba
I get knocked down by an elephant, my mommas's gonna bring me down...
(but I get up again, you're never)
Crush by Jennifer Paige -
I-splash, a little crush.."
(it's just)
Californication by Red Hot
Viva Californication...
(Dream of)
No Scrubs by TLC
A scrub is a guy who thinks he's fine but is also known as a bus stop
(buster)
Waterfalls by TLC
Don't go Jason waterfalls
(chasin')
Your Body is a Wonderland by John Mayer -
You're Alice in wonderland
(your body is)
Baa Baa Black Sheep
Baa baa black sheep, heavy on the road...
(have you any wool)
Wag Na Wag Mong Sasabihin by Kitchie Nadal:
Maaaaaaaaaag... magdamag mong sasabihin...
(wag na wag)
On Bended Knee by Boyz II Men
Oh God give me the reason, I'm down, abandon me
(on bended knee)
Zephyr Song by Red Hot
Fly away on my cellphone, I feel it more than ever
(zephyr)
Anima Christi
Soul of Christ sat beside me
(sanctify)
Nothing's Gonna Change My Love for You by Glenn Medeiros
Nothing's gonna change my love for you... you know naman my love how much I love you
(ought to know by now)
I decided long ago, never to walk in Edu Manzano
(anyone's shadow)
Cry by Mandy Moore
A Walk to remember... it was late afternoon!
(I'll always)
All My Life by K-ci and Jojo
Supposed to be you're like my mother, supposed to be you're like my sister
(you're close to me)
Leaving on a Jetplane
So kiss me and smaffle me...
(so kiss me and smile for me...)
My Boo by Usher & Alicia
And you were my beyblade... It started when we were younger you were nine
(baby, mine)
If I Ain't Got You by Alicia Keys
Some people want tambourines
(diamond rings)
Baby One More Time by Britney Spears
My only nest is killing me... and I........
(loneliness)
Thumbthumping by Chumbawumba
I get knocked down by an elephant, my mommas's gonna bring me down...
(but I get up again, you're never)
Crush by Jennifer Paige -
I-splash, a little crush.."
(it's just)
Californication by Red Hot
Viva Californication...
(Dream of)
No Scrubs by TLC
A scrub is a guy who thinks he's fine but is also known as a bus stop
(buster)
Waterfalls by TLC
Don't go Jason waterfalls
(chasin')
Your Body is a Wonderland by John Mayer -
You're Alice in wonderland
(your body is)
Baa Baa Black Sheep
Baa baa black sheep, heavy on the road...
(have you any wool)
Wag Na Wag Mong Sasabihin by Kitchie Nadal:
Maaaaaaaaaag... magdamag mong sasabihin...
(wag na wag)
On Bended Knee by Boyz II Men
Oh God give me the reason, I'm down, abandon me
(on bended knee)
Zephyr Song by Red Hot
Fly away on my cellphone, I feel it more than ever
(zephyr)
Anima Christi
Soul of Christ sat beside me
(sanctify)
Nothing's Gonna Change My Love for You by Glenn Medeiros
Nothing's gonna change my love for you... you know naman my love how much I love you
(ought to know by now)
Friday, December 26, 2008
A Christmas Dinner
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Christmas Cheer
My work calls for me to venture to the farthest reaches of the world, but one of my most memorable encounters occurred while traveling close to home.
A few years ago, a group of my far-flung friends decided to gather in Connecticut to celebrate Christmas. I was to buy all the soft drinks, champagne and wine, and a doctor friend would get the turkey and trimmings.
On our way from New York City to Connecticut, my friend and I stopped in for a Christmas Eve party in upstate New York. As we left, I ran into the doctor and casually asked him what size bird he had bought. His eyes widened with surprise—he had bought all the drinks.
So here we were on a snowy Christmas Eve, with sufficient drinks to serve a cruise ship but not one piece of food for twelve hungry people! We searched around, but every supermarket was closed. Finally, just before midnight, we found ourselves at a gas station quick-food shop.
The manager was willing to sell us cold sandwiches. Other than potato chips, cheese and crackers, he didn’t have much else. I was very agitated and disappointed. It was going to be a rather miserable Christmas dinner. The only bright spot was that he did have two cans of cranberry jelly!
In the midst of my panic, an elderly lady stepped from behind one of the aisles.
“I couldn’t help overhearing your dilemma,” she said, “If you follow me home, I would happily give you our dinner. We have plenty of turkey, potatoes, yams, pumpkins and vegetables.”
“Oh no, we couldn’t do that!” I replied.
“But you see, we no longer need it,” she explained, “Earlier today we managed to get a flight to Jamaica—to see our family down there, for the holidays.”
We couldn’t say no to such kindness. We thanked her and followed her car. The journey seemed endless as we meandered through back roads and dimly lit streets. Eventually, we reached this kind woman’s house.
We followed her in and, sure enough, she removed a turkey and all the trimmings from the fridge. Despite our attempt to reimburse her for her generosity, she refused our money.
“This is just meant to be,” she said. “I don’t need it anymore—and you do.”
So we accepted her gift, asked her for her name and address, and went on our way.
The next day we impressed and surprised our friends by presenting them with a complete feast and telling them our amazing story about the old lady’s help. Despite the last-minute scramble, Christmas dinner turned out to be a great success.
Before we left Connecticut, we went to a department store, picked out a gift and drove to the lady’s home to leave our small token of appreciation.
We searched and searched but we couldn’t find her place. We couldn’t find the street address on any maps. The name she had given us wasn’t listed anywhere. Baffled, we questioned several local store owners, yet no one knew of the elderly lady. Even the gas station manager told us that he had never seen her before. Every effort we made to locate our Christmas angel failed.
As I returned home, I pondered our bizarre encounter with this beneficent woman. Who was this lady who had appeared just in time to help out two desperate strangers, only to disappear with the night?
Years later, when I look back upon that particular holiday season, I recall the joy of gathering with friends from across the world and an amazing little old lady whose generosity embodied the very meaning of the Christmas spirit.
My work calls for me to venture to the farthest reaches of the world, but one of my most memorable encounters occurred while traveling close to home.
A few years ago, a group of my far-flung friends decided to gather in Connecticut to celebrate Christmas. I was to buy all the soft drinks, champagne and wine, and a doctor friend would get the turkey and trimmings.
On our way from New York City to Connecticut, my friend and I stopped in for a Christmas Eve party in upstate New York. As we left, I ran into the doctor and casually asked him what size bird he had bought. His eyes widened with surprise—he had bought all the drinks.
So here we were on a snowy Christmas Eve, with sufficient drinks to serve a cruise ship but not one piece of food for twelve hungry people! We searched around, but every supermarket was closed. Finally, just before midnight, we found ourselves at a gas station quick-food shop.
The manager was willing to sell us cold sandwiches. Other than potato chips, cheese and crackers, he didn’t have much else. I was very agitated and disappointed. It was going to be a rather miserable Christmas dinner. The only bright spot was that he did have two cans of cranberry jelly!
In the midst of my panic, an elderly lady stepped from behind one of the aisles.
“I couldn’t help overhearing your dilemma,” she said, “If you follow me home, I would happily give you our dinner. We have plenty of turkey, potatoes, yams, pumpkins and vegetables.”
“Oh no, we couldn’t do that!” I replied.
“But you see, we no longer need it,” she explained, “Earlier today we managed to get a flight to Jamaica—to see our family down there, for the holidays.”
We couldn’t say no to such kindness. We thanked her and followed her car. The journey seemed endless as we meandered through back roads and dimly lit streets. Eventually, we reached this kind woman’s house.
We followed her in and, sure enough, she removed a turkey and all the trimmings from the fridge. Despite our attempt to reimburse her for her generosity, she refused our money.
“This is just meant to be,” she said. “I don’t need it anymore—and you do.”
So we accepted her gift, asked her for her name and address, and went on our way.
The next day we impressed and surprised our friends by presenting them with a complete feast and telling them our amazing story about the old lady’s help. Despite the last-minute scramble, Christmas dinner turned out to be a great success.
Before we left Connecticut, we went to a department store, picked out a gift and drove to the lady’s home to leave our small token of appreciation.
We searched and searched but we couldn’t find her place. We couldn’t find the street address on any maps. The name she had given us wasn’t listed anywhere. Baffled, we questioned several local store owners, yet no one knew of the elderly lady. Even the gas station manager told us that he had never seen her before. Every effort we made to locate our Christmas angel failed.
As I returned home, I pondered our bizarre encounter with this beneficent woman. Who was this lady who had appeared just in time to help out two desperate strangers, only to disappear with the night?
Years later, when I look back upon that particular holiday season, I recall the joy of gathering with friends from across the world and an amazing little old lady whose generosity embodied the very meaning of the Christmas spirit.
A Christmas Gift
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Christmas Cheer
It was a half-hour before midnight on December 24th. I was a ticket-counter supervisor for a major airline and was looking forward to the end of my shift at Stapleton International Airport in Denver, Colorado. My wife was waiting up for me so we could exchange gifts, as was our tradition on Christmas Eve.
A very frantic and worried gentleman approached me. He asked how he could get home to Cheyenne, Wyoming. He had just arrived from Philadelphia and missed his connecting flight. I pointed him to the ground transportation area. There he could either hire a limousine or rent a car from the various agencies.
He told me that it was extremely important for him to be in Cheyenne for Christmas. I wished him well, and he went on his way. I called my wife to let her know I would be home shortly.
About fifteen minutes later, the same gentleman returned and informed me that all the buses were full and there were no cars or limousines available. Again he asked if I had any suggestions. The most logical option was to offer him a room in a hotel for the night and get him on the first flight to Cheyenne in the morning. When I suggested this, tears starting running down his cheeks.
He explained that his son was seventeen years old and weighed forty pounds. He had spina bifida and was not expected to live another year. He expected that this would likely be the last Christmas with his son and the thought that he would not be there to greet him on Christmas morning was unbearable.
“What’s your name, Sir?” I asked.
“Harris, Tom Harris,” he replied, his face filled with desperation.
I contacted all of the ground transportation providers and the car rental agencies. Nothing. What was I to do? There was no other choice.
I told Tom to go to the claim area, collect his luggage and wait for me. I called my wife Kathy and told her not to wait up for me. I was driving to Cheyenne, and I would explain everything in the morning. Something had come up that was more important than our exchanging gifts on Christmas Eve.
The drive to Cheyenne was quiet, thoughtful. Tom offered to compensate me for my time and the fuel. I appreciated his gesture, but it wasn’t necessary.
We arrived at the airport in Cheyenne around 2:30 A.M. I helped Tom unload his luggage and wished him a Merry Christmas. His wife was meeting him and had not yet arrived.
We shook hands. As I got into my car, I looked back at him. He was the only customer in the airport. I noticed how peaceful and quiet this was compared to the hectic, crowded airport in Denver. Pulling away, I waved goodbye and he waved back. He looked tired and relieved. I wondered how long he would have to wait for his wife to pick him up. She was driving quite a distance.
Kathy was waiting up for me. Before we went to bed, we traded gifts and then our conversation concerned Tom. We imagined his family on Christmas morning as Tom and his wife watched their son open his last Christmas presents. For Kathy and me, there was no question that driving Tom to Cheyenne was the only option. She would have done the same thing.
A couple of days later, I received a Christmas card with a picture of Tom and his family. In it, Tom thanked me for the special gift he had received that holiday season, but I knew the best gift was mine.
It was a half-hour before midnight on December 24th. I was a ticket-counter supervisor for a major airline and was looking forward to the end of my shift at Stapleton International Airport in Denver, Colorado. My wife was waiting up for me so we could exchange gifts, as was our tradition on Christmas Eve.
A very frantic and worried gentleman approached me. He asked how he could get home to Cheyenne, Wyoming. He had just arrived from Philadelphia and missed his connecting flight. I pointed him to the ground transportation area. There he could either hire a limousine or rent a car from the various agencies.
He told me that it was extremely important for him to be in Cheyenne for Christmas. I wished him well, and he went on his way. I called my wife to let her know I would be home shortly.
About fifteen minutes later, the same gentleman returned and informed me that all the buses were full and there were no cars or limousines available. Again he asked if I had any suggestions. The most logical option was to offer him a room in a hotel for the night and get him on the first flight to Cheyenne in the morning. When I suggested this, tears starting running down his cheeks.
He explained that his son was seventeen years old and weighed forty pounds. He had spina bifida and was not expected to live another year. He expected that this would likely be the last Christmas with his son and the thought that he would not be there to greet him on Christmas morning was unbearable.
“What’s your name, Sir?” I asked.
“Harris, Tom Harris,” he replied, his face filled with desperation.
I contacted all of the ground transportation providers and the car rental agencies. Nothing. What was I to do? There was no other choice.
I told Tom to go to the claim area, collect his luggage and wait for me. I called my wife Kathy and told her not to wait up for me. I was driving to Cheyenne, and I would explain everything in the morning. Something had come up that was more important than our exchanging gifts on Christmas Eve.
The drive to Cheyenne was quiet, thoughtful. Tom offered to compensate me for my time and the fuel. I appreciated his gesture, but it wasn’t necessary.
We arrived at the airport in Cheyenne around 2:30 A.M. I helped Tom unload his luggage and wished him a Merry Christmas. His wife was meeting him and had not yet arrived.
We shook hands. As I got into my car, I looked back at him. He was the only customer in the airport. I noticed how peaceful and quiet this was compared to the hectic, crowded airport in Denver. Pulling away, I waved goodbye and he waved back. He looked tired and relieved. I wondered how long he would have to wait for his wife to pick him up. She was driving quite a distance.
Kathy was waiting up for me. Before we went to bed, we traded gifts and then our conversation concerned Tom. We imagined his family on Christmas morning as Tom and his wife watched their son open his last Christmas presents. For Kathy and me, there was no question that driving Tom to Cheyenne was the only option. She would have done the same thing.
A couple of days later, I received a Christmas card with a picture of Tom and his family. In it, Tom thanked me for the special gift he had received that holiday season, but I knew the best gift was mine.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Ugly
author unknown
Everyone in the apartment complex I lived in knew who Ugly was. Ugly was the resident tomcat. Ugly loved three things in this world: fighting, eating garbage, and shall we say, love.
The combination of these things combined with a life spent outside had their effect on Ugly. To start with, he had only one eye, and where the other should have been was a gaping hole. He was also missing his ear on the same side, his left foot has appeared to have been badly broken at one time, and had healed at an unnatural angle, making him look like he was always turning the corner.
His tail has long age been lost, leaving only the smallest stub, which he would constantly jerk and twitch. Ugly would have been a dark gray tabby striped-type, except for the sores covering his head, neck, and even his shoulders with thick, yellowing scabs. Every time someone saw Ugly there was the same reaction. “That’s one UGLY cat!!”
All the children were warned not to touch him, the adults threw rocks at him, hosed him down, squirted him when he tried to come in their homes, or shut his paws in the door when he would not leave. Ugly always had the same reaction. If you turned the hose on him, he would stand there, getting soaked until you gave up and quit. If you threw things at him, he would curl his lanky body around feet in forgiveness.
Whenever he spied children, he would come running meowing frantically and bump his head against their hands, begging for their love. If ever someone picked him up he would immediately begin suckling on your shirt, earrings, whatever he could find.
One day Ugly shared his love with the neighbor’s huskies. They did not respond kindly, and Ugly was badly mauled. From my apartment I could hear his screams, and I tried to rush to his aid. By the time I got to where he was laying, it was apparent Ugly’s sad life was almost at an end.
Ugly lay in a wet circle, his back legs and lower back twisted grossly out of shape, a gaping tear in the white strip of fur that ran down his front. As I picked him up and tried to carry him home I could hear him wheezing and gasping, and could feel him struggling. “I must be hurting him terribly,” I thought. Then I felt a familiar tugging, sucking sensation on my ear.
Ugly, in so much pain, suffering and obviously dying was trying to suckle my ear. I pulled him closer to me, and he bumped the palm of my hand with his head, then he turned his one golden eye towards me, and I could hear the distinct sound of purring. Even in the greatest pain, that ugly battled scarred cat was asking only for a little affection, perhaps some compassion.
At that moment I thought Ugly was the most beautiful, loving creature I had ever seen. Never once did he try to bite or scratch me, or even try to get away from me, or struggle in any way. Ugly just looked up at me completely trusting in me to relieve his pain.
Ugly died in my arms before I could get inside, but I sat and held him for a long time afterwards, thinking about how one scarred, deformed little stray could so alter my opinion about what it means to have true pureness of spirit, to love so totally and truly.
Ugly taught me more about giving and compassion than a thousand books, lectures, or talk show specials ever could, and for that I will always be thankful. He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside, and it was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply.
It was time to give my all to those I cared for. Many people want to be richer, more successful, well liked, beautiful, but for me, I will always try to be like Ugly.
Everyone in the apartment complex I lived in knew who Ugly was. Ugly was the resident tomcat. Ugly loved three things in this world: fighting, eating garbage, and shall we say, love.
The combination of these things combined with a life spent outside had their effect on Ugly. To start with, he had only one eye, and where the other should have been was a gaping hole. He was also missing his ear on the same side, his left foot has appeared to have been badly broken at one time, and had healed at an unnatural angle, making him look like he was always turning the corner.
His tail has long age been lost, leaving only the smallest stub, which he would constantly jerk and twitch. Ugly would have been a dark gray tabby striped-type, except for the sores covering his head, neck, and even his shoulders with thick, yellowing scabs. Every time someone saw Ugly there was the same reaction. “That’s one UGLY cat!!”
All the children were warned not to touch him, the adults threw rocks at him, hosed him down, squirted him when he tried to come in their homes, or shut his paws in the door when he would not leave. Ugly always had the same reaction. If you turned the hose on him, he would stand there, getting soaked until you gave up and quit. If you threw things at him, he would curl his lanky body around feet in forgiveness.
Whenever he spied children, he would come running meowing frantically and bump his head against their hands, begging for their love. If ever someone picked him up he would immediately begin suckling on your shirt, earrings, whatever he could find.
One day Ugly shared his love with the neighbor’s huskies. They did not respond kindly, and Ugly was badly mauled. From my apartment I could hear his screams, and I tried to rush to his aid. By the time I got to where he was laying, it was apparent Ugly’s sad life was almost at an end.
Ugly lay in a wet circle, his back legs and lower back twisted grossly out of shape, a gaping tear in the white strip of fur that ran down his front. As I picked him up and tried to carry him home I could hear him wheezing and gasping, and could feel him struggling. “I must be hurting him terribly,” I thought. Then I felt a familiar tugging, sucking sensation on my ear.
Ugly, in so much pain, suffering and obviously dying was trying to suckle my ear. I pulled him closer to me, and he bumped the palm of my hand with his head, then he turned his one golden eye towards me, and I could hear the distinct sound of purring. Even in the greatest pain, that ugly battled scarred cat was asking only for a little affection, perhaps some compassion.
At that moment I thought Ugly was the most beautiful, loving creature I had ever seen. Never once did he try to bite or scratch me, or even try to get away from me, or struggle in any way. Ugly just looked up at me completely trusting in me to relieve his pain.
Ugly died in my arms before I could get inside, but I sat and held him for a long time afterwards, thinking about how one scarred, deformed little stray could so alter my opinion about what it means to have true pureness of spirit, to love so totally and truly.
Ugly taught me more about giving and compassion than a thousand books, lectures, or talk show specials ever could, and for that I will always be thankful. He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside, and it was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply.
It was time to give my all to those I cared for. Many people want to be richer, more successful, well liked, beautiful, but for me, I will always try to be like Ugly.
Just Five More Minutes
author unknown
While at the park one day, a woman sat down next to a man on a bench near a playground.
“That’s my son over there,” she said, pointing to a little boy in a red sweater who was gliding down the slide.
“He’s a fine looking boy” the man said. “That’s my daughter on the bike in the white dress.”
Then, looking at his watch, he called to his daughter. “What do you say we go, Melissa?”
Melissa pleaded, “Just five more minutes, Dad. Please? Just five more minutes.”
The man nodded and Melissa continued to ride her bike to her heart’s content. Minutes passed and the father stood and called again to his daughter. “Time to go now?”
Again Melissa pleaded, “Five more minutes, Dad. Just five more minutes.”
The man smiled and said, “OK.”
“My, you certainly are a patient father,” the woman responded.
The man smiled and then said, “Her older brother Tommy was killed by a drunk driver last year while he was riding his bike near here. I never spent much time with Tommy and now I’d give anything for just five more minutes with him. I’ve vowed not to make the same mistake with Melissa.
She thinks she has five more minutes to ride her bike. The truth is, I get five more minutes to watch her play.”
While at the park one day, a woman sat down next to a man on a bench near a playground.
“That’s my son over there,” she said, pointing to a little boy in a red sweater who was gliding down the slide.
“He’s a fine looking boy” the man said. “That’s my daughter on the bike in the white dress.”
Then, looking at his watch, he called to his daughter. “What do you say we go, Melissa?”
Melissa pleaded, “Just five more minutes, Dad. Please? Just five more minutes.”
The man nodded and Melissa continued to ride her bike to her heart’s content. Minutes passed and the father stood and called again to his daughter. “Time to go now?”
Again Melissa pleaded, “Five more minutes, Dad. Just five more minutes.”
The man smiled and said, “OK.”
“My, you certainly are a patient father,” the woman responded.
The man smiled and then said, “Her older brother Tommy was killed by a drunk driver last year while he was riding his bike near here. I never spent much time with Tommy and now I’d give anything for just five more minutes with him. I’ve vowed not to make the same mistake with Melissa.
She thinks she has five more minutes to ride her bike. The truth is, I get five more minutes to watch her play.”
On Friendship
"A friend is someone who is there for you when he'd rather be somewhere else."
- Anonymous
- Anonymous
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Wrong Funeral
Consumed by my loss, I didn't notice the hardness of the pew where I sat. I was at the funeral of my dearest friend - my mother. She finally had lost her long battle with cancer. The hurt was so intense; I found it hard to breathe at times. Always supportive, Mother clapped loudest at my school plays, held a box of tissues while listening to my first heartbreak, comforted me at my father's death, encouraged me in college, and prayed for me my entire life.
When mother's illness was diagnosed, my sister had a new baby and my brother had recently married his childhood sweetheart, so it fell on me, the 27-year-old middle child without entanglements, to take care of her. I counted it an honor. "What now, Lord?" I asked sitting in church. My life stretched out before me as an empty abyss.
My brother sat stoically with his face toward the cross while clutching his wife's hand. My sister sat slumped against her husband's shoulder, his arms around her as she cradled their child. All so deeply grieving, no one noticed I sat alone.
My place had been with our mother, preparing her meals, helping her walk, taking her to the doctor, seeing to her medication, reading the Bible together. Now she was with the Lord. My work was finished, and I was alone.
I heard a door open and slam shut at the back of the church. Quick footsteps hurried along the carpeted floor. An exasperated young man looked around briefly and then sat next to me. He folded his hands and placed them on his lap. His eyes were brimming with tears. He began to sniffle. "I'm late," he explained, though no explanation was necessary.
After several eulogies, he leaned over and commented, "Why do they keep calling Mary by the name of 'Margaret?'"
"Because, that was her name, Margaret. Never Mary, no one called her 'Mary." I whispered. I wondered why this person couldn't have sat on the other side of the church He interrupted my grieving with his tears and fidgeting. Who was this stranger anyway?
"No, that isn't correct," he insisted, as several people glanced over at us whispering, "Her name is Mary, Mary Peters."
"That isn't who this is."
"Isn't this the Lutheran church?"
"No, the Lutheran church is across the street."
"Oh."
"I believe you're at the wrong funeral, Sir."
The solemnest of the occasion mixed with the realization of the man's mistake bubbled up inside me and came out as laughter. I cupped my hands over my face, hoping it would be interpreted as sobs.
The creaking pew gave me away. Sharp looks from other mourners only made the situation seem more hilarious.
I peeked at the bewildered, misguided man seated beside me. He was laughing too, as he glanced around, deciding it was too late for an uneventful exit. I imagined Mother laughing.
At the final "Amen," we darted out a door and into the parking lot. "I do believe we'll be the talk of the town," he smiled. He said his name was Rick and since he had missed his aunt's funeral, asked me out for a cup of coffee.
That afternoon began a lifelong journey for me with this man who attended the wrong funeral, but was in the right place. A year after our meeting, we were married at a country church where he was the assistant pastor. This time we both arrived at the same church, right on time.
In my time of sorrow, God gave me laughter. In place of loneliness, God gave me love. This past June we celebrated our twenty-second wedding anniversary. Whenever anyone asks us how we met, Rick tells them, "Her mother and my Aunt Mary introduced us, and it's truly a match made in heaven."
God is my source of existence and Savior. He keeps me functioning each and everyday. Without Him, I would be nothing. Without him, I am nothing, but with Him I can do all things, through Christ that strengthens me. (Phil. 4:13)
When mother's illness was diagnosed, my sister had a new baby and my brother had recently married his childhood sweetheart, so it fell on me, the 27-year-old middle child without entanglements, to take care of her. I counted it an honor. "What now, Lord?" I asked sitting in church. My life stretched out before me as an empty abyss.
My brother sat stoically with his face toward the cross while clutching his wife's hand. My sister sat slumped against her husband's shoulder, his arms around her as she cradled their child. All so deeply grieving, no one noticed I sat alone.
My place had been with our mother, preparing her meals, helping her walk, taking her to the doctor, seeing to her medication, reading the Bible together. Now she was with the Lord. My work was finished, and I was alone.
I heard a door open and slam shut at the back of the church. Quick footsteps hurried along the carpeted floor. An exasperated young man looked around briefly and then sat next to me. He folded his hands and placed them on his lap. His eyes were brimming with tears. He began to sniffle. "I'm late," he explained, though no explanation was necessary.
After several eulogies, he leaned over and commented, "Why do they keep calling Mary by the name of 'Margaret?'"
"Because, that was her name, Margaret. Never Mary, no one called her 'Mary." I whispered. I wondered why this person couldn't have sat on the other side of the church He interrupted my grieving with his tears and fidgeting. Who was this stranger anyway?
"No, that isn't correct," he insisted, as several people glanced over at us whispering, "Her name is Mary, Mary Peters."
"That isn't who this is."
"Isn't this the Lutheran church?"
"No, the Lutheran church is across the street."
"Oh."
"I believe you're at the wrong funeral, Sir."
The solemnest of the occasion mixed with the realization of the man's mistake bubbled up inside me and came out as laughter. I cupped my hands over my face, hoping it would be interpreted as sobs.
The creaking pew gave me away. Sharp looks from other mourners only made the situation seem more hilarious.
I peeked at the bewildered, misguided man seated beside me. He was laughing too, as he glanced around, deciding it was too late for an uneventful exit. I imagined Mother laughing.
At the final "Amen," we darted out a door and into the parking lot. "I do believe we'll be the talk of the town," he smiled. He said his name was Rick and since he had missed his aunt's funeral, asked me out for a cup of coffee.
That afternoon began a lifelong journey for me with this man who attended the wrong funeral, but was in the right place. A year after our meeting, we were married at a country church where he was the assistant pastor. This time we both arrived at the same church, right on time.
In my time of sorrow, God gave me laughter. In place of loneliness, God gave me love. This past June we celebrated our twenty-second wedding anniversary. Whenever anyone asks us how we met, Rick tells them, "Her mother and my Aunt Mary introduced us, and it's truly a match made in heaven."
God is my source of existence and Savior. He keeps me functioning each and everyday. Without Him, I would be nothing. Without him, I am nothing, but with Him I can do all things, through Christ that strengthens me. (Phil. 4:13)
How Much Does a Miracle Cost?
Sally was only eight years old when she heard Mommy and Daddy talking about her little brother, Georgi. He was very sick and they had done everything they could afford to save his life. Only a very expensive surgery could help him now . . . and that was out of the financial question. She heard Daddy say it with a whispered desperation, "Only a miracle can save him now."
Sally went to her bedroom and pulled her piggy bank from its hiding place in the closet. She shook all the change out on the floor and counted it carefully. Three times. The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes. Tying the coins up in a cold-weather-kerchief, she slipped out of the apartment and made her way to the corner drug store.
She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her attention. . . but he was too busy talking to another man to be bothered by an eight-year-old. Sally twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise. She cleared her throat. No good. Finally she took a quarter from its hiding place and banged it on the glass counter. That did it!
"And what do you want?" the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice.
"Well, I want to talk to you about my brother," Sally answered back in the same annoyed tone. "He's sick . . . and I want to buy a miracle."
"I beg your pardon," said the pharmacist.
"My Daddy says only a miracle can save him now . . . so how much does a miracle cost?"
"We don't sell miracles here, little girl. I can't help you."
"Listen, I have the money to pay for it. Just tell me how much it costs."
The well-dressed man stooped down and asked, "What kind of a miracle does you brother need?"
"I don't know," Sally answered. A tear started down her cheek. "I just know he's really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation. But my folks can't pay for it . . . so I have my money.
"How much do you have?" asked the well-dressed man.
"A dollar and eleven cents," Sally answered proudly. "And it's all the money I have in the world."
"Well, what a coincidence," smiled the well-dressed man. A dollar and eleven cents . . . the exact price of a miracle to save a little brother. He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said "Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents."
That well-dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, renowned surgeon, specializing in solving Georgi's malady. The operation was completed without charge and it wasn't long until Georgi was home again and doing well. Mommy and Daddy were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place.
"That surgery," Mommy whispered. "It's like a miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost?
Sally smiled to herself. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost... one dollar and eleven cents... plus the faith of a little child.
Sally went to her bedroom and pulled her piggy bank from its hiding place in the closet. She shook all the change out on the floor and counted it carefully. Three times. The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes. Tying the coins up in a cold-weather-kerchief, she slipped out of the apartment and made her way to the corner drug store.
She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her attention. . . but he was too busy talking to another man to be bothered by an eight-year-old. Sally twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise. She cleared her throat. No good. Finally she took a quarter from its hiding place and banged it on the glass counter. That did it!
"And what do you want?" the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice.
"Well, I want to talk to you about my brother," Sally answered back in the same annoyed tone. "He's sick . . . and I want to buy a miracle."
"I beg your pardon," said the pharmacist.
"My Daddy says only a miracle can save him now . . . so how much does a miracle cost?"
"We don't sell miracles here, little girl. I can't help you."
"Listen, I have the money to pay for it. Just tell me how much it costs."
The well-dressed man stooped down and asked, "What kind of a miracle does you brother need?"
"I don't know," Sally answered. A tear started down her cheek. "I just know he's really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation. But my folks can't pay for it . . . so I have my money.
"How much do you have?" asked the well-dressed man.
"A dollar and eleven cents," Sally answered proudly. "And it's all the money I have in the world."
"Well, what a coincidence," smiled the well-dressed man. A dollar and eleven cents . . . the exact price of a miracle to save a little brother. He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said "Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents."
That well-dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, renowned surgeon, specializing in solving Georgi's malady. The operation was completed without charge and it wasn't long until Georgi was home again and doing well. Mommy and Daddy were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place.
"That surgery," Mommy whispered. "It's like a miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost?
Sally smiled to herself. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost... one dollar and eleven cents... plus the faith of a little child.
He's Getting Married Today
from Young Blood, Philippine Inquirer
Today, I will attend an execution: my own. I will watch it with both eyes open and I will not cry. I will not break down just because the man I have loved since forever will marry someone else. I will watch him promise himself to a woman who will never love him like I have. I will watch them bind themselves to a vow I should have taken.
I have loved Oliver almost all my life. I have known him since I saved his six-year-old hide from a bully named Ricardo who wanted to rid him of his two yellowed front teeth. I was five at the time, but having grown with five older brothers and a hellion of a sister, ''Totoy Cardo'' was a piece of cake.
Oliver was so overcome with embarrassment at having a girl to protect his scrawny neck that from that time on he made it a point to be the rescuer, not the rescued. As time passed, muscles filled out this lanky frame and those two front teeth began to sparkle. He combs his hair, and he takes a bath daily now. In short, he has become a fine specimen of manhood.
The best part is, he lived up to his promise: he became my self-appointed guardian (well, I don't know if that's the best or the worst part). He was just always there, sticking to me like glue. It used to drive me nuts that he never let me out of his sight.
When I was 12, I ran from the infirmary on my way home. I had found out in the most humiliating way that I had become a woman: there was a big red stain on the back portion of my skirt. The jeers and the taunts followed me through the school corridors. Oliver dashed after me and offered to accompany me home. I declined, of course. He seemed to understand my discomfiture and promised to drop later with the things left in school. When I reached home I was told that I needed to jump three times on the stairs (which I did) and to wash my face with my blood (which I didn't do). Oliver dropped by in the afternoon, sporting a black eye and a bruise on his arm. When I asked him what happened, he said he had walked into a closed door. I believed him. But a few days later, minus the dysmennorhea, I found out that Oliver got into fisticuffs because some guy made a disgusting remark about me.
Nobody had ever fought for me before that. And when you're 12 and discussing in class how King Arthur and fairest of them all, Lancelot, fought for Guinevere's love, you tend to get ideas. I loved Oliver then.
When we were in high school and I found out that the school's heartthrob and one of my most ardent suitors, Richard, was involved with a bustier girl, it was to Oliver that I ran. When I didn't graduate as valedictorian and I got so drunk, it was Oliver who took me home. He didn't even mind that I barfed all over his dad's car (which he borrowed without permission).
When I decided to go to UP and he went to Ateneo, we celebrated by partying. When I lost my mom in a car accident, he took care of everything.
When my dad followed my mom less than a year later after a heart attack, he was there again. By this time he was an appendage of my life. He used to check out the guys I came to know. Nobody dared to get serious with me - not when Oliver had a black belt. I didn't know how to define our relationship. I didn't know what we were. We definitely were more than friends, better even than best friends. It was like we were a couple, but formally not one.
We did all the things that couple did like hang out and neck but always stopped when things got too hot. Since we never defined what we meant to each other we never said ''I love you'' or whatever serious couple told each other.
As a result, I remained a chaste princess while my prince caroused and sowed wild oats, but still had the energy to monitor my movements. I didn't mind.
After all, I was so sure we'd end up together. I always thought that in the end, it would be us. I loved him. I managed to convince myself that he loved me (what else could it be?). Little did I know that love doesn't conquer all, it only conquers the weak.
I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to get a girl pregnant on the same night they met at a party. I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to forget to use some form of contraception. After all, he had given me a lecture on safe sex. And I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to marry the girl. But maybe I forgot that after all he was a man, and men have been known to be stupid about these things. Their brain is located in a region other than between the ears.
What could I do? Kicking him in the groin and punching him in the eye seemed like a good idea then. Don't blame me; he was the one who enrolled me in a self-defense course. But I did not feel better. Seeing him bent over in pain only made me angrier. I wasted my life for this lousy excuse of a man? I could not believe it! I wanted nothing more than to run to him and beg him to wake me up from the stupid dream. I wanted him to take me some place where we didn't know anybody.
No pain, no memory, no humiliation. I wanted to just forget it ever happened but since I flunked in the School for Martyrs, I couldn't, for the life of me pretend, it didn't happen. I couldn't pretend he didn't hurt me.
I couldn't pretend everything was fine and dandy and exactly the way it was before. We didn't talk for a month. For both of us who were practically inseparable, that was like an eternity. I ducked into corners whenever I would see him. I wouldn't take his calls. I wouldn't see him. And for some time hate was my reason for getting up in the morning, for breathing, for living.
Hate and I became good friends.
"God brings men into deep waters, not to drown them but to cleanse them," somebody once wrote. I didn't want to be cleansed. I just wanted to drown in pain and misery and utter desolation. I wanted to wallow in the dark and deep pit of despair. I know a thousand and one cliches that say this can be a blessing and that I should be thankful. But thankful is the last thing I'm feeling right now. I've always thought that there are three kinds of women: those who break, those who mend and those who are broken themselves.
Before this hit me, I assumed that I belonged to the first or second category. Now I know I'm in the third--so hurt and broken up inside. My grandmother used to say that there is nothing you can do about pain when it gives you a silly grin except grin right back. All I could manage was a wry smile, a killer headache and the worst hangover the day before his wedding. Evidence of that is the disgusting sight of mashed potatoes and barbecue, thrown up not three meters away from where I was lying prostrate on the floor and the awful stench of cigarette on my hair. Frankly I don't want to go. I want to wallow in misery in my messy room, crying, retching and stinking, surrounded with Michael Learns to Rock (whose songs are dedicated to the broken-hearted) CDs. But I have to go and attend the wedding. I have to bathe and prepare and put on that atrocious peach (it's not even my color!) gown.
I'm not doing it for the groom, my one true friend and love, Oliver. Neither am I doing it for the bride, my younger sister, Sandra who needs me. I'm doing it for my unborn niece who has the great fortune of having me as her aunt. Call me stupid, but I've always known my place. If it isn't beside the man I was destined to marry, if it isn't behind my sister, who will take his name, wear his ring and bear him a child, then it must be with my niece, cradled close to my heart so that she will know both of our love.
Today, I will attend an execution: my own. I will watch it with both eyes open and I will not cry. I will not break down just because the man I have loved since forever will marry someone else. I will watch him promise himself to a woman who will never love him like I have. I will watch them bind themselves to a vow I should have taken.
I have loved Oliver almost all my life. I have known him since I saved his six-year-old hide from a bully named Ricardo who wanted to rid him of his two yellowed front teeth. I was five at the time, but having grown with five older brothers and a hellion of a sister, ''Totoy Cardo'' was a piece of cake.
Oliver was so overcome with embarrassment at having a girl to protect his scrawny neck that from that time on he made it a point to be the rescuer, not the rescued. As time passed, muscles filled out this lanky frame and those two front teeth began to sparkle. He combs his hair, and he takes a bath daily now. In short, he has become a fine specimen of manhood.
The best part is, he lived up to his promise: he became my self-appointed guardian (well, I don't know if that's the best or the worst part). He was just always there, sticking to me like glue. It used to drive me nuts that he never let me out of his sight.
When I was 12, I ran from the infirmary on my way home. I had found out in the most humiliating way that I had become a woman: there was a big red stain on the back portion of my skirt. The jeers and the taunts followed me through the school corridors. Oliver dashed after me and offered to accompany me home. I declined, of course. He seemed to understand my discomfiture and promised to drop later with the things left in school. When I reached home I was told that I needed to jump three times on the stairs (which I did) and to wash my face with my blood (which I didn't do). Oliver dropped by in the afternoon, sporting a black eye and a bruise on his arm. When I asked him what happened, he said he had walked into a closed door. I believed him. But a few days later, minus the dysmennorhea, I found out that Oliver got into fisticuffs because some guy made a disgusting remark about me.
Nobody had ever fought for me before that. And when you're 12 and discussing in class how King Arthur and fairest of them all, Lancelot, fought for Guinevere's love, you tend to get ideas. I loved Oliver then.
When we were in high school and I found out that the school's heartthrob and one of my most ardent suitors, Richard, was involved with a bustier girl, it was to Oliver that I ran. When I didn't graduate as valedictorian and I got so drunk, it was Oliver who took me home. He didn't even mind that I barfed all over his dad's car (which he borrowed without permission).
When I decided to go to UP and he went to Ateneo, we celebrated by partying. When I lost my mom in a car accident, he took care of everything.
When my dad followed my mom less than a year later after a heart attack, he was there again. By this time he was an appendage of my life. He used to check out the guys I came to know. Nobody dared to get serious with me - not when Oliver had a black belt. I didn't know how to define our relationship. I didn't know what we were. We definitely were more than friends, better even than best friends. It was like we were a couple, but formally not one.
We did all the things that couple did like hang out and neck but always stopped when things got too hot. Since we never defined what we meant to each other we never said ''I love you'' or whatever serious couple told each other.
As a result, I remained a chaste princess while my prince caroused and sowed wild oats, but still had the energy to monitor my movements. I didn't mind.
After all, I was so sure we'd end up together. I always thought that in the end, it would be us. I loved him. I managed to convince myself that he loved me (what else could it be?). Little did I know that love doesn't conquer all, it only conquers the weak.
I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to get a girl pregnant on the same night they met at a party. I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to forget to use some form of contraception. After all, he had given me a lecture on safe sex. And I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to marry the girl. But maybe I forgot that after all he was a man, and men have been known to be stupid about these things. Their brain is located in a region other than between the ears.
What could I do? Kicking him in the groin and punching him in the eye seemed like a good idea then. Don't blame me; he was the one who enrolled me in a self-defense course. But I did not feel better. Seeing him bent over in pain only made me angrier. I wasted my life for this lousy excuse of a man? I could not believe it! I wanted nothing more than to run to him and beg him to wake me up from the stupid dream. I wanted him to take me some place where we didn't know anybody.
No pain, no memory, no humiliation. I wanted to just forget it ever happened but since I flunked in the School for Martyrs, I couldn't, for the life of me pretend, it didn't happen. I couldn't pretend he didn't hurt me.
I couldn't pretend everything was fine and dandy and exactly the way it was before. We didn't talk for a month. For both of us who were practically inseparable, that was like an eternity. I ducked into corners whenever I would see him. I wouldn't take his calls. I wouldn't see him. And for some time hate was my reason for getting up in the morning, for breathing, for living.
Hate and I became good friends.
"God brings men into deep waters, not to drown them but to cleanse them," somebody once wrote. I didn't want to be cleansed. I just wanted to drown in pain and misery and utter desolation. I wanted to wallow in the dark and deep pit of despair. I know a thousand and one cliches that say this can be a blessing and that I should be thankful. But thankful is the last thing I'm feeling right now. I've always thought that there are three kinds of women: those who break, those who mend and those who are broken themselves.
Before this hit me, I assumed that I belonged to the first or second category. Now I know I'm in the third--so hurt and broken up inside. My grandmother used to say that there is nothing you can do about pain when it gives you a silly grin except grin right back. All I could manage was a wry smile, a killer headache and the worst hangover the day before his wedding. Evidence of that is the disgusting sight of mashed potatoes and barbecue, thrown up not three meters away from where I was lying prostrate on the floor and the awful stench of cigarette on my hair. Frankly I don't want to go. I want to wallow in misery in my messy room, crying, retching and stinking, surrounded with Michael Learns to Rock (whose songs are dedicated to the broken-hearted) CDs. But I have to go and attend the wedding. I have to bathe and prepare and put on that atrocious peach (it's not even my color!) gown.
I'm not doing it for the groom, my one true friend and love, Oliver. Neither am I doing it for the bride, my younger sister, Sandra who needs me. I'm doing it for my unborn niece who has the great fortune of having me as her aunt. Call me stupid, but I've always known my place. If it isn't beside the man I was destined to marry, if it isn't behind my sister, who will take his name, wear his ring and bear him a child, then it must be with my niece, cradled close to my heart so that she will know both of our love.
A Small White Envelope
A Christmas Story
by Nancy Gavin
It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.
It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas---oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it... overspending... the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma - the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else. Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike.
The inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church, mostly black. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat. Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them."
Mike loved kids - all kids - and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition---one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on. The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't end there.
You see, we lost Mike last year. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope. Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.
May we all remember Christ, and "give" in a Christ-like manner. After all, he is the reason for the season, and the true "Christmas spirit" this year and always.
by Nancy Gavin
It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.
It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas---oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it... overspending... the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma - the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else. Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike.
The inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church, mostly black. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat. Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them."
Mike loved kids - all kids - and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition---one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on. The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't end there.
You see, we lost Mike last year. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope. Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.
May we all remember Christ, and "give" in a Christ-like manner. After all, he is the reason for the season, and the true "Christmas spirit" this year and always.
Star Wars 3 - the Gay Version
A long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away . . . . . .
Warlahan! Naloloka na ang refublic sa mga atak ng Shit Lord, Count Dooku. May mga nagmamaganda sa magkabilang panig. Evil everywhere.
Malers ko kung vaket ever. Basta bet lang nilang magwarlahan.
Ang eksena . . . . kinidnap ever si Chancellor Palpatine (ang pinakathundercats na lider ng Refublic ng Sangkabaklaan) ng separatis droid army under na leadership of General Grievous (isang robot na inuubo, nakakaloka ang concept ng robot na inuubo). Ka-joint forces nung robot na inuubo si Count Dooku . . . .
At ang eksena . . . may dalawang Jedi Knights na may-I-rescue sa makyondang Palpatine.
EXT. SA KALAWAKAN
Focus ang camera ever sa dalwang jutay na battleships. Fast ! and the furious ang eksena. May-I-follow lang ang camera ever hanggang .....
Reveal .......
Plentibums na spaceships ever . . . . laser here . . . . lase there . . . laser everywhere.
Parang roller coaster.
Ang concept eh hiluhin ang audience para witchelles sila makapag-jisip ng malalim later on.
Follow ever pa ren sa dalawang jutay na battleships.
Reveal ....... First jutay battleship ....... may-I-pilot si Annakin.
Second jutay battleship ........ may-I-pilot si Obi Wan.
Anakin: Sightsiva mey yung pinaka-daks na spaceship ever.
Obi Wan: Ayyyyy! Daks?! . . . . . . So?
Anakin: Anu buuuuur! Dahil yan ang pinakadaks na spaceship . . . . ibig sabihin nanjanchie ever si General Grievous, ang robot na umuubo!
Obi Wan: Keri!
Anakin: Atak?
Obi Wan: Atak! (sa ibang utaw) Dahil kami ang bida sa pelikulang itey hey hey. Kekemeng brakatak na kami. Wa kayong jujoin. Hayaan 'nyo ! lang na ipegis kayey ng mga bumbumkylie.
Enter ang dalawang jutay na battleships sa pinakadaks na spaceship.
Droid: Nag-enter na ang mga jedi.
Plentibums na droids ang umatak sa dalawang jedi pagexit nila sa dalawang jutay na battleships. Lightsabers . . .
(insert nakakalokang tunog ng lightsabers na parang nagfu-fumegate)
Vooooooooooooom . . . . . .
Vooooooooooooom . . . . . .
Luz Valdez ang mga droids.
Obi Wan: I-learn mey kung nasanchie yung ma-ondang si Palpatine.
Anakin: Keri. . . . . . nandoonchie siya sa tuktok nitong pinakadaks na spaceship.
Obi Wan: Keri. R2D2. Stay ka lang ditey. Annakin, atak, joint tayez sa elevator.
Enter sa elevator ang dalawang jedi.
Anakin: Di ba mga jedi tayez? Baket tayez nageelevator?
Obi Wan: Baket hindi! Gaga! Feeling mo? Ikaw si superman at nakakaflysiva ka? Ambisyosa ka ha!
Anakin: (emberna) hmmmmpf.
INT. Tuktok ! ng pinakadaks na spaceship. Nakajupostraks ang Maondang Palpatine sa center ng room. Siyempre kelangan, maganda ang view from there.
Enter dalawang jedi.
Annakin: Ola! We are here to the rescue!
Enter Count Dooku.
Anakin and Obi Wan: (gulat)
Maondang Palpatine: (nagkukunwaring kunwari ay gulat)
Count Dooku: Haller! Anung eksenang itey?! Hmpf! Nagka-sight-sight na naman tayez hez?!
Anakin: True! At now, witchelles ka makakaisquierda! Kung sa part II ay na-luz valdez mo akez at naging-thank-you-girl lang akez. This time. Witchelles na mangyayari iyonchie! Magwi- winadol na akey dahil mas powerful na akey.
Count Dookuu: Ay true?! Hehe. Mas keri.
Atak.
Lightsabers (insert nakakalokang tunog ng lightsabers na parang nagfu-fumegate)
Vooooooooooooom . . . . . . Vooooooooooooom . . . . . .
Wicthelles lang sila mga . . . . jedi mga acrobat pa sila. Fight scene choreography: streetboys! Nag-pa-gurl si Obi Wan. Naghimatay-himatayan portion. Fight pa ren si Dooku at Anakin. Na-lost si Dooku.
Anakin: I-pe-pegasus na kitey!
Palpatine: Keri! I-pegasus mo siya!
Anakin: Nagbago ang isip kez. Witchelles keri ang pagpegasus.
Palpatine: Haggard ka! I-pegasus mo siya. Shinutol niya ang project-arms mo. Kelangan mag revenge ka. Shit ka! Remember, ang pelikulang itey ay revenge of the shit. Kaya go! Shutayin ara mo ang maondang yan kasi akez lang dafat ang pinakamaonda ditey na whitesiva ang heraton. Shutayin mey!
(insert nakakalokang tunog ng lightsabers na parang nagfu-fumegate)
Vooooooooooooom . . . . . .
Shinugot ever ni Annakin ang julo ni Dooku.
Palpatine: (laftir) Fly na tayez. Iwan mo na yang si Obi Wan. Masyado siyang pa-gurl.
Anakin: Witchelles keri. Witchelles kez jijiwanan itey.
Palpatine: Jiwanan mo na yan ever!
Anakin: Ang nega mo ha. Join-join kaming umatak ditey. Join-join kaming fa-fly!
Naloka ang pinakadaks na spaceship. Nahulog ang mga bida na kaniney ay nagshoshokbohan lang. Biglang wag ipaintindi sa audience kung nasaan na ang source ng gravity. Nakakapit si Palpatine sa paa ni Annakin. At si Obi Wan . . . hayun, mega yakap ever kay Anakin. Nagising bigla si bakla.
Obi Wan: Anung eksena?
Anakin: Hindi ba obvious?
Bumalik na naman ang center of gravity ng pinakadaks na spaceship sa tama. Nalaglag yung mga bida. Ala-spiderman-eksena and vollah!
Eynimomentz.
General Grievous: Ray shields! (ubo, ubo)
Na-trap ang everyone.
Grievous: General Kenobi, the negotiator. (ubo ubo) 48 years na akez na wait-galore sa beauty mo. At Anakin Skywalker. Ineexpectchiwariwariwaps key ay isang menchus (ubo ubo) na mas ma-kyonda.
Anakin: General Grievous . . . . . Supreme Comman! der of the Drois Armies. Ang jutay-jutay mez pala.
Grievous: Haggard ka! (ubo ubo)
Obi Wan: Anakin, witchelles mo warlahin ang robot na umuubo.
Umeksena si Artoo. Naloka ang everybody.
Lightsabers. (insert nakakalokang tunog ng lightsabers na parang nagfu-fumegate)
Vooooooooooooom . . . . . . Vooooooooooooom . . . . . .
Pilot: General, naloloka na ship. Eynimomentz eh titanic ang eksena natey ditey.
Grievous: Emberna. Iisquierda na akey.
Fight pa ren sila Obi-wan sa mga battle droids. Naka-isquierda na si General Grievous in a scape pod.
Obi Wan: Anakin, learn mo bang i-keme ang pinakadaks na spaceship na itey.
Anakin: Why not?
Jumupostrax si Anakin sa pilot's seat.
Eksena. Nag-enter the dragon na ang shulahati ng pinakadaks na space ship sa atmosphere. Insert bulalakaw portion. Crash landing scene.
Obi Wan: Another Happy Landing Eksena?
INT. Senate Office Hallway. May-I-follow ang isang bilat sa grupo ng mga senadors ever with Anakin. Sight si Anakin. Lumapit ever siya sa sunud-sunuran portion. Ikmayl si potah. Si Padme! Yakapsule . . . . . Lapchukan . . . . . .
Padme: Wag ditey! Haggard, wag tayez ditey mag-dookit in public. Baka may maka-sighteous.
Anakin: Kiver! Kiver na akey kung ma-noselift nilang mag-jusawa tayey hey hey!
Padme: Anakin, witchelles kang tumalak ng mga ganyang eksena. Important ka sa Republic. Muhality of culture talaga kitey pero hindi ko bet na ma-pegasus ka lang.
Anakin: Witchelles akey mapepe-gasus. Mapepegasus lang naman akey because of you . .
Padme: Juntis akey.
Anakin: (naloka ng slight, ikmayl) Keri! Super keri!
Yakapsule moment another.
Anakin: Ang byonda-byonda mey!
Padme: Ma-byonda lang akey kase enlababo akey.
Anakin: Witchelles. Kasi, akez ang super enalababo sa iyez.
INT. PADME's APARTMENT - Bedroom - NIGHT Magigising si Anakin. Jusang-jusa ng pawis ever. Warla sa panaginip ever. At heto pa. Nakajubadstra siya.
All focus on Anakin's bare chest.
INT. JEDI TEMPLE Yoda and Anakin sitting, super jisip.
Yoda: Careful ikawchie pag sine-sense ang future ever, Anakin.
Anakin: Anechie ang gagawin key?
Yoda: Na i-let go ang everything na kinabobokotang ma-luz valdez, dapat i -learn mey.
Eksena na muna. Hayun. Separate lives ang mga Jedi sa pag-atak sa mga separatists. Habang bine-breinwash ng hinaharass at binebrainwash ng maondang palpatine si Anakin. Hanggang sa hayun . . . . . nag-go-with-the-flow si Anakin, since magiging miss universe nga naman siya sa piling ni Palpatine. Nabobokot siyang ma-tegibums si Padme based sa mga panaginip niya. Chinka siya ni Palpatine na kayang 'nyang i-save si Padme sa pagka-tegibums kung mal! e-learn niya ang ways of the Sith. Tinegibums na ang lahat ng Jedi. Nabuhay lang si Yoda and si Obi Wan.
EKSENA. Umatak si Padme kung nasan si Anakin.
Anakin: Padme, na-sight kez yung spaceship ara mey.
Yakapsule.
Anakin: Keri na ang everything. Anechiwa ba ang ginagawa mo diety?
Padme: Nahahaggard akey. Nahaggars ako sa mga tinalak ni Obi Wan.
Anakin: Bet ni Obi Wan na mawarla ka sa 'ken.
Padme: Friendiva naten siya. Bet ka niyang tulungan.
Anakin: Witchelles tayo kering tulungan ni Obi Wan, hindi siya powerful.
Padme: Ang bet ko lang naman eh ang muhality of culture mey.
Anakin: Witchelles ka bubuhayin ng muhality of culture. Yung powers ko lang ang makakagawa 'non. Witchelles ka matetegibums katulad nung nategibums ang muderaka kez. Mas powerful na akey sa kahit na sinong Jedi at ginawa ko lang iety para mabuhay ka.
Padme: Chika nga ni Norah Jone, come away with me. Palakihin ! natin ang mga junakis morrisette naten. Shoma na ang mga ka-chervahan na iety.
Anakin: Witchelles mo ba nasa-sight? Witchelles na nating kelangang shumokbo-shoka ever. Mas powerful na akey maski sa Chancellor. Keri kong patalsikin siya eynimomentz, tapos tayo ang magiging mr. and miss universe. Keri nating gawin lahat ng bet nating gawen.
Padme: Nahahagarrd akez sa mga tinatalk mez. Shoma yata si Obi Wan. Witchelles ka na ang Anakin na kina-enlababuhan kez! Witchelles na kita noseline. Parang others ka na. Anakin, you're making my heart achy-breaky. Umaatak ka sa isang lugar na hindi ko namang kering umatak.
Anakin: Nagjejely-de-belen na akey. Dahil ba iety kay Obi Wan?
Padme: Witchelles! Dahil sa mga chenes mo . . . . dahil sa mga balak mo pang i-chenes. Shoma na itey! Shoma na itey! Enlababo akey sa iyez.
Anakin: (na-sight si Obi Wan pababa ng spaceship ni Pamde) Shuntanginamey!
Padme: (na-sight din si Obi Wan) Witchelles ko siya ka-j! oint!
Anakin: Ka-joint mo siya. Bet mo ren akong warlahin noh? Jinoint mo siya para i-tegibums ako noh?
Padme: Witchelles! Anakin! Wicthelles trulagen colagen sustagen yan!
Sinakal ever ni Anakin si Padme. Lola Padme, nag-faint.
Anakain:Wag mo kong talakan, Obi Wan. Na-sa-sight ko ang mga ka-charingan ng Jedi. Witchelles akez nabobokot sa dark side. Bring k ang peace, justice, freedom, and securirty sa Empire kez! (i thank you)
Obi Wan: Empire mey?
Anakin: Witchells mong hahayaang i-tegibums kitey. Pag hindi kita friendiva, kawarlahan kita!
Obi Wan: Keri.
Lightsaber (insert nakakalokang tunog ng lightsabers na parang nagfu-fumegate)
Vooooooooooooom . . . . . . Vooooooooooooom . . . . . .
Anakin: Wish mo lang!
Warlahan! Naloloka na ang refublic sa mga atak ng Shit Lord, Count Dooku. May mga nagmamaganda sa magkabilang panig. Evil everywhere.
Malers ko kung vaket ever. Basta bet lang nilang magwarlahan.
Ang eksena . . . . kinidnap ever si Chancellor Palpatine (ang pinakathundercats na lider ng Refublic ng Sangkabaklaan) ng separatis droid army under na leadership of General Grievous (isang robot na inuubo, nakakaloka ang concept ng robot na inuubo). Ka-joint forces nung robot na inuubo si Count Dooku . . . .
At ang eksena . . . may dalawang Jedi Knights na may-I-rescue sa makyondang Palpatine.
EXT. SA KALAWAKAN
Focus ang camera ever sa dalwang jutay na battleships. Fast ! and the furious ang eksena. May-I-follow lang ang camera ever hanggang .....
Reveal .......
Plentibums na spaceships ever . . . . laser here . . . . lase there . . . laser everywhere.
Parang roller coaster.
Ang concept eh hiluhin ang audience para witchelles sila makapag-jisip ng malalim later on.
Follow ever pa ren sa dalawang jutay na battleships.
Reveal ....... First jutay battleship ....... may-I-pilot si Annakin.
Second jutay battleship ........ may-I-pilot si Obi Wan.
Anakin: Sightsiva mey yung pinaka-daks na spaceship ever.
Obi Wan: Ayyyyy! Daks?! . . . . . . So?
Anakin: Anu buuuuur! Dahil yan ang pinakadaks na spaceship . . . . ibig sabihin nanjanchie ever si General Grievous, ang robot na umuubo!
Obi Wan: Keri!
Anakin: Atak?
Obi Wan: Atak! (sa ibang utaw) Dahil kami ang bida sa pelikulang itey hey hey. Kekemeng brakatak na kami. Wa kayong jujoin. Hayaan 'nyo ! lang na ipegis kayey ng mga bumbumkylie.
Enter ang dalawang jutay na battleships sa pinakadaks na spaceship.
Droid: Nag-enter na ang mga jedi.
Plentibums na droids ang umatak sa dalawang jedi pagexit nila sa dalawang jutay na battleships. Lightsabers . . .
(insert nakakalokang tunog ng lightsabers na parang nagfu-fumegate)
Vooooooooooooom . . . . . .
Vooooooooooooom . . . . . .
Luz Valdez ang mga droids.
Obi Wan: I-learn mey kung nasanchie yung ma-ondang si Palpatine.
Anakin: Keri. . . . . . nandoonchie siya sa tuktok nitong pinakadaks na spaceship.
Obi Wan: Keri. R2D2. Stay ka lang ditey. Annakin, atak, joint tayez sa elevator.
Enter sa elevator ang dalawang jedi.
Anakin: Di ba mga jedi tayez? Baket tayez nageelevator?
Obi Wan: Baket hindi! Gaga! Feeling mo? Ikaw si superman at nakakaflysiva ka? Ambisyosa ka ha!
Anakin: (emberna) hmmmmpf.
INT. Tuktok ! ng pinakadaks na spaceship. Nakajupostraks ang Maondang Palpatine sa center ng room. Siyempre kelangan, maganda ang view from there.
Enter dalawang jedi.
Annakin: Ola! We are here to the rescue!
Enter Count Dooku.
Anakin and Obi Wan: (gulat)
Maondang Palpatine: (nagkukunwaring kunwari ay gulat)
Count Dooku: Haller! Anung eksenang itey?! Hmpf! Nagka-sight-sight na naman tayez hez?!
Anakin: True! At now, witchelles ka makakaisquierda! Kung sa part II ay na-luz valdez mo akez at naging-thank-you-girl lang akez. This time. Witchelles na mangyayari iyonchie! Magwi- winadol na akey dahil mas powerful na akey.
Count Dookuu: Ay true?! Hehe. Mas keri.
Atak.
Lightsabers (insert nakakalokang tunog ng lightsabers na parang nagfu-fumegate)
Vooooooooooooom . . . . . . Vooooooooooooom . . . . . .
Wicthelles lang sila mga . . . . jedi mga acrobat pa sila. Fight scene choreography: streetboys! Nag-pa-gurl si Obi Wan. Naghimatay-himatayan portion. Fight pa ren si Dooku at Anakin. Na-lost si Dooku.
Anakin: I-pe-pegasus na kitey!
Palpatine: Keri! I-pegasus mo siya!
Anakin: Nagbago ang isip kez. Witchelles keri ang pagpegasus.
Palpatine: Haggard ka! I-pegasus mo siya. Shinutol niya ang project-arms mo. Kelangan mag revenge ka. Shit ka! Remember, ang pelikulang itey ay revenge of the shit. Kaya go! Shutayin ara mo ang maondang yan kasi akez lang dafat ang pinakamaonda ditey na whitesiva ang heraton. Shutayin mey!
(insert nakakalokang tunog ng lightsabers na parang nagfu-fumegate)
Vooooooooooooom . . . . . .
Shinugot ever ni Annakin ang julo ni Dooku.
Palpatine: (laftir) Fly na tayez. Iwan mo na yang si Obi Wan. Masyado siyang pa-gurl.
Anakin: Witchelles keri. Witchelles kez jijiwanan itey.
Palpatine: Jiwanan mo na yan ever!
Anakin: Ang nega mo ha. Join-join kaming umatak ditey. Join-join kaming fa-fly!
Naloka ang pinakadaks na spaceship. Nahulog ang mga bida na kaniney ay nagshoshokbohan lang. Biglang wag ipaintindi sa audience kung nasaan na ang source ng gravity. Nakakapit si Palpatine sa paa ni Annakin. At si Obi Wan . . . hayun, mega yakap ever kay Anakin. Nagising bigla si bakla.
Obi Wan: Anung eksena?
Anakin: Hindi ba obvious?
Bumalik na naman ang center of gravity ng pinakadaks na spaceship sa tama. Nalaglag yung mga bida. Ala-spiderman-eksena and vollah!
Eynimomentz.
General Grievous: Ray shields! (ubo, ubo)
Na-trap ang everyone.
Grievous: General Kenobi, the negotiator. (ubo ubo) 48 years na akez na wait-galore sa beauty mo. At Anakin Skywalker. Ineexpectchiwariwariwaps key ay isang menchus (ubo ubo) na mas ma-kyonda.
Anakin: General Grievous . . . . . Supreme Comman! der of the Drois Armies. Ang jutay-jutay mez pala.
Grievous: Haggard ka! (ubo ubo)
Obi Wan: Anakin, witchelles mo warlahin ang robot na umuubo.
Umeksena si Artoo. Naloka ang everybody.
Lightsabers. (insert nakakalokang tunog ng lightsabers na parang nagfu-fumegate)
Vooooooooooooom . . . . . . Vooooooooooooom . . . . . .
Pilot: General, naloloka na ship. Eynimomentz eh titanic ang eksena natey ditey.
Grievous: Emberna. Iisquierda na akey.
Fight pa ren sila Obi-wan sa mga battle droids. Naka-isquierda na si General Grievous in a scape pod.
Obi Wan: Anakin, learn mo bang i-keme ang pinakadaks na spaceship na itey.
Anakin: Why not?
Jumupostrax si Anakin sa pilot's seat.
Eksena. Nag-enter the dragon na ang shulahati ng pinakadaks na space ship sa atmosphere. Insert bulalakaw portion. Crash landing scene.
Obi Wan: Another Happy Landing Eksena?
INT. Senate Office Hallway. May-I-follow ang isang bilat sa grupo ng mga senadors ever with Anakin. Sight si Anakin. Lumapit ever siya sa sunud-sunuran portion. Ikmayl si potah. Si Padme! Yakapsule . . . . . Lapchukan . . . . . .
Padme: Wag ditey! Haggard, wag tayez ditey mag-dookit in public. Baka may maka-sighteous.
Anakin: Kiver! Kiver na akey kung ma-noselift nilang mag-jusawa tayey hey hey!
Padme: Anakin, witchelles kang tumalak ng mga ganyang eksena. Important ka sa Republic. Muhality of culture talaga kitey pero hindi ko bet na ma-pegasus ka lang.
Anakin: Witchelles akey mapepe-gasus. Mapepegasus lang naman akey because of you . .
Padme: Juntis akey.
Anakin: (naloka ng slight, ikmayl) Keri! Super keri!
Yakapsule moment another.
Anakin: Ang byonda-byonda mey!
Padme: Ma-byonda lang akey kase enlababo akey.
Anakin: Witchelles. Kasi, akez ang super enalababo sa iyez.
INT. PADME's APARTMENT - Bedroom - NIGHT Magigising si Anakin. Jusang-jusa ng pawis ever. Warla sa panaginip ever. At heto pa. Nakajubadstra siya.
All focus on Anakin's bare chest.
INT. JEDI TEMPLE Yoda and Anakin sitting, super jisip.
Yoda: Careful ikawchie pag sine-sense ang future ever, Anakin.
Anakin: Anechie ang gagawin key?
Yoda: Na i-let go ang everything na kinabobokotang ma-luz valdez, dapat i -learn mey.
Eksena na muna. Hayun. Separate lives ang mga Jedi sa pag-atak sa mga separatists. Habang bine-breinwash ng hinaharass at binebrainwash ng maondang palpatine si Anakin. Hanggang sa hayun . . . . . nag-go-with-the-flow si Anakin, since magiging miss universe nga naman siya sa piling ni Palpatine. Nabobokot siyang ma-tegibums si Padme based sa mga panaginip niya. Chinka siya ni Palpatine na kayang 'nyang i-save si Padme sa pagka-tegibums kung mal! e-learn niya ang ways of the Sith. Tinegibums na ang lahat ng Jedi. Nabuhay lang si Yoda and si Obi Wan.
EKSENA. Umatak si Padme kung nasan si Anakin.
Anakin: Padme, na-sight kez yung spaceship ara mey.
Yakapsule.
Anakin: Keri na ang everything. Anechiwa ba ang ginagawa mo diety?
Padme: Nahahaggard akey. Nahaggars ako sa mga tinalak ni Obi Wan.
Anakin: Bet ni Obi Wan na mawarla ka sa 'ken.
Padme: Friendiva naten siya. Bet ka niyang tulungan.
Anakin: Witchelles tayo kering tulungan ni Obi Wan, hindi siya powerful.
Padme: Ang bet ko lang naman eh ang muhality of culture mey.
Anakin: Witchelles ka bubuhayin ng muhality of culture. Yung powers ko lang ang makakagawa 'non. Witchelles ka matetegibums katulad nung nategibums ang muderaka kez. Mas powerful na akey sa kahit na sinong Jedi at ginawa ko lang iety para mabuhay ka.
Padme: Chika nga ni Norah Jone, come away with me. Palakihin ! natin ang mga junakis morrisette naten. Shoma na ang mga ka-chervahan na iety.
Anakin: Witchelles mo ba nasa-sight? Witchelles na nating kelangang shumokbo-shoka ever. Mas powerful na akey maski sa Chancellor. Keri kong patalsikin siya eynimomentz, tapos tayo ang magiging mr. and miss universe. Keri nating gawin lahat ng bet nating gawen.
Padme: Nahahagarrd akez sa mga tinatalk mez. Shoma yata si Obi Wan. Witchelles ka na ang Anakin na kina-enlababuhan kez! Witchelles na kita noseline. Parang others ka na. Anakin, you're making my heart achy-breaky. Umaatak ka sa isang lugar na hindi ko namang kering umatak.
Anakin: Nagjejely-de-belen na akey. Dahil ba iety kay Obi Wan?
Padme: Witchelles! Dahil sa mga chenes mo . . . . dahil sa mga balak mo pang i-chenes. Shoma na itey! Shoma na itey! Enlababo akey sa iyez.
Anakin: (na-sight si Obi Wan pababa ng spaceship ni Pamde) Shuntanginamey!
Padme: (na-sight din si Obi Wan) Witchelles ko siya ka-j! oint!
Anakin: Ka-joint mo siya. Bet mo ren akong warlahin noh? Jinoint mo siya para i-tegibums ako noh?
Padme: Witchelles! Anakin! Wicthelles trulagen colagen sustagen yan!
Sinakal ever ni Anakin si Padme. Lola Padme, nag-faint.
Anakain:Wag mo kong talakan, Obi Wan. Na-sa-sight ko ang mga ka-charingan ng Jedi. Witchelles akez nabobokot sa dark side. Bring k ang peace, justice, freedom, and securirty sa Empire kez! (i thank you)
Obi Wan: Empire mey?
Anakin: Witchells mong hahayaang i-tegibums kitey. Pag hindi kita friendiva, kawarlahan kita!
Obi Wan: Keri.
Lightsaber (insert nakakalokang tunog ng lightsabers na parang nagfu-fumegate)
Vooooooooooooom . . . . . . Vooooooooooooom . . . . . .
Anakin: Wish mo lang!
Friday, December 12, 2008
What Goes Around Comes Around
One day a man saw a old lady, stranded on the side of the road, but even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed help. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out. His Pontiac was still sputtering when he approached her.
Even with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped to help for the last hour or so. Was he going to hurt her? He didn't look safe; he looked poor and hungry.
He could see that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He knew how she felt. It was that chill which only fear can put in you.
He said, 'I'm here to help you, ma'am. Why don't you wait in the car where it's warm? By the way, my name is Bryan Anderson.'
Well, all she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Bryan crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the tire. But he had to get dirty and his hands hurt.
As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she rolled down the window and began to talk to him. She told him that she was from St. Louis and was only just passing through. She couldn't thank him enough for coming to her aid.
Bryan just smiled as he closed her trunk. The lady asked how much she owed him. Any amount would have been all right with her. She already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped. Bryan never thought twice about being paid. This was not a job to him. This was helping someone in need, and God knows there were plenty, who had given him a hand in the past. He had lived his whole life that way, and it never occurred to him to act any other way.
He told her that if she really wanted to pay him back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she could give that person the assistance they needed, and Bryan added, 'And think of me.'
He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing into the twilight.
A few miles down the road the lady saw a small cafe. She went in to grab a bite to eat, and take the chill off before she made the last leg of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet smile, one that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn't erase. The lady noticed the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but she never let the strain and aches change her attitude. The old lady wondered how someone who had so little could be so giving to a stranger. Then she remembered Bryan ...
After the lady finished her meal, she paid with a hundred dollar bill. The waitress quickly went to get change for her hundred dollar bill, but the old lady had slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back. The waitress wondered where the lady could be. Then she noticed something written on the napkin.
There were tears in her eyes when she read what the lady wrote: 'You don't owe me anything. I have been there too. Somebody once helped me out, the way I'm helping you. If you really want to pay me back, here is what you do: Do not let this chain of love end with you.'
Under the napkin were four more $100 bills.
Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, and people to serve, but the waitress made it through another day. That night when she got home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the money and what the lady had written. How could the lady have known how much she and her husband needed it? With the baby due next month, it was going to be hard....
She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low, 'Everything's going to be all right. I love you, Bryan Anderson.'
There is an old saying that goes, 'What goes around comes around.'
Even with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped to help for the last hour or so. Was he going to hurt her? He didn't look safe; he looked poor and hungry.
He could see that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He knew how she felt. It was that chill which only fear can put in you.
He said, 'I'm here to help you, ma'am. Why don't you wait in the car where it's warm? By the way, my name is Bryan Anderson.'
Well, all she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Bryan crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the tire. But he had to get dirty and his hands hurt.
As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she rolled down the window and began to talk to him. She told him that she was from St. Louis and was only just passing through. She couldn't thank him enough for coming to her aid.
Bryan just smiled as he closed her trunk. The lady asked how much she owed him. Any amount would have been all right with her. She already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped. Bryan never thought twice about being paid. This was not a job to him. This was helping someone in need, and God knows there were plenty, who had given him a hand in the past. He had lived his whole life that way, and it never occurred to him to act any other way.
He told her that if she really wanted to pay him back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she could give that person the assistance they needed, and Bryan added, 'And think of me.'
He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing into the twilight.
A few miles down the road the lady saw a small cafe. She went in to grab a bite to eat, and take the chill off before she made the last leg of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet smile, one that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn't erase. The lady noticed the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but she never let the strain and aches change her attitude. The old lady wondered how someone who had so little could be so giving to a stranger. Then she remembered Bryan ...
After the lady finished her meal, she paid with a hundred dollar bill. The waitress quickly went to get change for her hundred dollar bill, but the old lady had slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back. The waitress wondered where the lady could be. Then she noticed something written on the napkin.
There were tears in her eyes when she read what the lady wrote: 'You don't owe me anything. I have been there too. Somebody once helped me out, the way I'm helping you. If you really want to pay me back, here is what you do: Do not let this chain of love end with you.'
Under the napkin were four more $100 bills.
Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, and people to serve, but the waitress made it through another day. That night when she got home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the money and what the lady had written. How could the lady have known how much she and her husband needed it? With the baby due next month, it was going to be hard....
She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low, 'Everything's going to be all right. I love you, Bryan Anderson.'
There is an old saying that goes, 'What goes around comes around.'