Joke of the Day May 14, 2001 What do sweet potatoes wear to slumber parties? . . . . . Yammies!

by Gary Foreman gary@stretcher.com Hello to all my Frugal Friends! Part of being a Dollar Stretcher is finding another use for something that appears to be worn out. Here's a great example of that. It's called Donate A Phone. Here's how they describe the program: "Donate a Phone is a national wireless phone collection drive designed to provide domestic violence victims and organizations with one of the most powerful tools in the fight against domestic violence...a wireless phone. The program is a partnership between the Wireless Foundation, the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence and Motorola who have worked together since 1996 to provide free phones to victims of domestic violence through the CALL to PROTECT program. Phones can be donated by placing the phone, battery and charger (if available) in the mail to: CALL to PROTECT c/o Motorola 1580 E. Ellsworth Road Ann Arbor, MI 48108 You can find out more at www.DonateAPhone.com. If you have an old unused phone, please don't let it collect dust in the closet. Help someone. And you'll even get a charitable tax deduction! All the Best! Gary T H E D O L L A R S T R E T C H E R "Living Better...For Less" May 14, 2001 Volume 6, Number 20

-/\/\----------------------------------------------------------------- \ / TODAY'S VERSE from HEARTLIGHT -- http://www.heartlight.org/ --\/------------------------------------------------------------------ May 14, 2001 VERSE: While they were worshiping the Lord and fasting, the Holy Spirit said, "Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them." -- Acts 13:2 http://www.StudyLight.org/desk/?query=Acts+13:2 THOUGHT: When people genuinely worship, when they fast seeking his will, God calls them to service and mission. Christian worship is not an end in itself, but a launching pad to Christian mission. Don't get so caught up in the worship experience that you leave it at the door when you walk away. Instead, understand that it is to inspire you to public worship and service in the world during your everyday life (cf. Rom. 12:1-2). As you worship with your brothers and sisters, also listen to the words of the songs, the message of the Scripture, and the conviction of the Holy Spirit on your heart. God may be calling you to a special mission in your world! PRAYER: Father, please help me clearly discern your will and follow your leading while I am worshiping you. In Jesus' name I pray. Amen. http://www.heartlight.org/cgi-shl/todaysverse.cgi?day=20010514

AOL Long Distance hit with slamming charges http://news.cnet.com/news/0-1278-210-5889188-1.html AOL Long Distance, a telephone service marketed by America Online, is the subject of an investigation by an agency that's received more than 1,000 complaints of improper credit card charges and unauthorized transferring, or "slamming," of long-distance customers.

Fight Back Against Telemarketers If you hate getting those pesky sales calls just when you sit down to dinner, Smart Money offers advice on how to reduce the interruptions. Also included is a state-by-state guide to "do not call" laws. http://www.smartmoney.com/consumer/index.cfm?story=200105081

Find Lower Gas Prices Online With gasoline prices nearing record highs, wouldn't it be nice to be able to use the Internet to find a gas bargain in your neighborhood? You can, with Gas Price Watch! http://www.gaspricewatch.com/USGas_ZipSearch.asp

Letting Glory Go, by Phil Ware What bittersweet joy! To want something so badly, and then when you have it, you give it up as a matter of course. Jacobed tasted this truth when she put her son in the bulrushes to save him from genocide (Exodus 2). Hannah knew this joy by leaving her Samuel with Eli in the Temple (1 Samuel 1). Mary would live it out before the world as the story of her son Jesus was told through the centuries (Gospels). Eunice would experience it along with her mother Lois, as she gave up her son to accompany the great apostle Paul on his missionary journeys (Acts 16). But in a way, every mother has the bittersweet pleasure of wanting a child so much, and then raising that little boy or that little girl to grow strong enough to leave her. Except for cards mailed to late, or kids that forgot and will try to cover up their memory lapse, Mother's Day is over for most moms. It's Monday again, and they are back to the grind of the regular week. Some are back to the work of preparing their young ones to "grow their wings" so they will be ready to fly on their own. Others are in the serious transition of giving their child up to life for which they raised their precious one, for after all, graduation and wedding season are upon us now that Mother's Day has come and gone. Still others are in the afterglow of motherhood, watching their own little ones, now long grown, raising children of their own. The cycle is endless, and if the truth is told, it is selfless and sacrificial service. That is the way of motherhood. The time passes so quickly. Sometimes tumultuous, sometimes exhilarating, often times baffling, it passes quickly. That is the way God planned it. That is the way each of us is made. So what is a mother to do with this bittersweet gift? For sure, the answer to this question is as different for each mom, as each of her children are different from every other child God has carefully fashioned. There are, however, some truths that our biblical quartet of moms, mentioned earlier, can teach us. * Each child is a gift from God -- on loan to a mom for just a brief span of time, until God calls them to his path for his or her life. * From infancy, they need to know about the stories and love of God from Scripture -- it's never too early to start with songs and words of faith. * No matter how great your dreams for this child of yours, remember that God's dreams and plans are greater still -- never underestimate what God can and will do with your little one. * Your work as a mom will be bewildering, hurtful, joyous, full of surprises, and hard work -- but only because the work you do shapes the future and touches and eternity. * While the call of faith may take them from you, it is made so that you may have them back for eternity, to share in the glory of grace in the great house of God. My prayer is that you, dear mom -- whether an adoptive mom, a mom who has carried her child in her womb, or a mom who has never had children of her own but has mothered the children at church in faith -- will know the joy of doing something wonderfully hard and that you hear the value Jesus places on your work when he says, "The greatest in my Kingdom is a servant." (cf. Matt. 23:11) --------- (c) 2001 Heartlight, Inc. RELATED LINKS: * Hope in a Basket http://www.heartlight.org/articles/200105/20010503_mother.html * Letting Go http://www.heartlight.org/feature/feature_071796_letgo.html This article can be found on the web at: http://www.heartlight.org/articles/200105/20010514_lettinggo.html

HEIRLOOM SEEDS NEWSLETTER week of 05/13/01 EASY TO GROW FLOWERS Flowers should always be part of any garden. Not only do they provide beauty to the landscape, but also help draw pollinating insects into your vegetable garden. Flowers, such as marigolds, help lure beneficial insects into your yard, plus repel many harmful ones. Hummingbirds and other helpful birds are more likely to visit a yard filled with flowers. As an added plus, your yard will be the envy of all your neighbors! The varieties below can all be started from seed directly into the garden. MARIGOLDS One of the easiest flowers to grow. Plant outside after all danger of frost has past. Space the plants 8 to 12 inches apart, depending on the variety. Marigolds need plenty of sun, so pick a location that is appropriate. Marigolds are very versatile and can be grown in borders, beds, containers and in the vegetable garden. Marigolds exude substances from their roots into the soil that control harmful nematodes. Try planting marigolds at the base of your tomato plants and peppers, or around the perimeter of your garden. Their scent repels many harmful insects. Remove the dead flower heads throughout the season to keep them blooming all summer. NASTURTIUM Very easy to start from seed. Plant outside after the last spring frost. Space the plants 8 to 12 inches apart, depending on the variety. Nasturtiums grow from 6 inches (dwarf varieties) to 6 feet tall for the vining varieties. DO NOT over fertilize, especially with nitrogen, as nasturtium does well in poor soil. The beautiful flowers not only bring joy into the garden, but the flowers can also add a little color to your salad. Want to add a little "spice" to your next sandwich or salad? Just add a few leaves of nasturtium. You can even use the seeds to make a winter snack. Cut the seed clusters from the plant when about half grown, with a little of the stem still attached. Clean thoroughly and place in a clean canning jar. Cover with boiled cider vinegar and can as you would pickles, in a boiling water bath. A delightful little garnish during the winter months! STRAWFLOWER Plant outside after the last spring frost. Strawflowers prefer full sun and a rich, well drained soil. Space the plants about 12 inches apart. They grow from two to three feet, and may require staking in windy areas. Strawflowers are a duel purpose flower. They look beautiful growing in the garden, but are just as attractive as dried flowers to enjoy during the winter months. Many people grow them in the vegetable garden, as they attract a variety of beneficial insects. To make dried flowers, cut the stems when the flowers are about half open. Strip the leaves from the stem and hang upside down in a well ventilated area until dry. If it is very humid in your region, you may need the help of silica gel for drying. This can be purchased at most craft stores or in the craft department of large retail stores. Follow the directions on the can for drying flowers. SUNFLOWERS Plant outside after all danger of frost has past. Space the plants 12 to 24 inches apart, depending on the variety. There are many varieties of sunflowers, from the small dwarf varieties (6-12 inches tall) to the large mammoth ones (6 ft. or higher). They make fine additions to any garden. The flower heads turn during the day to follow the sun. They are easy to grow and have few insect pests. They are often grown for their seed, which is a good source of vitamins and minerals. Harvest the flowers when the back of the seed heads are brown and dry. At that time, the inner rows of seeds are ripe, but will need further drying. Cut off the heads with about a foot of the stalk still attached. Hang the heads in a dry, airy place. Once dry, rub the heads lightly to remove the seeds. The stalks of the plant can also be used as livestock or poultry fodder. In our gardens, we leave the seeds for the birds to enjoy. A pretty good trade off for their delightful songs all summer long! ZINNIA [butterflies like these]k Plant about a week after the last spring frost. Zinnias are one of the most popular flowers grown today. Space the plants 10 to 20 inches apart, depending on the variety. Zinnias come in many different sizes and colors. They love warm weather and do best in full sun. Once the plants are thinned out and off to a good start, they need very little maintenance during the season, except to keep watered during the dry summer months. Cut off the first center flower bloom and the plants will branch out and grow bushy. Pick off the dead flowers heads during the season to enjoy fresh flowers right up until the first fall frost. That's all for this week. Happy Gardening, HEIRLOOM SEEDS

heehee~! :-) Thanks Mary. I got this mental picture of these little sweet taters in their Dr. Dentins. <G> :-) kath > Yammies! >

I didn't get it either. <g> Elsie At 06:09 PM 5/13/01 -0400, you wrote: >grrr .. >i hate AOL~!! >i don't have it anymore hun >but it was a really great show :( > > > > > > > > > > > > > Hi Sweetie Heart~! :-) > > This one "snipped" on me and didn't get here. > > Would you please send it again? > > taddy~! :-) > > kath > > > > > > > > This is a great site! > > >

> > A high school English teacher reminds her class of tomorrow's final exam. > She tells the class there would be no excuse for not showing up, except for > serious injury, illness, or a death in the student's immediate > family. > > A smart-ass jock in the back of the room asks, "What about extreme sexual > exhaustion?" > > The entire class does its best to stifle their laughter and snickering. > When silence is restored, the teacher smiles sympathetically at the > student, > shakes her head, and sweetly says, "You can write with > your other hand." > ********************************************************************* > CHOKING > > One day, at a local restaurant, a woman suddenly called out, "My son's > choking! He swallowed a quarter! Help! Please, anyone! Help!" > > A man from a nearby table stood up and announced that he was quite > experienced at this sort of thing. He stepped over with almost no look of > concern, wrapped his hands around the boy's gonads and squeezed. Out > popped the quarter. The manthen went back to his table as though nothing > had > happened. > > "Thank you so much!" the mother cried. "Are you a paramedic?" > > "No," replied the man, "I work for the IRS." > ******************************************************************** > Headache????? > > On their way home after celebrating their 25th anniversary, the wife thanks > her husband for a wonderful evening. > > "Oh. It's not over yet," says he. > > Once in the house, he gives her a little black velvetbox. > > She opens it in anticipation and finds two little white pills, "what in the > world are these?" > > "Aspirin," he replies. > > "But I don't have a headache," says she. > > "GOTCHA!" > ********************************************************************* > Old lady in court > > Defense Attorney: What is your age? > Little Old Woman: I am 86 years old. > Defense Attorney: On the first day of April last year, will you tell us, > in your own words, what happened to you? > Little Old Woman: There I was, sitting there in my swing on my front > porch on a warm spring evening, when a young man comes creeping up on the > porch and sat down beside me. > Defense Attorney: Did you know him? > Little Old Woman: No, but he sure was friendly. > Defense Attorney: What happened after he sat down beside you? > Little Old Woman: He started to rub my thigh. > Defense Attorney: Did you stop him? > Little Old Woman: No, I didn't stop him. > Defense Attorney: Why not? > Little Old Woman: It felt good. Nobody had done that since my Abner > passed away some 30 years ago. > Defense Attorney: What happened next? > Little Old Woman: He began to rub my breasts. > Defense Attorney: Did you stop him then? > Little Old Woman: No, I did not stop him. > Defense Attorney: Why not? > Little Old Woman: Why, Your Honor, his rubbing made me feel all alive > and excited. I haven't felt that good in years! > Defense Attorney: What happened next? > Little Old Woman: Well, I was feeling so spicy that I just spread my > old legs and said to him, "Take me, young man, Take me!" > Defense Attorney: Did he take you? > Little Old Woman: Hell, no. That's when he yelled, "April Fools!" And > that's when I shot the son of a bitch > > O *    O *O    *   O O *      * O <º)(((((~((((((>>>< * <º)((((~((((>< kissy_fishy

Hi Folks: I went through the process of reformatting my hard drive again the day before yesterdsy. All did not go well. Everything was wonderful until I attempted to reinstall my modem. Bad times in the Covey household ensued. I finally got the thing up and running about an hour ago. Muchas problemas. Bill Covey Author of Watson Is Where It Wuz http://billcovey.50megs.com

grrr .. i hate AOL~!! i don't have it anymore hun but it was a really great show :( > > > > > > Hi Sweetie Heart~! :-) > This one "snipped" on me and didn't get here. > Would you please send it again? > taddy~! :-) > kath > > > > > This is a great site! > >

Chris got me a picture of a lighthouse and a candle for my hallway .. Bob got me a new bathroom set (shower curtain, towels and pretties) he also got me a fountain for the back patio last week but it's my mother's day present.. and he took me out to lunch actually we went to TGIF's with Angela's family.. Jeni says she is giving me her present when she is out here next week.. Pj If you would like to order groceries by email email me at Peege@earthlink.net and I will refer you ----- Original Message ----- From: <RICHIELE3@aol.com> To: <FOLKLORE-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Sunday, May 13, 2001 12:44 PM Subject: [FOLKLORE FAMILY] mommy missi > LOL Heather got me a beautiful rock fountain to sit here by my desk for > mothers day really nice with candles and rocks ..problem it makes me have to > go pee every min :( > Shawnasea got me a beautiful angel statue that is playing with 3 kids (for > the 3 grands) and some perfume. > have not heard as of yet from Samantha :( > hope you all have a wonderful day :) > missi mommy > > > ==== FOLKLORE Mailing List ==== > Your Listresses: > Missi <Richiele3@aol.com> > Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> > »§«:*´`³¤³´´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« >

This is a great site! »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« You're Just Jealous Because The Voices Are Talking To Me Richiele Sloan ICQ #63829109 (Missi) »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«

A duck walks into a bar and asks the bartender, "do you have any food? The bartender replies, "no, we don't serve food here." So the duck leaves. The next day the duck walks into the bar again and asks the bartender, "You got any food." The bartender says, "no, we don't serve food here." So the duck leaves. The next day the duck walks into the bar again and asks the bartender, "You got any food?" The bartender says, "NO, we don't serve food . . . and if you come in here again asking for food I am going to nail you to the wall." So the duck leaves. The next day the duck walks into the bar and asks the bartender, "You got any nails? The bartender says, "No." »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« You're Just Jealous Because The Voices Are Talking To Me Richiele Sloan ICQ #63829109 (Missi) »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«

The Border James was thirsty, so he halted and looked for a quiet place to rest his feet and mind, both weary from the journey that had begun some seven hours prior. He found a tree stump in the shadow of a large evergreen and, after removing his backpack, there lowered himself onto the semi-smooth surface of the former tree. The hiking enthusiast took out his canteen and drank freely, allowing himself a good fifteen minutes of rest before resuming his trek. This rest time included a time check, another look at the map, a quick snack and a minute or two of stretching. He was vacationing, out to see the land on foot, and he kept himself on a tight schedule. There was much he wanted to see, and little time in which to see it. Shortly after resuming his journey, James noticed the head of a trail off the main road that appeared on not one map he had perused in preparation for this journey. To take the trail would undoubtedly destroy his schedule, as he had built no unaccounted for time into his agenda. James could see that the trail led into the mountains and beside a beautiful river, and was most likely a challenge and a pleasure to traverse. He had to decide soon whether or not to forsake his plans, for he was only a short distance now from where he must either continue on his own journey or take the trail's offer. It was hard for James to let go of his meticulously planned itinerary, but he did. As he took the first step onto the trail, James felt free and anxious at the same time. He tried not to think about the time he was losing, and he tried to enjoy the freedom of the unheralded trail. After about a half hour's walk, he saw up ahead a very strange sight. The trail seemed to run into a wall of rock, sheer, blue-gray and massive. If the wall had limits on the left or right, James could not see them. It was a surreal site. Unnatural, thought James, supernatural even. It seemed out of place, but there it was. James walked on, intrigued by the very size of the wall. In the middle of the wall, about eight feet above the trail, was a hole about three feet in diameter. An entrance, he thought, that leads out to the really interesting part of this trail. He felt again the fear and excitement he had first experienced at the trail's beginning. He was within five feet of the wall when he saw him, and the shock left his face bloodless. There, just off to the right of the trail, was a small wooden tollbooth in which sat the toll collector. His eyes were fixed on James when James caught sight of him. Not a frightening figure, by any means. A short, thin man, in fact. It was the shock of finding another human figure in such a desolate place that shocked him. He searched his brain for a greeting to offer. "Greetings, traveler," said the collector with a smile. "Welcome to the border." "Oh, the border," said James, "is that what this is. I couldn't find this place on the map." "Most of the newer maps don't include the border. It's a long story, but it's enough to say that a lot of people don't want to acknowledge this place exists. I see you made it here, though, despite efforts to prevent it." James wondered what he meant by that, but wasn't sure if he really wanted an explanation. So, he continued the conversation in an obvious direction. "What's on the other side? Do I need a passport?" asked James. " Well, yes, but you can't use your old passport. In fact, you'll need to turn that one in to me before going any further. It's part of the toll" "What?" "Seems strange, I know, but once you cross the border, you can't come back. It's a one way journey," the toll collector said calmly. "That's crazy! You mean once I go in there," James said pointing at the hole, "I can't come out again? Who ever heard of such a thing?" "Well, a lot of people have heard of it, but not quite so many have actually gone through with it. Would you like to go in?" James pondered the question. Would I like to go in? It seemed absurd. Why would a man want to go in to a place he had never heard of before, especially if he could never come out again? It didn't make sense. He had pretty well decided to turn around and get back to the main trail, but he decided to satisfy his curiosity first. "Why would I want to go in there? And why can't I ever come out again? What's so special about this place?" said James. "In all your years of hiking," said the collector, "you have never come upon a trail like this one. It is unique, unrivaled, and it winds through the most beautiful woodlands and mountains there are. It is both challenging and satisfying. It will push you to your limits, and beyond. It will give you unspeakable joy. But the trail is just that: a trail. Its purpose is to take you somewhere. The trail is the means, not the end. The end is beyond your imagining." James pictured some of the trails he had conquered in his hiking career. He thought of the awe he had experienced at various sunrises and sunsets, on trails of earth and of rock. He had seen some beautiful places in his day, but the man in the booth was telling him he had, in effect, seen nothing yet. James was intrigued, but not so taken in to forget his second question, which he restated. "OK, but why can't I come back out again?" "That is a question I can't very well answer for you, for you have not entered. Once you hike the trail on the other side, you will have the answer to your question." "You're telling me that I have to decide before I have all my questions answered? What if I go in, and I hate it? What if I'm for the rest of my life because of one stupid choice I made? What if . . .?" "Are you truly satisfied now?" the collector asked. James was caught off guard by this question. It left him silent. He looked slowly down at the ground, then up at the rock, then back to the toll collector, who had not stopped looking at James since he asked his last question. "The toll is this: all you have. Your itinerary, your passport, your watch, your life as you know it, in exchange for entrance to the trail." The mention of the itinerary produced a sudden wave of helplessness and anxiety that swept over James. "I've really got to get going," he said to the toll collector. "I'm way off schedule." "Are you?" asked the man in the booth. Contributed by Stephen F. Pizzini «¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤» Today Inspirational Web Page From Mr. Mom's Web Site: MOTHER - THE BEAUTIFUL CREATURE http://mrmom.amaonline.com/mother.htm »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« You're Just Jealous Because The Voices Are Talking To Me Richiele Sloan ICQ #63829109 (Missi) »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«

> > Geraniums of Love > > As the fifth of seven children, I went to the same public > school as my three older sisters and brother. Every year, my > mother went to the same pageant and had parent/child interviews > with the same teachers. The only thing different was the child. > And every child participated in an old school tradition - the > annual plant sale held in early May, just in time for Mother's > Day. > Third grade was the first time that I was allowed to take > part in the plant sale. I wanted to surprise my mother, but I > didn't have any money. I went to my oldest sister and shared > the secret, and she gave me some money. When I arrived at the > plant sale, I carefully made my selection. I agonized over that > decision, inspecting each plant to ensure that I had indeed > found the best geranium. Once I had smuggled it home, with the > help of my sister, I hid it on the upstairs neighbor's porch. I > was very afraid my mother would find it before Mother's Day, but > my sister assured me that she wouldn't, and indeed she did not. > When Mother's Day arrived, I was bursting with pride when I > gave her that geranium. I remember how bright her eyes were, > and how delighted she was with my gift. > The year I was fifteen, my younger sister reached third > grade. In early May she came to me full of wonder and secrecy > and told me that there was going to be a plant sale at school, > and she wanted to surprise our mother. Like my older sister did > for me, I gave her some money and off she went. She arrived > home full of nervous excitement, the geranium hidden in a paper > bag under her sweater. "I looked at every plant," she > explained, "and I know I got the best one!" > With a sweet sense of deja vu, I helped my little sister > hide that geranium on the upstairs neighbor's porch, assuring > her that our mother would not find it before Mother's Day. I > was there when she gave my mother the geranium, and I watched > them both bursting with pride and delight. It was like being in > a dream I had already dreamed. My mother noticed me watching, > and she gave me a soft, secret smile. With a tug at my heart, I > smiled back. I had been wondering how my mother could pretend > to be surprised at this gift from her sixth child, but as I > watched her eyes light up with delight as she was presented with > that most precious gift, I knew she was not pretending. > > By Harriet Xanthakos > Reprinted by permission of Harriet Xanthakos (c) 1999, from > Chicken Soup for the Parent's Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor > Hansen, Kimberly Kirberger and Raymond Aaron. > > »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« You're Just Jealous Because The Voices Are Talking To Me Richiele Sloan ICQ #63829109 (Missi) »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«

THE MARK OF ANGELS Many years ago my husband and I visited Bern, the charming capitol of Switzerland. One evening, we had a night free of planned activities. Feeling liberated from itineraries, we wandered through the medieval streets into the heart of Bern. The warm evening breeze had lured swarms of people into the town's square. Old men played checkers at cement tables amid musicians, jugglers and other assorted street performers. Frank and I paused to drink in the carnival of sights and sounds. An American accent rang out above the bustle. I grabbed Frank's hand and pulled him toward the sound of home. "One’ Two’ Three!" A burst of laughter erupted from the crowd around a juggler. I moved in closer, drawn in by his act and familiar accent. After a finale of quick-handed magic tricks, appreciative onlookers threw coins and moved on. As the juggler bent down to collect the loose change, I felt compelled to connect. "Excuse me. Uh, I liked your act." The Juggler looked up with a surprised expression, as if he didn't expect anyone to stay around. "Hey, thanks! You sound like an American." I laughed, admitting that I'd been drawn to speak with him, maybe because of his Yankee accent too. As travelers tend to do, I politely asked him what part of the States he was from. "California." The Juggler replied. "And you guys?" I responded in the same general way. "Pennsylvania. Outside Philadelphia." The juggler stopped picking up coins. "Oh! Where outside Philadelphia?" I was slightly taken aback. Why did the name of the town matter if he was from California? Feeling silly, but strangely compelled to talk, I answered. "Havertown." The Juggler's jaw dropped and his bearded face softened. He spoke barely above a whisper. "I went to Haverford High School." Now Frank caught the compulsion to talk. "But I thought you said you were from California?" The Juggler got up off his knees and sat on the edge of a concrete flower container. He drew in a breath and poured out a story he'd long locked away. "I discovered I loved to perform while I was in high school. I wanted to study the Arts in college but my stepfather felt I should study a serious subject -- like dentistry or something. I felt I had no choice, so I went to college in California, but I couldn't study what I didn't love. Rather than go home and face my stepfather, I left the States to travel around Europe. I haven't seen my mother in 7 years." After further discussion, Frank and I learned that his mother lived three minutes from our house. In fact, I drove past her home every day on the way to work. We stood in awe of the "coincidence" of our meeting. The Juggler broke the silence. "If I give you my mother's number, would you call her for me when you get back home? Would you tell her I'm okay?" As a mother of two, I ached for this woman who was separated from her son. I nodded a tearful yes. I tucked the number away and the three of us parted, forever changed by a chance meeting thousands of miles from home. On the plane ride back to the States, I worried out loud to Frank. "What if his mother is angry? What if she doesn't want to hear from me?" Frank squeezed my hand and said, "You already know the right thing to do." Once back in Havertown, I picked up the phone and put it back in the cradle countless times. But, I couldn't ignore the strong inner voice that urged me to call. After taking a deep breath, I dialed the number on the crumpled piece of paper. A woman answered the phone. I spoke quickly -- before I lost my nerve. "Hello. You don't know me but..." The story of our trip to Bern spilled out, rapidly reaching the part where we met the Juggler in the town square. As I relayed her son's greeting, the woman cried. "Oh, Thank God!" In a voice thick with emotion, her questions tumbled out one after another. "How did he look? Was he well? Is he okay?" I found myself in the peculiar position of describing a son to his mother. I assured her that he was healthy, making a nice living and seemed to be doing fine. I described the Juggler's hair, his beard and his request that I make contact with her. The Juggler's mom spoke between sobs. "My son sent me a letter last year saying he was thinking of coming home. He said the next time I heard from him would be a sign that he'd be home soon. Thank you! Thank you so much for calling!" After I hung up the phone, I wondered about the odds of meeting the Juggler at just the right place, at just the right time and at just the right moment in his life. I smiled through tears of my own and knew that chance had nothing to do with it. Signs, coincidences, accidental meetings, inner voices -- all the mark of angels at work. -- Teri Goggin »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« You're Just Jealous Because The Voices Are Talking To Me Richiele Sloan ICQ #63829109 (Missi) »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«

When Fireflies Wink It is at twilight that I remember Mama best. I can still see her chasing fireflies, her skirt swinging below her knees. As the fading sun slips behind Georgia pine trees, it leaves the sky blanketed with a sunburst of orange. A glow radiates from Mama's face and laughter dances in her hazel eyes as she gathers fireflies in her hand and shows them to me. Until I was about five, Mama caught fireflies and put them, still blinking, into an empty mayonnaise jar. Later, she tucked me into bed and I pretended those pulsating little bugs were a nightlight. Sometimes, they seemed to be winking at me. Even at that young age, I was painfully aware that Mama never once told me she loved me. It troubled me that she never kissed me good night, or at any other time for that matter. But I believed she cared. She just showed it in a unique way - through humor. I remember her humor being especially poignant as she battled terminal lung cancer. In 1980, the first inkling my husband and I had of trouble was the day Mama began experiencing chest pains. After a few days of pain so severe she had trouble talking, she let me drive her to the doctor. Once in the examining room, Mama pulled the white paper gown over her head as she was instructed. She held the paper out for my inspection. "I hate these things," she said, a sparkle of mischief growing in her eyes. "I feel like an overgrown paper doll." Though deeply concerned, I laughed out loud. That was Mama. Later, the X-rays confirmed there was a tumor in her left lung. I had hoped it wasn't malignant, but after a biopsy the results came back positive. The doctor gave her a year to live. During that year, Mama battled the cancer by staying busy. With my husband's help, she planted a small garden outside her mobile home on the south side of Atlanta. As soon as the sun blinked upon the horizon each morning, Mama dragged her three-legged stool outside and sat among the green beans, tomatoes and cucumbers to weed the garden, which blossomed with life. After a half hour in the blazing sun, perspiration beaded her forehead and upper lip. She'd come in gasping. Once, with a familiar twinkle in her eyes, she said, "You know, my breath keeps coming in short pants." Then she laughed. I knew what she was imagining - puffs of air dressed in a pair of short pants. In April 1981 Mama lay in a hospital bed, her long battle almost at an end. One day after radiation therapy, the nurse wheeled Mama's gurney back into her room. Although she was a shell of her former self, a smile twinkled in her hazel eyes. "My mouth is so dry," she said. "I thought they'd have to shave my tongue." Not only did I laugh out loud but the nurse smiled as well. Thankfully, Mama's humor made accepting her illness a little easier. One day as I left the hospital room I couldn't hold back the tears. I felt a comforting touch on my shoulder as I neared the nurses' station. I turned to see a nurse whose eyes showed deep concern. "Why can't you cry with your mother?" she asked. I shook my head trying to regain composure. "It's a shame," she went on, "because every time you leave, your mother cries too." I wanted so much to let Mama know I cared, but it was impossible since I'd never received outward affection from her. I simply didn't know how to show her that I loved her. As an adult with four children of my own, it was beyond my comprehension how a mother could not kiss her child or say, "I love you." As I pondered our lives together, questions formed in my mind. 'Why can't I tell my mother that I love her? Was it because of the betrayal I felt when she left my father?' Perhaps it was Mama's growing alcoholism. Maybe she just couldn't handle love and was incapable of giving it. I didn't know. I only knew the words "I love you" never came from her lips and the same words remained stuck in my throat. I also grieved the fact that I could not kiss her. With the rebirth of spring and the resurrection of the once-dormant azaleas and dogwoods, I found myself thinking of the Easter season and the sacrifice of God's son over two thousand years before. Although I was alienated from God during this season of sorrow, I remember pleading with him, 'Please help me say good-bye to my mother before it's too late.' Every day I brought my barely used Bible to Mama's room and curled up on a vinyl chair partially hidden behind the hospital bed. One evening when twilight shadows filled the room, I sat in my usual place silently reading from the Psalms. I don't know who the dark-haired nurse was who interrupted my thoughts, and she had no idea I was sitting there in the shadows. I held my breath as she walked up to Mama. Watching in silence, I saw the nurse gently brush Mama's chestnut hair from her face. She held Mama's face in her hands in the most tender way. I knew she must be an angel sent by God because she did the one thing I couldn't: she leaned down and kissed Mama's forehead. As I gently exhaled, the woman tiptoed from the room. The next day doctors were forced to increase the dosage of morphine to ease Mama's pain. Through the veil of drugs, Mama's eyes glazed and I feared I had waited too late to say good-bye. Beneath the green oxygen mask, she struggled for every breath. I struggled with her. 'She probably won't hear me, I thought, but I have to tell her.' I picked up my mother's spindly hand and held it. I took a sharp breath, and for all the times I couldn't speak, I whispered, "Mama, I love you." For a heartbeat in eternity, Mama's eyes cleared. She looked at me and a smile traced her lips. The presence of God in that room was inexplicable. It was as though God himself winked at me - the way fireflies wink at children on warm, summer nights. By Nanette Thorsen-Snipes Reprinted by permission of Nanette Thorsen-Snipes (c) 1999, from Chicken Soup for the Christian Family Soul by Jack Canfield, »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« You're Just Jealous Because The Voices Are Talking To Me Richiele Sloan ICQ #63829109 (Missi) »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«