THIS STORY HAS SUCH AN AWESOME MESSAGE. Once upon a time there was a rich King who had four wives. He loved the 4th wife the most and adorned her with rich robes and treated her to the finest of delicacies. He gave her nothing but the best. He also loved the 3rd wife very much and was always showing her off to neighboring kingdoms. However, he feared that one day she would leave him for another. He also loved his 2nd wife. She was his confidant and was always kind, considerate and patient with him. Whenever the King faced a problem, he could confide in her, and she would help him get through the difficult times. The King's 1st wife was a very loyal partner and had made great contributions in maintaining his wealth and kingdom. However, he did not love the first wife. Although she loved him deeply, he hardly took notice of her! One day, the King fell ill and he knew his time was short. He thought of his luxurious life and wondered, "I now have four wives with me, but when I die, I'll be all alone." Thus, he asked the 4th wife, "I have loved you the most, endowed you with the finest clothing and showered great care over you. Now that I'm dying, will you follow me and keep me company?" "No way!", replied the 4th wife, and she walked away without another word. Her answer cut like a sharp knife right into his heart. The sad King then asked the 3rd wife, "I have loved you all my life. Now that I'm dying, will you follow me and keep me company?" "No!", replied the 3rd wife. "Life is too good! When you die, I'm going to remarry!" His heart sank and turned cold. He then asked the 2nd wife, "I have always turned to you for help and you've always been there for me. When I die, will you follow me and keep me company?" "I'm sorry, I can't help you out this time!", replied the 2nd wife. "At the very most, I can only send you to your grave." Her answer came like a bolt of lightning, and the King was devastated. Then a voice called out: "I'll leave with you and follow you no matter where you go." The King looked up, and there was his first wife. She was so skinny as she suffered from malnutrition and neglect. Greatly grieved, the King said, "I should have taken much better care of you when I had the chance!" In truth, we all have 4 wives in our lives Our 4th wife is our body. No matter how much time and effort we lavish in making it look good, it will leave us when we die. Our 3rd wife is our possessions, status and wealth. When we die, it will all go to others. Our 2nd wife is our family and friends. No matter how much they have been there for us, the furthest they can stay by us is up to the grave. And our 1st wife is our Soul. Often neglected in pursuit of wealth, power and pleasures of the world. However, our Soul is the only thing that will follow us wherever we go. So cultivate, strengthen and cherish it now, for it is the only part of us who will follow us to the throne of God and continue with us throughout Eternity. .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> CHICKEN SOUP DAILY SERVING: <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> Gardening in Our Blood By Jean Little When autumn time arrived last year, I said, "I've really had it, dear! I've raked and hoed and picked and canned; Just see that callus on my hand! You know what I've been thinking, dear? Let's let our garden go next year. We'll buy all those things in the store - They wouldn't cost us too much more. When summer comes I'll sleep till ten, Get up and clean the house, and then I'll make a glass of lemonade and go and sit beneath the shade. When you come home at night from work, I'll put the coffee on to perk, Then we'll sit down and talk or read And never think of garden seed." Remember how you smiled and said, "I think you've really used your head To save us all this work next year. I'm sick of gardening, too, my dear." But then one day, the sky was blue, The sun was warm, the tulips grew. The April days grew long and free, The ground lay waiting patiently. The sleeping grass awoke to green, And then in every magazine Were ads for bulbs and plants and seeds - In fact, for all your gardening needs. One day you picked me up downtown. With bundles I was loaded down. No need to try and hide the facts With "Burpee Seeds" stamped on the sacks. Remember how your face got red And how you turned away and said, "When we've unloaded all that junk, I have a few things in the trunk. I'll need some help, for it is hot And seed potatoes weigh a lot." So now we stand here, hand in hand And gaze at our productive land. The berry beds are weeded clean, The vegetables are tall and green. We love our land in drought or mud, For we have gardening in our blood. .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

10 Worst Foods For Kids Parents.com recently published this list prepared by registered dietician, Mindy Herman, of the worst foods for kids. chicken nuggets chips donuts French fries fruit leather hot dogs juice flavored drinks pre-packaged lunches soda toaster pastries If some of these items are your child's favorite foods, see tomorrow's tip for healthy makeovers of each of these items. The complete article tells why these foods are so bad. Read the full article. <A HREF="http://www.parents.com/articles/health/2148.jsp?page=2">http://www.parents.com/articles/health/2148.jsp?page=2</A> .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

The Real Teachers Her name was Mrs. Thompson. As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children a lie.Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. But that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard. Mrs. Thompson hadwatched Teddy the year before and noticed that he didn't play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. And Teddy could be unpleasant. It got tothe point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and the F's on his papers. At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last.However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners...heis a joy to be around" His second grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle." His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's death had been hard on him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn't show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken." Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in class." By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper,except for Teddy's. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs.Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one quarter fullof perfume. But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist. Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say,"Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to." After the children left she cried for at least an hour. On that very day,she quit teaching reading, and writing, and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention toTeddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive.The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of theyear, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same,Teddy became one of her "teacher's pets." A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling herthat she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life. Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life. Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things hadbeen tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, andwould soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. Heassured Mrs.Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had in his whole life. Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer the letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD. The story doesn't end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he'd met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit in the place at the wedding that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom. Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. And she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together. They hugged eachother, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear,"Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you somuch for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference." Mrs.Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said,"Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you." .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> CHICKEN SOUP DAILY SERVING: <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> To Have and To Hold By Elizabeth Thring In the summer of 1959, I flew from Washington, D.C., to Los Angeles accompanied by my father. Nineteen years old, pregnant and frightened, I was flying to this distant city to live with total strangers, so that my unborn child could be born far away from prying eyes and gossiping mouths and then be put up for private adoption. On September 3rd, I gave birth to a little boy and though I saw him only once, lying in the nursery, I was not allowed to hold him. The doctor and nurses felt it would be too painful for me, and I suppose they were right. Shortly after birth, I flew back to Washington, signed the adoption papers and, as my doctor had suggested, continued with my life. Although the pain of the parting diminished with time, I never forgot for a moment that I had a son. Every September 3rd for the next thirty-three years, I silently mourned, grieving for the child I had given away. Mother's Day was always the worst. It seemed that every woman I knew was a mom. 'I'm a mother, too,' I wanted to say but couldn't. And so the years passed and turned into decades, and the memory of my only child lingered just beneath my conscious mind, ready to explode at a moment's notice. Then on March 26, 1993, I received this message on my answering machine, "Elizabeth," a woman's voice said, "I have some news which I hope will be of interest to you and bring you great joy and happiness." Her voice broke, and it was quite evident she was crying. "If you are the same Elizabeth Thring who did me a favor thirty-three years ago, please call me in Newport Beach, California. I would very much like to have a chat with you." I called back immediately and was connected to an answering machine. Three days later, when I finally got through, the woman said her name was Susie. She thanked me profusely for calling and asked if I knew who she was. "I believe so," I replied, "but I'm not 100 percent sure." "Oh, Elizabeth," she said, "I adopted your beautiful baby boy thirty-three years ago, and I'm just calling to tell you what a wonderful son you have. Bill is married to a terrific girl, and you have two absolutely beautiful little granddaughters." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I had fantasized about this very moment in some form or another for years, and now it was a reality. I told her that I couldn't think of another woman I knew with such generosity of spirit. Susie said that one day while watching her two little granddaughters playing, she thought to herself, "What woman wouldn't want to know about such beautiful children?" and so she began to search for me. She told me that although Bill knew generally that she was looking for me, he had no knowledge of this most recent attempt to locate me, since there was always the possibility that I might not want to see him. Soon after, I sent Bill a letter. In it I wrote: 'Oh, what joy - what pure, absolute, sheer joy, to discover after all these years that you are here, on the same earth, under the same blue heaven and stars and moon at night as I - and that you, my darling boy, want to know me as much as I yearn to know, hold and love you. Billy, it is important for me that you know I never, ever forgot you or ceased loving you. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for wanting to know me and not giving up on me. Your loving mother, Elizabeth.' In the middle of April I flew to Los Angeles. On the way, I wrote thirty-three birthday cards to my son with a short description of what I had done for each year of his life. 'Bill needs,' I thought, 'to learn about me, too.' DeAnn, Bill's wife, videotaped me coming down the ramp at the airport. With her were my granddaughters, and standing just behind her was a very tall, blond, impeccably dressed man. When he saw me, Bill stepped from behind his wife and walked toward me with arms open wide. Into this circle of love I stepped, feeling just like every other mother in the world holding her baby for the first time. .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

A LICENSE TO BELIEVE Someone once asked me how I could possibly say, "I believe in you!" to perfect strangers. "You don't even know who they are. How could you possibly believe in them?" he said. My reply, "Because I have a license to!" It usually shuts them up most likely because they didn't know there was such a thing. It's true -- and I have the only one. It came in handy on my recent trip to western Pennsylvania. It takes me about five and one half hours to drive to Meadville -- it's a town north of Pittsburgh, but much closer to Erie. When I make the trip, I take along some of my books on tape that inspire me, music that I can sing along with and too many "in case there's an emergency" things to make my trip easier. But I also find satisfaction in long periods of quiet. It is then that I just think about my life and watch the beautiful countryside pass by. I was in the middle of a very heavy conversation with God when I came upon a large van with a trailer behind it. "God, I really need to find more doors to open," I said. "I believe in my heart that you have bigger plans for me and although you have all the time in the world, at 51, my clock is ticking." I believe I heard Him laugh at that one. Then I looked up as I was passing that van. I often wonder where people are headed, what big moves they are making and say a quick prayer that they are happy. "You see these people in next to me? They seem to be making a move. They have plans. They know what they want and where they are going. I need some help, here God!" I said. Just as I got along side I looked down and saw a bumper sticker. It read, "With God, all things are possible!" I couldn't believe it. It was like a sign to me that God was in charge and when the time was right, I too, would see the direction my life was going. "Thanks, God." I said. As I came along side I saw a young couple in the van. For a split second our eyes connected and I waved. I then safely pulled ahead of them and watched as they faded out of view in my rear view mirror. About thirty minutes down the road, I took an exit so that I could fuel up the car and have a little lunch. Grabbing a sandwich to take with me, I headed to my car. Just as I was about to get in, the van I had passed pulled up. Looking at the couple again, I smiled. They got out and headed toward my car. "Hello! It looks like you're making a big move," I said. "Yes, we are," he said. "But you just made it a lot easier." We introduced ourselves and he explained what he meant. "This 'big move' as you call it, is indeed a life changing experience. We have given up a great deal to follow our dream. To tell you the truth, we weren't sure it was the right thing to do. My wife and I were in the middle of a deep conversation and frankly, re-thinking our plans. She had just said to me, "If God wants us to do this, He will let us know somehow. Just then you passed us," he said. "Yes, I remember. I saw your bumper sticker," I said. "Well, He did it," she said. "He did what?" I asked. "God confirmed with us that this was the right thing to do," she said smiling. "Your license plate was His message to us -- IBLEVNU." "We couldn't believe our eyes," she said. It was like a confirmation that we were doing the right thing." We started laughing. Then I explained to them that I am a writer and a speaker and I told them my "I believe in You!" story. "But, wait. You were the answer to my prayers, too," I said. "I was having this deep conversation with God when I passed you and saw your bumper sticker, "With God all things are possible!" "So He confirmed with us that this was the right move," she said. "And He renewed my "License to Believe!" I said. You see, I told you. God sends people into my life as a gift. He also sent me YOU! -- Bob Perks .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

The Hummingbird It's incredible how many preconceived and misinformed ideas I have about God's creation. For example, I had this idea hummingbirds are always on the move, flitting from place to place. There is a group of hummingbirds that visit our backyard and do all of their expected aerobatic maneuvers with unceasing energy. All of them are humming around constantly except for one. This one hummingbird flies down, sits on a bare branch, and simply sits there looking around. This has been going for the last week. It's almost like I want to yell at this bird and say, "Come on, start moving. What's wrong with you? Are you sick or just lazy? You're not doing what I think a hummingbird should be doing. Flap your wings a million times a minute like I think you're supposed to. Live up to my expectations of what it means to be a hummingbird." My expectation of what it means to love God and live the Christian life are very much like my expectations of hummingbirds. "Flap your wings a million times a minute and do what a Christian is supposed to do." It's hard to simply sit on a bare branch and look around. The busy-ness of life, even the Christian life, tells me there are times when I need to find a bare branch, simply sit there, and look around. This weekend, maybe you, too, can find a bare branch and simply sit there. By Glenn White .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

> >Subject: Women Issues > > > > > > Q: Should I have a baby after 35? > > A: No, 35 children is enough. > > > > Q: I'm two months pregnant now. When will my > baby move? > > A: With any luck, right after he finishes > college. > > > > Q: What is the most reliable method to > determine a baby's sex? > > A: Childbirth. > > > > Q: My wife is five months pregnant and so > moody that sometimes she's > >borderline irrational. > > A: So what's your question? > > > > Q: My childbirth instructor says it's not > pain I'll feel during > >labor, but pressure. Is she right? > > A: Yes, in the same way that a tornado might > be called an air > >current. > > > > Q: When is the best time to get an epidural? > > A: Right after you find out you're pregnant. > > > > Q: Is there any reason I have to be in the > delivery room while my > >wife is in labor? > > A: Not unless the word "alimony" means > anything to you. > > > > Q: Is there anything I should avoid while > recovering from childbirth? > > A: Yes, pregnancy. > > > > Q: Do I have to have a baby shower? > > A: Not if you change the baby's diaper very > quickly. > > > > Q: Our baby was born last week. When will my > wife begin to feel and > >act normal again? > > A: When the kids are in college. > > > > > > "ESTROGEN ISSUES" > > 10 WAYS TO KNOW IF YOU HAVE "ESTROGEN > ISSUES" > > > > 1. Everyone around you has an attitude > problem. > > > > 2. You're adding chocolate chips to your > cheese omelet. > > > > 3. The dryer has shrunk every last pair of > your jeans. > > > > 4. Your husband is suddenly agreeing to > everything you say. > > > > 5. You're using your cellular phone to dial > up every bumper sticker > >that says "How's my driving-call 1-800-***-." > > > > 6. Everyone's head looks like an invitation > to batting-practice. > > > > 7. You're convinced there's a God and He's a > male. > > > > 8. You can't believe they don't make a > tampon bigger than Super > >Plus. > > > > 9. You're sure that everyone is scheming to > drive you crazy. > > > > 10. The ibuprofen bottle is empty and you > bought it yesterday. > > > > TOP TEN THINGS ONLY WOMEN UNDERSTAND > > > > 10. Cats' facial expressions. > > > > 9. The need for the same style of shoes in > different colors. > > > > 8. Why bean sprouts aren't just weeds. > > > > 7. Fat clothes. > > > > 6. Taking a car trip without trying to beat > your best time. > > > > 5. The difference between beige, ecru, > cream, off-white, and > >eggshell. > > > > 4. Cutting your bangs to make them grow. > > > > 3. Eyelash curlers. > > > > 2. The inaccuracy of every bathroom scale > ever made. > > > > AND, the Number One thing only women > understand > > > > 1. OTHER WOMEN > > > > Send this to five bright, funny women you know > and make their day. > > > > WE ALL NEED TO SMILE !!!!!!! .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

LEO'S WORLD Leo smiled whenever he called himself a "diamond cutter". The statement, however, was literally correct. Leo pushed the lawnmowers that tidied the baseball diamonds. He also cut and chalked football gridirons and raked running tracks. However, cutting, chalking and raking was only part of his responsibilities with our town's Parks Department. He also planted and pruned trees and grew and transplanted flowers. But the job he cherished above all was printing panels with the names of local youngsters who entered military service. Leo worked neatly and with a great eye for space. After all "Joe Jones" and "Carmine Santodominguez" had to fit the same size panels on our civic honor roll. Leo made every name readable. Leo received the names of new inductees the same day the draft board approved them. And these names were lettered and tacked into position quickly and with the utmost care. And, sadly, the same day the War Department released its Killed In Action lists, Leo went to the honor roll and painted a gold star on the dead serviceperson's panel -- between the hero's first and last names. Each hand-painted star seemed identical in its size and brightness. Our downtown honor roll was quietly beautiful and carefully maintained. Leo moved down to Connecticut from Maine in the late 1930's and he seemed to keep his job forever -- World War II, the Korean Conflict, Vietnam, and, just before he retired, the Gulf War. It was more than a job. It was Leo's obsession. Leo's world. While Leo cut the grass and tended the flora dispassionately, the Honor Roll stirred him. He'd call the parents of each new recruit and tell them, "Not to worry. God is on our side. And I will pray for your kid's safe return." To Leo, these young men and women were "kids" -- his kids. He watched them grow and saw many of them compete in team sports on his grass and cinders. And he watched them work in our hometown. And on those days he painted gold stars, he'd visit his kids' homes and shared their family's grief. He brought the ceremonial gold star flags to their widows and parents who displayed them on their front door or in their front window. Each badge of honor was softly spotted with Leo's own tears. He also brought a white rose, which would eventually threaten his job security. When Judson McComb, the Parks Commissioner, heard that some roses were missing from the city's greenhouses, he discovered Leo was the culprit. They confronted each other in a closed-door meeting in McComb's office. The pot-bellied Commissioner and the wiry suntanned diamond cutter rarely made eye-contact. Leo stared up at his boss's forehead and McComb stared down at his desk pens. "Who do you think you are, Robin Hood?" McComb asked. "Who are you, Sir?", Leo said politely, "the evil sheriff of Nottingham?" McComb's bloated face reddened. "These roses are city property -- part of our departmental budget. You can't steal them. We can't give a rose to every family who loses a son or a husband in this war," McComb said. Leo responded, "We're civil servants, aren't we?" McComb nodded yes. "Well, what's more civil than giving one white rose to someone who's given a son to protect us? If you and the mayor would visit these homes with me, you might change your minds. After all, I present the rose from 'Your Parks Department,' not from Leo Small." "OK, I see, Leo," the commissioner whispered. "You can call me Mister Small," Leo said with a grin, extending his hand. The commissioner shook Leo's hand and smiled. And the subject was never again discussed. Leo continued his daily routine -- cutting grass, planting flowers, pruning trees, chalking and raking athletic fields and updating the honor roll. The "boys" at Moon's Tavern had the same daily question. "What's new, Leo? Leo would say, "Danny Gardella just joined the Navy. Remember what a great fullback he was? All state last year." After work one day, Leo was despondent. He told his drinking buddies that Carl Paine was killed in the Battle of the Bulge. "Where's that?" Red Franklin asked. "In Belgium, you nit-wit" Moon said. And the "boys" toasted Red's memory somberly, reverently and often. "I'll be visiting the Franklin home tonight. Anybody care to join me?" Throats cleared. Then silence. Though Leo Small never married, he had thousands of kids, most of whom returned home. When he finally retired, Leo was asked to run for Mayor. And, with his personal following, he probably would have won. But he declined. He had enough of politics just dealing with the Parks Commissioner. While savoring his retirement, Leo still spent a lot of time at the department's greenhouses. And he volunteered to update the reverence roll like only he could -- neatly and with great love, talent and affection. When our hometown paper interviewed him, Leo was asked why he still tended the civic honor roll. "It keeps me in touch my kids. I know them by name -- all of them." -- Ron Gold .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

Sounds good to me!! in my heart it is true. check www.snopes.com kiss > > How Budweiser handled those who laughed at those who died on the > 11th of September, 2001... > > Thought you might like to know what happened in a little town north of > Bakersfield, > California. After you finish reading this, please forward this story on to > others so that > our nation and people around the world will know about those who laughed > when they > found out about the tragic events in New York, Pennsylvania, and the > Pentagon. > > On September 11th, a Budweiser employee was making a delivery to a > convenience store > in a California town named McFarland. He knew of the tragedy that had > occurred in > New York when he entered the business to find the two Arabs, who owned the > business, > whooping and hollering to show their approval and support of this > treacherous attack. > Budweiser employee went to his truck, called his boss and told him of the > very upsetting > event! He didn't feel he could be in that store with those horrible > people. His boss > asked him, "Do you think you could go in there long enough to pull every > Budweiser > product and item our beverage company sells there? We'll never deliver to > them again." > The employee walked in, proceeded to pull every single product his beverage > company > provided and left with an incredible grin on his face. He told them never > to bother to > call for a delivery again. Budweiser happens to be the beer of choice for > that > community. Just letting you know how Kern County handled this situation. > And now > the rest of the story: It seems that the Bud driver and the Pepsi man are > neighbors. Bud > called Pepsi and told him. Pepsi called his boss who told him to pull all > Pepsi products > as well!! That would include Frito Lay, etc. Furthermore, word spread and > all vendors > followed suit! At last report, the store was closed indefinitely. Good > old American > Passive-Aggressive Butt Whoopin'! Pass this along. America needs to know > that we're > all working together. > > .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

Yesterday Was Laural and Shawna'seas Birthdays HAPPY BIRTHDAY SISSY!! my baby Shawna'sea is now 18 <crys> I have no more babys!!! missi-fits .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

The Pleasure Of Fragrance Imagine our world without fragrance; without the scent of jasmine flowers, or curry, fresh brewed coffee, or newly mown hay. While fragrances are so much a part of our world, they still seem to come from another realm- an invisible, ethereal, poetic realm. I think this is why I am so drawn to them. When we breath deeply and savor a pleasing fragrance, it relaxes us. It may also transport us to a sense memory: cinnamon at Christmas time, the saffron rice and spicy curry of that amazing Indian restaurant...Grandma's lilac perfume... My youngest daughter put on my nightgown this morning, and stood with it in draping folds around her feet. She said it smelled good, like me. The other day, after changing the sheets on our bed, I spritzed them with jasmine. My daughter climbed in much later, breathed deeply, smiled luxuriously, and said, "Mommy." Fragrances have the subtle power to comfort and relax us, to inspire and delight.

Below is an actual letter sent to a Bank in the United States. The Bank Manager thought it amusing enough to have it published in the New York Times. Dear Sir: I am writing to thank you for bouncing my check with which I endeavored to pay my plumber last month. By my calculations some three nanoseconds must have elapsed between his presenting the check and the arrival in my account of the funds needed to honor it. I refer, of course, to the automatic monthly deposit of my entire salary, an arrangement which, I admit, has only been in place for eight years. You are to be commended for seizing that brief window of opportunity, and also for debiting my account by $50 by way of penalty for the inconvenience I caused to your bank. My thankfulness springs from the manner in which this incident has caused me to rethink my errant financial ways. You have set me on the path of fiscal righteousness. No more will our relationship be blighted by these unpleasant incidents, for I am restructuring my affairs in 2002, taking as my model the procedures, attitudes and conduct of your very bank. I can think of no greater compliment and I know you will be excited and proud to hear it. To this end, please be advised of the following changes. I have noticed that whereas I personally attend to your telephone calls and letters, when I try to contact you, I am confronted by the impersonal, ever-changing, pre-recorded, faceless entity which your bank has become. From now on I, like you, choose only to deal with a flesh-and-blood person. My mortgage and loan repayments will, therefore and hereafter, no longer be automatic, but will arrive at your bank, by check, addressed personally and confidentially to an employee at your branch whom you must nominate. You will be aware that it is an offense under the Postal Act for any other person to open such an envelope. Please find attached an Application Contact Status which I require your chosen employee to complete. I am sorry it runs to eight pages, but in order that I know as much about him or her as your bank knows about me, there is no alternative. Please note that all copies of his or her medical history must be countersigned by a Notary Public, and the mandatory details of his/her financial situation (income, debts, assets and liabilities) must be accompanied by documented proof. In due course I will issue your employee with a PIN number which he/she must quote in dealings with me. I regret that it cannot be shorter than 28 digits but, again, I have modeled it on the number of button presses required to access my account balance on your phone bank service. As they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Let me level the playing field even further by introducing you to my new telephone system, which you will notice, is very much like yours. My Authorized Contact at your bank, the only person with whom I will have any dealings, may call me at any time and will be answered by an automated voice service: Press buttons as follows: 1. To make an appointment to see me. 2. To query a missing payment. 3. To transfer the call to my living room in case I am there. 4. To transfer the call to my bedroom in case I am sleeping. 5. To transfer the call to my toilet in case I am attending to nature. 6. To transfer the call to my mobile phone if I am not at home. 7. To leave a message on my computer, a password to access my computer is required. Password will be communicated at a later date to the Authorized Contact. 8. To return to the main menu and to listen to options 1 through 7. 9. To make a general complaint or inquiry. The contact will then be put on hold, pending the attention of my automated answering service. While this may on occasion involve a lengthy wait, uplifting music will play for the duration of the call. This month I've chosen a refrain from "The Best of Woody Guthrie: ‘Oh, the banks are made of marble, With a guard at every door, And the vaults are filled with silver, that the miners sweated for.’" On a more serious note, we come to the matter of cost. As your bank has often pointed out, the ongoing drive for greater efficiency comes at a cost which you have always been quick to pass on to me. Let me repay your kindness by passing some costs back. First, there is a matter of advertising material you send me. This I will read for a fee of $20 per page. Inquiries from the Authorized Contact will be billed at $5 per minute of my time spent in response. Any debits to my account, as, for example, in the matter of the penalty for the dishonored check, will be passed back to you. My new phone service runs at 75 cents a minute. You will be well advised to keep your inquiries brief and to the point. Regrettably, but again following your example, I must also levy an establishment fee to cover the setting up of this new arrangement. May I wish you a happy, if ever-so-slightly less prosperous, New Year? Your Humble Client, (Name Withheld)

How Budweiser handled those who laughed at those who died on the 11th of September, 2001... Thought you might like to know what happened in a little town north of Bakersfield, California. After you finish reading this, please forward this story on to others so that our nation and people around the world will know about those who laughed when they found out about the tragic events in New York, Pennsylvania, and the Pentagon. On September 11th, a Budweiser employee was making a delivery to a convenience store in a California town named McFarland. He knew of the tragedy that had occurred in New York when he entered the business to find the two Arabs, who owned the business, whooping and hollering to show their approval and support of this treacherous attack. Budweiser employee went to his truck, called his boss and told him of the very upsetting event! He didn't feel he could be in that store with those horrible people. His boss asked him, "Do you think you could go in there long enough to pull every Budweiser product and item our beverage company sells there? We'll never deliver to them again." The employee walked in, proceeded to pull every single product his beverage company provided and left with an incredible grin on his face. He told them never to bother to call for a delivery again. Budweiser happens to be the beer of choice for that community. Just letting you know how Kern County handled this situation. And now the rest of the story: It seems that the Bud driver and the Pepsi man are neighbors. Bud called Pepsi and told him. Pepsi called his boss who told him to pull all Pepsi products as well!! That would include Frito Lay, etc. Furthermore, word spread and all vendors followed suit! At last report, the store was closed indefinitely. Good old American Passive-Aggressive Butt Whoopin'! Pass this along. America needs to know that we're all working together. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Origins: This tale about an avenging Budweiser employee first surfaced on the Internet around September 20, 2001. It is but one of the innumerable "celebrating arabs" tales that circulated in the wake of the September 11 attacks. This rumor about Arab employees caught celebrating on the 11th as they watched the events of the day unfold has been aimed at countless businesses, both big and small. Invariably, when the authorities check into them, there is never anything to these stories, but the negative effect such slanders have on the businesses named in them is enormous. (Our Hole in the Middle page details a few of these rumors, making specific mention of the ones aimed at Dunkin' Donuts and National Liquidators.) The Budweiser version is every bit as much a fiction as all the rest of this genre: The events described never happened, said Dennis Muleady, marketing director for Advance Beverage of Bakersfield, the Budweiser distributor for the McFarland area. As well, a query to Anheuser-Busch produced the following response: Thank you for taking the time to e-mail Anheuser-Busch. Please know that we have investigated the matter and have found there is no truth to this story.

How Budweiser handled those who laughed at those who died on the 11th of September, 2001... Thought you might like to know what happened in a little town north of Bakersfield, California. After you finish reading this, please forward this story on to others so that our nation and people around the world will know about those who laughed when they found out about the tragic events in New York, Pennsylvania, and the Pentagon. On September 11th, a Budweiser employee was making a delivery to a convenience store in a California town named McFarland. He knew of the tragedy that had occurred in New York when he entered the business to find the two Arabs, who owned the business, whooping and hollering to show their approval and support of this treacherous attack. Budweiser employee went to his truck, called his boss and told him of the very upsetting event! He didn't feel he could be in that store with those horrible people. His boss asked him, "Do you think you could go in there long enough to pull every Budweiser product and item our beverage company sells there? We'll never deliver to them again." The employee walked in, proceeded to pull every single product his beverage company provided and left with an incredible grin on his face. He told them never to bother to call for a delivery again. Budweiser happens to be the beer of choice for that community. Just letting you know how Kern County handled this situation. And now the rest of the story: It seems that the Bud driver and the Pepsi man are neighbors. Bud called Pepsi and told him. Pepsi called his boss who told him to pull all Pepsi products as well!! That would include Frito Lay, etc. Furthermore, word spread and all vendors followed suit! At last report, the store was closed indefinitely. Good old American Passive-Aggressive Butt Whoopin'! Pass this along. America needs to know that we're all working together. _______________________________________ Get Your Free Personal Email at: http://www.sa360.com

Attendance May Be Taken One day James M. Black of Williamsport, Pennsylvania impulsively cut through an alley to save time on his way to the post office. As he hurriedly walked down the alley, he passed "a young girl sweeping the porch of a ramshackle house. She was poorly dressed and in her young face were already the traces of worry and neglect. Black asked the girl, whose name was Bessie, if she went to Sunday school. "No, sir," the girl replied. "I'd like to but I don't have anything fit to wear; but sir, How I'd love to go!" Black and his wife and friends promptly brought the girl some "church clothes," and she began faithfully attending both Sunday school and the young people's meetings. Each time there was a roll call; she was there. One day when Black called the roll, Bessie failed to answer. Black looked up from the attendance book surprised. He called her name again, but she was not there. After the service he hurried to the alley, worried that Bessie's drunken father had forbidden her to come or that he had beaten her so severely she was unable to make her way to church. Instead, he found her dying of pneumonia. He summoned his own doctor to treat her, but all efforts failed to restore her health. Black couldn't shake off the feeling he'd first experienced when he called the roll and Bessie didn't answer. He thought about how there would be "a roll call in heaven and oh, the sadness there would be for those whose names are not written in the Lamb's Book of Life. A song leader, Black longed for a song that would "impress this truth upon the hearts of the young people in his Sunday school class." But he couldn't find one. Later that day he was inspired to write one himself. He sat down at the piano and without any effort at all the words seemed to tumble from his mind. The tune came in the same manner. He felt that he was only the transcriber - he dared not change a note or a word. The song was first sung at Bessie's funeral where Black explained the circumstances leading up to it. He never would forget the effect it had upon the large audience of friends who had come. The Lord had taken little Bessie home, but in her place He had given a song to keep reminding all of us to be ready for the great roll-call day. When the trumpet of the Lord shall sound, And time shall be no more, And the morning breaks, eternal, Bright and fair; When the saved of earth shall gather Over on the other shore, And the roll is called up yonder, I'll be there. When the roll is called up yonder, When the roll is called up yonder, When the roll is called up yonder, When the roll is called up yonder, Author Unknown .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

I'm Okay By Rabona Gordon The house is a mess, the dishes are dirty. I'm too old for this stuff, I'm well over thirty! The car is not clean, my house is a wreck, And I've already spent next Friday's paycheck. The laundry needs washing, the kids are too rowdy, And I never have time for a leisurely "Howdy." With all that I do, it's never enough, It's never quite finished, it always looks rough. I looked in my mirror and what did I see? A harried old stranger, where I used to be. The hurrier I go, the behinder I get. Today is tomorrow, and I'm not caught up yet. My kids are growing at such a fast pace, That I'm missing their childhood for the sake of this race. I work and I clean and I cook, and I say "Hit the books, clean your room!" there's no time for play. Well, the Lord, for some reason, chose ME with the care Of three of His children, but I'm rarely there! I've GOT to slow down lest there's nothing to show For my role as their mom when they pack up and go! I'm only one person, but look through my door, What appears to be one, divides into more! I'm a chauffeur, a cook, a planter of trees, A teacher, an umpire, a mender of knees. Sometimes, I forget that deep down inside, There's a lady with feelings, and last night, she cried. She gets tired and lonely, feels taken for granted She wants to see blooms from the seeds that she's planted. Then, amidst all the turmoil in this mind-bending pace, My little ones look at me - square in the face... And just when I need it, they all in one day Say, "Momma, I love you" and then...I'm OKAY! .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

RETIREMENT FUN So you're a senior citizen now, Well, congratulations friend! You've reached the point of no return, The beginning of the end. You know, it's all downhill from here, At least that's what they say. No job, no boss, no work to do, And don't forget -- no pay! You're on what's called a "fixed income", As much as they allow. Mine wasn't broke, I told them so, But they fixed it anyhow! And oh yes, another thing, You'll be eating cheaper now. Won't have to buy delicious foods, Can't eat them anyhow. The doctors say, "You watch your weight!" "Your cholesterol's too high!" And you need to get that pressure down, Or else you're gonna die! And many other benefits, We didn't talk about, Bifocals, bunions, "Meals on Wheels", It's enough to make you shout! So have fun, enjoy and laugh alot. No need of being blue. You've waited all your life for this, And now it's all come true. So, cheer up friend, as you join in, And don't be sad or glum. Just grin and bear it best you can, The worst is yet to come! .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

The American Flag By Ellie Braun-Haley On a Wednesday in September, I traveled south for the funeral of my grandfather. It was a day of sadness, but also one of rejoicing for the wonderful human being I had had the opportunity to know. It was also a time of great sorrow for all Americans. It had been only days since the September 11th terrorist attacks. Driving along a Canadian prairie road, I saw a long caravan of trucks and other vehicles and, as I got closer, people on horseback. Cowboys and cowgirls were riding horses out in the middle of nowhere! The group was traveling south, toward the border, and they were flying two flags - the Canadian and the American. They were going to meet up with a group of American riders at the border between the two countries. Along the way, the Canadian cowboys were collecting cash, which they were going to give to their American counterparts. They were just one of many Canadian groups who had found a way to help and show they cared after the attacks in the U.S. Later that day, when I was driving home from my grandfather's funeral, the sky opened and a driving rain poured down from the heavens. Visibility was so bad that I had to slow to a crawl. It was then that I saw it. Large and glorious, whipping in the wind, perched atop an irrigation system, the water still pumping out, flew a flag! It was an American flag, raised to honor the thousands who died on September 11. I began to cry. I thought about all those lives ending so abruptly. I also cried because I was so touched by the warm act of love demonstrated by a simple Canadian farmer. By flying the American flag he was sending out a message of love and respect to his American neighbors. His actions spoke louder than words ever could: "We are with you, dear friends. We are with you in spirit. We ache for you. We cry for you. We pray for you. We will not forget." The storm passed as suddenly as it had started, and I found myself driving through the most glorious sunshine. I felt like God was sending a promise for better things to come. .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

Today I woke up early today, excited over all the things I get to do before the day ends. My job is to choose what kind of day I am going to have.... Today I can complain because the weather is rainy or ... I can be thankful that the grass is getting watered for free. Today I can grumble about my health or... I can rejoice that I am alive. Today I can mourn my lack of friends or... I can excitedly embark upon a quest to discover new relationships. Today I can whine because I have to go to work or... I can shout for joy because I have a job to do. Today I can murmur dejectedly because I have to do housework or... I can feel honored because Life has provided shelter for my mind, body and soul Today stretches ahead of me, waiting to be shaped. And here I am, the sculptor who gets to do the shaping. Author Unknown .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³