Happiness is the only purpose of life. We are here to find the true value, dignity and respect of life. We are here to rebuild the connection between our personal “heaven and earth.” We are here to balance and harmonize everyday life. Everyone has free access to the gateway to return home. The access to this gateway begins with learning to enjoy life—today and at this very moment. ~Yun Xiang Tseng
Archive for February, 2011
What a great gift to have an adopted son. He’s a dreamer of big dreams I must keep him focused on just one or two. He has some wonderful ideas but he needs to follow them thru to the end. I have faith in him! He is everything a father could ask for. I hope he keeps on dreaming the big dreams.
A cancer patient only has one wish, to kick cancer’s butt. I know that 97% of you won’t post this as your status, but my friends will be the 3% that do. In honor of someone who died, is fighting cancer, or beat cancer(!!) post this for at least one hour.
Frank Buckles the last surviving World War I vet turned 110 today and is still lobbying for Veterans issues. Happy Birthday CPL Buckles.
America’s last surviving World War I veteran celebrates his 110th birthday.
Here’s a story worth reading. This is wonderful and a good reminder to always be kind because everyone has something going on in their lives at some point that we’re not of.
The Cab Ride!
I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I walked to the door and knocked. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, any knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
Would you carry my bag out to the car? she said. I took the suitcase to the cab and then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. It’s nothing, I told her. I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.
Oh, you’re such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, Could you drive through downtown? It’s not the shortest way, I answered quickly. Oh, I don’t mind, she said. I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice. I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. I don’t have any family left, she continued in a soft voice. The doctor says I don’t have very long. I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. That route would you like me to take? I asked. For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds she had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, I’m tired. Let’s go now.
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They
were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been
expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The
woman was already seated in a wheelchair. How much do I owe you? She asked,
reaching into her purse. Nothing, I said you have to make a living, she answered. There are other passengers, I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. You gave an old woman a little moment of joy, she said. Thank you. I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life. We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID~BUT~THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.
Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we
might as well dance.
the Shaman 