Stories (in English)

Love is a fallacy

-Max Shulman

This fictional account concerns two college students who become deeply involved with many of the fallacies discussed earlier. Taken from the popular novel. The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis, the story provides a delightful, if extreme, illustration of how fallacious reasoning can affect our everyday lives.

Cool was I, and logical. Keen—calculating, perspicacious, acute and astute—I was all of these. May brain was as powerful as a dynamo, as precise as a chemist’s scales, as penetrating as a scalpel. And—think of it! —I was only eighteen.

It is not often that one so young has such a giant intellect. Take, for example,

Petey Bellows, my roommate at the university. Same age, same background, but dumb as an ox. A nice enough fellow, you understand, but nothing upstairs. Emotional type. Unstable. Impressionable. Worst of all, a faddist. Fads, I submit, are the very negation of reason. To be swept up in every new craze that comes along, to surrender yourself to idiocy just because everybody else is doing it—this, to me, is the acme of mindlessness. Not, however, to Petey.

One afternoon I found Petey lying on his bed with an expression of such distress on his face that I immediately diagnosed appendicitis. “Don’t move,” I said. “Don’t take a laxative. I’ll get a doctor.”

“Raccoon?” he mumbled thickly.

“Raccoon?” I said, pausing in my flight.

“I want a raccoon coat,” he wailed.

I perceived that his trouble was not physician, but mental. “Why do you want a raccoon coat?”

“I should have known it,” he cried, pounding his temples. “I should have known they’d come back when the Charleston came back. Like a fool I spent all my money for textbooks, and now I can’t get a raccoon coat.”

“Can you mean,” I said incredulously, “that people are actually wearing raccoon coats again?”

“All the Big Men on Campus are wearing them. Where’ve you been?”

“In the library,” I said, naming a place not frequently by Big Men on campus.

He leaped from the bed and paced the room. “I’ve got to have a raccoon coat,” he said passionately, “I’ve got to!”

“Petey, why? Look at it rationally. Raccoon coats are unsanitary. They shed. They smell bad. They weigh too much. They’re unsightly. They—“

“You don’t understand,” he interrupted impatiently. “It’s the thing to do. Don’t you want to be in the swim?”

“No, I said truthfully.

“Well, I do,” he declared. “I’d give anything for a raccoon coat. Anything!”

My brain, that precision instrument, slipped into high gear. “Anything?” I asked, looking at him narrowly.

“Anything,” he affirmed in ringing tones.

I stroked my chin thoughtfully. It so happened that I knew where to get my hands on a raccoon coat. My father had had one in his undergraduate days; it lay now in a trunk in the attic back home. It also happened that Petey had something I wanted. He didn’t have it exactly, but at least he had first right on it. I refer to h is girl, Polly Espy.

I had ling coveted Polly Espy. Let me emphasize that my desire for this young woman was not emotional in nature. She was, to be sure, a girl who excited the emotion, but I was not one to let my heart rule my head. I wanted Polly for a shrewdly calculated, entirely cerebral reason.

I was a freshman in law school. In a few years I would be out in practice. I was well aware of the importance of the right kind of wife in furthering a lawyer’s career. The successful lawyers I had observed were, almost without exception, married to beautiful, gracious, intelligent women. With one omission, Polly fitted these specifications perfectly.

Beautiful she was. She was not yet of pin-up proportions, but I felt sure that time would supply the lack. She already had the makings.

Gracious she was. By gracious I mean full of graces. She has an erectness of carriage, an ease of bearing, a poise that clearly indicated the best of breeding. At table her manners were exquisite. I had seen her at the Kozy Kampus Korner eating the specialty of the house—a sandwich that contained scraps of pot roast, gravy, chopped nuts, and a dipper of sauerkraut—without even getting her fingers moist.

Intelligent she was not. In fact, she veered in the opposite direction. But I believed that under my guidance she would smarten up. At any rate, it was worth a try. It is, after all, easier to make a beautiful dumb girl smart than to make an ugly smart girl beautiful.

“Petey,” I said, “are you love with Polly Espy?”

“ I think she’s a keen kid,” he replied, “but I don’t know if you’d call it love. Why?

“Do you,” I asked, “have any kind of formal arrangement with her? I mean are you going steady or anything like that?’

“No. We see each other quite a bit, but we both have other dates. Why?

“Is there,” I asked, “any other man for whom she has particular fondness?

“Not that I know of, why?”

I nodded with satisfaction. “In other words, if you were out of the picture, the field would be open. Is that right?”

“I guess so. What are you getting at?”

“Nothing, nothing,” I said innocently, and took my suitcase out of the closet.

“Where are you going?” asked Petey

“Home for the week end.” I threw a few things into the bag.

“Listen,” he said, clutching my arm eagerly, “while you’re home, you couldn’t get some money form your old man, could you, and lend it to me so I can buy a raccoon coat?”

“I may do better than that,” I said with a mysterious wink and closed my bag and left.

“Look,” I said to Petey when I got back Monday morning. I threw open the suitcase and revealed the huge, hairy, gamy object that my father had worn in his Stutz Bearcat in 1925.

“Holy Toledo!” said Petey reverently. He plunged his hands into the raccoon coat and then his face. “Holy Toledo!” he repeated fifteen or twenty times.

“Would you like it?” I asked.

“Oh yes!” he cried, clutching the greasy pelt to him. Then a canny look came into his eyes. “What do you want for it?”

“Your girl,” I said, mincing no words.

“Poly?” he said in a horrified whisper. “Your want Polly?”

“That’s right”

He flung the coat for him. “Never, “he said stoutly.

I shrugged. “Okay. If you don’t want to be in the swim, I guess it’s your business.”

I sat down in a chair and pretended to read a book, but out of the corner of my eye I kept watching Petey. He was a torn man. First he looked at the coat with the expression of a waif at a bakery window. Then he away and set his jaw resolutely. Then he looked hack at the coat, with even more longing in his face. Then he turned away, but with not so much resolution his time. Back and forth his head swivelled, desire waxing, resolution waning. Finally he didn’t turn away at all; he just stood and stared with mad lust at the coat.

“It isn’t as though I was in love with Polly,” he said thickly, “Or going steady or anything like that”

“That’s right,” I murmured.

“What’s Polly to me, or me to Polly?”

“ Not a thing,” said I.

“It’s just been a casual kick—just a few laughs, that’s all.”

“Try on the coat,” said I.

He complied. The coat bunched high over his ears and dropped all the way down to his shoe tops. He looked like a mount of dead raccoons. “Fits fine,” he said happily.

I rose from my chair, “Is it a deal?” I asked, extending my hand.

He swallowed. “It’s a deal,” he said and shook my hand.

I had my first date with Polly the following evening. This was in the nature of a survey; I wanted to find out just how much work I had to do to get her mind up to her standard I required. I took her first to dinner. “Gee, that was a delish dinner,” she said as we left the restaurant. Then I took her to a movie.” Gee, that was a marvy movie,” she said as we left the theatre. And then I took her home. “Gee, I had a sensysh time,” she said as she bade me good nigh.

I went back to my room with a heavy heart. I had gravely underestimated the size of my task. This girl’s lack of information was terrifying. Nor would it be enough merely to supply her with information. First she had to be taught to think. This loomed as a project of no small dimensions, and at first I was tempted to give her back to Petey. But then I got to thinking about her abundant physical charms and about the way she entered a room and the way she handled a knife and fork, and I decided to make an effort.

I went about it, as in all things, systematically. I gave her a course in logic. It happened that I, as a law student, as taking a course in logic myself, so I had all the facts at my fingertips. “Polly,” I sad to her when I picked her up on out next date, “tonight we are going over to the Knoll and talk.

“Oo, terrif,” she replied. One thing I will say this girl: you would go far to find another so agreeable.

We went to the Knoll, the campus trysting place, and we sat under an old oak, and she looked at me expectantly. “What are we going to talk about? She asked.

“Logic”

She thought this over for minute and decided she liked it. “Magnif.” She said.

“Logic,” I said, clearing my throat,” is the science of thinking. Before we can think correctly, we must first learn to recognize the common fallacies of logic. These we will take up tonight”

“Wow-dow!” she cried, clapping her hands delightedly.

I winced, but went bravely on. “First let us examine fallacy called Dicto Simpliciter.

“By all means,” she urged, batting her lashes eagerly.

“Dicto Simpliciter mean an argument based on an unqualified generalization. For example: Exercise is good. Therefore everybody should exercise.”

“I agree said Polly earnestly. “I mean exercise is wonderful. I mean it builds the body and everything”

“Polly. I said gently, “the argument is a fallacy. Exercise is good is an unqualified generalization. For instance, if you have a heart disease, exercise is bad, not good. Many people are ordered by their doctors not to exercise. You must qualify the generalization. You must say exercise is usually good, or exercise is good for most people. Otherwise you have committed a Dicto Simpliciter. Do you see?”

“No,” she confessed. “But this is marvy. Do more! Do more!”

“It will be better if you stop tugging at my sleeve,” I told her, and when she desisted, I continued. “Next we take up a fallacy called Hasty Generalization. Listen carefully: You can’t speak French. I can’t speak French. Petey Bellows can’t speak French. I must therefore conclude that nobody at the University of Minnesota can speak French.”

“Really?” said Polly, amazed, “Nobody?”

I hid my exasperation. “Polly, it’s a fallacy. The generalization is reached too hastily. There are too few instances to support such a conclusion.”

“Know any more fallacies?” she asked breathlessly. “This is more fun than dancing even.”

I fought off a wave of despair. I was getting nowhere with this girl, absolutely nowhere. Still, I am nothing if not persistent. I continued. “Next comes Post Hoc. Listen to his” Let’s not take Bill on our picnic. Every time we take him out with us, it rains.”

“I know somebody just like that;” she exclaimed. “A girl back home—Eula Becker, her name is. It never fails. Every single time we take her on a picnic—“

“Poly,” I said sharply, “it’s a fallacy. Eula Becker doesn’t cause the rain. She has no connection with the rain. You are guilty of Post Hoc if you blame Eula Becker.”

“I’ll never do it again,” she promised contritely. “Are you mad at me?”

I sighted. “No, Polly, I’m not mad.”

“Then tell me some more fallacies.”

“All right. Let’s try Contradictory Premises.”

“Yes, let’s,” she chirped, blinking her eyes happily.

I frowned, but plunged ahead. “Here’s an example of Contradictory Premises: If God can do anything, can He mane a stone so heavy that He won’t be able to lift it?”

“Of course,” she replied promptly.

“But if He can do anything, He can lift the stone,” I pointed out.

“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully. “Well, then I guess He can’t make the stone.”

“Bot He can do anything,” I reminded her.

She scratched her pretty, empty head. “I’m all confused,” she admitted.

“Of course you are. Because when the premises of an argument contradict each other, there can be no argument. If there is an irresistible force, that can be no immovable object. If there is an immovable object, there can be no irresistible force. Get it?”

 “Tell me some more of this keen stuff,” she said eagerly.

I consulted my watch. “ I think we’d better call it a night. I’ll take you home now, and you go over all the things you’ve leaned. We’ll have another session tomorrow night.”

I deposited her at her girls’ dormitory, where she assured me that she had had a perfect terrif evening, and I went glumly home to my room. Petey lay snoring in his bed, the raccoon coat huddled like a great beast at his Feet. For a moment I considered waking him and telling him that he could have his girl back. It seemed clear that my project was doomed to failure. The girl simply had a logic-proof head.

But then I reconsidered. I had wasted one evening; I might as well waste another. Who knew? May be somewhere in the extinct crater of her mind a few embers still smouldered. May be somehow I could fan them into flame, Admittedly it was not a prospect I fraught with hope, but I decided to give it one more try.

Seated under the oak the next evening I said, “Our first fallacy tonight is called Ad Misericordiam.”

She quivered with delight.

“Listen closely,” I said. “A man applies for a job. When the boss asks his what his qualifications are, he replies that he has a wife and six children at home, the wife is a helpless cripple, the children have nothing to eat, no clothes to wear, no shoes on their feet, there are no beds in the house, no coal in the cellar, and winter in coming.”

A tear rolled down each of Polly’s pink cheeks. “Oh, this is awful, awful,” she sobbed.

“Yes, it’s awful,” I agreed, but it’s no argument. The man never answered the boss’s question about his qualification. Instead he appealed to the boss’s sympathy. He committed the fallacy of Ad Misericordiam. Do you understand?”

“Have you got a handkerchief?” she blubbered.

I handed her a handkerchief and tried to keep from screaming while she wiped her eyes. “Next,” I said in a carefully controlled tone, “we will discuss False Analogy. Here is an example” Students should be allowed to look at their textbooks during examinations. After all, surgeons have X rays to guide them during an operation, lawyers have briefs to guide them during a trial, and carpenters have blueprints to guide them when they are building a house. Why, then, shouldn’t students be allowed to look at their textbooks during an examinations?”

“There now,” she said enthusiastically, “is the most marvy idea I’ve heard in years.”

“Polly,” I said testily, “the argument is all wrong. Doctors, lawyers, and carpenters aren’t taking a test to see how much they have learned, but students are. The situations are altogether different, and you can’t make an analogy between them.”

“I still think it’s a good idea,” said Polly.

“Nuts,” I muttered. Doggedly I pressed on. “Next we’ll try Hypothesis Contrary to Fact”

“Sounds yummy,” was Polly’s reaction.

“Listen: If Madame Curie had not happened to leave a photographic plate in a drawer with a chunk of pitchblende, the world today would not know about radium.”

“True, true,” said Polly, nodding her head. “Did you see the movie? Oh, it just knocked me out. That Walter Pidgeon is so dreamy. I mean he fractures me”

“If you can forget Mr. Pidgeon for a moment,” I said coldly,” I would like to point out that the statement is a fallacy. May be Madame Curie would have discovered radium at some later date. May be somebody else would have discovered it. May be any number of things would have happe4ned. You can’t start with a hypothesis that is not true and then draw any supportable conclusions from it.”

“They ought to put Walter Pidgeon in more picture,” said Polly. “I hardly ever see him any more.”

One more chance, I decided. But just one more. There is a limit to what flesh and blood can bear. “The next fallacy is called Poisoning the Well.”

“How cute!” she gurgled.

“Two men are having a debate. The first one gets up and says, “My opponent is a notorious liar. You can’t believe a word that he is going to say’…. Now, Polly, think. Think hard. What’s wrong?”

I watched her closely, as she knit creamy brow in concentration. Suddenly a glimmer of intelligence—the first I had seen—came into her eyes. “It’s not fair,” she said with indignation. “It’s not a bit fair. What chance has the second man got if he first man calls his a liar before he even begins talking?”

“Right!” I cried exultantly. “One hundred per cent right. It’s not fair. The first man has poisoned the well before anybody could drink form it. He has hamstrung his opponent before he could even start…. Polly, I’m proud of you.”

“Pshaw,” she murmured, blushing with pleasure.

“You see, my dear, these things are not so hard. All you have to do is concentrate. Think-examine-evaluate. Come now, let’s review everything we have learned.”

“Fire away,” said with an airy wave of her hand.

Heartened by the knowledge that Polly was not altogether a cretin, I began a long, patient review of all I had told her. Over and over again I cited instanced, pointed our flaws, kept hammering away without letup. It was like digging a tunnel. At first everything was work, seat, and darkness. I had no idea when I would reach the light, or even if I would. But I persisted. I pounded and clawed and scraped, and finally I was rewarded. I saw a chink of light. And then the chink got bigger and the sun came pouring in and all was bright.

Five gruelling nights this took, but it was worth it. I had made a logician out of Polly; I had taught her to think. My job was done. She was worthy of me at last. She was a fit wife for me, a proper hostess for my many mansions, a suitable mother for my well-heeled children.

It must not be thought that I was without love for this girl. Quite the contrary. Just as Pygmalion loved the perfect woman he had fashioned, so I loved mine. I decided to acquaint her with my feelings at our very next meeting. The time had come to change our relationship from academic to romantic.

“Polly,” I sad when next we sat beneath our oak, “tonight we will not discuss fallacies.”

Aw, gee,” she said, disappointed.

“My dear,” I said, factoring her with a smile, “we have now spent five evenings together. We have gotten along splendidly. It is clear that we are well matched.”

“Hasty Generalization,” she repeated. “How can you say that we are well matched on the basis of only five dates?”

I chuckled with amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons well. “My dear,” I said, patting her hand it a tolerant manner, “five dates is plenty. After all, you don’t have to eat a whole cake to know that it’s a good.”

“False Analogy,” said Polly promptly. “I’m not a cake. I’m a girl.”

I chuckled with somewhat less amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons perhaps too well. I decided to change tactics. Obviously the best approach was a simple, strong, direct declaration of love. I paused for a moment while my massive brain chose the proper words. Then I began.

“Polly, I love you. You are the whole world to me, and the moon and the stars and the constellations of outer space. Please, my darling, say that you will go steady with me, for if you will not, life will be meaningless. I will languish. I will refuse my meals. I will wander the face of the earth, a shambling, hollow-eyes hulk.”

There, I thought, folding my arms that ought to do it.

“Ad Misericordiam,” said Polly.

I ground my teeth. I was not Pygmalion; I was Frankenstein, and my monster had me by the throat. Frantically I fought back the tide of panic surging thought me. At all costs I had to keep cool.

“Well, Polly,” I said, forcing a smile, “you certainly have learned your fallacies.”

“You’re darn right” she said with a vigorous nod.

“ And who taught them to you, Polly?

“You did.”

“That’s right. So you do owe me something, don’t you, my dear? If I hadn’t come along you never would have learned about fallacies.”

“Hypothesis Contrary to Fact,” she said instantly.

I dashed perspiration from my brow. “Polly,” I croaked, “you mustn’t take all these things so literally. I mean this is just classroom stuff. You know that the things you learn in school don’t have anything to do with life.”

“Dicto Simpliciter,” she said, wagging her finger at he playfully.

That did it. I leaped to my feet, bellowing like a bull. “Will you or will you not go steady with me?”

“I will not,” she replied.

“Why not?” I demanded.

“Because this afternoon I promised Petey Bellows that I would go steady with him.”

I reeled back, overcome with the infamy of it. After he promised, after he made a deal, after he shook my hand! “The rat!” I shrinked, kicking up great chunks of turf. “You can’t go with him, Polly. He’s a liar. He’s a cheat. He’s a rat.”

“Poisoning the Well,” said Polly, “and stop shouting. I think shouting must be a fallacy too.”

With an immense effort of will, I modulated my voice. “All right, I said. “You’re a logician. Let’s look at this thing logically. How could you choose Petey Bellows over me? Look at me—a brilliant student, a tremendous intellectual, a man with an assured future. Look a Petey—knothead, a jitterbug, and a guy who’ll never know where his next meal is coming form. Can you give me one logical reason why you should go steady with Petey Bellows?”

“ I certainly can,” declared Polly. “He’s got a raccoon coat”

a short story by manjushree thapa

Three hundred rupees

Rohit’s eyes were open but he wasn’t seeing much: a haze of trees, a block of buildings blurred in the yellow-blue hues of dawn: Kathmandu.

He was sick of the way the bus rattled his bones and tired of the women behind, who had chattered incessantly for the whole of the journey. "Strange," the younger one remarked, as they passed a vast, tarred lot filled with colourful cars, "Like a garden made of metal."
"Look at all those lights on the road," the other woman said. Her voice was loud and nasal. "And they won’t give our village even one bulb! And look at those houses, they’re all offices." "So many offices.... what do people do in them?" "They sit at tables and develop the country. See how wide the road is." "And so many motor-cars. Where do they go at night, all these motor-cars?" "To the stalls of their owners."

The bus swerved sharply and juddered to a halt. Rohit stood up, anxious to leave its chilly confines. Had they reached the bus park? Beyond the windows he saw the gleam of buses: yes. Looping his black-and-white book bag across his shoulders he jostled through passengers even as they were standing up. A woman clucked "Tch" as he brushed against her. "What’s the big rush?" someone griped. He paid them no mind and squeezed past to the conductor, a boy with a grin far too sly for his twelve years.

"Open the door," he urged the boy. "Why don’t you open the door?"

The conductor kicked the door open and Rohit stepped out, dressed in a wrinkled gray tunic with traditional close-fitting trousers, a flower-patterned cap and Chinese cloth shoes that sold for fifty-five rupees in his village. To stave off Kathmandu’s corrosive fog he had added a black waistcoat and a scratchy gray muffler. His face was dark and wrinkled, his hands rough from farm work and his breath, a white evaporating cloud. Everything around here in the nation’s capital, smelled of grease and machinery. Lithely he walked up to the front of a large building with square glass windows, to where a row of buses were parked. Some of them were local, he knew, and others went all over the country. A sense of the vastness of the world washed over him. There were so many places he hadn’t been to: the horizonful of farmlands to the south, the manicured tea estates in the east. And beyond, India. Everyone went to India these days to work as doormen .

He approached a young man standing beside an emerald-green bus.

"I need to get to a place called Chettrapati," Rohit said to him and the young man, who was wearing very fine modern jean-pants, pointed with his chin across the road. "We’re going to Patan, Chettrapati’s over there."

Rohit withdrew, slightly embarrassed, and looked across the road. There were no buses there, just a row of three-wheeler auto-rickshaws. Still, the man had spoken with authority, and so Rohit made his way over to the auto-rickshaws, stopped at the first one, and asked the driver, "I need to get to a place called Chettrapati."

The driver was wearing shiny black glasses. He mumbled something that Rohit didn’t understand, then leaned back and opened the canvas door. Rohit climbed in head, arms and legs first.

"Close the door," the driver commanded and Rohit obeyed. The inside of the rickshaw was lively, with red-and-yellow linoleum mats. The walls were plastered with pictures of, yes, naked women. Rohit turned away, mortified. How shameful! What would have happened if he’d boarded the auto rickshaw with his wife? How humiliating that would have been! Shyly, he turned back to the pictures to examine just how salacious they were. A naked woman smiled back at him, a giant cigarette between her legs.

The rickshaw blurted out a roar and lurched erratically onto the road. It steered itself out of the bus park and batted a way towards the city hidden behind a veil of fog. Rohit vaguely remembered this stretch from his first trip into Kathmandu last year with his brother. It was like this then, too: trucks and buses showed up suddenly and roared
off into the fog.

"Come for a visit?" the driver shouted above the racket. Rohit hmm’ed, reluctant to talk to a man who kept pictures of naked women in his rickshaw. But he was of a gregarious disposition, so couldn’t help responding after a while, "I’ve got relatives here."

"Your son?" The driver leaned out to spit, and Rohit saw the saliva streak past him. He leaned out and spat too, marvelling at the way the wind whipped at his face. But it was too cold, and he drew back.

"My brother. He moved here a year ago."

"I’ve got a son," the driver said. "Studying at the campus. Day after day I drive past his dormitory, but I don’t stop to see him. Know why?" He turned back briefly, offering a profile of his dark glasses. "His friends would laugh because I’m a driver. Imagine that! Can you just imagine that?" Rohit clucked sympathetically.

"Unthinkable," he agreed. "Is that how a son should think?"

The driver swerved towards a narrow alley. "Is that how your own son should think?"

Rohit thought of his infant son in the village, all laughter, gurgles, shit and piss. He agreed, "That’s not how a son should think."

"How many sons do you have?" the driver asked.

"One," Rohit said. "And four girls."

"Where?"

"Just outside Dhorphirdi." The driver shrugged. Rohit couldn’t believe he didn’t know of it.

"Tanahun District," he said. "An hour off the road. Dryest patch of land you ever saw—can’t farm a crop! The bus stops right at the bridge to Dhorphirdi." The rickshaw sputtered to a sudden halt and the driver said, "This is it, Chettrapati."

Peering out of the window, Rohit saw that they were hemmed in on all sides by narrow cement buildings. "Oho," he exclaimed, "Look at all these houses. How dusty they look. How will I ever find my brother? Who are all these people? Do they live in these houses? Look at that girl with white hair! What happened to her?"

"She’s a foreigner. Forty-two rupees."

"Forty-two!"

"What I said when you got in."

"One rupee fifty," Rohit cried indignantly. "That’s how much it should be. I came here last year and took a similar bus, don’t think I don’t know anything...."

"This is a private rickshaw," the driver snarled back, turning to glare at Rohit through his dark glasses like an ominous insect. He pointed at the headboard. "Look at the meter: it says forty-two rupees."

"Enough to feed a whole family!"

"Forty, then. But nothing less."

"Taking advantage of innocent villagers," Rohit cried, but he realised there was nothing to do but pay.

He took a long time fishing for a fifty-rupee bill and waited morosely as the driver counted out the change. A thief of a place, this city. And so noisy, so full of people whose heads bobbed up and down, up and down the streets. He saw the white-haired woman again and wondered why there was a ring in her nose if she was a foreigner. The driver nudged him out of his trance, handed back a bill, and leant back to open the door for him.

"Go on," he said brusquely.

Rohit hadn’t fully stepped out when the rickshaw revved up again and chased off after a car. He took a firm hold of his black-and-white book bag. He must find a chautara with a green tin awning. Green tin awning, he’d been told. Young men, old men, women of all castes passed before him in a swirl of colors. Look, Rohit said to himself: girls wearing pants. Then he saw it, across the road, a high, covered platform at the centre of the stream of traffic, and it had a green tin awning. Chettrapati. He headed towards it and felt the impact of a warm, soft body and then the sudden metal edges of a bicycle.

"Don’t you have eyes!" someone yelled. A horn honked. A few cars swept by. A large man shoved him off the sidewalk. Rohit waited until the road was finally clear, and scurried to the platform. A few men were lying down on its bare cement floor. Tch: how cold they must be. By their high cheekbones he thought they might be Tamangs. Porters: they were all carrying braided hemp ropes with which to ply their trade.

Rohit squatted down beside them, imagining the life of a city porter, carrying chairs, desks, cupboards from truck to shop, shop to truck, from one merchant to another. What would make a man live such a life? A flood maybe, or a landslide that carried away his house and fields. Some of Rohit’s fields had been destroyed in the last monsoon. If they’d all been washed away, he’d have had to find another patch of land to settle, or seek a job in the city. But the gods had blessed Rohit and his brother with not a few kattha of farmlands, part of which he had just sold at his brother’s insistence. The fog seemed to thicken, and a silver mist rolled through the street, swirling over the commotion of the street. The cold of the platform stiffened Rohit’s bones, and he drew his grey muffler over his nose savouring the damp warmth of his own breath.

A long time, maybe an hour, passed as he distracted himself with the sounds and sights that ebbed and flowed before him. What was the reason, he wondered, that motorcycles made such a racket, but cars just glided by so silently? How much would all the signboards on this street cost? If everyone came to the city and stopped farming, what would people eat?

"Uncle," he heard a voice eventually, and turned to see a thin boy dressed in a blue school uniform, standing a little way off. It was his nephew, Keshab. "Nephew," he said warmly, standing up. "Come and pay your respects to your old uncle. How tall you’ve grown, how like a city boy." He held out his hand in blessing, but noticed a certain stiffness about the boy as he bowed.

"Where’s your father?" Rohit asked warmly, trying to win the lad over. "How far to his shop?" The boy pointed vaguely towards one of the intersections and began to
trot towards it.

"What do you have in that nice school bag?" Rohit asked in an indulgent tone, following behind. "Books that teach you English?" But Keshab said nothing, and slipped so fast through the crowd that Rohit found himself scurrying behind. "You must be the tallest boy in your class," Rohit called out after his nephew, as Keshab ducked into a dark unpaved alley. They followed the alley to a temple where the road opened on to a larger, pitched road, dense with traffic. An ambulance raced by, wailing like a widow. Rohit stuck close to his nephew as they darted through the cars across the road. On the far side was a large pavement full of street vendors selling shirts, caps, peanuts, vegetables and fruit. Keshab stopped and pointed further up along the sidewalk. "There’s Baba, over there."

And there he was, Rohit’s younger brother, Narayan, sitting on the pavement at the epicentre of a concentric array of bananas. Rohit noticed that Narayan didn’t rise in greeting, let alone bow, as he walked up to him. He tried not to mind this slight; his brother had lost the patchy tanned complexion of a villager and his face was as pale as wheat. His hair was combed back and oiled, and he wore a sweater and impressively clean trousers of terry-cotton. The transformations people go through in a year! If it wasn’t for the dent in both their noses, Rohit thought, no one could tell that they were the same father’s sons. His nephew Keshab had disappeared, and for a while, Rohit just stood on the pavement, towering over his brother’s concentric display of bananas.

"Sit," Narayan finally suggested, and Rohit squatted beside the bananas, holding onto his book bag.

"Sit more comfortably," Narayan insisted, a hint of annoyance in his voice. Rohit settled down into the gritty pavement. His brother, he noted, was sitting on a straw mat. The protocol was all wrong. Pretending not to notice this affront, Rohit turned a keen, interested eye at his surroundings. A dim sun was finally glowing through the fog, putting a glint in the glass, steel and mica facets of the city. The building across the street had windows like dark gray mirrors. On the road so many cars were packed together, inching along like a giant metal snake. "Where does that go?" Rohit asked, pointing at a manhole cover, then answered his own question, "To the sewers, of course."

Fashionable ladies walked by, their shoes clacking against the pavement.

"How much do your bananas sell for?" he finally turned to his brother.

"I take what I can get." Narayan’s tone was flat and bored. "Do you want some? Hungry?"

"So early in the morning?" Rohit demurred, too proud to admit to hunger in the face of such a lack of ceremony. He essayed a smile. "Nobody eats at such an early hour."

"And did you bring the money?" This was why Rohit had never taken to Narayan: the boy didn’t have the least courtesy, showed no considerateness for anyone but himself. He had been crass, grabbing and greedy all his life. Rohit reached into his black-and-white book bag and took out a roll of bank notes. "Fifteen thousand," he said gruffly.
"Your share."

There seemed to be a sly innuendo in his brother’s response: "I heard land was fetching twice as much at Dhor."

Are we Dhor?" Rohit snapped back. "Is the government digging a road all the way to our door? Are they bringing us electricity?" He didn’t like Narayan’s direct, fixed stare. "Anyway, our fields are mostly sand. And with the landslides last monsoon...."

Narayan sank back on his straw mat, his wheat colored face spoiling. "Everyone thinks," he spat out bitterly "I have it really good in the city, that I’m earning, my wife’s earning, my son’s in school, that I don’t have troubles of my own." Gesturing contemptuously at his bananas he seemed to want to say something more but didn’t.

Rohit could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Are you suggesting I’m a thief?" He reached into his black-and-white book bag and pulled out the deed of sale. "Signed by the chairman of the Village Development Committee!" He waved the papers in front of his brother. "Look for yourself and see the thousands and thousands of rupees I’ve robbed you of !"

Instead of bowing in shame, Narayan grabbed the documents and began to look through them. The gall of the boy! Had he forgotten the times Rohit had washed him, fed him, clothed him, mended his pants, defended him from bigger boys, sheltered him from their step-mother’s wrath? All the times he’d taken the cows to graze so that his brother could attend school? Rohit wanted to remind his brother of the sacrifices he’d made, but now a woman in a sari had come up to the display of bananas, all fluttering nylon and flowers. Narayan put aside the deed and sold her a dozen bananas; both brothers watched her as she minced away in dainty high-heeled shoes. The flowers in her hair, Rohit noted, were plastic.

Narayan handed the paper back to Rohit. For a while, both the brothers sat in a huff, their expressions identical and hard. Rohit started shivering from the cold of Kathmandu’s meagre sun. His stomach began to growl, and he shifted and coughed to cover the sound. After what seemed like ages, Narayan mumbled something about tea and headed for a tea stall nearby . Watching his brother buying tea, he was suddenly filled with remorse. Where was his sister-in-law? Where had his nephew disappeared? Why did they not invite him to their dwelling to serve a proper meal there? Rohit was curious to see their lodgings; built of cement, it would surely be better than the old clay hut back home. Narayan came back with two glasses of black tea. They both sipped in silence. The hot drink soothed away the cold and eased his hunger.

So he asked, "And Keshab’s mother, where is she?"

"She works at a factory." Narayan’s tone was conciliatory. "Otherwise she’d make a meal for you in our rented room."

"Rented room?"

"We pay a thousand a month."

A thousand a month! Rohit felt a pang of guilt about the eight thousand rupees he’d skimmed from his brother’s share by tampering with the land deed. Eight months of rent in this relentless city. Suddenly he wanted to get out of Kathmandu and back to his own Dhorphirdi. He gulped down the last of his tea.

"I should get back to the bus park." His bony knees cracked as he stood. "There’s a meeting tonight—about the breached irrigaton canal...I mustn’t be late"

Of course, Narayan didn’t insist he stay. Instead he looked relieved. "I’ll show you to the bus, older brother." Taking Rohit by the arm he led him further up the street to a four-way intersection. There, he pointed at a battered blue mini-bus. "Sit next to the window so you can see where you are. Get off at the bus park and ask at the ticket counter for the Pokhara bus."

Rohit hoisted himself aboard. The aisle was crowded with girls in starched college uniforms. It seemed awkward and rude to push through these girls who were so pretty, so prim. So he remained by the door, clutching a bar.

"Older brother," Narayan said awkwardly, reaching up to slip some soft notes into Rohit’s hand. "You must be...I couldn’t even feed you. And the bus fare...such a long trip." His expression became doleful as he mumbled, "There are restaurants by the bus park..."

Embarrassed, Rohit shoved the money into his book bag. Then a man clambered into the bus, knocking against Rohit’s knee.

"Room, I need some room," he said. "Can you move a little?" From the running board, he reached down and hauled up two bleating goats. Rohit pressed against the side of the bus to make room, then followed the man with the goats past the neat college girls. At the front of the bus, he managed a window-side seat and turned to wave at Narayan, but it seemed his brother had already left. The man with the goats sat across the aisle.

"Such goats," Rohit commented appreciatively as the animals bleated in alarm. "Are you selling them in the bazaar?"

"If I get my price," the man responded thoughtfully. "Only if I get my price." "And how much will this big one fetch?" The man took out a cigarette from his coat pocket.

"I’ll take what I get," he said, striking a match. "Eight-nine hundred, a thousand, twelve hundred, depending."

"Twelve hundred!" Rohit leaned forward and plucked a hair from the goat’s rump and inspected the root . "There isn’t that much fat on it."

"I’ll take what I can get," the man repeated. The smell of his cigarette made Rohit realise how hungry he was. The man’s muffler was the same scratchy grey as his own, but cleaner. The man’s pants were of thick black wool. He was wearing shoes, but no socks. No, it now seemed that he was wearing socks, the colour of skin. The bus started up with a rumble. Rohit sat back in his seat fascinated by the sight of the skin-coloured socks: if a man didn’t look closely he’d hardly see the fine ribs and seams. As the bus lurched forward, Rohit was suffused with a sense of the infinite illusions of the city, of the layers and layers of things that presented one face now and the next moment showed another. Look at Narayan: the boy was so rude, so coarse, but knew in his heart that he owed Rohit his life. He didn’t show it, but he knew. How could he not? Rohit checked his book bag to see how much money his brother had given him. He counted again. One, two, three hundred. Was it too much or too little? The bus ground on.

He turned to the owner of the goats across the aisle. "How many meals can you buy in this city for three hundred rupees?"

 Aesop’s Fables

The Ant and the Grasshopper
Illustrated by Scott Roberto

In a field one summer's day a Grasshopper was hopping about, chirping and singing to its heart's content. An Ant passed by, bearing along with great toil an ear of corn he was taking to the nest. "Why not come and chat with me," said the Grasshopper, "instead of toiling and moiling in that way?" "I am helping to lay up food for the winter," said the Ant, "and recommend you to do the same." "Why bother about winter?" said the Grasshopper; we have got plenty of food at present." But the Ant went on its way and continued its toil. When the winter came the Grasshopper found itself dying of hunger, while it saw the ants distributing, every day, corn and grain from the stores they had collected in the summer. Then the Grasshopper knew... It is best to prepare for the days of necessity.

The Ant and the Grasshopper
Illustrated by Scott Roberto

In a field one summer's day a Grasshopper was hopping about, chirping and singing to its heart's content. An Ant passed by, bearing along with great toil an ear of corn he was taking to the nest. "Why not come and chat with me," said the Grasshopper, "instead of toiling and moiling in that way?" "I am helping to lay up food for the winter," said the Ant, "and recommend you to do the same." "Why bother about winter?" said the Grasshopper; we have got plenty of food at present." But the Ant went on its way and continued its toil. When the winter came the Grasshopper found itself dying of hunger, while it saw the ants distributing, every day, corn and grain from the stores they had collected in the summer. Then the Grasshopper knew... It is best to prepare for the days of necessity.

Aesop's fables

Aesop's Fables - stories and analogies for training and communications

Aesop's Fables date from the 6th century BC. Aesop was supposedly a Phrygian slave, and met his end when thrown over a cliff at Delphi for being ugly and deformed. Whatever the story of Aesop, the fables that bear his name (Aesop collected the fables, he didn't write them) contain timeless lessons. Aesop's Fables also gave rise to and reflect many of today's expressions and cliches. Aesop's Fables total more than 300. Here are the best of Aesop's Fables.

The dog in a manger (if you don't need it, don't keep it from others who do)

A dog was lying in a manger of hay which had been provided for the cattle's to eat, but when they approached he angrily growled and prevented them from getting near, to which they remarked, "He doesn't need it himself yet he won't let us have it, the selfish beast."

Mercury and the woodman (honesty is the best policy)

A woodman lost his axe into the river when it glanced off a tree he was felling. Mercury (the God) appeared while the man was lamenting his loss, and on hearing his tale dived into the river, and recovered a golden axe. "That's not mine," said the woodman, so Mercury returned it to the river, resurfacing this time with a silver axe. "That's not mine," again said the woodman, and again Mercury returned it to the river, resurfacing this time with the woodman's own axe. "That's mine," said the grateful woodman. Mercury promptly rewarded the man for his honesty by giving him the golden and silver axes as well. On hearing the woodman's tale, an envious friend set out to do as the woodman had done, visiting the same spot and deliberately losing his axe in the river. Just as before, Mercury appeared and dived in to recover the lost axe. When Mercury produced a golden axe, the man greedily stretched out for it claiming, "That's mine." Mercury, not best pleased with the man's dishonesty, held on to the golden axe, and refused to recover the original.

The fox and the grapes (sour grapes)

A hungry fox passed below a fine bunch of grapes hanging high from a vine. After trying in vain to jump and reach them he gave up, saying to himself as he walked off, "the grapes looked ripe, but I see now they are quite sour."

The spendthrift and the swallow (one swallow does not make a summer)

A man who had wasted his fortune had nothing left but the clothes he wore. On seeing a swallow one Spring morning he decided the weather would be warmer, so he sold his coat. The weather however turned colder the next day and killed the swallow. When the shivering man saw the dead swallow he moaned, "Thanks to you I am freezing."

Wolf in sheep's clothing

A wolf devised a plan to dress in a sheepskin to prey upon a flock. Mingling with the sheep he fooled the sheep and the shepherd too, and was penned in for the night. That night the shepherd wanted some mutton for his table and, mistaking the wolf for a sheep, promptly dispatched him with a knife there and then.

The crow and the pitcher (necessity is the mother of invention)

A thirsty crow found a pitcher containing some water, albeit too little and low to reach. As it seemed she would die within sight of the remedy, the crow struck upon an idea to drop pebbles into the pitcher. The water level rose and the crow was able to drink.

The north wind and the sun (persuasion is better than force)

The north wind and the sun argued which was the stronger. On seeing a traveler they agreed a suitable test would be to strip him of his cloak. First the wind blew with all his might, but the more he blew, the more than man wrapped the cloak tightly around himself. When the sun's turn came, he gently beamed at the man, who loosened the cloak. The sun shone brighter still, and the man threw off his cloak.

The fir tree and the bramble (better poverty without a care, than the obligations of wealth)

A fir tree boasted to a bramble, "Poor you, no use at all, while I am big and strong, and useful for all sorts, like when men need me to build houses." But the bramble replied, "You wait until they come with their axes to chop you down - you'll wish you were a bramble and not a fir."

The gnat and the bull (don't over-estimate your own importance)

A gnat settled on a bull's horn. After a while the gnat asked the bull, "Do you mind if I go now?" The bull replied, unconcerned, "It's all the same to me: I didn't notice you when you came, and I won't notice when you've gone."

The slave and the lion (good deeds are rewarded)

A slave escaped and sought refuge in the wilderness, where he hid in a cave, which happened to be a lion's lair. When the lion returned the shocked slave expected the worst, but the lion meekly offered him an injured paw. The slave removed a thorn, and the lion and he became great friends, sharing the cave for some while. After a time the slave longed to return to society and bade the lion farewell. When he entered the town he was recognized and thrown in jail, and his master decided to make a public example of him by throwing him to the wild animals in the arena. On the fateful day the slave was cast among the beasts, including one enormous fierce lion. The lion approached the petrified slave, and the spectators gasped - but the lion quietly lay down at the slave's feet. It was his lion friend from the cave. The audience demanded clemency for such a show of loyalty and the governor duly gave them both their freedom.

The milkmaid and her pail (don't count your chickens)

After milking the farmer's cows, a milkmaid was carrying the pail of milk on her head to the dairy and thinking to herself, "With the cream that I shall get from this milk I can make some butter, which I'll take to market and sell. I'll buy some eggs with the money, and when hatched I'll have some chickens for a poultry yard. I can sell the poultry, and with the money I'll buy a fine gown to wear to the fair. All the young men will admire me and make advances, but I shall toss my head and dismiss them". At which, lost in her ambitious thoughts, she did toss her head, dropping the pail and the milk on the ground, dashing her dreams.

The fox, the goat and the well (look before you leap)

A fox fell into a well and was stuck there. A passing goat saw the fox asked if the water tasted good. "It's the best water you'll ever taste," said the fox, at which the goat promptly jumped into the well to drink. On realizing he was stuck too, the goat agreed that the fox could climb up and over him out of the well and then help the goat out. The fox duly climbed up and over the goat to his freedom but left the goat stranded.

The dog and the meat (be satisfied with what you have or you may lose it)

A dog with a fine slab of meat in his mouth crossed a bridge over a river and saw his reflection in the water. Thinking it to be another dog with a larger piece of meat he let go his own and dived at the other dog to take it. He surfaced with nothing and his dinner washed away in the current.

The lion and the ass (might is right)

A lion and an ass went hunting and agreed that the ass would run down the prey and the lion would kill it, which worked as planned. The lion divided the carcass into three and announced, "I will take the first portion because I am king of the beasts; the second is my half of what remains, and the third you'll give to me or you'll be sorry."

The man and the satyr (blow hot and cold)

A man and a satyr (a half-man, half-goat woodland creature from Greek and Roman mythology) lived together as friends until one winter's day the man blew into his hands and explained to the curious satyr that he needed to warm them. When the man later blew on his porridge to cool it, the confused satyr got up from the table and said goodbye, as he could not be friends with a man who blows hot and cold with the same breath.

The crab and his mother (lead by example not by words)

A mother crab criticized her son for walking sideways, whereupon the son asked his mother to show him how to walk straight. Of course the mother crab was unable to walk any straighter than her son, and soon apologized for criticizing what she herself was guilty of too.

The father and his quarrelling sons (divide and rule/united we stand)

A father whose sons constantly quarreled, asked them to bring him a bundle of sticks and then challenged each in turn to break the bundle over their knees, which they found impossible. He then split the bundle and showed how each individual stick could easily be broken. "United you are strong; quarrelling and separated and you are weak," he said.

The bathing boy (give help in a crisis, not criticism)

A boy, who had strayed out of his depth, began to drown in a river, when a passing stranger saw him and began to scold him for being reckless. "Please help me out first, then by all means scold me afterwards," pleaded the boy.

The farmer and the stork (you'll be treated according to the company you keep)

A farmer set traps to catch cranes, which were pests and were eating his crops. Inspecting the traps he found a number of cranes, and also a stork, which pleaded to be let go, because storks are not pests and do not take the crops. But the farmer refused, saying, "I don't care who you are - you're with the cranes who ruin my crops and so you'll suffer just the same as them."

The birds, the beasts and the bat (treachery never pays)

While the birds and the beasts were at war against each other, the bat continually changed sides according to whichever was winning. During the war neither the birds nor the beasts paid much attention to the bat, and when peace was restored no-one would have anything to do with him because of his treachery.

The miller, his son and the ass (if you try to please everyone you will achieve nothing)

A miller and his son were taking their ass to sell at market, when they passed a group of girls, who laughed at how foolish the miller was to have an ass and yet be walking. So the miller put his son on the ass. Further down the road they passed some old people who scolded the miller for allowing his young son to ride, when he should be riding himself. So the miller removed his son and mounted the ass himself. Further along the road, they passed some travelers who said that if he wanted to sell the ass the two of them should carry him or he'd be exhausted and worthless. So the miller and his son bound the ass's legs to a pole and carried him. When they approached the town the people laughed at the sight of them, so loud that the noise frightened the ass, who kicked out and fell off a bridge into the river and drowned. The embarrassed miller and son went home with nothing, save the lesson that you will achieve nothing by trying to please everyone.

The bee and Jupiter (evil wishes rebound)

A queen bee flew up to mount Olympus with fresh honey for the God Jupiter, who was so pleased that he granted the bee a wish for anything it desired. The queen bee asked for all bees to be given stings, to kill the people who took their honey. Jupiter gave the bees their stings, but as he loved mankind and was not pleased at this request, he made the bee sting so that when used, it killed the bee.

The oak and the reeds (go with the flow)

A mighty oak tree was uprooted by a gale and fell across a stream into some reeds. "How have you reeds, so frail, survived, when I, so strong, have been felled?" asked the oak tree. "You were stubborn and wouldn't bend," replied the reeds, "whereas we yield and allow the gale to pass harmlessly by."

The shepherd boy and the wolf (cry wolf - no-one believes a liar even when he tells the truth)

A shepherd boy tending his flock one night amused himself by shouting to the local villagers, "Wolf, wolf!" when there was none, just to see them come running. He repeated the trick and each time the villagers came to help, just to find the boy had tricked them again. Later that night a wolf really did come. The boy again called "Wolf, wolf!", but believing it to be another trick, no-one came, leaving the wolf free to kill all the sheep he wanted.

The eagle and the cocks (pride comes before a fall)

Two cockerels fought over who should rule the farmyard, and the beaten one skulked away to hide in a barn. The victor flew to the roof and crowed loudly about his success. An eagle heard the crowing and swooped down, taking him off, at which the other cockerel returned to rule the yard.

The farmer and the fox (revenge can rebound on the avenger)

A farmer captured a fox that had been taking his chickens. As revenge the farmer tied some dry grass to the fox's tail and set it alight, then let the fox go. The fox ran straight into the farmer's cornfields, which were ready for harvesting, destroying all of his crop.

The one-eyed stag (misfortune often comes from where you least expect it)

A stag, blind in one eye, always grazed by the sea, so that he could keep a look out for approaching hounds, believing this to be the only threat. He never bothered to turn his good eye to the sea, so when sailors from a ship came ashore he never noticed them, until he was shot with their arrow, fatally wounding him.

The lioness and the vixen (quality not quantity)

A lioness and a vixen were comparing their young. The vixen said how beautiful her litter of cubs were, and remarked sneeringly that the lioness only ever had one cub. "Ah yes," said the lioness, "but that one is a lion..."

The apes and the travelers (think before you speak/discretion is the better part of valour)

Two travelers, one who always lied and one who always spoke the truth, came upon the land of apes and were captured. Brought before the king of the apes, and asked for their opinion of the king ape and his subjects, the untruthful traveller praised the king to be a powerful and impressive monarch, and all his subjects to be completely worthy of their master. The king ape was delighted and gave the traveler a fine gift. The second traveller thought to himself that if his friend had benefited by lying, so he would be benefit still more by telling the truth, and when asked his opinion replied that he thought the king to be a great ape, and all his subjects great apes too. The ape king was so enraged he ordered the poor traveller to be taken away and killed.

The rich man and the tanner (given time you can get used to anything)

A rich man moved nearby a tanner and soon found the smell of the tannery so bad that he asked the tanner to relocate his business. The rich man repeated his demands for while, but the tanner delayed and procrastinated so long that eventually the rich man became used to the smell and never mentioned it again.

The hare and the tortoise (slow and steady wins the race)

A hare derided a tortoise for being so slow, and the tortoise challenged the hare to a race, to which the amused hare agreed. After the race started the hare soon found himself far ahead, and so decided to rest, but fell fast asleep. When he awoke he dashed to the finish but found that the plodding tortoise had comfortably beaten him to it.

The lion and the bulls (divide and conquer)

A lion watched three bulls who stood together in a field and realized he could not kill any of them while they remained together, so he planted jealousies in their minds, which soon developed into arguments, which split them apart. Alone, each bull offered too little resistance and the lion killed them all, one by one.

The mouse and the bull (the battle is not always to the strong)

A mouse bit a bull on the nose and slipped into a hole in a wall before the bull could react. The bull charged at the wall without making any impression time and again until he had worn himself out, at which the mouse darted out and bit the exhausted bull on the nose again. The bull could do nothing except fume with anger. "You big ones don't always win," squeaked the mouse from his hole, "Sometimes we little ones come off best."

The hare and the hound (winning often depends on who most wants to)

A hound spotted a hare and gave chase. After some distance the hound began to gain, but then gave up the chase. As the hound returned home a farmer commented that the little hare had been too much for the hound, who replied, "It's one thing to run for your dinner, but quite another to run for your life."

The ass and the mule (share a load or you'll end up carrying it all)

A man loaded his ass and his mule for a journey, but after traveling for a while the ass began to weaken, so he asked the stronger mule to carry some of his load. The mule refused, and in due course the ass collapsed and died. The mule was then forced to carry the ass's load, and also the skin of the poor ass. The mule could only just manage the painful load, and realized his failure to help a little at first had caused a much greater suffering to himself.

The soldier and the horse (look after what is of value)

A soldier tended his horse well during the wars and the horse served him well. At the end of the wars the soldier treated the horse badly, with little food, no shelter and heavy drudging work. War broke out again and the soldier went to use the horse as before, but the wretched beast collapsed, saying that the poor treatment had turned him into an ass, and he would not be restored to a trusty steed in just a moment.

The oxen and the butchers (accept what is inevitable)

A group of oxen were set on avenging their treatment by the butchers and plotted to kill them with their horns, until an old wise ox spoke out: "We may hate and fear the butchers, but they do what they must do expertly, and if we kill them, man will still eat beef, so then other less skilled men will cause us far greater suffering."

Inspirational Stories

Inspirational stories and motivational stories to start your day on a positive note. Enjoy the wisdom in the words each story has to offer. You will find true stories, folktales, personal experiences, and more, but, all have inspirational words in them.

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story

 
Do Dreams Count?

By Byron Pulsifer

Did you ever have a dream? I'm not talking about a dream you have when you sleep. I'm talking about a conscious dream where you would like to see a new future, a different choice of employment, and a business of you own. How many times have you wished that you could be living a different existence than the one you are currently experiencing?

Dreams. No doubt we've all had them from time to time in our lives. Did you fulfill your dream? If not, why not? Did you start on your way to fulfilling a dream only to be derailed by letting other life's events get in the way? Did you make some initial first steps only to find roadblocks in your way that convinced you to give up? Or, if you fulfilled some aspects of your dream, did you find that you had limited success, and, therefore gave in to a negative view that you weren't meant to succeed?

Several years ago, I had a dream about inventing a board game that would change my life's fortunes. Along with a partner, who also had a similar dream, those dreams were turned into goals that were translated to action steps. After many long hours and many revisions, a board game was developed. Then came issues of financing. Not to be defeated by this obstacle, a plan was developed and carried out that saw shares being offered, all sold to a group of supporters, and a real live company created. Then, came marketing strategies, T.V. appearances, newspaper articles, trade show attendance, weekend promotional appearances, magazine advertising, and spot radio commercials.

It was an exciting time. The one time dream seemed to take off with sales starting to accumulate, a potential sale to a large and established game board company, and inroads to large chain stores. Then, it happened. Introduced to the board game market came one of the biggest hits never seen before. In short, their sales blew us out of the water, our distributor failed to pay us, and the business, once dreamed of, came to a screeching halt.

To make a long story short, the company was dissolved having dashed our dreams, and those of our shareholders. How devastating after all the hours of work, the hours of marketing, promotion, not to mention the loss of our own financial investment. It wasn't meant to be. The same old job, the same old daily grind loomed larger than ever.

Is that the end of the story? Well, it was for one of the game developers; the negative emotions, "it never was meant to be" thoughts dominated any future dreams of a different life. This person returned to the daily grind of a nine to five job always cynical, always jealous of those who had succeeded.

But, did it mean being unsuccessful to me? I didn't succeed to the level I wanted or desired, but, to me, at the very least I lived my dream by turning it into a reality. If I had never turned my dream into goals and then to action, I would have always wondered - what if. Was it then a failure? No, it wasn't. Was it the flaming success I'd hoped for - no. But, there were valuable lessons to be learned. After all, how many successful business people, inventors, authors, artists, etc. had immediate success in their first attempt? Probably none. Failure is our greatest teacher as long as the experience is viewed as lessons, and those lessons are internalized to provide fruits for greater achievements later.

It may take a few more attempts, or many attempts but success is only achieved once dreams are put into action, where failure becomes the launching pad for smarter choices, or better action plans in future endeavors. Will success come on the next adventure, or the next one after that, or will it take many more? Who is to say? The important point here is that success only comes by turning dreams into reality and realizing that obstacles are only stepping-stones to final success.

For those who are wondering about my own eventual success, I'll tell you this.

After many attempts, many failures, many lessons, and many false starts, success arrived but only through believing in what I've said earlier. Learn valuable lessons from failure; turn dreams into action plans, and don't let a dream only be that - a dream!

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story – The Hospital Window

by Author Unknown (thanks to John for submitting)

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.

Every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

The man in the other bed began to live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it. In his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

Days and weeks passed.

One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.

As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed.

It faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window.

The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."

Epilogue:
There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations.

Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled.

If you want to feel rich, just count all the things you have that money can't buy.

Today is a gift, that's why it is called the present.

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story – Our Lives In Money

By Author Unknown (thanks to Mary Jo for sending)

A well-known speaker started off his seminar by holding up a $20.00 bill. In the room of 200, he asked, "Who would like this $20 bill?" Hands started going up.

He said, "I am going to give this $20 to one of you but first, let me do this." He proceeded to crumple the $20 dollar bill up. He then asked, "Who still wants it?" Still the hands were up in the air. "Well", he replied, "What if I do this?" And he dropped it on the ground and started to grind it into the floor with his shoe. He picked it up, now crumpled and dirty. "Now who still wants it?" Still the hands went into the air. "My friends, we have all learned a very valuable lesson", he said, "No matter what I did to the money, you still wanted it because it did not decrease in value. It was still worth $20.

Many times in our lives, we are dropped, crumpled, and ground into the dirt by the decisions we make and the circumstances that come our way. We feel as though we are worthless. But no matter what has happened or what will happen, you will never lose your value. Dirty or clean, crumpled or finely creased, you are still priceless.... and especially to those who love you.

The worth of our lives comes not in what we do or whom we know, but by WHO WE ARE.

"You are special - Don't EVER forget it."

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story Worry Not Bug

By Catherine Pulsifer

For months I notice the painted rock that sat on Karen's coffee table. The rock was painted and its face had a smile that just made you smile when you looked at it. I examined the rock and painted on the bottom was "why worry". Curious I asked Karen where she got the rock.

She told me that during a very stressful time in her life, a friend that she worked with gave her the rock. Her friend told her that when she looked at this rock, she was to remember not to worry so much. Her friend called it her "worry not bug". There was a poem with the rock, she went and got it and as I read the poem I thought how true it was:

Why Worry by Author Unknown

·        40% will never happen, for anxiety is the result of a tired mind,

·        30% concerns old decisions which cannot be altered,

·        12% centers in criticism, mostly untrue, made by people who feel inferior,

·        10% is related to my health which worsens while I worry,and only

·        8% is "legitimate," showing that life does have real problems which may be met head-on when I have eliminated senseless worries.

Karen went on to explain that she used to worry about everything and everyone. She now uses the rock as a reminder not to worry about the things she cannot change. She also went on to tell me that when she finds herself worrying, she asks herself what percentage this worry is?. Most of the time she found what she was worrying about was the 40% - things that will never happen.

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story- Bobby's Dime

By Thomas Pucci

(thanks to Julie for submitting) (We orginally put this story up as "Christmas Roses by Author Unknown", however thanks to Bobbie for sending us the correct title and author of the story!!)

Bobby was getting cold sitting out in his back yard in the snow. Bobby didn't wear boots; he didn't like them and anyway he didn't own any. The thin sneakers he wore had a few holes in them and they did a poor job of keeping out the cold. Bobby had been in his backyard for about an hour already. And, try as he might, he could not come up with an idea for his mother's Christmas gift. He shook his head as he thought, "This is useless, even if I do come up with an idea, I don't have any money to spend." Ever since his father had passed away three years ago, the family of five had struggled. It wasn't because his mother didn't care, or try, there just never seemed to be enough. She worked nights at the hospital, but the small wage that she was earning could only be stretched so far.

What the family lacked in money and material things, they more than made up for in love and family unity. Bobby had two older and one younger sister, who ran the household in their mother's absence. Three of his sisters had already made beautiful gifts for their mother. Somehow it just wasn't fair. Here it was Christmas Eve already, and he had nothing. Wiping a tear from his eye, Bobby kicked the snow and started to walk down to the street where the shops and stores were.

It wasn't easy being six without a father, especially when he needed a man to talk to. Bobby walked from shop to shop, looking into each decorated window. Everything seemed so beautiful and so out of reach. It was starting to get dark and Bobby reluctantly turned to walk home when suddenly his eyes caught the glimmer of the setting sun's rays reflecting off of something along the curb. He reached down and discovered a shiny dime. Never before has anyone felt so wealthy as Bobby felt at that moment. As he held his new found treasure, a warmth spread throughout his entire body and he walked into the first store he saw. His excitement quickly turned cold when the salesperson told him that he couldn't buy anything with only a dime. He noticed a flower shop and went inside to wait in line. When the shop owner asked if he could help him, Bobby presented the dime and asked if he could buy one flower for his mother's Christmas gift. The shop owner looked at Bobby and his ten cent offering. Then he put his hand on Bobby's shoulder and said to him, "You just wait here and I'll see what I can do for you."

As Bobby waited he looked at the beautiful flowers and even though he was a boy, he could see why mothers and girls liked flowers. The sound of the door closing as the last customer left jolted Bobby back to reality. All alone in the shop, Bobby began to feel alone and afraid. Suddenly the shop owner came out and moved to the counter. There, before Bobby's eyes, lay twelve long stem, red roses, with leaves of green and tiny white flowers all tied together with a big silver bow. Bobby's heart sank as the owner picked them up and placed them neatly into a long white box. "That will be ten cents young man." the shop owner said reaching out his hand for the dime. Slowly, Bobby moved his hand to give the man his dime. Could this be true? No one else would give him a thing for his dime! Sensing the boy's reluctance, the shop owner added, "I just happened to have some roses on sale for ten cents a dozen. Would you like them?" This time Bobby did not hesitate, and when the man placed the long box into his hands, he knew it was true. Walking out the door that the owner was holding open for Bobby, he heard the shop keeper say, "Merry Christmas, son."

As he returned inside, the shopkeeper's wife walked out. "Who were you talking to back there and where are the roses you were fixing?" Staring out the window, and blinking the tears from his own eyes, he replied, "A strange thing happened to me this morning. While I was setting up things to open the shop, I thought I heard a voice telling me to set aside a dozen of my best roses for a special gift. I wasn't sure at the time whether I had lost my mind or what, but I set them aside anyway. Then just a few minutes ago, a little boy came into the shop and wanted to buy a flower for his mother with one small dime. "When I looked at him, I saw myself, many years ago. I too, was a poor boy with nothing to buy my mother a Christmas gift. A bearded man, whom I never knew, stopped me on the street and told me that he wanted to give me ten dollars. When I saw that little boy tonight, I knew who that voice was, and I put together a dozen of my very best roses." The shop owner and his wife hugged each other tightly, and as they stepped out into the bitter cold air, they somehow didn't feel the cold at all.

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story – One Starlit Night….

 
by John McLeod (Jaymac)

Princess Margaret Rose Hospital For Crippled Children, Edinburgh.

June, 1956.

We had spent all of that splendid summer day out of doors on the veranda of Hut 1, high on the hill overlooking the rest of the hospital. In the late afternoon my friend Eric and I had asked if we might sleep out under the stars and had been granted permission by the ward Sister, a stern looking, but kindly lady of, to our eyes, uncertain age.

We ate our evening meal, a light supper of cold cuts and salad, just right for the end of a hot day. As the sun neared its setting and the fading light became a soft purpling where horizon met sky, we settled down, with no need of words, listening to the quietening sounds of day. On the roof above us a thrush sang its hymn of evensong, sweetly registering its joy at being alive. We did not disturb its caroling with any words but lay enjoying our own oasis of peace.

As the twilight deepened, the night-staff brought extra blankets and hot-water bottles to keep us warm and large welcoming mugs of cocoa. In the gathering darkness we talked in quiet tones, somehow wary of disturbing the hush of evening.

The lateness of the hour brought its own feeling of magic and though the day had been a long one, beginning for us around 5.30am, we did not allow sleep to intrude and 'steal' one minute of our 'great adventure'. Instead we spoke of space-travel, of the science-fiction world of the fifties, of 'Journey Into Space' (a radio serial of the time) and 'Dan Dare, Pilot of the Future', a heroic figure found within the pages of 'The Eagle' comic and on radio.

We pondered, as so many did then and since, on the vastness of the Universe asking the age-old questions, the 'who', 'when' and 'why' of that most puzzling of cosmic conundrums. Being but children we, somehow, expected an answer to the unanswerable, an explanation that was within our understanding, anchoring firmly our belief system, justifying our place in the scheme of things. Looking back now, I can recognize so well the delightful safety net of childhood's naivety and the belief that all could be explained somehow, somewhere.

We lost ourselves in the night sky sparkling with pinpricks of dancing light and sought out the few constellations we could readily recognize, the 'Great and Little Bears', with Polaris, the 'Pole Star', ever guiding the men of the sea for many centuries past. We knew so little of our galaxy, 'The Milky Way', but our fertile, ever questing imagination ran to its limitations and to an abstract beyondness.

It must have been close to midnight when the first shooting stars appeared, arcing across a night sky already garlanded with twinkling jewels of light. The sudden, brief incandescence of their trails, was I remember, a thrilling, wonder-filled experience, bringing gasps of delight from both of us. We made countless wishes for health and wealth and happy days, for timeless moments like this, and for lives that we hoped would be rich with such unforgettable experiences.

After what seemed an age the 'cosmic light show' faded and once more we lay in quiet companionship under the vaulted canopy of the night sky. Sleep gradually claimed us and drifting into the healing somnabulance of slumber brought gentle, restful dreams.

Waking to the dawn chorus was an especial joy as night faded and the sky grew light heralding a brand new day.

The morning sunlight, I recall, had a splendor I shall never forget, its golden light full of beauty and promise, offering yet another God given day.

Life holds so many simple blessings, each day bringing its own individual wonder, our memories storing the treasure of such moments to be drawn upon in lesser days.

I was so well blessed to know Eric, a friendship made through spending so many years as ward-mates dealing with our own individual experience of long-term illness. His wry sense of humour and his stalwart courage were an inspiring example to so many. His ability to laugh at Life's idiosyncrasies and himself in a self deprecating way taught that most valuable of lessons: 'to be of good cheer, no matter what Life threw at you, and ever to find the hope that dwells in every human heart'.

Eric survived but into his third decade of life, a good, dear friend in a companionship wrought from our sharing of mutual adversity. He was an unforgettable character whom I was privileged to know, remembered fondly now, down all the days, as bright as any of those splendid shooting stars seen on that long ago, but so memorable, starlit night!

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story

 
Success Comes To Those Who Persevere

by Byron Pulsifer © 2007

Although you may not be totally familiar with the geography of part of Maritime Canada, particularly with the absence of a permanent link between Prince Edward Island and the Province of New Brunswick, the thought of linking these two provinces permanently was only a dream. The transportation link between these two provinces was either by ship or, in more modern times, by ferry.

In order to link these two provinces permanently meant that many technological obstacles had to be overcome, but perseverance, the vision of a permanent link, paid off. The permanent linking was accomplished by designing and then building a unique bridge. The project began in 1993, and the 12.9-kilometer (approx. 14 miles) Confederation Bridge officially opened on May 31, 1997.

Forming an integral part of the Trans Canada network, the Confederation Bridge is the longest bridge over ice-covered waters in the world. Many obstacles had to be overcome including the tremendous pressure from ice along its pylons during the winter and the spring thaw.

The key to the success of building this unique bridge over a period of four years was perseverance. No matter the task, perseverance is the ability to keep going in spite of obstacles and challenges. Perseverance is the realization that challenges along the way are only minor detours on the march to success.

"Our energy is in proportion to the resistance it meets.

We attempt nothing great but from a sense of the difficulties we have to encounter, we persevere in nothing great but from a pride in overcoming them."

William Hazlitt

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

May This Encourage You, Always

By Author Unknown

(thanks to Claire for submitting)

Don't spend major time with minor people.

If there are people in your life who continually disappoint you, break promises, stomp on your dreams, are too judgmental, have different values and don't have your back during difficult times...that is not friendship.

To have a friend, be a friend.

Sometimes in life as you grow, your friends will either grow or go. Surround yourself with people who reflect values, goals interests and lifestyles.

When I think of any of my successes,

I am thankful to God from whom all blessings flow, and to my family and friends who enrich my life.

Over the years my phone book has changed because I changed, for the better.
At first, you think you're going to be alone, but after awhile, new people show up in your life that make it so much sweeter and easier to endure.

Remember what your elders used to say,

"Birds of a feather flock together.

If you're an eagle, don't hang around chickens:

Chickens can't fly!"

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

Changing Lifestyles

by Catherine Pulsifer

We stood in the kitchen talking. I was discussing my upcoming change in lifestyle. I was excited yet hesitant as I talked about it.

We set a goal many years ago to change our lifestyle from one of the hectic city life, working to pay the bills….. to one of a slower country pace, working on our "wanna do's". Yet as I talked to my friend about this, there was hesitation in my voice. Leaving a company where I had worked for over 26 years, leaving friends who have become like family to me, leaving a province where I had lived, raised my children and worked for the last 16 years. I expressed my concerns of leaving a steady paycheck for a much, much lower income. As I talked, that little voice in my head was saying, "what are you doing, will you be able to make it?"

My friend left the room and came back carrying a bag. "This is for you," she said smiling.

I opened the bag and in it was a plaque with the following poem:

Believe In Yourself

And in your dream though impossible things may seem,

Someday, somehow you'll get through to the goal you have in view.

Mountains fall and seas divide before the one who in his stride

Takes a hard road day by day sweeping obstacles away.

Believe in yourself and in your plan.

Say not - I cannot but, I can.

The prizes of life we fail to win, Because we doubt the power within.

As I read the poem, my hesitation disappeared, my confidence restored, I knew it would be all right. I did have a dream, and although, at times it appeared impossible, I set my goal and never lost sight of that end goal. Yes, many times as I worked towards that goal I had setbacks, and faced many challenges.

When I faced those challenges I always remembered the quote: "persistence prevails when all else fails". I never lost focus. I believed I could do it. And, as I reflected on the poem I knew, tomorrow will work out. I have come this far and faced many obstacles and challenges, but I overcame them.

I am writing this story on Sunday, and tomorrow, on Monday, June 23rd, the moving truck will arrive. I am leaving Mississauga, ON and moving to the country in New Brunswick. My goal now a reality!

What are your dreams?

Do they seem impossible?

Set your goal, don't give up when you face challenges, and stay focused, as the power within is truly amazing!!

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story – Changing Lifestyles

by Catherine Pulsifer

We stood in the kitchen talking. I was discussing my upcoming change in lifestyle. I was excited yet hesitant as I talked about it.

We set a goal many years ago to change our lifestyle from one of the hectic city life, working to pay the bills….. to one of a slower country pace, working on our "wanna do's". Yet as I talked to my friend about this, there was hesitation in my voice. Leaving a company where I had worked for over 26 years, leaving friends who have become like family to me, leaving a province where I had lived, raised my children and worked for the last 16 years. I expressed my concerns of leaving a steady paycheck for a much, much lower income. As I talked, that little voice in my head was saying, "what are you doing, will you be able to make it?"

My friend left the room and came back carrying a bag. "This is for you," she said smiling.

I opened the bag and in it was a plaque with the following poem:

Believe In Yourself

And in your dream though impossible things may seem,

Someday, somehow you'll get through to the goal you have in view.

Mountains fall and seas divide before the one who in his stride takes a hard road day by day sweeping obstacles away. Believe in yourself and in your plan. Say not - I cannot but, I can. The prizes of life we fail to win, Because we doubt the power within.

As I read the poem, my hesitation disappeared, my confidence restored, I knew it would be all right. I did have a dream, and although, at times it appeared impossible, I set my goal and never lost sight of that end goal. Yes, many times as I worked towards that goal I had setbacks, and faced many challenges.

When I faced those challenges I always remembered the quote: "persistence prevails when all else fails". I never lost focus. I believed I could do it. And, as I reflected on the poem I knew, tomorrow will work out. I have come this far and faced many obstacles and challenges, but I overcame them.

I am writing this story on Sunday, and tomorrow, on Monday, June 23rd, the moving truck will arrive. I am leaving Mississauga, ON and moving to the country in New Brunswick. My goal now a reality!

What are your dreams?

Do they seem impossible?

Set your goal, don't give up when you face challenges, and stay focused, as the power within is truly amazing!!

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

Balance of Life

by Catherine Pulsifer

Mary and Susan were friends for years. They grew up together and attended the same schools. They were now both in their 40's, and both had great careers. They both had a similar upbringing - same education, same family values, similar support and financial position. But there was one main difference. Mary never seemed to have enough time. She watched her life long friend Susan. She had similar responsibilities and interests. Susan had a career, she had three children, she had her hobbies, one of which included golf. Over lunch, Susan was telling Mary about the golf game that she played last weekend.

"Susan, where do you find the time to play golf?" asked Mary. "I never seem to have the time, now with the children older and doing there own thing I thought I would have time to play golf like we did when we were in college."

Susan looked at Mary and laughed, "Mary, we both have the same hours in a day. You do have the time to play golf!"

With a sigh Mary replied, "That's easy for you to say. I never seem to have time. My work takes so much of my time. I am in the office at 7:30, I leave at 6:30 in the evening. By the time I get home and have dinner, it is 8:00! And, then I usually have a briefcase full of work. The weekends are full of more work. Just to keep up, I have to put in the hours. You know what it is like!"

"Of course, I know what it is like," Mary said. "But what would happen tomorrow if you got sick? Who would do the work?"

"Sick. Who has time to get sick! exclaimed Mary. "But if I did get sick, someone else would do the work, I suppose."

"You know something, Mary, I used to be like you. I worked night and day and of course on weekends. When I got home I was exhausted but I would push myself and read my children a bedtime story. By the time I went to bed, I would be more than exhausted. The boss I had was very demanding. She was there early in the morning, late at night, and she always worked weekends. I felt I had to do the same - I needed the job to help support my family - just as you did. But then I had a change of bosses. The man I worked for was older and much wiser, I might add! Of course, I continued to work the hours I had been working. One day he came to my desk and passed me a card that had a quote on it which said, 'What I do today is important, because I will never have today again' - then he left.

I sat there stunned. I suddenly thought of what was important to me. While my work was important, I realized my children were more important. I also realized that time for me was important. It was 4:30, the official closing time of the office. I straightened my desk, felt a twinge of guilt about leaving, but I forced myself to leave. I was home by 5:00. My children and husband were surprised. I had a wonderful evening. It was not a chore to read that bedtime story that evening."

Mary was looking at her friend thoughtfully and then questioned Susan about the work she had left on her desk.

Susan replied, "I never thought this possible, but I actually accomplished more the next day then I had in weeks. As I was leaving the next day I stopped at my new boss's office and thanked him for the quote. He told me a story about advice his dad had given him many years ago when he was working night and day. He referred to it as 'Balance of Life'. His dad told him to keep balance in his work, in his family life and in time for himself. He explained to me, while all aspects of our life are important, without a balance, you become addicted and like all addictions you lose -

- no balance with your family - you lose them

- no balance with your work - you lose your perspective and you actually lose focus on the important aspects of your job.

- no balance with yourself - you forget who you are and when you retire you have nothing! Or worse than that, if you lose your job through a company sale or downsizing you lose your identity.

He went on to tell me that who we are is NOT what we do to make a living. Who we are is a balance of our family, our work, ourselves! It truly was the best advice I ever received."

Mary took a drink of her tea and tearfully looked at her friend, "But I would never get my work done if I left at 4:30!"

Susan looked thoughtfully at her, "When you go to work on Monday, look at what you have on your desk. Make a list of everything you have to get done and beside that list write the impact of not doing it. Then focus only on the top three items that have the most impact. Do that everyday for a week. At first, you will find it difficult to leave. But, after awhile, you will find that you will have more energy, and you will be more focused in your work because you have BALANCE! There are times when we have to lose balance - a special project at work, or a family matter at home - but consciously focusing on balance keeps everything in check."

Mary smiled at her friend, "Thanks for talking with me. We have been friends for so long. Thank heavens I have balance with your friendship! You have convinced me. I will leave the work in my briefcase this weekend. On Monday, I will make the list first thing. Perhaps next weekend, I will have the time to go golfing with you!"

"Balance of Life" - important for us ALL!

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story-

What Goes Around, Comes Around

by Author Unknown (thanks to John for submitting)

His name was Fleming, and he was a poor Scottish farmer. One day, while trying to make a living for his family, he heard a cry for help coming from a nearby bog. He dropped his tools and ran to the bog. There, mired to his waist in black muck, was a terrified boy, screaming and struggling to free himself. Farmer Fleming saved the lad from what could have been a slow and terrifying death.

The next day, a fancy carriage pulled up to the Scotsman's sparse surroundings. An elegantly dressed nobleman stepped out and introduced himself as the father of the boy Farmer Fleming had saved. "I want to repay you," said the nobleman. "You saved my son's life." "No, I can't accept payment for what I did," the Scottish farmer replied, waving off the offer.

At that moment, the farmer's own son came to the door of the family hovel. "Is that your son?" the nobleman asked. "Yes," the farmer replied proudly. "I'll make you a deal. Let me provide him with the level of education my own son will enjoy. If the lad is anything like his father, he'll no doubt grow to be a man we both will be proud of." And that he did.

Farmer Fleming's son attended the very best schools and in time, he graduated from St. Mary's Hospital Medical School in London, and went on to become known throughout the world as the noted Sir Alexander Fleming, the discoverer of Penicillin.

Years afterward, the same nobleman's son who was saved from the bog was stricken with pneumonia. What saved his life this time? Penicillin. The name of the nobleman? Lord Randolph Churchill.

His son's name? Sir Winston Churchill.

Someone once said:

"What goes around comes around."

Work like you don't need the money. Love like you've never been hurt.

Dance like nobody's watching. Sing like nobody's listening.

Live like it's Heaven on Earth.

Inspirational Story, Motivational Story

Wings for Goals, a goal in itself

by Catherine Pulsifer

After I wrote my first book, Wings for Wisdom, I had many people ask me how I did it. I would reply, "I set a goal." Many of them looked at me strangely after I had said that. "What do you mean," they would say. I would then give them a step by step description of how I did it.

I had read many books on goal setting, I had implemented bits and pieces of each of these books in my life. Some of the books went on and on; they would make your eyes glaze over!

So, I decided to write my second book, Wings for Goals. I wanted a book that was short and sweet. One that was to the point about goal setting.

So, of course, I set my goal and started to write the book, Wings for Goals.

I can honestly say that setting goals has changed my life. I have accomplished things in my life by setting goals that I previously only dreamed about. Goals do work.

There is a saying, "you have a gold mine, when you have a goal mind". And, it is true.

Of course, you can put your pen to paper, write down your goals, but the most important thing is to take action and complete each step of your goal.

And lastly, goals are not written in stone. If you don't make a timeframe or your plans change, then change your goals. But, the most important thing is that goals help you focus on what you want in your life!

To quote Dwight Eisenhower, "accomplishments will prove to be a journey, not a destination." Your goals will be a journey, and you will see accomplishments, and one goal will lead to another!

By setting goals and taking action, you will accomplish more in a year than most people accomplish in a lifetime!

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

A Wake Up Call

by Catherine Pulsifer

The story below is a true story that happened in September.

During the month of September, a dear friend of mine lost her husband suddenly in an accident. The tragedy was a shock to everyone.

This accident was sudden and certainly unexpected. It drove home the realization that you just don't know when a loved one is no longer going to be with you. We sometimes take our love ones for granted, and we expect that they will be with us forever. However, as we all know, life does not work that way and sometimes we get a wake up call that shocks us and makes us stand back and realize how short life is.

In consoling her, I tried to imagine if I was in her shoes how would I feel. It was impossible to imagine what she was going through. What words do I say to help her?

Sometimes words just cannot express our feelings. Sometimes our actions are much more meaningful than words. A hug can sometimes express more than our words will ever express. Sometimes, just being there to listen is more meaningful and helpful to people.

A SECOND WAKE UP CALL,

As I was leaving the funeral parlor, I ran into a Marilyn. (Marilyn has been a true friend to me over the years. She is one of those friends who is with you in the good times and is always by your side in the bad times. She has a sense of humor that makes everyone laugh and she makes everyone feel at ease.) We chit chatted for a few moments, and then she asked me how my job was. So I started talking and talking and talking (am sure she wished she had never asked, ha) I was having a stressful week with my job and I was telling her all the issues and how I was feeling. She listened to me as I was raving about my frustrations, then without saying a word, she took her hands and placed them on my face, and said to me,

"But at least you had a day."

The touch of her hands on my cheeks, the calmness in her voice, and the words she spoke, "BUT AT LEAST YOU HAD A DAY", hit me like a ton of bricks. All the frustrations, all the stress that was building up inside of me - came to a complete stop.

Since that day, when I start feeling stressed, I remind myself of Marilyn's words - but at least I had a day! Things could be a lot worse, the stress of the situation always could be worse, but I am alive and I have a lot to be thankful for - so I shall not waste my days with stress and frustrations - Life is too short!

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

Each Day Is A Gift

by Author Unknown

The 92-year-old, petite, well-poised and proud lady, who is fully dressed each morning by eight o'clock, with her hair fashionably coifed and makeup perfectly applied, even though she is legally blind, moved to a nursing home today.

Her husband of 70 years recently passed away, making the move necessary.

After many hours of waiting patiently in the lobby of the nursing home, she smiled sweetly when told her room was ready.

As she maneuvered her walker to the elevator, I provided a visual description of her tiny room, including the eyelet sheets that had been hung on her window. "I love it," she stated with the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old having just been presented with a new puppy.

"Mrs. Jones, you haven't seen the room .... just wait."

"That doesn't have anything to do with it," she replied. "Happiness is something you decide on ahead of time. Whether I like my room or not doesn't depend on how the furniture is arranged, it's how I arrange my mind. I already decided to love it. It's a decision I make every morning when I wake up. I have a choice; I can spend the day in bed recounting the difficulty I have with the parts of my body that no longer work, or get out of bed and be thankful for the ones that do. Each day is a gift, and as long as my eyes open I'll focus on the new day and all the happy memories I've stored away, just for this time in my life."

She went on to explain, "Old age is like a bank account, you withdraw from what you've put in. So, my advice to you would be to deposit a lot of happiness in the bank account of memories Thank you for your part in filling my Memory bank. I am still depositing."

And with a smile, she said:

"Remember the five simple rules to be happy:

1. Free your heart from hatred.

2. Free your mind from worries.

3. Live simply.

4. Give more.

5. Expect less."

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

A Quick Story,

by Elizabeth Silance Ballard

There is a story many years ago of an elementary teacher. Her name was Mrs. Thompson. And as she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children a lie. 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 had watched 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 tot he point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at the top of 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…he is 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 has 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 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 full of 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 quite teaching reading, and writing, and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children.

Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, 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 on of her "teacher's pets."

A year later, she found a note under he door, from Teddy, telling her that 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, second 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 had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured 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 little longer. The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, M.D.

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 and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit I the place at the weeding 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 each other and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, "Thank you, Mrs. Thompson, for believing in me. Thank you so much for make 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."

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

Two Brothers

By Author Unknown

(thanks to Claire for submitting)

Once upon a time two brothers, who lived on adjoining farms, fell into conflict. It was the first serious rift in 40 years of farming side by side, sharing machinery, and trading labor and goods as needed without a conflict. Then the long collaboration fell apart. It began with a small misunderstanding and it grew into a major difference, and finally it exploded into an exchange of bitter words followed by weeks of silence.

One morning there was a knock on John's door. He opened it to find a man with a carpenter's tool box. "I'm looking for a few days' work" he said. "Perhaps you would have a few small jobs here and there I could help with? Could I help you?" "Yes," said the older brother. "I do have a job for you."

"Look across the creek at that farm. That's my neighbor; in fact, it's my younger brother. Last week there was a meadow between us and he took his bulldozer to the river levee and now there is a creek between us. Well, he may have done this to spite me, but I'll do him one better."

"See that pile of lumber by the barn? I want you to build me a fence --an 8-foot fence -- so I won't need to see his place or his face anymore."

The carpenter said, "I think I understand the situation. Show me the nails and the post-hole digger and I'll be able to do a job that pleases you."

The older brother had to go to town, so he helped the carpenter get the materials ready and then he was off for the day. The carpenter worked hard all that day measuring, sawing, nailing. About sunset when the farmer returned, the carpenter had just finished his job.

The farmer's eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped. There was no fence there at all. It was a bridge -- a bridge stretching from one side of the creek to the other! A fine piece of work, handrails and all -- and the neighbor, his younger brother, was coming toward them, his hand outstretched. "You are quite a fellow to build this bridge after all I've said and done." The two brothers stood at each end of the bridge, and then they met in the middle, taking each other's hand.

They turned to see the carpenter hoist his toolbox onto his shoulder. "No, wait! Stay a few days. I've a lot of other projects for you," said the older brother. "I'd love to stay on," the carpenter said, but I have many more bridges to build.

Food for Thought:

Do you have any bridges

that you need to build?

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

Motivational Photos

By Catherine Pulsifer

Recently a friend of mine was visiting in my office. She commented on the motivational photos on my walls. "No wonder you never give up, everything in your office reinforces you to keep going.", she said.

I hadn't realized the number of motivational pictures and sayings that were there. Here are some of the sayings that are on the pictures in my office:

"Believe in Yourself"

"Do not follow where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail."

"There is nothing like a dream to create the future."

"Persistence prevails when all else fails."

"What I do today is important because I am exchanging a day of my life for it."

"Enjoy where you are at while you are waiting to get to where you want to be!"

"Keep your eyes on the stars and your feet on the ground."

"Count Your Many Blessings"

And of course, I also have the monthly motivational calendar hanging in my office, with a quote for each day of the month.

After my friends comment, I realized that, yes, the décor in my office does reinforce my determination. Many times I look at one of these pictures and read the saying, especially when I am facing a challenge - it does make a difference. Studies have shown that what we read, what music we listen to, the décor in our home and office all can have an affect on our mood.

Surround yourself with positive reminders for days when you need a bit of reinforcement!

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story

 
Is Packaging Important To You?

by Author Unknown

A young man was getting ready to graduate from college. For many months he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer's showroom, and knowing his father could well afford it, he told him that was all he wanted.

As Graduation Day approached, the young man awaited signs that his father had purchased the car. Finally, on the morning of his graduation, his father called him into his private study. His father told him how proud he was to have such a fine son, and told him how much he loved him. He handed his son a beautiful wrapped gift box. Curious, but somewhat disappointed, the young man opened the box and found a lovely, leather-bound Bible, with the young man's name embossed in gold. Angrily, he raised his voice to his father and said, "With all your money you give me a Bible?" He then stormed out of the house, leaving the Bible.

Many years passed and the young man was very successful in business. He had a beautiful home and a wonderful family, but realizing his father was very old, he thought perhaps he should go to see him. He had not seen him since that graduation day. Before he could make the arrangements, he received a telegram telling him his father had passed away, and willed all of his possessions to his son. He needed to come home immediately and take care of things.

When he arrived at his father's house, sudden sadness and regret filled his heart. He began to search through his father's important papers and saw the still new Bible, just as he had left it years ago. With tears, he opened the Bible and began to turn the pages. As he was reading, a car key dropped from the back of the Bible. It had a tag with the dealer's name, the same dealer who had the sports car he had desired. On the tag was the date of his graduation, and the words….."PAID IN FULL".

How many times do we miss blessings because they are not packaged as we expected? Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; but remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

The I Can't Funeral

by Author Unknown

Donna's fourth grade classroom looked like many others I had seen in the past. The teacher's desk was in front and faced the students. The bulletin board featured student work. In most respects it appeared to be a typically traditional elementary classroom. Yet something seemed different that day I entered it for the first time.

My job was to make classroom visitations and encourage implementation of a training program that focused on language arts ideas that would empower students to feel good about themselves and take charge of their lives. Donna was one of the volunteer teachers who participated in this project.

I took an empty seat in the back of the room and watched. All the students were working on a task, filling a sheet of notebook paper with thoughts and ideas. The ten-year-old student next to me was filling her page with "I Can'ts". "I can't kick the soccer ball past second base." "I can't do long division with more than three numerals." "I can't get Debbie to like me." Her page was half full and she showed no signs of letting up. She worked on with determination and persistence. I walked down the row glancing at student's papers. Everyone was writing sentences, describing things they couldn't do.

By this time the activity engaged my curiosity, so I decided to check with the teacher to see what was going on but I noticed she too was busy writing. I felt it best not to interrupt. "I can't get John's mother to come for a teacher conference." "I can't get my daughter to put gas in the car." "I can't get Alan to use words instead of fists."

Thwarted in my efforts to determine why students and teacher were dwelling on the negative instead of writing the more positive "I Can" statements, I returned to my seat and continued my observations.

Students wrote for another ten minutes. They were then instructed to fold the papers in half and bring them to the front. They placed their "I Can't" statements into an empty shoe box. Then Donna added hers. She put the lid on the box, tucked it under her arm and headed out the door and down the hall.

Students followed the teacher. I followed the students. Halfway down the hallway Donna entered the custodian's room, rummaged around and came out with a shovel. Shovel in one hand, shoe box in the other, Donna marched the students out to the school to the farthest corner of the playground. There they began to dig. They were going to bury their "I Can'ts"!

The digging took over ten minutes because most of the fourth graders wanted a turn. The box of "I Can'ts" was placed in a position at the bottom of the hole and then quickly covered with dirt. Thirty-one 10 and 11 year-olds stood around the freshly dug grave site. At this point Donna announced, "Boys and girls, please join hands and bow your heads." They quickly formed a circle around the grave, creating a bond with their hands.

They lowered their heads and waited. Donna delivered the eulogy.

"Friends, we gathered here today to honor the memory of 'I Can't.' While he was with us here on earth, he touched the lives of everyone, some more than others. We have provided 'I Can't' with a final resting place and a headstone that contains his epitaph. His is survived by his brothers and sisters, 'I Can', 'I Will', and 'I'm Going to Right Away'. They are not as well known as their famous relative and are certainly not as strong and powerful yet. Perhaps some day, with your help, they will make an even bigger mark on the world. May 'I Can't' rest in peace and may everyone present pick up their lives and move forward in his absence. Amen."

As I listened I realized that these students would never forget this day. Writing "I Can'ts", burying them and hearing the eulogy. That was a major effort on this part of the teacher. And she wasn't done yet.

She turned the students around, marched them back into the classroom and held a wake. They celebrated the passing of "I Can't" with cookies, popcorn and fruit juices. As part of the celebration, Donna cut a large tombstone from butcher paper. She wrote the words "I Can't" at the top and put RIP in the middle. The date was added at the bottom. The paper tombstone hung in Donna's classroom for the remainder of the year.

On those rare occasions when a student forgot and said, "I Can't", Donna simply pointed to the RIP sign. The student then remembered that "I Can't" was dead and chose to rephrase the statement. I wasn't one of Donna's students. She was one of mine. Yet that day I learned an enduring lesson from her as years later, I still envision that fourth grade class laying to rest, "I Can't".

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

Marilyn's CD Equals Passion

By Catherine Pulsifer, © 2007

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

Marilyn's CD Equals Passion

By Catherine Pulsifer, © 2007

You can tell when people have a passion for something. Their eyes light up when they talk about it. They will spend hours doing what excites them. My friend Marilyn has a passion for music. She has developed her talent over the years because of her love of music.

She would play at parties, and church events sharing her passion with everyone. Over the years, many people encouraged her and gave her the confidence that lead to her producing a CD with a selection of her favorite songs.

"A strong passion for any object will ensure success, for the desire of the end will point out the means."

William Hazlitt

Marilyn was in her 60's when she produced her first CD. Her voice seemed to dance as she told me about it. You could hear her passion for music as she described the experience of recording the CD. She had never been in a recording studio in her life, and now here she was recording a CD in a professional studio. Her passion brought her success.

What is your passion? Have you found it? Have you developed it? There is nothing like taking about your passion and making it a reality. It is an experience like no other; to do something that you have a love for and making it a reality. As Eve Sawyer said, "Never underestimate the power of passion." If you truly have a passion for something, you will figure out a way to achieve it. Your passion will help you face the challenges and roadblocks as you start your journey.

If you are not sure what your passion is, think of what makes you jump out of bed in the morning. What is the one thing that you love to do? Find it and do it!

"Don't ask yourself what the world needs; ask yourself what makes you come alive.

And then go and do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive."

Harold Whitman

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

Your Keepers

By Author Unknown

(thanks to Claire for submitting)

I grew up in the fifties with practical parents -- a Mother, God love her, who washed aluminum foil after she cooked in it, then reused it. She was the original recycle queen, before they had a name for it... A Father who was happier getting old shoes fixed than buying new ones.

Their marriage was good, their dreams focused. Their best friends lived barely a wave away. I can see them now, Dad in trousers, tee shirt and a hat and Mom in a house dress, lawn mower in one hand, dish towel in the other.

It was the time for fixing things -- a curtain rod, the kitchen radio, screen door, the oven door, the hem in a dress. Things we keep. It was a way of life, and sometimes it made me crazy. All that re-fixing, reheating, renewing, I wanted just once to be wasteful. Waste meant affluence. Throwing things away meant you knew there'd always be more.

But then my Mother died, and on that clear summer's night, in the warmth of the hospital room, I was struck with the pain of learning that sometimes there isn't any more.

Sometimes, what we care about most gets all used up and goes away... never to return.

So...while we have it...it's best we love it.....and care for it.... and fix it when it's broken..... and heal it when it's sick. This is true... for marriage...old radios...and old cars... and children with bad report cards... and dogs with bad hips... and aging parents... and grandparents. We keep them because they are worth it, because we are worth it. Some things we keep. Like a best friend that moved away -- or -- a classmate we grew up with.

There are just some things that make life important, like people we know who are special.....and so, we keep them close!

Who are the keepers in your life?

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story

Rain
by Author Unknown

(thanks to Mary Jane for submitting)

She had been shopping with her Mom in Wal-Mart. She must have been 6 years old, this beautiful red haired, freckle faced image of innocence. It was pouring outside. The kind of rain that gushes over the top of rain gutters, so much in a hurry to hit the earth it has no time to flow down the spout. We all stood there under the awning and just inside the door of the Wal-Mart. We waited, some patiently, others irritated because nature messed up their hurried day. I am always mesmerized by rainfall. I got lost in the sound and sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and dust of the world. Memories were a welcome reprieve from the worries of my day.

Her voice was so sweet as it broke the hypnotic trance we were all caught in, "Mom, let's run through the rain," she said. "What?" Mom asked. "Let's run through the rain!" She repeated. "No, honey. We'll wait until it slows down a bit," Mom replied. This young child waited about another minute and repeated: "Mom, let's run through the rain." "We'll get soaked if we do," Mom said. "No, we won't, Mom. That's not what you said this morning," the young girl said as she tugged at her Mom's arm.

"This morning? When did I say we could run through the rain and not get wet?" "Don't you remember? When you were talking to Daddy about his cancer, you said, 'If God can get us through this, he can get us through anything!" The entire crowd stopped dead silent. I swear you couldn't hear anything but the rain. We all stood silently. No one came or left in the next few minutes.

Mom paused and thought for a moment about what she would say. Now some would laugh it off and scold her for being silly. Some might even ignore what was said. But this was a moment of affirmation in a young child's life. A time when innocent trust can be nurtured so that it will bloom into faith. "Honey, you are absolutely right. Let's run through the rain. If GOD let's us get wet, well maybe we just needed washing," Mom said. Then off they ran. We all stood watching, smiling and laughing as they darted past the cars and yes, through the puddles. They held their shopping bags over their heads just in case. They got soaked. But they were followed by a few who screamed and laughed like children all the way to their cars. And yes, I did. I ran. I got wet. I needed washing.

Circumstances or people can take away your material possessions, they can take away your money, and they can take away your health. But no one can ever take away your precious memories...So, don't forget to make time and take the opportunities to make memories everyday. To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven. A friend sent this to me to remind me of life.

I HOPE YOU STILL TAKE THE TIME TO RUN THROUGH THE RAIN.

They say it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them, but then an entire life to forget them. Keep in touch with your friends; you never know when you'll need each other.

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

How Old Are You?

By Catherine Pulsifer

If we did not know our age, some of us would appear to be very young, and some of us would seem very old.

Sometimes, people use age as a convenient excuse. "I'm too old to start something new", or, "I couldn't learn that at my age." Other people, though, go on to achieve their greatest accomplishments in life in later years.

Take, for example, Colonel Harland Sanders who started franchising his chicken outlets when he was 65 years old. Up to the age of 90 years old he traveled 250,000 miles a year visiting KFC franchises. He not only overcame personal and business adversities, but more importantly, he didn't let age stand in his way!

Feelings lead to attitudes, attitudes become beliefs, and beliefs become the basis for actions.

It is not important how old you are; it is how you feel, how you think, and what you do that is important.

To quote Satchel Paige, "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you was."

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

The Cab Ride

By Author Unknown (submitted by Rebekah)

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, and then drive away. But, I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.

So 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 80'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 1940s 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, no 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, 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 treated".

"Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, 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. "The doctor says I don't have very long."

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What 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, 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.

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

The Gift of Friendship

by Jackie Sagner

A few years back when my father was very ill in Nashville and I was living in Florida I learned the value of friendship.

I learned that no one is a stranger when someone needs help.

I was living In Orlando and my father lived in Nashville. He had a stroke and was gravely ill. I was a plane ride away but went up as often as possible. I did not make a lot of money at the time so I relied on credit cards to fly back and forth and to rent a car once in Nashville. This became expensive and my cards soon had large balances on them. I knew that I had to see him so I continued to charge whatever expenses were needed.

My father did pass away and then there were funeral expenses as well and I did not know what to do. I received a knock on my door right before we were to leave for the funeral. It was a co-worker with an envelope. The office had banned together and taken a collection to help with the expenses. I could not believe the generosity! Some of the girls in the office I knew quite well others were just acquaintances but they wanted to help. This was such a help to my family and I will never forget the girls at the office and the kindness that they showed at such a low point in my life.

Thank you to the girls at Florida Otolaryngology Group wherever you are now !!!!

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

My Grandfather Died on Saturday at 6.30pm

by Cat Dugdale, cat@teamcat.co.uk

http://www.teamcat.co.uk

For Christmas my Grandfather bought me a compass, yes a compass! To go in my car. It sits on my dash board so I know which direction I am going. On Boxing Day he sat with me in my car lining up the poles and checking that my new acquisition was telling the truth.

My Grandfather was the most selfless person I know.

In my whole life I cannot ever remember him doing anything for himself. He would always be busy finding something out, working something out, building something -he practically changed the entire floor plan of my Grandparent's house on my Grandmother's command! Until last year aged 88 he would be up my parent's apple tree for the yearly apple harvest, and he made the best bread! If someone needed something he would be there taking it to them or collecting it for them. At any frenzied family occasion with the house full, my mother baking, cleaning, organizing, my sister fussing with my nephew. My nephew enjoying the new concept of a wooden spoons, pots, pans and LOUD noise! My Grandmother demanding she tell you about some area of interest in the Cotswolds. My Brother-in-law playing with Sammy's (the afore mentioned nephew) toys or watching the Simpsons (he is actually a very smart guy, I think he is trying to disguise he intellect!) and my father playing his Guitar surrounded by the guitar owners compulsory Eric Clapton/ Beatles song books. My Grandfather would be the calm in the middle of the storm. He would never ask for anything, the washing up would be done and put away before you could blink, you would turn around and anything that needed fixing would be fixed. He would often come out with an interesting fact about something you were doing or looking at, in a 'just in case you wanted to know' way which, for a moment, would remind you of all the things he has quietly done throughout his life. If you mentioned you were interested in something he would unassumingly go away, research it and come back with loads of helpful information which would end up being the success of whatever task you were trying to complete.

He was gentle and kind, thoughtful, caring, considerate, practical and productive. A true gentleman at all times, and was the only person in the world I could describe as Stoic. He was always busy completing a job, and making sure it was done properly. Everything he did, he did wholeheartedly, properly and with true care. His life took him to many different places but he made sure he got the best of all those places and that they got his best too.

So yesterday, sitting in my car, I realised that he had not left me with a piece of plastic that told me whether I was going North or South, but now, every time I am in my car it reminds me if my life is going in the direction I want? If I am the person I wanted to be? And if not, that I can change direction at any time and hopefully ensure I make a difference in the world in the same way he did.

I think you can buy 'car' compasses in Halfords and I highly recommend purchasing one.

Always make sure your life is going in the direction you want, whether in fitness, work, or any aspect of your world. And, if it isn't, with confidence, determination and excitement, change direction.

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

A Car Accident…then came Success

by Dean Pennicott © 2003

Have you ever wondered how some of the worst things that happen in your life turn out to be some of the best experiences you've ever had?

Well, a fellow member of my church once told a story about one such experience that changed his life.

For years, he had difficulty saving to buy a house because something would always occur and consume more money than he had expected to spend. Despite his efforts he simply could not go long before spending the extra cash that he had saved.

Then one day a car accident badly damaged the car his wife was driving. Their mechanic estimated the cost of repairs at five thousand dollars. Unfortunately, they were presently in a financial bind and so the car would have to wait. After contemplating the situation he realized that they needed a solution to their financial problems. To remedy the situation he worked long and hard for weeks, saving and managing his money in a way he had never done previously. In a few months he had saved enough funds to have his wife's car repaired.

Once the car was repaired he discussed with his wife how quickly they had put aside the money they needed. During their discussion his wife encouraged him to open a second account so they could continue to put away the same amount of money that we were saving every week for the car repair. This money would go towards the house they had always wanted to purchase.

He was convinced that if he could save thousand of dollars in a few months he could eventually save enough to buy a house. For many years they had both wanted to buy their dream house but could not seem to come up with the down payment. However, in a little over a year he had saved more than twenty thousand dollars and was able to make the down payment. He had done something in a short while that he had failed to accomplish in his previous attempts to properly handle his finances.

Consequently, this man's experiences gave him a different feeling about money. He and his wife have continued to maintain their second account. This time they have decided to start saving for their retirement, putting away just a little less every week than they did for their house.

One man embraced a new set of traits because he had a goal that was imperative for him to achieve-he made a plan to achieve it and followed through. The experience of a single misfortune taught him a valuable lesson and challenged him to reprogram his saving, and spending habits. In the process he also changed his family's life. He now enjoys the material benefits along with a sense of accomplishment and pride.

The value of making the most of our experiences is that they teach us lessons about life- about failures, successes, and everything in between.

In the midst of our challenges always remember success often comes in disguise.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Dean Pennicott is the author of a very inspiring new ebook "MAKE SUCCESS HAPPEN" which received a great review from CBS 60 Minutes II. It's available at Amazon.com. Download your copy today.

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

Not "Just a Mom"

By Author Unknown, thanks to Claire for submitting!

A woman named Emily renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk's office was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.

"What I mean is," explained the recorder, "do you have a job, or are you just a...

"Of course I have a job," snapped Emily. "I'm a mother."

"We don't list 'mother' as an occupation... 'housewife' covers it," said the recorder emphatically.

I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like, "Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar." "What is your occupation?" she probed.

What made me say it, I do not know... The words simply popped out. "I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations."

The clerk paused, ballpoint pen frozen in midair, and looked up as though she had not heard right.

I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.

"Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?"

Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research, (what mother doesn't), in the laboratory and in the field, (normally I would have said indoors and out). I'm working for my Masters, (the whole darned family), and already have four credits, (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities, (any mother care to disagree?) and I often work 14 hours a day, (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money."

There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.

As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants - ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old baby), in the child-development program, testing out a new vocal pattern.

I felt triumphant! I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than "just another mother."

Motherhood...What a glorious career! Especially when there's a title on the door.

Does this make grandmothers "Senior Research Associates in the field of Child Development and Human Relations" and great grandmothers "Executive Senior Research Associates"? I think so!!!

I also think it makes Aunts "Associate Research Assistants".

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

Sometimes and Always

By Jackie Sagner

Sometimes occasionally goes by the rules but mostly does his own thing. He is more worried about being everyone's friend than doing his school work. He gets into trouble a lot but managed to charm his way through it. His parents have gone to school a lot to have parent teacher conferences.

Always is a boy who always goes by the book, never breaks the rules and is never in trouble. He always pleased his family and friends and never let them down. He is usually stressed out and gets headaches and stomach aches from stress.

Always became very ill one day and had to be rushed to the hospital. The doctors were baffled at what could be wrong with him. Many tests were run and in the end they were inconclusive. He was released and went home only to be stressed some more about missing school and possibly letting everyone down if he received a grade less than an A.

Now sometimes was doing poorly in school and he knew it. He decided that he would just do what he could to get by, he thought " Why should I stress out look what happened to Always."

Well Always was having the same thoughts " Why should I stress and make myself sick, sometimes gets by ok" and at that time he started missing school and just barely got passing grades.

Their parents decided to sit the boys down and talk to them and tell them that they just need to do their best and that is all that can be asked of them. They do not need to stress and get ill but also do not slack off and get failing grades.

Their parents just wanted them to know that whatever they did they would be proud of them as long as they did their best.

Finally, Sometimes spoke up and said " You mean even if we don't do well all the time that you will still love us and be proud of us ?? " The parents answered the question, "yes we will love you , ALWAYS !!!!"

The moral is, do your best at whatever you do that is all that can be expected of you and you will turn out just fine your parents will love you no matter what.

An Inspirational Story, Motivational Story –

Commitment
By Olehile Fischer Thataone

I will never forget what my old headmaster told taught me. Normally when you are only 15 years of age you do not remember most of the things that are preached by your teachers. But, this particular story is one such lesson that I will never forget. Every time I drift off course, I get reminded of this story.

It was a normal Monday morning at an assembly, and he was addressing the students on important things in life and about committing ourselves to what is important to us. This is how the story went:

An old man lived in a certain part of London, and he would wake up every morning and go to the subway. He would get the train right to Central London, and then sit at the street corner and beg. He would do this every single day of his life. He sat at the same street corner and begged for almost 20 years.

His house was filthy, and a stench came out of the house and it smelled horribly. The neighbors could not stand the smell anymore, so they summoned the police officers to clear the place. The officers knocked down the door and cleaned the house. There were small bags of money all over the house that he had collected over the years.

The police counted the money, and they soon realized that the old man was a millionaire. They waited outside his house in anticipation to share the good news with him. When he arrived home that evening, he was met by one the officers who told him that there was no need for him to beg any more as he was a rich man now, a millionaire.

He said nothing at all; he went into his house and locked the door. The next morning he woke up as usual, went to the subway, got into the train, and sat at the street corner and continued to beg.

Obviously, this old man had no great plans, dreams or anything significant for his life. We learn nothing from this story other than staying focused on the things we enjoy doing, commitment.

We should remain true to our course; which may mean committing yourselves to things that people around you would normally disapprove. Let nothing distract us from being happy, let nothing else determine our fate, but ourselves.

What makes us happy is what matters in the end, not what we acquire.