Serenity

Calmness of mind is one of the beautiful jewels of wisdom. It is the result of long and patient effort in self-control. Its presence is an indication of ripened experience, and of a more than ordinary knowledge of the laws and operations of thought.

A man becomes calm in the measure that he understands himself as a thought evolved being, for such knowledge necessitates the understanding of others as the result of thought, and as he develops a right understanding, and sees more and more clearly the internal relations of things by the action of cause and effect, he ceases to fuss and fume and worry and grieve, and remains poised, steadfast, serene.

The calm man, having learned how to govern himself, know how to adapt himself to others; and they, in turn, reverence his spiritual strength, and feel that they can learn of him and rely upon him. The more tranquil a man becomes, the greater is his success, his influence, his power for good. Even the ordinary trader will find his business prosperity increase as he develops a greater self-control and equanimity, for people will always prefer to deal with a man whose demeanor is strongly equable.

The strong, calm man is always loved and revered. He is like a shade-giving tree in a thirsty land, or a sheltering rock in a storm. Who does not love a tranquil heart, a sweet-tempered, balanced life? It does not matter whether it rains or shines, or what changes come to those possessing these blessings, for they are always sweet, serene, and calm. That exquisite poise of character which we call serenity is the last lesson of culture; it is the flowering of life, the fruitage of the soul. It is precious as wisdom, more to be desired than gold - yea, than even fine gold. How insignificant mere money-seeking looks in comparison with a serene life - a life that dwells in the ocean of Truth, beneath the waves, beyond the reach of tempests, in the Eternal Calm.

James Allen
1864-1912

Excerpted from "As A Man Thinketh"

A Grateful Heart

When yesterday was said and done, I sat down to reflect on what I thought was a tough day at the office. I wanted to say those two very simple but powerful words, 'Thank You', and I thought I would have to dig pretty deep to find something I was grateful for...It turns out it wasn't that difficult after all.

So I want to say thank you for fellow teachers who chose to smile at me as they walked by or even managed to take the time to ask how I was doing.

For all the students who challenged me and made me wonder what I could have said and done differently.

For those kids in the back row who knew how to push all the right buttons, and made me think twice about teaching that way again.

For the quiet ones in the corner who did all the right things and then shyly said goodbye as they left the room, and made me smile.

For the struggling student who finally 'got it' - And let the whole class know about it.

For the diligent students who handed in a masterpiece (and reminded me that some of them do actually listen to instructions).

For the co-workers who lent an ear or a shoulder, until I once again came up with my own reasons why I have chosen this challenging path (and perhaps why it keeps drawing me back).

For the books that messed up my desk as I tried to find new and interesting ways to teach the same thing (knowing that somewhere in the world a teacher would love to have that as a problem).

For the endless stream of fresh water, coffee, tea, milk and sugar and morning teas served up right here in the staff-room.

For classrooms fitted out with every possible teaching aid and the latest pieces of technology (even if I don't really know how to use any of them very well).

And thank you for the eager, smiling faces of those students who say good morning to me as I rush by each day and actually seem pleased that I am back to do it all over again!

Maybe I can teach them facts and figures, or how to string a sentence together in a foreign language...and maybe they will never remember any of it, who knows?

I do know that every day I come here as a teacher, knowing very well that I am the one who is here to learn...and that I indeed have a lot to be thankful for.

Nicole Papasidero

Nicole Papasidero teaches Japanese to Grades 7, 8 and 9 in a country school in New South Wales, Australia. Feel free to email Nicole and let her know how today's message touched you, at: nici@mosaic-m.com.au

An Hour Of Time

Tim was disappointed that his father didn't attend the last soccer game of the season, but he wasn't surprised. Tim was a mature 10-year old and he understood that lots of clients depended on his dad, a lawyer, who had to work most nights and weekends. Still, it made him sad, especially since this year he won the league's most valuable player award.

One evening Tim got up the nerve to interrupt his father's work at home to ask him how much lawyers make per hour. His father was annoyed and gruffly answered, "They pay me $300 an hour."

Tim gulped and said, "Wow, that's a lot. Would you lend me $100?"

"Of course not," his father barked. "Please, let me work."

Later, the father felt guilty and went to Tim's room where he found him sobbing. "Son," he said, "I'm sorry. If you need some money, of course I'll lend it to you. But can I ask why?"

Tim said, "Daddy, I know your time is really worth a lot and with the $200 I've already saved, I'll have enough. Can I buy an hour so you can come to the awards banquet on Friday?"

It hit his father like a punch to the heart. He realized his son needed him more than his clients did. He needed to be there for his son more than he needed money or career accolades. He hugged him and said, "I'm so proud of you, nothing could keep me away."

Lots of parents are stretched to their limit trying to balance business demands and family needs. It's always a matter of priorities. But if we don't arrange our lives to be there for our children, they will regret it - and after it's too late, so will we.

This story is derived and adapted from one that was circulated on the Internet without attribution. The original source is unknown.

Michael Josephson
www.charactercounts.org

The Game of the Keys to Life

A few years ago, I had to plan an activity for a youth group, followed by a talk. Little did I know that after the game, the true meaning of what happened would come to light.

Wanting to be original, I devised a game where a hamper, filled with chocolate bars and candy, sat on a table. Everybody wanted it. There was only one problem. It was locked and required a key to open it. I told the participants that their objective was to find the key to open the lock. They had one hour. I supplied them with a sheet with clues and told them that there were twenty keys outside in the neighborhood. Other than that there were no other rules to the game. They could organize themselves in any way they chose.

When we started, some formed groups with their friends, some chose to search alone and one person decided not to participate. The neighborhood was filled with kids scurrying around.

At the end of the hour, one group had found eight of the keys, another five and the rest were divided among the others. Of course, the person who decided not to participate had none.

The time came to see whose key opened the lock. The group with eight tried all of theirs, but none worked. Those who had five were unsuccessful too. One of the groups who had fewer had the key that opened the lock to the treasure.

The two groups who had gathered the most keys complained that the game was not fair. After all, they had gotten the most keys. I had to agree with them and muttered some cliché that life was often like this. Did they expect life to be fair?

Then I began my talk.

I explained that in life we often set our sights on treasures. They usually take keys to open. The keys may be things like a certain level of education, courses on various subjects, physical strength, an honest character, even good looks. There are many more keys to success that you can imagine.

In life, we can choose to look for keys any way we want. The more we cooperate with others and work with them, the greater our chances of getting more keys. If we work alone though, it is still possible to get keys. However, if we refuse to participate, the chances of getting the key that will open our treasure will be zero.

Although the number of keys that you get doesn't guarantee success, it will increase your chances of opening the treasure. Still, a person with only one key does have a chance of opening the treasure you want. Although it doesn't seem fair, life is like this.

Then it struck me. Right in the middle of my talk, I understood something I had never understood before. The groups that had complained that they had lots of keys, but had lost the treasure had missed the point, and so had I.

Yes, not one of their keys had opened the treasure. But, they still had lots of keys. The game was not over. They still had the keys. There must be locks out there somewhere that contained other treasures that could be unlocked by these keys.

The first part of the game was accumulating as many keys as possible, but that did not guarantee the first lock that was encountered would be opened by one of them. What is important is the second phase. If your treasure isn't opened on the first try, you must look for other locks.

Perhaps the job you really wanted was given to somebody else. Maybe the girl of your dreams can't return the same affection. What you have to realize is that the gifts that you have been given, have worked for and found, the keys, will eventually open up your treasure as long as you keep looking. Sitting around complaining that your keys didn't open up the first treasure you sought won't do any good. You have to keep looking for the treasures that fit your keys. Otherwise you will live a life full of regret and unfulfilled potential. You will always be looking back at what might have been instead of what will be.

Yes, there is a treasure out there just for you. Just keep looking and keep collecting those keys, then look for the locks they will open.

John Stevens

John Stevens is a creative, "idea" person from St. Marys, Ontario, Canada, who does some freelance writing. He is filling his time with some occasional teaching while looking for his next adventure in life. You can email John at: john.stevens@rogers.com

Unleash The Superhero In You

Within every human being, exists an infinite supply of creativity, strength and wonder.

You are capable of more than you know.

Let me tell you about a real life Superhero I know. His name is Mike Berkson.

Mike Berkson was born a few minutes after his twin brother David, on February 4th, 1989. Shortly after birth, Mike was diagnosed with cerebral palsy. Doctors told his parents that he would not be able to talk and he would never be a student in a regular classroom. By the time Mike was 3, he was not only talking up a storm but had a thirst for vocabulary. Mike sets BIG goals. Mike excels in English and History, is creative in writing short stories and has ambitions in film making.

Mike lives in a Chicago suburb and now attends high school. He loves rap music, Seinfeld reruns, movies, girls, and many other things most teenagers are interested in. Mike is unique in that he has to work around some obstacles in his day to day life that you and I will never be faced with.

Because he is confined to a wheelchair, and has limited use of his arms and legs, he is paired with someone to help him through the day so he can attend school and get the quality of education he deserves. For a few years, my friend Tim was fortunate enough to be paired with Mike and serve as Mike's aid and helper.

Ponder the things you do every day and imagine being physically unable to do them. Tim was responsible for taking notes for Mike, assisting him with eating, the bathroom, transportation and all the things that we do without thinking about.

As Tim and Mike grew closer and Tim became a member of Mike's family, Tim felt a yearning to share with the world Mike's awesome attitude, and how Mike deals with prejudices, ignorance and inconveniences despite his circumstances.

Tim was so inspired by the Superhero within Mike, that last year he set a goal to write a book about Mike and run 1,200 miles from Florida to Chicago to promote it.

Just one tiny problem...at the time, Tim could hardly run 30 minutes and in order to achieve his goals within 4 months, he would have to write the book at blazing speed AND get into the kind of physical condition to maintain a pace of running 40 miles per day for 31 straight days.

Impossible you might think? No. Remember I told you that you are more powerful than you think you are.

You see Tim had a unique source of motivation to fuel his goals. He had Mike. He had the examples from years of watching Mike display the traits of a real life Superhero. Tim had the inspiration of making a promise to an exceptional young man. Tim had the motivation of a purpose greater than himself.

Tim had the yearning to pursue a series of goals so much bigger than anything he had ever done before, that he just had to try. As a tribute to Mike, Tim had to push himself beyond anything he ever previously did, as Mike does every single day.

Some people in life believe you should only pursue goals you know you can achieve. Others believe the success lies in the growth that occurs from stretching beyond your previous wins, and that all growth is success.

How do you define success?

I interviewed Tim recently on my radio show. Tim explained how he found an endurance coach and transformed himself from a couch potato into an ultra endurance champion. Tim did not reach his goal of running 40 miles a day. You see, his plan was flawed. He made a lot of mistakes. His schedule for the run was so tight, that he did not allow himself any room for error, like weather, funding, or the hazards of running alongside traffic. His approach for raising money was limited. He had a skeleton crew of one to accompany him on the run.

He had to return home by a certain date, regardless of how far behind he was, so he had to drive the distances to catch up when he fell behind. Shortly after he started his journey, he realized he would not be able to achieve the 1,200 miles and still make it home on time. But he kept running anyways, he wanted to Keep On Keeping On. He would rather continue stretching himself than consider quitting.

Why is Tim's journey considered a success by many? Because he dared to pursue it in the first place. Because he did finish his book about Mike in record time. Because he succeeded in transforming his body into an Ultra Endurance Machine for that time. Because he DID succeed in running an average of 24 miles per day for a total of 700 miles. Because he didn't quit, even when he realized he could not reach every goal he set for himself. Because he touched the heart of a young man who looked up to him. Because he inspired a lot of people to go beyond what they previously thought they could do.

Because for a moment in time, he taped into the Superhero inside himself and unleashed more of his own potential.

Rising above circumstances like a champion inspires other people.

We must re-evaluate our perspective on what success really is.

Are you a success if you play it safe your whole life and never dare anything unless you are guaranteed victory?

When you set BIG Goals, it is important to set many smaller goals that coincide with it. Even if you fail to reach your deadline for one Goal, you will still succeed at many, and you will build your confidence to a much higher level. Give yourself empowering reasons for getting up when you feel down.

There is a Superhero inside YOU.

What Goals can you set that will inspire you to unleash it?

Keep On Keeping On.

Live Your Dreams.

Jill Koenig

Jill Koenig, the "Goal Guru" is a best selling author, coach and motivational speaker. She is an expert on the subjects of Goal Setting, Time Management and Business Success. Visit her website at: www.GoalGuru.com

Just Three Words

July 1, 2005, I met my grandchildren and my stepdaughter, Heather, for the first time. She was having marital problems. We were there to bring her and her boys back to new Jersey to live with us. Ginny and I walked through the airport in Oklahoma. "There they are!" she said.

"Where," I asked, looking around.

"There!" Ginny pointed.

I saw a beautiful young lady and two boys - ages three and five. They were the oldest of three boys. They stood staring at me, as Heather and Ginny hugged. Ginny turned to the boys and opened her arms, "Joshie! Seth Man! I missed you!"

They ran into her arms. It'd been a year since they'd seen their Gingin. Her hugs were needed. Grandmother hugs are the best. Ginny stood. Heather and the boys stared at me - the unknown grandpa. Ginny introduced me to her daughter. Heather was polite, but I could sense the doubt. Who was this man she didn't know? I would have to convince her, I wasn't replacing her dad. Her dad was in heaven now. I was just a man who loved her mom.

Ginny introduced me to Joshie and Seth. They were too shy to look at me. They stood, side-by-side, their eyes passing from Ginny and Heather, with only quick glances in my direction. Their eyes said it all, "Is that our new Poppa?"

We shared hugs and went back to their house, where I met Benny and his other grandma - Sonja. Benny was the youngest of the three and even more afraid of me.

The next day, the older boys were doing flips over my lap and laughing. Benny hugged Sonja, still scared of me. The following day, we packed the kids in the car and headed for New Jersey.

A year later, I sit here and write this story.

My life had changed. My house had been full of breakable and memorable things. In a few weeks they were gone. I hid them in closets and drawers. Our bedroom became a storage room. There are only so many times you can tell a child not to touch something before you realize, they can't help it. I just packed it all away!

Ginny and I used to spend an hour or two talking or reading when I came home from work, but with the grandkids here, we would always be interrupted. It was a new life. The quiet times were gone.

A year later, Heather and the boys are leaving on a new adventure. The boys are visiting their dad in Oklahoma and will join their mom in Idaho in a few months. Our house is empty. We have our life again - or do we?

I was up at 5 AM to see them off on their trip to see their dad. Their bags were packed and loaded in the car. I was up to see them off. We grabbed the last of their stuff, clamored down the steps and opened the car doors. Benny and Seth jumped in, excited about the trip and seeing their dad. I gave them the best hugs I could, considering they were in such a hurry. Tears formed in my eyes. They'd been a thorn in my feet, but I'd grown used to those thorns.

I buckled Benny in his car seat, stood, and heard, "Poppa Mike?"

I turned toward the voice. Joshie stood staring at me. He'd snuck around the back of the car. "Yes, Joshie?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Joshie," I said. Big tears began to roll down my cheeks. "I love you too, buddy. I'll miss you. Be a good boy for your daddy."

The car pulled away. They were gone. I went back into the house and looked around. There were a few small toys scattered about. I saw a plastic block in a corner. In the kitchen was a pack of Crayons. Behind the sofa was a cart full of Lego's.

My house was bare of trinkets but full of memories.

A few days later, I sat in the living room and noticed the scratch marks on my teak coffee table. They were the marks from a "Bob the Builder" plastic saw. When I first saw those marks, I was so angry, I stomped out of the house and took a long walk to cool my temper. I thought of all the breakables hidden in closets. Memories of a broken lamp, stomping feet, yelling, screaming, crying, interrupted conversations, spilled drinks and sprayed food flashed through my mind. It had been a rough year for me. I had a hard time adjusting to having young kids in the house.

A little boy walked around the back of the car and said, "I LOVE YOU!"

The stress, cries, scratches on tables, stains in carpets, tablecloths cut with scissors, screams, nicks, marks, and broken furniture were forgiven. Three words said with meaning. That's all it took, just three powerful words - I LOVE YOU!

Michael T. Smith

To read more stories by Michael please visit: http://subs.zinester.com/86758/ or email him directly at: mtsmith@qwestonline.com

RIGHT

That's right. It's right. He's right. She's right. Those words are echoed every day by millions of people. Once we decide we are right, an abundance of energy goes into defending our rightness. However, if we look at the situation objectively, we will quickly become aware that we are never right.

Our way may be a good way, it can be a valid way, it might even be a better way - but it will never be the right way. The minute you believe your way is the right way, all other ways will be wrong. That attitude will quickly paralyze progress. It will shut down the creative juices, which have given you and I a standard of living that is the envy of the world.

Permit me to make a suggestion. The next time you hear yourself saying, "that's right or I'm right," correct yourself immediately by repeating, that is a good way, and I might act on it. However, there is a better way and I will look for it.

The first telephones were a good way, a better way, even a great way to communicate. However, history has proven that the first telephones were certainly not the best way to communicate. By comparison with today's telephone systems, they were terrible.

This basic concept holds true with everything we do, from health care to air travel. Think of your own business or industry and the role you play in it. You could very easily be caught in the trap of doing your job the same way because you believe it is the right way. It may be effective but there is always a better way. One small adjustment could improve your productivity one hundred percent.

Your way may be effective, it may be valid, but it's never right. There is a better way. Find it!

Bob Proctor

Bob Proctor is an author, speaker and personal success coach. He is always helping people to find a better way. Go to www.ccprogram.com to find out about his personal coaching program.

Six Months to Live and Laugh

On the day a woman learns she has only a short time to live, she meets someone who shows her the humorous side.

By Dorothy G. Hensley

Editor's Note: Dorothy G. Hensley, age 89, is in the final months of her battle with congestive heart disease. We received this submission from the Dream Foundation, whose mission it is to grant terminally ill adults one final wish. Dorothy's dream is to be a published writer. We are happy to acknowledge her talent and publish her wonderful story.

---

This is the day I learned that my life is coming to an end, and that's all right. Eighty-eight years is more than most people get.

My daughter and I sat in Dr. Barbara's office. "I have done everything I can for you," she said, kindness in her voice. "Would you like me to contact hospice?" Surprised, I didn't know how to react. The doctor was looking into my eyes, waiting for a sign of understanding. "They can take care of your needs, enabling you to stay home." She paused, and then said, "Do you know about hospice?"

I said, "Yes, I had hospice when Mia's dad died." I was remembering the flurry of activity, almost eight years ago, when a registered nurse and two aides arrived at our home, along with a delivery of a hospital bed, bedside potty, a wheelchair, and a walker. In no time at all the bed was standing and made up in the living room, the potty was hidden behind a screen, the wheelchair was out of the line of traffic, and the walker was folded and leaned against a wall. Yes, I was acquainted with hospice.

Mia spoke, "Are you telling me my mother has six months to live?"

The doctor transferred her attention to Mia. "No. We don't say that now." She looked back at me, "You may live months or a year..." I sensed hesitation in her demeanor. I stood, ready to leave; I needed to go home and talk this over with God.

However, before I could go home, I had to keep an appointment made last week with a beautician, a stranger, since retirement had claimed the operator I was in the habit of using. Maybe the hair-do would give me a lift. Yet I felt a strong need to talk about what I thought of as my new status. Until I was better acquainted with it myself, I didn't want to discuss the obvious change in my relationship with Mia; she needed time, too.

Back in the car an unfamiliar silence lay between us. By the time Mia stopped the car to let me out at the beauty shop, I knew what I was going to do. Suddenly I was glad I didn't know the hairdresser.

Her name was Melody. After introductions, I was seated in an adjustable chair, leaned back against a sink, and felt water and shampoo fingered onto my scalp. Then, before I could change my mind, I said, "I've just been told that I'm going to die." Her fingers stilled immediately. She said nothing for a moment, so I added, "I'll have to call in hospice." Then I sat quietly, waiting. When her fingers started working again, I felt the muscles in my neck become tense. What was she going to say?

"Hospice, huh? You're telling me you've got six months to live?" I opened my mouth to speak but didn't have time before she continued. "You can't have six months. That's mine. You can have three months or five or nine, but you can't have six."

For the second time that day, I was too surprised to speak. She finished rinsing my hair and pushed a knob on the chair that allowed me to sit up - and just kept talking... I began to laugh.

"I get lots of free lunches out of that six-month prognosis. My kids treat me great too. The other day my granddaughter said, 'Don't say that, Grandma. It might be bad luck.' I said, 'Well, someday it's going to be true. Then won't you be glad you were nice to me all those years?" I was laughing out loud now, and it felt wonderful.

"I tell anybody who needs to know," she added. "One day I parked in a hard-to-find-space, and a woman in a Mercedes stopped behind my car as I got out. She yelled at me, 'I've been waiting to park there. I had to turn around first.' The teenage boy sitting in the passenger seat looked embarrassed - as well he should. I told her, 'You want this parking place? Okay. You can have it. I've got six months to live, so a parking place is the least of my worries. I'll just get in my car and pull out. You can have it.' The teenager said, 'M-o-m-m-m?' and the lady left without further chatter. It comes in handy, you know?" I continued to laugh.

Only God has the wisdom and the knowledge to choreograph that particular afternoon in my life, with all the right people in all the right places at the right time. As I got ready to go home, I faced the back of the shop where Melody was shampooing her next client and talking a mile a minute. Smiling, I said in my head, "Thank you, God."

On occasion, when I sense a dark mood hovering around, waiting to pounce, I think of Melody and laugh. Oh, I'm still going to die, but I won't die in six months. I wouldn't dare!

---

More About The Author:
Dorothy G. Hensley has said of writing that she felt "almost overpowered with a passion as strong as hunger, as demanding as birth." Dorothy did not complete high school and never believed she had the talent to be a writer; but she has written all her life. Her daughter remembers her mother getting up very early in the morning so she could write at the kitchen table while the house was quiet.

When Dorothy was in her 40's, she went to a junior college to learn to be a better writer, despite lack of support from her husband and ridicule from classmates 25 years her junior. Three years ago, at the urging of her daughter, Dorothy began taking a memoir-writing class. It was in those classes that her instructors and classmates acknowledged her as a talented writer, and she began to believe it.

Dorothy has written many stories about her family and experiences while growing up. It is her dream to see her passion of writing in print - to be recognized as a writer of promise before she dies. She is currently in hospice care.

The Dream Foundation, the first national organization in the U.S. founded to bestow a final wish on adults. Dream spokesperson Eve Lechner wrote, "Our dreams focus on providing resolution, a sense of completion and fulfillment. We cannot provide a cure for our dreamers, but we can dramatically impact the quality of their fragile lives with the joy experienced from a dream come true."

If you would like to contact Dorothy and let her know how her story touched you, please email Eve2@aol.com

Having A Vision

Whether you liked his politics or not, much can be learned from the life of former President Clinton. Grolier's "New Book of Knowledge" reports that as a teenager "Clinton thought of becoming a doctor or a reporter or even a musician. But after a fateful meeting with President John F. Kennedy, while still in high school, he made up his mind to enter politics." At that moment a vision was born that he would hold onto - that he would glorify in his mind over and over - for the next 30 years, until he himself was elected President at the age of 46.

Jay Leno, who succeeded the venerable Johnny Carson as host of "The Tonight Show," first envisioned that he would be the host when he was just 22-years-old and unknown and unproven as a comedian, much less as host of a show of such regard. For twenty years he enthroned in his heart an ideal that most people would have thought was "foolish, outlandish and impossible."

The ancient writer tells us in Proverbs that "Without a vision, the people perish." And Thoreau told us that "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation." No doubt because the masses are without a vision for their lives.

What is your vision for your future, your ideal life? Is it written down? Do you review it and think about it often? Have you "enthroned" it in your heart? Is your life organized around goals and objectives that will ensure your vision is reached?

Wallace D. Wattles, wrote "There is no labor from which most people shrink as they do from that of sustained and consecutive thought; it is the hardest work in the world." And yet it is the "sustained and consecutive thought" about our vision that is the first and primary labor of achievement.

Thoreau also wrote one of my favorite passages of all time. And it gives us the best reason there is to stop what you're doing today and identify the vision for your life. "If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours."

And that's worth thinking about!

Vic Johnson

Vic Johnson is a speaker, author and entrepreneur. You can get a free e-book of As A Man Thinketh by going to his website: www.asamanthinketh.net

An Unusual Wake

The casket was merely a wooden box. The flowers were discards from the florist. Arrangements had been made and the announcement placed in the paper; which was a bit unusual in and of itself. He had provided well for her; she could have very well provided an elaborate wake.

He had owned and operated a successful restaurant in their small town. Bill was well-known in the community and had held local government positions. He deserved the best. On the other hand, she had the hearse donated and since the restaurant was closed anyway, she decided to have the wake held in their establishment. She could save money that way, she surmised.

His son and son-in-law were standing in their dark suits waiting at the door. They were passing out slips of paper with his birth and the date of his passing. Friends and family had gathered, each passing by the closed wooden box paying his or her respects, each in his or her own individual way.

"Look at those flowers." Their snide remarks were overheard.

"Would you look at that casket?"

His own mother, in her seventies had arrived and was seated in one of the straight-backed chairs near the back; she had her instructions from her daughter-in-law. Others filed in and took a seat at one of the many tables in the main dining room. His wife was nowhere to be seen. The casket was closed so there was no way of knowing for sure what it contained. Those gathered could be overheard, "Where is Betty?"

The restaurant had been draped in black and food was spread out on the back tables. She thought since their friends would be gathered they might as well make a party of the occasion. But she had not arrived yet and the casket remained closed.

"Some people have a sick sense of humor."

"What would Bill think of this, if he could see the wake Betty has arranged?" Those in attendance could be heard questioning.

"Think he would be upset?"

"What ever possessed her to think of doing this?"

Most, who had come, had never seen anything like this before - held in a place of business as well. "Whatever possessed her?" There was anticipation as to what was going to happen next.

Suddenly the door opened and in they walked.

"SURPRISE!!!!"

Bill loved it!!! he was fifty, and I had planned the whole "Over the Hill" Party!

Cakes in various arrays of tombstones and other decrypted comic sayings and scenes awaited consumption by all the guests. He opened gag gifts all evening and glowed in the limelight.

Fourteen years have passed and he still speaks of that night and how I managed to have a temporary grave maker made with his name on it. He remembers how I told him we were going out to dinner that evening with friends and then the doorbell rang and there stood the undertaker. The hearse drove us up and around the town square and through the streets of the city. Then to his surprise he found himself in front of his own restaurant where a huge sign welcomed him to his own wake.

I'm glad I ignored those who were leery of how he might take such a party. I knew he would love it. We have cried together and laughed together as a couple over the forty-five years of our married life. That night he laughed and had the best time of his life. He still laughs when he thinks about all the fun we had.

Of all the things I have ever done for my husband, his 50th Over the Hill Birthday Party was by far a moment neither one of us will forget. Even the guests remember all the fun we enjoyed.

Many marriages would survive longer if partners would have more fun laughing their way through life. When looking for a husband - women, I would suggest a man with a sense of humor!

Betty King

Betty is an author, newspaper columnist, speaker and freelance writer. She is a contributing author to several Chicken Soup books the latest of which are Chicken Soup for the Recovering Soul and Chicken Soup for the Grandma's Soul. Visit Betty's website at www.bettyking.net for more about her and her writings or email her at baking2@charter.net

Reach For The Stars!

I attended the "Fine Arts Fiesta" in our area. I certainly appreciate the masterful craftsmanship and genius that goes into each and every creation I see. But I must be honest with you.

I go there to eat!

Boy did I eat! Not only did I consume the great food that was offered in plentiful portions, but I consumed the ambiance, the aroma, the sounds of happy, festive people. I was like a sponge.

We circled the town square several times. Of course each time we passed the food stands we found something else to munch on. Then we sat and listened to a six piece swing band from new York City. POW!

Everyone was caught up in the excitement. There were kids, teens, moms, pops, and grandparents. They were swinging and swaying as they tapped their feet and clapped their hands to the music that for that moment had no boundaries or divisions. We were one.

The night air was chilling. But who cared? The dust from the long winter has been blown away and life was screaming "Dance! Forget! Don't worry, be happy!"

I love to watch people. While most everyone had their eyes fixed on the band I had mine fixed on them. I was excited by the possibility that there are still common grounds in a world seemingly so divided.

I looked up past the stage lights and into the cloudless sky. There, off in the distance, was one bright shining star. It called my name and said "Reach for me you fool! You've been going no where because you've reached for things within your grasp. Stretch out beyond the things you can see. Reach far beyond your grasp and become all you were meant to be."

I slowly moved my eyes back down to the stage lights. They were brighter than the star but anyone can reach the stage lights. I wondered what was waiting for me between the lights in my reach and the star far beyond. I knew there was no challenge hidden in what I could see. The challenge lies between here and there.

But then isn't every dream a stretch of the imagination?

Head out into the night and fix your eyes on a star. See yourself lifting off and floating effortlessly toward that star. Turn for one moment and look at all that is there before you. Imagine that the next step you take, the next challenge you accept is going to take you to new heights. And all the world will see you for that beautiful, wondrous star that you are. Somewhere, someone will be looking one day at you and wishing that they, too could reach that far.

I promise you that I will head out into my back yard and I will look at a thousand stars and pray that each of you will see yourself there.

But I've always seen you that way..."I believe in you!"

Bob Perks

Bob Perks is a speaker and author. You can contact Bob and take a look at his website by going to: www.IWishYouEnough.com

A Day To Remember

Here in the USA it is known as Veteran's Day. In Canada it is known as Remembrance Day and is a national Holiday. The number 11 took on a new meaning after 9/11, but it signified freedom long before that.

As a kid I had no idea what it meant. To me it was just another holiday. A day when stores were closed and more importantly, there was no school. I knew about the war, but I was free to play. I knew people died for our freedom, but I could sleep in. I knew my parents had little when they were growing up because of the war, but I had food on my plate and a day to watch TV. The real meaning of the day was distant to me.

Years later my daughter joined the Brownies. The first year she was a member I was setting the alarm to wake us on the morning of 11/11. She had to participate in a parade. Every Brownie, Girl Guide, Cub Scout, and Scout had to participate in this parade in remembrance of those who died for our freedom.

My wife and I left her with the Guide leader and proceeded to the Canadian Legion where we would wait for her. The kids paraded a mile along the coastal roads of Nova Scotia, carrying their flags high and proud. We parents waited for their big arrival. As we waited the veterans began to arrive. Old men now, long past the prime they were, when they fought in the trenches and watched their comrades die. Many came in wheelchairs, some limped, and some still stood strong.

They joined the kids and walked as proudly as they could to the legion, where a band waited. The band played, speeches were made, and on the 11th month, the 11th day, the 11th hour, the 11th minute, and the 11th second there began one minute of silence. It was during that minute that I wondered why I had not stood there in the cold before. Why had I not gotten out of my bed on this holiday and stood with those that fought for our freedom? It took my daughter to make me realize the importance of the day.

I never missed another Remembrance Day.

Many years later, because of work, I was separated from my family. I was in another city, but on Remembrance Day, I heard there was going to be a service in the city square. This was in Saint John, New Brunswick. I put on my jacket and tie, walked the mile to the service and stood in the damp cold and watched those brave men once again march for our freedom. I don't know if it was because I was away from my family or the sight of those old men still walking proudly, but that service sticks with me always.

The Veterans marched, wheeled, and limped to the city square. The mayor gave a speech, the minute of silence came, and when it ended a bagpipe began to play "Amazing Grace." After the first chorus a second one joined in, along with a small band and on the third chorus more bagpipes joined and a brass band began to play. The building of sound, the magic of the moment is something I will never forget. The tears filled my eyes that day as the blood must have filled the trenches in battle. It was a moment burned in my mind forever.

On November 11th, let's all take a minute to remember those who fought for our freedom and those that continue to fight for it.

May God bless them all.

Michael T. Smith

If you would like to email Michael, he can be reached at: mtsmith@qwestonline.com or find more of his writings and bio by going to http://heartsandhumor.com/blog/