I was sent this from a US web site some time ago that is there to give you daily inspiration - its called mountain wings.
It just helps me get through the day sometimes. Anyway, I always kept this a reminder of the impression you can have on others. I defy you not to be moved and even shed a tear - but I bet it will make you think.
Have a good day
Kev
#2101 - INFORMATION PLEASE
==========================
When I was very young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood.
I remember well, the polished old case fastened to the wall and
the shiny receiver on the side of the box. I was too little to
reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my
mother would talk to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device
lived an amazing person and her name was "Information Please"
and there was nothing she did not know.
"Information Please" could supply anybody's number and the
correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-a-bottle came
one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor.
Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my
finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible but there didn't
seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to
give me sympathy.
I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally
arriving at the stairway. The telephone!
Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and held it to my
ear.
"Information Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my
head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
"Information."
"I hurt my finger," I wailed into the phone. The tears came
readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with a hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could.
"Then chip off a piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said
the voice.
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything.
I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where
Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me that
my pet chipmunk, which I had caught in the park just the day
before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called
"Information Please" and told her the sad story.
She listened, then said the usual thing grown ups say to soothe
a child. But, I was inconsolable.
I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully
and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of
feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly,
"You must remember that there are other worlds to sing in."
Somehow, I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please."
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest.
When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to
Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information Please"
belonged in that old wooden box back home and somehow I never
thought of trying the tall, new shiny phone that sat on the
table in the hall.
As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood
conversations never really left me. Often in moments of doubt
and perplexity, I would recall the serene sense of security I
had then.
I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was
to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down
in Seattle. I had about half-an-hour or so between planes.
I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister who lived
there now.
Then, without thinking about what I was doing, I dialed my
hometown operator and said, "Information Please."
Miraculously, I heard the small clear voice I knew so well.
"Information."
I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying,
"Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause.
Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must be
healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you
have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to
me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your
calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and
asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my
sister.
"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later, I was back in Seattle.
A different voice answered,
"Information." I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" she said.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said.
"Sally had been working part time in the last few years because
she was sick.
She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Are you Paul?"
"Yes."
"Well, Sally left a message for you.
She wrote it down in case you called when she was too sick to
work.
Let me read it to you." The note said,
"Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in.
He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you make on others.
Author Unknown
It just helps me get through the day sometimes. Anyway, I always kept this a reminder of the impression you can have on others. I defy you not to be moved and even shed a tear - but I bet it will make you think.
Have a good day
Kev
#2101 - INFORMATION PLEASE
==========================
When I was very young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood.
I remember well, the polished old case fastened to the wall and
the shiny receiver on the side of the box. I was too little to
reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my
mother would talk to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device
lived an amazing person and her name was "Information Please"
and there was nothing she did not know.
"Information Please" could supply anybody's number and the
correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-a-bottle came
one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor.
Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my
finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible but there didn't
seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to
give me sympathy.
I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally
arriving at the stairway. The telephone!
Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and held it to my
ear.
"Information Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my
head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
"Information."
"I hurt my finger," I wailed into the phone. The tears came
readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with a hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could.
"Then chip off a piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said
the voice.
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything.
I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where
Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me that
my pet chipmunk, which I had caught in the park just the day
before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called
"Information Please" and told her the sad story.
She listened, then said the usual thing grown ups say to soothe
a child. But, I was inconsolable.
I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully
and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of
feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly,
"You must remember that there are other worlds to sing in."
Somehow, I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please."
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest.
When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to
Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information Please"
belonged in that old wooden box back home and somehow I never
thought of trying the tall, new shiny phone that sat on the
table in the hall.
As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood
conversations never really left me. Often in moments of doubt
and perplexity, I would recall the serene sense of security I
had then.
I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was
to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down
in Seattle. I had about half-an-hour or so between planes.
I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister who lived
there now.
Then, without thinking about what I was doing, I dialed my
hometown operator and said, "Information Please."
Miraculously, I heard the small clear voice I knew so well.
"Information."
I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying,
"Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause.
Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must be
healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you
have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to
me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your
calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and
asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my
sister.
"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later, I was back in Seattle.
A different voice answered,
"Information." I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" she said.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said.
"Sally had been working part time in the last few years because
she was sick.
She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Are you Paul?"
"Yes."
"Well, Sally left a message for you.
She wrote it down in case you called when she was too sick to
work.
Let me read it to you." The note said,
"Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in.
He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you make on others.
Author Unknown
