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    Food for Soul

    ClearWater
    ClearWater


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    Post  ClearWater Wed Aug 12, 2020 9:25 pm

    The…The Life of Cotton, I promise next time I will come up with a new name of series.


    “Fluffing cotton ~ Fluffing cotton ~ Half a catty of cotton can be fluffed to eight tael and eight mace. Old cotton can be fluffed to new cotton. When a cotton quilt is finished, the girl will bring it with her to get married.”

    There are no brides here, but there is a lovely old woman.
    I planted cotton last year, which people nearby didn’t plant so many years!
    I didn’t plant too much, and the harvest is also not good!
    However, my harvest is just enough to make a new cotton-padded mattress to her!

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    mudra
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    Post  mudra Mon Feb 01, 2021 1:37 am

    Food for Soul - Page 26 D05ff010

    They called him the Black Sparrow, and from the beginning of his life, all he wanted to do was get to France.

    He was born in Georgia, USA, his father a former slave from Haiti, his mother full-blooded Creek. He ran away while still a child, determined to fulfill his destiny.

    He lived for a time with a group of English Romani, learning the art of horsemanship and working as a jockey. He kept traveling and working until he made his way to Norfolk, where he stowed away on a ship bound for Scotland.

    He wouldn't see America again for thirty years.

    In Glasgow he got work as a lookout for gambling operators, saving money until he had enough to get to England: one country closer to his goal. In Liverpool he did hard labour until his muscles developed and he turned to boxing.

    He became part of a whole expat community of Black boxers — some of the finest fighters in history — who had fled to Europe to find opportunities denied them in the States. Soon he was fighting regularly as a welterweight, racking up an impressive record, even fighting on the undercard of a few Jack Johnson bouts.

    His boxing career earned him a decent amount of money, and eventually took him to Paris, where he won his bout and promptly hopped off the tour.

    He was home.

    Imagine, if you will, being a young, handsome Black/Creek man, son of a slave, escaped from the American South, newly arrived in Paris in the springtime with your own apartment and a pocketful of money.

    Then imagine it is 1914.

    Fighting for France was a no-brainer. After all, in his heart at least, it was his country. He joined the French Foreign Legion, training to fight in the 3rd Marching Division alongside wealthy Ivy Leaguers, mariners, farmers, doctors, executives, refugees, cooks, and plenty of characters from all over the world running from undisclosed situations. These were Belgians, Italians, Russians, Greeks, Americans, a handful of Black Americans; Muslims, Catholics, Jews and Protestants — the legendary rabble of the Legion.

    Sent directly to the front along the Somme, he was thrust into a world of filthy, bloody trenches still filled with the body parts of the dead and the rancid smell of faeces and blood as his unit experienced some of the worst losses of the war.

    At the end of this stint, what was left of the 3rd was disbanded and he had only the briefest respite before he joined the 170th Cavalry and was sent straight to Verdun to participate in what would become one of the worst battles in the history of the human race.

    Now a corporal, he led a machine-gun crew and again was front-and-center for the worst of the fighting, suffering first a shrapnel wound to the face that he simply fought through, then finally sidelined by a massive, nearly fatal wound to his thigh that finally sent him away from the front.

    Decorated with the Croix de Guerre for his valor at Verdun — one of France’s highest military honors — he was well within his rights to find a desk job in the military.

    He had other ideas. He wanted to fly.

    Already viewed as a hero, he was able to pull the necessary strings to enter flight school, and became the first Black American fighter pilot in history.

    He flew a SPAD VII C1 with a distinctive alteration to its appearance. Painted on the outside of the fuselage was a red heart with a dagger through it. Above the heart was his personal slogan, one he would later use for the title of his unpublished memoir: Tout Le Sang Qui Coule Est Rouge; roughly, in English: “All Blood Runs Red.”

    He flew with honor and distinction until his career in the air came to an abrupt halt. The Americans had entered the war and the involvement of a certain Dr. Gros, a US Army Major with racist attitudes, led to the end of the Black Sparrow's career as a pilot.

    But the French continued to celebrate him. He ended this part of his military career with the Military Medal, Croix de Guerre, Volunteer Combat Cross, Medal for Military Wounded (twice), World War I Medal, Victory Medal, Voluntary Enlistment Medal, Battle of Verdun Medal, Battle of Somme Medal, and the American Volunteer with the French Army Medal.

    And that is when his life got interesting.

    The Great War over, he found himself in Paris in the 1920s at the onset of the Jazz Age. He got back in shape, took work as a sparring partner and fought a few more times. But it wasn't sustainable with his injuries.

    So he learned to play the drums and became a jazz musician. He gigged frequently, saved money, and ended up in a business partnership with a biracial American blues singer whose birth name was Ada Beatrice Queen Victoria Louis Virginia Smith — known as "Bricktop" for her red hair.

    Together, they opened the Le Grand Duc, and thus he became proprietor of the hippest nightclub in the hippest city during the birth of hip.

    He got married around this time to a Frenchwoman named Marcelle and they had two daughters. For reasons that remained private, Marcelle ended up leaving him with their children, to whom he would remain devoted for the rest of his life, as we will see.

    But he had to balance the duties of being a single parent with Le Grand Duc — and later his other club, L’escradille, which was connected to a boxing gym so that patrons could party, then exercise, take a steam bath, get a massage, and start partying again.

    To name the personages that frequented his clubs is basically to list the greatest names in art and culture in the renaissance that was the 1920s.

    Langston Hughes was a busboy and dishwasher. Arthur Wilson — you may know him as "Sam" of Casablanca fame — was part of the house band. Charlie Chaplin was a favorite. Gloria Swanson. Fatty Arbuckle. The Prince of Wales. Staff would move tables when Fred and Adele Astaire came in to tear up the floor. Picasso would stop by, and Hemingway was there often enough that he wrote about it in "The Sun Also Rises." Josephine Baker could not be missed, and even babysat for the Sparrow. F. Scott Fitzgerald and Zelda were frequent, notorious guests. Cole Porter would come in; he adored the way Bricktop interpreted his songs. When Louis Armstrong encamped in Paris, he and the Sparrow became close.

    But the good times couldn't last. In 1933, Hitler was appointed Chancellor of Germany. In France, the Deuxième Bureau was created as a counter-intelligence service and the Sparrow was recruited to work with the beautiful Alsatian spy, Cleopatre "Kitty" Terrier, whose father's murder by Germans in the disputed border region had instilled in her a lifelong hatred of German expansionism.

    Kitty and the Sparrow worked as a team at the club. He would serve tables and play dumb, exploiting German prejudices that would never suspect he was fluent in German. She would flirt her way into privileged information. It was a highly successful (and probably romantic) pairing, but with rationing, blackouts, and other wartime austerity measures, keeping businesses running became harder and harder.

    He tried. He procured a wagon and would visit markets at the end of the day for discounted goods, throw them in a stew at the club. Come evening he would feed everyone for free, plus a free glass of wine per person and a pack of cigarettes per table. He tried. But of course, things got worse.

    He pulled his daughters out of their convent school to keep them close. Closed the club. Many were fleeing as the Nazis came storming through Belgium. He wouldn't run.

    He continued to work with Kitty in the Resistance until 1940, when the Nazis marched down Champs-Élysées and through L'arc de Triomphe.

    Tens of thousands fled the city only to be bombed from the skies. He left his daughters in the care of Kitty, who promised to do what was necessary to keep them safe, packed his gear, and headed for the frontlines, determined, despite his age and multiple injuries, to find his old unit and rejoin the Legion.

    When he arrived, it was only to find that his unit had been destroyed. Returning to Paris, he couldn't enter; it had been completely overrun.

    But he heard rumors that the French 51st was holding out at Orléans. He started off on foot. The roads were full of starved, half-mad refugees. Bombings were frequent.

    When he got there he discovered that his lieutenant from the last war was the commander of the 51st, and, in what must have felt like the world's worst case of déjà vu, he was once again in charge of a machine-gun crew, fighting the Germans.

    He fought with his usual bravery. But it was a hopeless last stand. A shell that killed 11 men threw him forty feet and cracked a vertebrae.

    His fighting days were over. Using his rifle as a crutch, he struck out for a military hospital in Angoulême, trying to stay out of sight.

    But there was little they could do for him there: painkillers, some bandages, and a few cans of sardines with a suggestion to head for Bordeaux and into Spain which, although Fascist, had maintained official neutrality, and was tacitly allowing Allied rescue efforts on Spanish soil.

    He made it, somehow, received his first passport, and was put on a Navy ship to finally return to the United States he had fled decades before.

    Life in Manhattan wasn't easy. He had to start from scratch. He worked odd jobs — longshoreman, salesman of French perfume. Through a contact in the State Department he was able to get in touch with Kitty, who was true to her word: his daughters were safe. They came to the States without a word of English between them and moved in with their beloved father in Spanish Harlem.

    He became involved in Free French groups, working to support General de Gaulle, head of the Free French government in exile, and was also filmed getting beaten by police as part of a human chain to protect Paul Robeson when his concert was disrupted by white supremacists.

    Times were tight but he was doing okay. His old friend Louis Armstrong came to help, hiring him as a tour manager and occasional drummer. He even tried to recover his club and gym in Paris, but the postwar situation was hopelessly complicated and he had to give up.

    In 1959, via the French Embassy in New York City, he was made a chevalier (knight) of France. He said at the ceremony, "My services to France could never repay all I owe her.”

    Working at the time as an elevator operator at 10 Rockefeller Plaza, he was wearing his medal on his work uniform when Dave Garroway, the host of The Tonight Show, asked him about it. Naturally amazed by what he heard, Garroway saw that this elegant elevator operator got the day off of work so he could come to his office for an interview.

    It took a week to confirm facts. They all checked out: the elevator man at 10 Rockefeller Plaza was the first Black American fighter pilot in history — and a lot more.

    He appeared on The Today Show, which led to a slew of other appearances and speaking engagements. At least in parts of America, he became a celebrated figure, his heroism recognized.

    During his one return visit to Georgia, though, things were not so bright. His family has been scattered. One brother had been lynched by squatters when he'd tried to recover ancestral Creek land.

    He never returned to the South, living out the rest of his life in New York City. But there was one final honor.

    In 1960, General Charles de Gaulle, leader of Free France, came to visit Eisenhower. A million people greeted him in the streets when he arrived in New York. Hundreds of children sang "La Marseillaise." He gave speeches at City Hall and the Waldorf Astoria, then went where he truly belonged, to the Seventh Regiment Armory. Five thousand French were there.

    And the Sparrow. His presence had been requested.

    After de Gaulle's speech, he looked into the crowd as though searching for a friend. The thousands gathered, and assembled press, may have wondered what was going on as the general left the podium and headed into the sea of faces to find a lone Black man, his chest gleaming with medals.

    The man stood at attention and saluted. De Gaulle returned the salute.

    Then the general stuck out his hand and, when it was received, pulled the old soldier into a massive hug.

    "All our country is in your debt," he said.

    Crying, the man whose journey began as a stowaway, bound for an uncertain future, sure only that he belonged in France, could only respond, "Merci, mon general. Merci beaucoup."

    Not long after, he entered the hospital with stomach pains. He'd been ignoring them, but the insistence of his daughters finally prevailed.

    The cancer was advanced. He turned 66 on October 9, 1961, and died on the 12th.

    The woman who had been helping him with his memoirs visited him on the day he died. She was crying at the bedside where he lay, seemingly lost to the world he was leaving. Hearing her sobs, his consciousness returned from wherever it had been.

    He pulled the tube out of his mouth. He had something he wanted to say to her.

    The old horseman, boxer, soldier, pilot, spy, club-owner, musician, and father turned to his friend and smiled.

    "Don't fret, honey," he said. "It's easy."

    His name was Eugene Bullard.

    They called him the Black Sparrow.

    Author: Will Stenberg
    mudra
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    Post  mudra Sat Feb 27, 2021 2:21 pm



    Food for Soul - Page 26 3c4a8110

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    Post  mudra Tue Mar 16, 2021 8:50 pm

    “The heavy rains that have fallen in recent weeks in the Namib Desert in Africa have caused one of the most spectacular natural phenomena, the flowering of millions of bulbs that for tens of kilometers have covered the sandy soil that has dried completely for three years.”

    Food for Soul - Page 26 44d5ef10

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    Post  mudra Tue Apr 20, 2021 11:50 am

    mudra
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    Post  mudra Thu May 06, 2021 12:52 am

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    Post  mudra Mon May 10, 2021 11:57 am


    Man spends 30 years changing degraded land into massive forest

    . https://youtu.be/3VZSJKbzyMc

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    Post  mudra Mon Jul 05, 2021 2:38 am

    Food for Soul - Page 26 F84c4e10


    "Years ago, anthropologist Margaret Mead was asked by a student what she considered to be the first sign of civilization in a culture. The student expected Mead to talk about fishhooks or clay pots or grinding stones.
    But no. Mead said that the first sign of civilization in an ancient culture was a femur (thighbone) that had been broken and then healed. Mead explained that in the animal kingdom, if you break your leg, you die. You cannot run from danger, get to the river for a drink or hunt for food. You are meat for prowling beasts. No animal survives a broken leg long enough for the bone to heal.

    A broken femur that has healed is evidence that someone has taken time to stay with the one who fell, has bound up the wound, has carried the person to safety and has tended the person through recovery. Helping someone else through difficulty is where civilization starts, Mead said."

    We are at our best when we serve others. Be civilized.

    - Ira Byock."

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    Post  mudra Thu Feb 10, 2022 11:22 pm

    Food for Soul - Page 26 Bd818710


    On the first day of class, teacher Thomas told her students that she would treat everyone the same way, that there would be no favoritism.

    She quickly understood how difficult it would be for her to keep this commitment. In his class, Pierre, an unruly student caused him problems, he never did these homework, disrupted the class.
    One day, overwhelmed, she went to see her management.

    - I did not become a teacher to endure the impertinence of a spoiled child. The Christmas holidays
    are approaching and I hope not to see him again in my class when I return in January.

    The director listened to her carefully, and without saying anything put Pierre's "folder" in Ms.
    Thomas' hands. The teacher began to read it reluctantly, without conviction. However, as she read, her heart tightened.

    The first-year teacher wrote: Pierre is a very brilliant and friendly child. He always has a smile on his face and
    everyone loves him very much. His work at school is very satisfactory and diligent. It's a pleasure to have him as a student.

    The second-year teacher: Pierre is an exemplary student for
    his classmates. But lately, he shows sadness following his mother's incurable illness.

    The third teacher: The death of his mother was very difficult for him. He tries to do his best but nothing
    more. The father also shows no interest in Peter's education. If no serious action is taken, it will affect his life.

    The fourth grade teacher: Pierre shows no interest in the class. He lives
    inhibited and when I try to help him and ask him what is happening to him, he locks himself in desperate silence. He has no friends and is increasingly isolated and sad.

    After reading all this,
    Ms. Thomas was ashamed to have judged Pierre without knowing the reasons for his attitude. On the last day of class before Christmas, all the students offered their teacher beautiful gifts wrapped in beautiful colored
    papers. Peter offered his wrapped in a paper bag. Mrs. Thomas opened her students' gifts and when she showed Pierre's, the students laughed when they saw its contents: An old bracelet that was missing a few stones
    and an almost empty perfume bottle. To cut short the mocking laughter of the students, she put the bracelet on her wrist and a few drops of perfume. That day, Pierre stayed after class and said to his teacher: Mrs. Thomas
    today, you feel like my mother.

    That afternoon, alone at home, the teacher cried for a long time. She decided that from the resumption, she would not only teach her students reading, writing,
    mathematics... but also teaching the heart. When they joined classes in January, Mrs. Thomas arrived with Pierre's mother's bracelet and with a few drops of perfume. Peter's smile was a warm declaration of thanks.
    The teachings, attention and affection of the teacher have borne fruit. Little by little, he became this happy and diligent child again from his first years of school.

    Years have passed, Pierre went to
    Years have passed, Pierre went to continue his studies and regularly gave his news. One day, she received a letter, signed by Dr. Pierre Altamira, announcing that he had successfully completed his medical
    medical studies and that he was going to marry the woman of his life. In the letter, he invited her to the wedding and asked her to be his marriage witness.

    On the wedding day, Mrs. Thomas put back
    the bracelet without stones and the perfume of Pierre's mother. When they met again, they tightened very hard and Pierre said in his ear: All this, I owe it to you Mrs. Thomas, thank you for believing in me. Thank
    you for helping me discover that I was going. With tears in her eyes, she said to him, you're wrong Peter. I'm the one who thanks you. You gave me the greatest life lesson. I didn't know how to teach until I met you.
    mudra
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    Post  mudra Fri Mar 11, 2022 11:29 pm

    The power of the contagious mind -Mike Adams

    https://youtu.be/tjE--progWE

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    Post  mudra Thu Nov 17, 2022 2:16 pm

    The oldest cat in the world Natmeg celebrated his 31st birthday I love you

    Food for Soul - Page 26 66f68310
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    Post  mudra Wed Feb 22, 2023 12:00 am

    Finding Happiness ... 🌟

    "A beautiful woman in an expensive dress came to her psychiatrist, saying that she was depressed and her life was meaningless.

    'I'm going to ask Mary here to tell you how she found happiness. All I want you to do is listen to her'

    The psychiatrist called the old lady who cleaned the office floors and ask her to share her story with his client.

    So the old lady put her broom, sat on a chair and told her story...

    'My husband died of cancer. 3 months later my only son was killed by a car.. I had nobody.. I had nothing left.. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn't eat, I never smiled at anyone. I even thought of taking my own life.

    Then one evening, a little kitten followed me home from work. Somehow I felt sorry for that kitten. It was cold outside, so I decided to let the kitten in. I got it some milk, and the kitten licked the plate clean.

    Then it rubbed against my leg and, for the first time in months, I smiled.

    Then I stopped to think ... If helping a little kitten could make me smile, may be doing something for people could make me happy.
    So the next day I baked some biscuits and took them to a neighbour who was sick in bed.

    Every day I tried to do something nice for someone. It made me so happy to see them happy.

    Today I don't know of anybody, who sleeps better than I do. I have found happiness by giving it to others.'

    When she heard that, the rich lady cried. She had everything money could buy, but she had lost the things money cannot buy.

    The beauty of life does not depend on how happy you are, but on how happy others can be because of you.

    Happiness is not a destination. It's a journey. Happiness is not tomorrow, its now.
    Happiness is not a dependency, its a decision. Happiness is who you are, not what you have."

    🖋️~Unknown~

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    Post  mudra Sun Aug 27, 2023 3:00 am



    The beautiful, well-versed 83 year old lady, fully dressed every morning at 8 am sharp, with her hair done in fashion and perfectly applied makeup, is moving to a retirement home. Her husband recently died, which motivated her move.
    After many hours of patiently waiting in the hall of the home, she smiled sweetly, when told her room was ready.
    As she moved her walker toward the elevator, she was given a detailed description of her small room, including the curtains hanging from her window.
    ′′ I love it ", she said, with the enthusiasm of a 8-year-old girl who was just handed over a new pet.
    - Mrs. Jones; you haven't seen the room, just wait.
    - That doesn't matter, she replied.
    Happiness is something you decide over time. Whether or not I like my room doesn't depend on how the furniture is arranged, it depends on how I arrange my mind.
    I’ve already decided that I like it. It's a decision I make every morning when I wake up. I have the choice; I can spend the day in bed, going through the difficulty I have with my body parts that don't work, or get out of bed and be thankful for the parts that do work.
    Every day is a gift, and as long as my eyes open, I will focus on the new day and the happy memories I've stored just for this time in my life.
    HAPPINESS is like a bank account: you withdraw from it, what you deposit.
    So my advice would be to deposit a lot of happiness into your memory account.
    Remember these five simple things:
    1.- Free your heart from hate/discord.
    2.- Free your mind from worries.
    3.- Live Simply.
    4.- Give more.
    5.- Take less.
    Also Read 👇
    https://www.cricketinfo.us/2023/08/19/i-was-waiting-in-line-for-a-ride-at-the-airport/

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    Carol
    Carol
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    Post  Carol Sun Aug 27, 2023 11:03 am


    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OrXiXDUQia8
    It's amazing what one can create without electronics.


    _________________
    What is life?
    It is the flash of a firefly in the night, the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

    With deepest respect ~ Aloha & Mahalo, Carol

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    Post  mudra Sun Sep 03, 2023 10:32 pm



    “Something wonderful happened recently. My wonderful husband of 12 years, Bill, told me that he wanted to marry me. Now, as most of you reading this will know, Bill has been living with dementia for 9 years. For the past year or so Bill has been unaware of our relationship, and no longer knows my name. So, when Bill told me that he, ‘Really REALLY liked me and wanted to be with me forever’ - I was really touched. Bill doesn’t use many words now and finds it hard to express himself, but I got lots of kisses and hugs as I accepted his ‘proposal’. It was so lovely. Another memory to treasure. What I wasn’t prepared for was that he’d remember the next day. He wanted to know when we were getting married. This was Thursday, and as I was having my ’close girlfriends’ round on the Saturday, I suggested that was a good day. My daughter Andrea said I needed a dress. Really? ‘Of course’ she said. ‘How else can it be a wedding?’ So, I got a dress that afternoon, expecting to return it unworn. But Bill was still remembering on Friday, so together we bought a special cake from marks, my cousin Lynne gave me flowers for my hair, and Eva planned and prepared renewal of vows with a special bit for Bill, so he felt we were getting married. The next day, with beautiful homemade bunting made by Lynne the day before, a beautiful flower arrangement made by Eva, perfect flowers from Susan for my bouquet, stunning weather all day, and my wonderful family around me, Bill and I got ‘married’ again. It was the most wonderful day. We are so blessed to be supported by family and close friends who love us both and do everything they can to help Bill and I enjoy our lives together. I never dreamt we would ever renew our vows, but we really did. And it was wonderful. Bill was wonderful. And what is even more amazing is that 2 weeks later Bill still thinks he’s just married his new girlfriend and it makes him very happy. Thank you if you’ve made it to the end! Please take from this that you can never assume that just because someone has advanced dementia with all the difficulties that presents, that they can’t still surprise you in the most unlikely ways. Bill has made me very happy yet again.”

    Credit: Anne Duncan

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    Post  mudra Mon Oct 09, 2023 1:48 am



    Food for Soul - Page 26 E169b710
    Alla Tsank- Queen of Birds

    "Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration of the birds, the ebb and flow of the tides, the folded bud ready for the spring. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature … the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after the winter."
    Rachel Carson
    .

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    Post  mudra Thu Jan 25, 2024 1:33 am


    Food for Soul - Page 26 Ccf41b10

    As she stood in front of her 5th-grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children an untruth. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. However, 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 did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy, and that he constantly needed a bath. In addition, Teddy could be unpleasant.
    It got to the 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 he sometimes sleeps in class."
    By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy's. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper That he got from a grocery bag Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing and a bottle that was one-quarter 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 quit teaching reading, 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 one of her "teacher's pets.."
    A year later, she found a note under her 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, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in 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 had ever had in his whole life.
    Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer.... The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD.
    The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he had met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit at the wedding in the place 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. Moreover, 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 making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference."
    Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, "Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you."
    (For you that don't know, Teddy Stoddard is the Dr. at Iowa Methodist Hospital in Des Moines that has the Stoddard Cancer Wing.)
    Warm someone's heart today. . . pass this along. I love this story so very much, I cry every time I read it. Just try to make a difference in someone's life today? tomorrow? Just "do it".
    Random acts of kindness, I think they call it?
    "Believe in Angels, then return the favor."
    mudra
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    Food for Soul - Page 26 Empty Re: Food for Soul

    Post  mudra Wed Apr 10, 2024 1:20 am


    Food for Soul - Page 26 17d59d10


    I was 18 years old. I was at the AM/PM gas station in Fairfield. My car was blowing up (not literally). It was smoking from under the hood. Apparently, you’re supposed to check fluids and get like oil changes… It was late. Probably 10 p.m.
    I’m this young and dumb blonde completely confused on what to do…
    This man (in his mid 40's), rolled up in his truck, and asked, ‘What’s going on with your car?’
    I told him, ‘I’m not sure, it’s overheating.’
    He asked, ‘Is there fluids?’
    I responded, ‘Um, I don’t know!’
    He said, ‘Didn’t your dad ever teach you about how to check your fluids?’
    I responded, ‘No. I don’t have one of those!’
    He got out of his truck. This man… spent over an hour…
    He went over Car 101 with me…
    Not only, did he teach me how to check my fluids, but showed me how to add fluids. He then began to go over the basics with me – ‘This is where your spare tire is. This is how you change a tire. This is how you crank your car up on this jack (that my car came with).’ He fixed my car, and I drove away that night with a car that wasn’t overheating anymore.
    All right there in the AM/PM parking lot.
    I know it sounds kind of silly…
    But he would show me how to do things and then say, ‘Okay, now it’s your turn – show me,’ and then he would say things like, ‘Look at you! You’re doing a great job!’ He was fun, and funny.
    I drove away thinking, ‘How cool would it be if he was my dad…?’
    Anyways, I know it’s 10 years later, and I’ve never told anyone that story…
    I wish I could remember his name.
    In a strange/random way, you impacted my life, in such a positive way.
    Thank you.
    You are the reason why I was able to give another young lady a Car 101 class…
    Two days ago, I was at Chevron, and funny enough – it was like that day, all over again. The tables were turned… There was this young girl there whose car was smoking. I pulled up and asked, ‘Is there fluids in the car?’ Confused as all hell, I showed her how…
    I haven’t thought much about that experience over the last 10 years….
    But! It brought me back to that simple act of kindness.
    Thank you, mystery man, for being my gas station parking lot dad, who taught me Car 101.
    My car has never run low on fluids ever since.
    Credit: Molly L Hassler

    🧡🙏
    Carol
    Carol
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    Food for Soul - Page 26 Empty Re: Food for Soul

    Post  Carol Wed Apr 10, 2024 8:41 am

    Thank you for posting these heartwarming stories mudra.
    They truly are food for the soul. Hadriel


    _________________
    What is life?
    It is the flash of a firefly in the night, the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

    With deepest respect ~ Aloha & Mahalo, Carol
    Carol
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    Post  Carol Sat Apr 13, 2024 10:32 am

    JoeEcho wrote:Funny how a simple sentence complicates/ implicates itself:

    Food for Soul - Page 26 5129625865_e40a2c919a_b

    This is a fun one:

    Food for Soul - Page 26 38fb828135e19dde7826db1ae3eec946

    That which appears simple, not so much.  bounce

    Food for Soul - Page 26 Main-qimg-10033a7874c995164b8e8e4f9c16dcfb-c

    Love this.


    _________________
    What is life?
    It is the flash of a firefly in the night, the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

    With deepest respect ~ Aloha & Mahalo, Carol

    mudra likes this post

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    Post  mudra Mon Apr 15, 2024 5:37 am

    Thank you Carol, I think I could not live without them.
    Inspiring people make an inspiring world 😊

    🙏🧡
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    Post  mudra Wed Aug 21, 2024 2:00 pm




    Food for Soul - Page 26 C85d0010
    “Yesterday I witnessed something that took my breath away. I heard a sound at the window of the cottage. When I looked, a cedar waxwing had hit the window and fallen to the deck. It’s mate stood beside it. It was clear that the fallen bird was dead. I turned away for a moment and when I looked again, it’s mate had hopped over. It lay down beside its partner, their heads touching. It closed its eyes and passed over to Spirit with its mate. The sadness and beauty of the moment was such a privilege to witness. If anyone has ever doubted that animals feel emotion and love, this moment was absolute proof of both. Nature truly has much to teach us.”
    Credit Janis Mirynech
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    mudra
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    Post  mudra Tue Aug 27, 2024 4:01 am


    Food for Soul - Page 26 Ae865b10


    My mom did not sleep. She felt exhausted. She was irritable, grumpy, and bitter. She was always sick until one day, suddenly, she changed.
    One day my dad said to her:
    - I've been looking for a job for three months and I haven't found anything, I'm going to have a few beers with friends.
    My mom replied:
    - It's okay.
    My brother said to her:
    - Mom, I'm doing poorly in all subjects at the University.
    My mom replied:
    - Okay, you will recover, and if you don't, well, you repeat the semester, but you pay the tuition.
    My sister said to her:
    - Mom, I smashed the car.
    My mom replied:
    - Okay daughter, take it to the car shop & find out how to pay and while they fix it, get around by bus or subway.
    Her daughter-in-law said to her:
    - Mother-in-law, I came to spend a few months with you.
    My mom replied:
    - Okay, settle in the living room couch and look for some blankets in the closet.
    All of us gathered worried to see these reactions coming from Mom.
    We suspected that she had gone to the doctor and that she was prescribed some pills called "I don't give a damn”... Perhaps she was overdosing on these!
    We then proposed to do an "intervention" with w/my mother to remove her from any possible addiction she had to some anti-tantrum medication.
    But then ... she gathered us around her and my mom explained:
    "It took me a long time to realize that each person is responsible for their life. It took me years to discover that my anguish, anxiety, depression, courage, insomnia & my stress, do not solve your problems but aggravate mine.
    I am not responsible for the actions of anyone & it’s not my job to provide happiness but I am responsible for the reactions I express to that.
    Therefore, I came to the conclusion that my duty to myself is to remain calm and let each one of you solve what corresponds to you.
    I have taken courses in yoga, meditation, miracles, human development, mental hygiene, vibration, and neurolinguistic programming, and in all of them, I found a common denominator in them all...
    I can only control myself, you have all the necessary resources to solve your own problems despite how hard they may be. My job is to pray for you, love on you, and encourage you but it’s up to YOU to solve them & find your happiness.
    I can only give you my advice if you ask me & it depends on you to follow it or not. There are consequences, good or bad, to your decisions and YOU have to live them.
    So from now on, I cease to be the receptacle of your responsibilities, the sack of your guilt, the laundress of your remorse, the advocate of your faults, the wall of your lamentations, the depositary of your duties, who should solve your problems or spare a tire every time to fulfill your responsibilities.
    From now on, I declare all independent and self-sufficient adults.
    Everyone at my mom's house was speechless.
    From that day on, the family began to function better because everyone in the house knew exactly what it was that they needed to do.
    .
    .
    For some of us, this is hard because we've grown up being caregivers and feeling responsible for others. As moms & wives, we are fixers of all things. We never want our loved ones to go through difficult things or to struggle. We want everyone to be happy.
    But, the sooner we take that responsibility off of our shoulders & onto each loved one, the better we are preparing them to be responsible.
    We are not here on earth to be everything to everyone. Stop putting that pressure on yourself.

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