Wicked grin

It was late in the evening when I entered Howrah Station .It was teeming with office workers returning home after a typically tiring day at work. I didn't look forward to the prospect of returning home to my husband. The love between us had died years ago. Our marriage had been transformed into a dead corpse buried deep beneath a pile of painful memories.

The bits and pieces of pleasure I derived from my daily existence were my only source of sustenance. My husband had accused me of being mentally deranged. But only I know better. He should have thought of a better reason than that to get rid of me.

I hauled my self into a train standing nearby. Finding a seat lying vacant I gleefully slid into it. After having exhausted myself at work securing a place to ease my legs was a welcome relief. The scene inside the train was disquieting. The train being the last one on that particular route, it wasn't long before the compartment was bursting to the full with people. They jostled and fought with each other in a desperate attempt to keep from falling off.

June is the hottest month in Kolkata; it's when the summers are at the peak of their torment. The sweltering heat conspired with the intolerable humidity to beat the lives out of the commuters. The stench from the garbage rotting on the rail tracks combined with the nauseating smell of human sweat to pervade the whole atmosphere. I felt like vomiting. I subconsciously swallowed the spittle that formed in my throat. In despair, I stared up at the ceiling for comfort. A solitary fan hung up there in a state of eternal rest, hideously shrouded in spider webs. I closed my eyes in a bid to rest my mind. Slowly I allowed myself to fall into a labored slumber.

When I awoke the train had traveled far into the countryside. The seat next to mine was occupied by a pretty nymphet. She had a concerned look on her face. The object of her anxiety was seated right opposite to us. He was the most loathsome, horrid specimen of mankind I had ever seen. He evidently appeared to be a village goon of some reputation. His bloodshot eyes were planted firmly on the girl. She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat under his leering looks. The redness of his eyes was indicative of the fact that he had soaked himself in liquor far exceeding socially acceptable limits.

The girl's nervousness was infectious. I looked around the compartment. It was completely vacant except for the three of us. I began to grow uneasy. The girl pressed my hand and held up a piece of newspaper for my inspection. She pointed towards a front-page news report. It was on a sensational serial killer who had been haunting Kolkatans for the past couple of weeks. Six young girls had been murdered in different parts of the city. They were discovered with their throats brutally slit open. The killings had been executed with such meticulous efficiency that the murder scenes were totally devoid of any clues. The police were baffled. The report went on to draw parallels with the legendary 'Stoneman' who had terrorized Calcutta in the early 90's and whose identity was yet to be ascertained. The report was undeniably scary and chilling to the bone.

The girl had visibly paled. She motioned with her eyes indicating to me that she considered the man sitting opposite to be a prime suspect. The girl was badly scared and I must admit I was pretty worried myself. Suddenly the train slowed as it approached an oncoming station. I was contemplating the feasibility of getting off the train, well before my intended destination, when the man himself stood up. To my utter surprise and immense joy he hopped off the train as it came to a screeching halt. The girl looked at me and both of us let out a huge sigh of relief. The tension having been released, she began to giggle. I caught up with her silly laughter and soon both of us were laughing away in abandon.

With a rude jerk the train started moving. Soon it was speeding across vast open countryside at a furious pace. Her jangled nerves having been calmed, the girl had begun to doze in her seat. As I looked at her I wondered just how naïve and unsuspecting young girls can be. I slipped my hand inside my handbag and firmly gripped the kitchen knife I always carried. I felt a strange numbness in my fingers but it had to be done. Besides she had an exceedingly beautiful neck. Such a pity!

Appearances are deceptive..........

Unthanked People

Thought I would share an article I read recently.

William Stidger taught at Boston University, he once reflected upon the great number of unthanked people in his life. Those who had helped nurture him, inspire him or cared enough about him to leave a lasting impression.

One was a school teacher he’d not heard of in many years. But he remembered that she had gone out of her way to put a love of verse in him, and Will had loved poetry all his life. He wrote a letter of thanks to her.

The reply he received, written in the feeble scrawl of the aged, began, My dear Willie. He was delighted. Now over 50, bald and a professor, he didn’t think there was a person left in the world who would call him Willie.

Here is a copy of that letter

My dear Willie,

I cannot tell you how much your note meant to me. I am in my eighties, living alone in a small room, cooking my own meals, lonely and, like the last leaf of autumn, lingering behind. You will be interested to know that I taught school for 50 years and yours is the first note of appreciation I ever received. It came on a blue-cold morning and it cheered me as nothing has in many years.

Not prone to cry easily, Will wept over that note. She was one of the GREAT UNTHANKED PEOPLE from Will’s past.

You know them. We all do. The teacher who made a difference. That coach we’ll never forget. The music instructor or Sunday school worker who helped us to believe in ourselves. That scout leader who cared.

We all remember people who shaped our lives in various ways. People whose influence changed us. Will Stidger found a way to show his appreciation - he wrote them letters.

There may be some unthanked people from your past it may not be too late to say, thanks. Do it now. Do it as soon as possible. Time waits for none.

If you look up, there are no limits....

The story of Cliff Young, a humble potato farmer in Australia, who consciously decided at age 57 to create his own destiny. Up to this point his destiny was running the family farm and settling for a life of hard work; however, Cliff was quietly harboring a passion for long-distance running.

He came to the decision to live his own life and create his own destiny. Soon he was seen in the wet Australian countryside training in a rain coat and gum boots. It did not matter to him that he was 57 years old, ill equipped and drastically out of running shape. What mattered most to him after all these years on the farm was pursuing his passions and creating his own destiny. He ignored those who mocked him and the drivers who tried to run him off the backcountry roads. He continued to train and built up to running 20 to 30 miles per day, day in and day out.

In May 1983, after four years of constant training, Cliff Young shocked the world. At 61 he won the first Sydney-to-Melbourne ultra-marathon - a distance of 875 kilometers (nearly 545 miles). To run this distance at any age is quite a feat, but to run it at 61 and beat some of the world's best-conditioned athletes in their 20's and 30's, is absolutely incredible!

Despite his age at 61, Cliff Young become prosperous as he created his own destiny. Regardless of your age and physical condition you too can take charge of your life and pursue prosperity. You do have the power to achieve prosperity at any age. You alone must be willing to take charge of your future by following your heart, pursuing your passions, and creating your own destiny.

Reflection:
No matter your age and in spite of your current challenges, be more like Cliff Young and take control of your future. Embrace the belief that it is never too late to create your own destiny and achieve prosperity. I challenge you at any age to dream, plan, execute, and soar to a life full of prosperity!

Breakfast at McDonald's

This is a good story .I am a mother of three (ages 14, 12, 3) and have recently completed my college degree.The last class I had to take was Sociology.The teacher was absolutely inspiring with the qualities that I wish every human being had been graced with. Her last project of the term was called, 'Smile.'

The class was asked to go out and smile at three people and document their reactions.I am a very friendly person and always smile at everyone and say hello anyway. So, I thought this would be a piece of cake, literally.Soon after we were assigned the project, my husband, youngest son, and I went out to McDonald's one crisp March morning. It was just our way of sharing special playtime with our son.

We were standing in line, waiting to be served, when all of a sudden everyone around us began to back away, and then even my husband did. I did not move an inch... an overwhelming feeling of panic welled up inside of me as I turned to see why they had moved.As I turned around I smelled a horrible 'dirty body' smell, and there standing behind me were two poor homeless men.As I looked down at the short gentleman, close to me, he was 'smiling'. His beautiful sky blue eyes were full of God's Light as he searched for acceptance.

He said, 'Good day' as he counted the few coins he had been clutching.The second man fumbled with his hands as he stood behind his friend. I realized the second man was mentally challenged and the blue-eyed gentleman was his salvation. I held my tears as I stood there with them. The young lady at the counter asked him what they wanted. He said, 'Coffee is all Miss' because that was all they could afford.(If they wanted to sit in the restaurant and warm up, they had to buy something. He just wanted to be warm).

Then I really felt it - the compulsion was so great I almost reached out and embrace the little man with the blue eyes. That is when I noticed all eyes in the restaurant were set on me,judging my every action.I smiled and asked the young lady behind the counter to give me two morebreakfast meals on a separate tray.I then walked around the corner to the table that the men had chosen as a resting spot. I put the tray on the table and laid my hand on the blue-eyed gentleman's cold hand.He looked up at me, with tears in his eyes, and said, 'Thank you.' I leaned over, began to pat his hand and said, 'I did not do this for you.God is here working through me to give you hope.' I started to cry as I walked away to join my husband and son.

When I sat down my husband smiled at me and said, 'That is why God gave you to me,Honey, to give me hope.'We held hands for a moment and at that time, we knew that only because of the Grace that we had been given were we able to give.I returned to college, on the last evening of class, with this story in hand.

I turned in 'my project' and the instructor read it.Then she looked up at me and said, 'Can I share this?'I slowly nodded as she got the attention of the class.She began to read and that is when I knew that we as human beings and being part of God share this need to heal people and to be healed. In my own way I had touched the people at McDonald's, my son, instructor,and every soul that shared the classroom on the last night I spent as a college student.

I graduated with one of the biggest lessons I would ever learn:"UNCONDITIONAL ACCEPTANCE"

"LOVE PEOPLE AND USE THINGS - NOT LOVE THINGS AND USE PEOPLE".

(Courtesy: Reader's Digest)