> From: ihoward.smith@...
> To: d.jbrighton@...; conwaypa@...; Dhodgsonschoice@...; dgibson@...; dallas@...; rae.earl@...; anitapentecost@...; jon.gutteridge@...; colinsmith804@...; dot.odell@...; g.otway@...; smitr025@...; robertbean@...; rogmaur@...; shepf@...; karenwillig@...; samfunnell@...; trishrobb@...
> Subject: Fw: Trade
> Date: Sun, 2 Sep 2007 18:04:01 +0100
>
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > you never know what the futute holds depending on what you do now
> >
> >
> > this is a wonderful story.......
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > Short Story
> >
> >
> >
> > I was at the corner grocery store buying some
> > early potatoes. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature,
> > ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked
> > green peas. I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display
> > of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new
> > potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the
> > conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy
> > next to me.
> >
> >
> > "Hello Barry, how are you
> > today?"
> >
> >
> > "H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. They
> > sure look good."
> >
> >
> > "They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"
> >
> >
> > "Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."
> >
> >
> > "Good. Anything I can help you with?"
> >
> >
> > No, Sir.
> >
> > Jus' admirin' them peas."
> >
> >
> > "Would you like to take some home?" asked Mr.
> > Miller.
> >
> >
> > "No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."
> >
> >
> > "Well, what have you to trade me for some of
> > those peas?"
> >
> >
> > "All I got's my prize marble here."
> >
> >
> > "Is that right? Let me see it" said Miller.
> >
> >
> > "Here 'tis. She's a dandy."
> >
> >
> > "I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort
> > of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?" the store
> > owner
> > asked.
> >
> >
> > "Not zackley but almost."
> >
> >
> > "Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip
> > this way let me look at that red marble", Mr. Miller told the boy.
> >
> >
> > "Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller."
> >
> >
> > Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.
> > With a smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in our
> > community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves
> > to bargain
> >
> > with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When
> > they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he
> > decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a
> > bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come
> > on their next trip to the store."
> >
> >
> > I left the store smiling to myself, impressed
> > with this man.
> >
> >
> > A short time later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the
> > story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.
> >
> > Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one.
> >
> >
> > Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho
> > community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died.
> > They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends
> > wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the
> > mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and
> > to offer whatever words of comfort we
> >
> > could.
> >
> >
> > Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform
> > and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts
> > ... all very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller,
> > standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the
> > young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with
> > her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed
> > them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his
> > own warm hand over
> > the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the
> > mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.
> >
> >
> > Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded
> > her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me
> > about her husband's bartering for marbles. With her eyes glistening,
> > she took my hand and led me to the casket.
> >
> >
> > "Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about.
> > They just told me
> >
> > how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them.
> > Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or
> > size, they came to pay their debt." "We've never had a great deal of
> > the wealth of this world," she confided, "but right now, Jim would
> > consider himself the richest man in Idaho ."
> >
> >
> > With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her
> > deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined
> > red marbles.
> >
> >
> > The Moral : We will not be remembered by our
> > words, but by our kind
> > deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the
> > moments that take our breath.
> >
> >
> >
> > Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ~ A fresh pot off coffee
> > you didn't make yourself. An unexpected phone call from an old
> > friend. Green stoplights on your way to work. The fastest line at
> > the grocery store. A good sing-along song on the radio. Your keys
> > found right where you left them.
> >
> >
> > Send
> >
> > this to the people you'll never forget. I just Did...
> >
> >
> >
> > If you don't send it to anyone, it means you are in way too much of
> > a hurry to even notice the ordinary miracles when they occur.
> >
> >
> >
> > IT'S NOT WHAT YOU GATHER, BUT WHAT YOU SCATTER THAT TELLS WHAT KIND
> > OF LIFE YOU HAVE LIVED!
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
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> > Is that you on the pitch?
> >
> > _________________________________________________________________
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